#i may not know exactly who you are but i need you to know that i think ur awesome! u rock!

[p0orbaby]

could you maybe write some pregnant smut with either alexia or leah please and thank youuu 🤭

this isn’t at all what you asked for because my mind went blank… but i wanted to give you something. a follow up may be on the horizon

rich!reader, postpartum sex ban, let’s gooo

-

You are experiencing what can only be described as an emergency.

Not a life-threatening emergency, no. Not in the conventional sense. There is no fire. No armed robbery. No medical professionals are needed.

And yet—despite the complete absence of immediate danger—you are suffering. You are in crisis.

Because it has been six weeks since you have been able to have sex.

Six weeks.

Forty-two days.

One thousand and eight hours.

You do the maths frequently. It brings you no comfort.

Because your wife—your unreasonably attractive, infuriatingly smug wife—has been making it worse.

You don’t think she’s doing it on purpose. But then again, you also didn’t think you were the kind of person who could be undone by the mere existence of another human being, and yet—

Here you are.

Postpartum. Horny. Not okay.

Your last shred of dignity clings to the edge of a cliff, gripping so desperately you might cry.

And then, because the universe hates you, you are forced to endure the absolute worst possible setting for your suffering: a Champions League match.

Barcelona vs Lyon. Quarter-finals. Home leg. A packed stadium. Your baby in your lap. Your wife on the pitch.

It is the worst possible arrangement of things.

Because Alexia, captain, leader, heartbeat of the team, is also—unfortunately—a menace to your well-being.

She is everywhere. Commanding. Dominating. Bossing the midfield. Calling for the ball. Intercepting play. Creating chances.

And she is sweaty.

She is so sweaty.

Her shirt clings to her back. Her thighs glisten under the floodlights. She is locked in, sharp, a threat. She pulls her shorts up—a little habit she has before every free kick—and your stomach drops to your knees.

You are not okay.

You have not been okay for weeks.

You shift slightly in your seat, trying to focus on anything else. You fail spectacularly.

Isabel, blessedly oblivious to your suffering, sleeps peacefully against your chest, one tiny hand curled into a fist against your shirt. She has not known suffering a day in her life.

And then—because life is cruel—Alexia scores.

The entire stadium erupts.

She roars, fist in the air, running to the corner flag, chased by teammates.

And you—seated in the most privileged of all possible seats—are struck with the deep, undeniable realisation that you have never been more attracted to anyone in your entire life.

Which is a problem.

Because you are in a box, surrounded by people.

Important people.

The president of the club is to your left. His wife is beside him, clutching his arm, thrilled, eyes wide. Across from you, executives are clapping. Your in-laws—who insisted on coming—are beaming.

And yet—all you can think about is how badly you want to jump your wife in front of all of them.

You clench your jaw. Adjust your grip on the baby. Breathe through your nose. Try to survive.

Twenty minutes later, Barcelona win.

The final whistle goes. The team celebrates. Cheers. Applause. The smell of fresh beer being flung into the air in the stands.

And then—the worst possible thing happens.

Alexia jogs off the pitch.

Your body, betraying you completely, tenses in anticipation.

You know what’s coming.

You have seen this play out a thousand times before.

Ten minutes later, the door swings open.

You brace yourself.

And then she walks in.

And you—like a complete idiot—forget how to breathe.

Because she is fresh from the shower.

She is in a navy tracksuit. The zip is low. Her hair is still wet, damp against her skin.

She smells like soap.

Like her.

And she knows.

She sees the way you tense. She sees the way your grip tightens on the baby. She knows exactly what she is doing to you.

And then—because she hates you—she leans down and kisses Isabel’s forehead.

Soft. Gentle. Devastating.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

She sits down next to you. So casual. So smug. She touches your thigh, her fingers barely brushing against the fabric, like she isn’t completely destroying you.

And then—to make things worse—she focuses entirely on the baby.

You stare at her.

You cannot handle this.

She hums softly under her breath, rubbing small circles into Isabel’s back. Her fingers move so lightly, so effortlessly, and your stomach flips.

Your entire body is on fire.

She adjusts the blanket. Fixes a tiny sock. Makes a soft, affectionate noise.

And you—you actually whimper.

She laughs.

The kind of laugh that makes you want to throw yourself into the sea.

She leans in slightly, voice low, amused, calculated.

“Three more days.”

Your eyes slam shut.

You are in actual, physical pain.

Seventy-two hours.

You might not survive.

God help you.

[diushek]

Shen Yuan is a young demon prince from a rather unimportant kingdom; actually, his kingdom and his race of humanoid demon-snakes are actually so unimportant and unimpressive that not even Emperor Luo Binghe had been interested in getting the lands, or control of the kingdom... Or any of the princes! Of course they are loyal to the Emperor and serve under him, but... Luo Binghe hadn't tried anything!! Not even once!!!

Not that Shen Yuan is offended, though, the Emperor's HUGE harem is a crazy thing... He doesn't really want to be there nor anything like that. But it can't be a little hurt in his pride that the kingdom he grew up in and adores is so uninteresting to someone like the Emperor.

However, the final straw comes when Luo Binghe marries an Eastern Bird Demon Princess. Yes, she may be pretty as a painted doll, but the Eastern Bird Demons have shitty behavior! They are less interesting than Demon Snakes, much more flattering and fragile, conflictive and above all hypocritical! They don't even have their own venom or are capable of hunting their own prey!! They were just tasteless birds with huge tits and wings that shouldn't allow them to fly because of their anatomical inaccuracy!

"If you're so upset with Junshang's marriage decisions, why don't you marry him?" his younger sister says one day, fed up with Shen Yuan's ramblings. And Shen Yuan thinks, well, it's not a bad idea. Even if his sister didn't mean it at all...

But Shen Yuan KNOWS that he really needs to get the Emperor's attention before he just walks up and says "we have to get married, Junshang, because I find it disrespectful for you to marry with all the boring demons in the realms except my type. Which just happens to be me and not my older brothers or younger sister. I'm the only one willing to fix this."

... No, he would be dead before he even said Junshang correctly. So Shen Yuan must... Conquer the Emperor's heart!

Well, considering the huge harem, it's not a difficult task apparently. He will only have to pay for some rumors and stories of how some wives got to that place, prepare lots of court gifts and organize a big engagement party. After all Shen Yuan is very persistent and, above all, patient. He will obtain the Emperor's hand in marriage, and prove that his kingdom is not some insignificant little thing that can't even get the Emperor's attention!!

...

And one day, Luo Binghe starts to be attacked with stranges gifts.

They arrive at his office by confused royal assistants. And those gifts are the rarest and most expensive ones: swords made of crystal bone of an abyssal creature of the rarest kind, flowers with letters which explain all the effects on the cultivation of mixed-blood creatures, venom from a mythical beast thought to be extinct that can be consumed and used as a spice in recipes (which was accompanied by long letters containing strange cooking recipes that Luo Binghe had never heard of, and a more personal letter claiming that it would keep the Emperor entertained, since his mysterious penpal had heard that he enjoyed cooking).

The gifts keep coming, but they get stranger and stranger each time.

Crowns and hair jewelry of reverse reef corals, hairbrushes of mythical blue jade? Handmade perfume floral and exquisite that gave him peace just by smelling it? The essence of a flower that a single drop mixed with dry powder would work as the longest lasting eye paint?

Even silver scales of some demon presented with rubies and diamonds in the embroidery of a... wedding robe??? Exactly being the emperor's measurements????

Someone is... courting Luo Binghe? With useful and exquisite gifts, letters full of excessive details of someone erudite and chaotic, all with that strange air of mystery and power behind it? The servants who leave the gifts are mysterious, pale-featured and somewhat serpentine; Luo Binghe finds it strange to think that this kingdom is behind all this. Why would they do this if after of all, is the kingdom from which his cousin comes? Why would a kingdom that Luo Binghe is already a blood ally with want to deepen an alliance?

But that doesn't take away the absolute surprise that Luo Binghe feels with every gift, the way that every day he wait for something, even if it is a detail, a flower, a letter, anything. Luo Binghe, the Emperor of the Three Realms... is being courted for the first time.

He had courted all of his wives effortlessly some and with ease others. They had, of course, exchanged gifts with him in addition to the pleasures of their company… but none had even attempted to return the courtship. Luo Binghe had never considered it an offense, of course; before being an Emperor, he was a nobody. Now that he was an Emperor, he was just taking from the world what was his.

Being courted was not something Luo Binghe had given much thought to. Now, however, he is being courted by some anonymous person seeking his attention, and Luo Binghe doesn't understand why or how the hell he no longer has his future spouse at his desk, probably leaning on it, so Luo Binghe can lavish his attentions to thanks for every detail.

If it was his turn to be the sweet maiden who is courted and pays with his body and attentions, at that moment, even if he doesn't know who the hell his courter is, Luo Binghe is definitely very interested.

[unreachableniy]

(Who is stalking you? PAC) I will posess your heart..

I will be focusing on the energy that this person gives in general and also their potential Astro big three! Remember that if it does not apply let it fly!

Pile 1

Pile 1, you definitely know this person. I’m picking up a strong what goes around comes around energy. This could be someone from your past, perhaps a person you wronged or even an old romantic connection, like a failed talking stage. Signs Virgo, Aries rising, Mercury energy, for some of you even Gemini.

They’re watching you, whether online, at your workplace, or somewhere you frequent. And here’s the thing you found them attractive, didn’t you? Maybe even really attractive. There’s still an unspoken tension lingering in the air. For now, they remain in the shadows, observing from a distance, possibly even fantasizing about what could have been. They aren’t ready to step forward just yet, but their presence lingers.

Keep your enemies close and your friends closer because this one is watching.

Song Rec: Carmen-Lana Del Rey

Pile 2

If you’re like me and choose Pile 2, buckle up, you’re in for an interesting time.

The first image that flashed in my mind was a tiger. Something…or someone predatory is headed your way. They’re hungry, famished even, ready to consume you whole. And yes, that could mean exactly what you’re thinking. 😏

This person exudes an intense, flirtatious, magnetic energy. They want to hold you close, let you rest on their chest, and run their hands down your back. I see them cooking for you, guiding you, wanting to take control, not in a suffocating way, but to ease your burdens. They crave to lead, to protect, to devote themselves to you.

I’m getting major Capricorn Mars, Scorpio Rising,Scorpio Sun,and Taurus Sun energy here. And oddly enough, you may not even know them yet. Their energy feels playful, confident, and almost *too* good to be true at first. I keep hearing:

"Everything I do is for you."

"Baby, please don’t be like that."

It feels like, at first, you resist maybe even challenge them. There’s a push-and-pull, a power struggle. But soon, you realize… they aren’t here to overpower you. They’re here to help, to hold you up, to love you.

Song: High By The Beach-Lana del Rey

Pile 3

Alright, cuties, I'm picking up some serious co-worker energy here. Maybe it’s a colleague, a higher-up, or even your boss. Take a moment to reflect you probably already have someone in mind and just need confirmation.

This person stands out, but in an offbeat, effortlessly cool way. I’m sensing strong Pisces or Aquarius placements, perhaps a Neptune or Uranus-dominant chart. They move through life with a unique rhythm, and yet… something about you unsettles them. I keep hearing the word “hate”, but not in a simple, surface-level way. It’s layered. They might resent how freely you exist, how your kindness isn’t calculated but instinctual. It could even be the kind of “hate” that’s tangled up with admiration—or, dare I say, love? On the flip side, maybe you secretly can’t stand them.

I’m also getting the image of a train, which hints at movement physical distance, a commute, or even the idea of paths crossing at the right (or wrong) time. There’s an unfinished conversation here, a lingering “why?” hanging between you two, like a question left unanswered or feelings unspoken.

Oh, and one last thing… someone here *might* have a thing for feet. Do with that what you will. 👀

Song: You Found Me- The Fray

Thank you for stopping by Kitty’s Manifestation Pawlor🌙 Nya~ come back soon k!

[revelboo]

Cannot believe that knockout has a HUMAN side piece and that breakdown is jealous of them smh 😔

(I love your writing sm btw I'm binging everything)

I can see Breakdown being the more attentive, affectionate of the two in a relationship once he gets over the fear of reader stealing Knockout. Any unpleasantness with the human just gets pawned off on him by Knockout, though. You’re sick? Ew. No, that’s Breakdown’s problem now.

My Favorite Accident Pt 10

TFP Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Heart racing as the car puts itself into gear and starts rolling, wheel turning, you dig your fingers into your thighs. There’s something seriously wrong with you for being relieved that you’re being grabbed by one of them, someone who knows Knockout and not some random, human druggie. “We race together,” you say, putting your hands in your lap remembering how weird Knockout was about you touching things inside him. “Are you his friend?” Because you really wish you’d asked Knockout more questions about his people. He’s gossiped enough though to remember names he’s dropped. And one he’d mentioned more than any other. “You’re Breakdown, right?”

• Engine stuttering for a klik at the fact that Knockout had told you about him, he growls. What exactly had the medic told you? “That’s right.” And okay, that voice of yours is soothing. Is that the fascination? Knockout just liking how you sound? Knows Knockout can be a bit funny about things he finds pretty, but aside from that soft voice, you’re just another organic flesh bag. Nothing special. Why reveal himself? “He talks to you about me often?”

• Enough to know this is his bestie and maybe something a bit more. Do alien robots do romance? Because when he’d mentioned this guy, he’d sounded almost wistful for all of five seconds before catching himself and swapping back to arrogant condescension. “He said you look after the,” you begin and hesitate as you scrabble for the word he’d used, “Vehicons. Make sure they have what they need.” Even if Knockout had sounded torn between almost admiration and annoyed bemusement by that. Like Breakdown was wasting his time.

• Engine rumbling as you fidget in his passenger seat, he vents. “Someone has to,” he mutters. It had been an insult when they’d put him over the cloned soldiers, but really, they’re Cybertronians, too. They have sparks. And he’d just shrugged it off, doing his assignment to the best of his ability. Trying to lobby for better conditions, a bit more rations for them. “Those energon mines are death traps even when we’re not at war.”

• “I think that’s what Knockout admires about you. That you care,” you say, because staying on this guy’s good side seems prudent. And you have no idea where he’s taking you, but you’re starting to get worried. “You’re not driving me out in the desert to dump my body, are you?” Because he’d left the outskirts of your little town miles ago. And he laughs, but also doesn’t answer your question. “Cause Knockout may be a little put out at losing the only real competition he has in the races.” No response. Alright then. You grab his gear shift and shove it into park catching him by surprise as he shudders and snarls, hear his startled alien swearing as you claw at the little nob to unlock the door, breaking a nail before throwing open the door and running flat out.

Previous

[kashverse]

umbrellas are, without a doubt, mankind’s magnum opus. rain? blocked. sun? deflected. want to look like a brooding protagonist in a slow-motion film sequence? pop that thing open and stride dramatically.  a/n: read till the end to see choso's temu collab <3

unfortunately, this universal truth is lost on gojo, who believes his infinity is a catch-all solution to every problem in life, including weather. does it keep the rain off him? sure. does it do the same for you? absolutely not. but does he realize this? of course not. so while he’s smugly holding you close, humming some dumb love song and talking about how "this is just like those k-dramas, huh, babe?" you are actively getting drenched. fast forward two days later—you’re curled up in bed, tissues piling up like a battlefield, and gojo is wailing as if he’s the one on death’s doorstep. “my baby is dying,” he cries to shoko over the phone, who is ignoring him as she eats her lunch. it doesn’t matter that you told him it was just a mild cold. gojo is now hand-feeding you soup with the solemnity of a man who thinks he is on his last day of service. *“i should’ve—sniff—bought an umbrella.” you have half a mind to hit him with the spoon.

geto, on the other hand, is a man of preparation and, for some reason, exclusively stocks clear umbrellas. like, exclusively. open his closet and you will find nothing but a neat, borderline concerning collection of transparent umbrellas, stacked like they’re waiting for a government-distributed evacuation plan. does he use them all? yes. does he need that many? no. when you question him, he simply shrugs and says, “it’s aesthetic.” but the aestheticism fades a little when the two of you are forced to walk under the blazing summer sun, grumbling like old men because the clear plastic is offering exactly zero protection from UV rays. "we’re gonna get so tanned,” you whine. “we’ll be fine,” he reassures, though he looks about one minute away from passing out. why doesn’t he just buy a regular umbrella? you may never know.

toji, meanwhile, gives you the slow blink of a man who has never voluntarily used an umbrella in his life. if you ask him where his umbrella is, he will blink at you like a lizard sunning itself on a rock and say, "what’s an umbrella?" except he’s joking, but also not really. the thing about toji is that he fundamentally does not care about the weather. if it rains, it rains. if it shines, it shines. he has completed jobs in typhoons, sprinted through downpours to reach you in the middle of the night when you were anxious, and once walked through a literal snowstorm to buy a six-pack. weather is an inconvenience only for the weak. that is until his philosophy backfires and he ends up with a sunburn so severe he’s walking around the house hissing like a vampire, or with a cold so bad that every time he blows his nose, he sounds like a goose fighting for its life. and now he’s grumpy about it. "should’ve used an umbrella," you tell him sweetly as you rub aloe on his peeling shoulders. he grumbles something unintelligible and sulks like a big, overgrown toddler.

nanami is the only one among them who has fully mastered the art of umbrella ownership. you don’t even have to ask if he has one; the answer is always yes. he has one for every occasion. he carries a primary umbrella, a backup umbrella in his bag, and if you check his office drawer, there’s probably another one neatly folded away just in case. he whips it out at the farmers' market, during evening strolls, and most impressively, in a street fight. if you’ve ever seen a man turn an umbrella into a lethal weapon, nanami is that man. he can and will beat the shit out of someone with it. “it’s a tool,” he says simply. and honestly, who are you to argue?

choso, however, is firmly in the raincoat camp. umbrellas make his hands hurt, so he skips the struggle entirely and commits to full rain protection like a man on a mission. the problem arises when he starts browsing for new raincoats and sees children wearing character-themed ones. next thing you know, he is holding up two sanrio-themed raincoats from temu, grinning ear to ear. "they glow in the dark when they get wet," he says proudly. they allegedly glow. allegedly. you do a quick google search and find out they might actually contain enough lead to take down a fully grown man. "choso, you are not wearing that." but he already bought it. and now he’s standing in the rain, in a kuromi-themed raincoat that is possibly a biohazard, smiling like he’s the peak of fashion.

sukuna, much like toji, does not give a single damn about rain or shine. it could be pouring or blisteringly hot, and he’d still be doing whatever he wants, unaffected and unbothered. however, if the weather starts personally inconveniencing him—like preventing him from stretching out in his favorite sunspot like some oversized demon cat—he will glare at the sky itself and, somehow, it will fix itself. it doesn’t rain if sukuna doesn’t want it to. the sun won’t shine if he says so. when you ask him how he does it, he just shrugs. "i just do." you don’t push for answers. you’re a little scared to.

[tjelestial]

Pick A Lana: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

PAC: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

☆ How to choose your pile: Take a deep breath, hold it for a sec - exhale slowly through your mouth. Close your eyes and focus on the question. Once you're ready, take a look at the number and choose the pile you feel drawn to.

If you feel called by more than one pile, there might be more messages for you.

Remember: This is a general reading, therefore I'd be picking up messages for collective audience. Take only what resonates and leave what doesn’t. May you find your message!

PILE 1

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading! Okay, right of the bat Pile 1, your person is giving ✨possessive✨ I just heard “You’re mine.” Damn. It’s the ultimate "I own you, and you own me" energy. There’s no in-between, just a raw, unshakable pull between you two. It’s almost obsessive, the way their body craves yours, the way their mind keeps coming back to thoughts of you, even when they try to focus on work and other things.

They fantasize about taking their time with you, making you beg before they finally give you what you want. I heard “arguing is foreplay”. It’s the kind of connection where even your arguments hold heat—one second you’re challenging them, the next, they’ve got you against the wall, their mouth on yours, hands gripping tight because they can’t keep their hands off you. Your body is like a prize they’ve won, and they’re going to worship every inch of it. For some of you, your person don’t shy from PDA and they like to show you off.

You’re someone who set high standards for yourself and actually put in the work to meet them. Whether it’s in your career, social circle, or relationships, you exude the energy of someone who knows their worth. For some of you, I’m getting IxTP/xxFJ vibes.

Your person is a provider. I almost thought it’s giving sugar daddy vibes, with how much they spoil you materialistically. But there’s this insecurity within them. Maybe they think you’re too good to be true? Maybe it’s fear of losing you? Maybe you shine so bright? But they don’t want to let you go. And in the heat of it all? They can’t resist you. They want to fuck the insecurity out of their system, to make you scream their name until they know you’re theirs in every way possible.

They love taking you from behind too, it’s one of their fantasies, gripping your waist, pulling your hair against them because they need to feel all of you. They’re possessive with their hands, their touches—palm against your throat, choking (consensually), fingers tangled in your hair, nails digging into your hips. They don’t just want to make love to you; they want to mark you with hickies, claim you, make sure you remember exactly who’s fucking you so good.

They love the way you let them take control, but they also love it when you push back—when you straddle them, pin them down, show them that you know exactly what you’re doing, it drives them crazy. They want to own you, but at the same time, you own them just as much. And they’ll make damn sure you never forget that. For some of you, there’s also cuddle/spooning fantasy going on. They want to hold you tight after, in that sweet afterglow. But even while they’re holding you, their hands are gonna wander, teasing, exploring. Honestly they just can’t help it 🤷‍♀️

PILE 2

Oh, now this is the seductress irresistible pile. Your person? They don’t just want you—they ache for you, in a way that borders on desperation. What did you do to them Pile 2 🥵Your person hates how much control you have over them, but at the same time, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They can’t stand it when you play with them, when you act all innocent, when you act like you don’t know exactly what you do to them. But you do know. You’re giving that "Who, me? I would never officer..." energy while knowing damn well you’re driving them insane. It’s not outright teasing, it’s subtle. You don’t have to try to be alluring; it’s just who you are. You don’t deny anything outright, but you never fully give in right away either. It’s that delicate push-and-pull that drives your person up the wall.

And you love it. You love making them work for it, love seeing them lose their composure, love the way their hands shake slightly when they finally get to touch you after being deprived.

It’s no brainer that they fantasize about you driving them insane—about you dragging things out, taking your time, leaving them with pent up frustration. But once they snap? Once they’ve had enough? That’s when they lose control, that’s when they take you the way they’ve been day dreaming about. Bending you against the nearest surface, with their hands gripping your waist. Spanking you, punishing you. They love to see you squirm, love to see you struggling to keep up with them, love the way your body arches against theirs, silently pleading for more.

Before I continue, if you feel drawn to Pile 1, that’s because there might be a message for you there.

For some of you, your person is obsessed with your mouth—there’s something unique about it. Could be your lips is pouty, or it’s unusually red, could be it has hyperpigmentation on the outer lips so it looks like you have lip liner on, could be the shape is plump and full, or it’s just that you have a smart mouth. Whatever it is, they just can’t get enough. The way your lips part, the way they run their fingers around it—it’s intoxicating. They’ll kiss you like they’re starved.

They like to see you. Mirror sex might be present. So they can take in every shift of your expression, every little gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. They want you to see exactly what they do to you, want you to watch the way your body moves against theirs, want you to witness the complete mess they turn you into.

PILE 3

Ah, Pile 3, your person is craving that deep emotional and physical connection—this isn’t just about lust, your person wants to make love to you. This pile got me listening to Make Love to You by Boys II Men and All My Life by Kci and Jojo. Your person is very passionate, loving and tender.

You are the indulgence they can never resist. You feel like a luxury, like a hidden treasure or something rare. They fantasize about giving you everything, pampering you with the finest things, worshipping you with their hands and touches. They want to be the only one who gets to see you like this—laid out for them, body relaxed, eyes hazy with pleasure as they take their time with you. The way you respond to them, the way your body shivers under their touch, the way you take all that they give you—it’s maddening for them.

They also fantasize about being taken care of and indulging in pure sensuality—slow, lingering touches, bodies tangled in sheets. There’s whispered praises, there’s physical craving—running hands over warm skin, feeling soft lips, savoring the connection fully. They also dream of devotion, they want you to crave them, to cherish them, to treat them like something precious and irreplaceable. Your person might have Leo/Aries in their big 3.

They fantasize about being wanted and wanting you so badly that restraint is impossible for both of you. The moment when all that confidence, all that dominance, turns into need. Because as much as they want to own you, as much as they want to be the one in charge, you have a way of turning the tables. They think they’re the one running the show, but then you touch them just right, whisper something sinful in their ear, look at them with those eyes, and suddenly, they’re the one falling apart.

They don’t even realize how much power you have over them until it’s too late. Until they’re groaning your name, gripping you tight like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Until they’re letting you do whatever you want to them because, fuck, they need it. They need you. It’s rare for them to lose control like this, but with you? You pull it out of them effortlessly. They fantasize about you taking from them—taking your pleasure, pushing them to the edge over and over until they’re left breathless and completely wrecked.

It’s not just the sex, though. It’s the connection. They want all of you, body and soul. That’s why they never stop at just one round. Even after the fire dies down, they’ll hold you close, fingers trailing lazily over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. Because for them, this isn’t just lust. This is everything. And Pile 3 they’ll never get enough of you.

PILE 4

Welcome to your reading Pile 4! Your person fantasy carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, it’s not just about physical desire but something deeper, unspoken, and possibly even unresolved. There’s a sense of longing, nostalgia, and emotional intensity, as if their thoughts about you are tangled between wanting, missing, and aching for something far away or unattainable. This is more than just fantasy; there’s something real and deep about the way they think you. For some of you, this person could be an ex.

Your person’s fantasies might be tinged with frustration or a sense of emotional distance. They want you, but something always feels just out of reach. They imagine scenarios where they try to get your attention, but you’re so detached—which only makes them crave you more. There could also be a desire for an unexpected, intense moment that breaks through the emotional barriers.

Now if this is an ex, for them, you’re the one that got away. The one they can’t forget, the one they can’t let go of, no matter how much time passes. Their fantasy isn’t just about having you—it’s about getting you back. About fixing what was broken, about proving to you that no one else will ever know your body the way they do. Because no matter how much they try to move on, no one feels like you. No one haunts them the way you do.

For the action, they fantasized about a night where the past no longer matters, where it’s just you and them, tangled together in sheets that smells like longing. No more distance, no more hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Their feelings go beyond just sex —they want to reclaim you. To remind you, through every slow drag of their fingers, every deep, desperate thrust, exactly who they are to you. They want to see it in your eyes—the way your walls crumble, the way you give in to what’s always been there between you.

You could undo them with just a single touch. And they know it. That’s why, when they have you under them, all soft gasps and breathy moans, they take their time. This isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about proving a point. That no one else will ever make you feel like this. That no one else will ever know you the way they do.

They love how your body trembles when they push—push you to the edge, push you to need them just as much as they need you. You’re so familiar, yet somehow, every touch feels brand new. And it has them consumed, you have them mad.

There’s a strong nostalgic, bittersweet and sentimental quality to their thoughts. They might fantasize about reuniting, rekindling an old spark, or returning to a time when things felt easier. There’s also a sweet yet intense craving for deep emotional intimacy, wanting to feel truly connected, known, and seen by you.

[stayevildarling]

Agatha Harkness x Reader- Spellbound

A/N: based on a request and results of this poll ❤️

tw/tags: nsfw, female reader, G!P Agatha, inexperienced reader, suggestive, flirty Agatha, mention of hex (sex pollen) mention of breeding, oral, Agatha recieving, reader recieving, mommy kink

word count: 3.6k

taglist:

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay, @laavaagirl,@wtfffisgoingon , @milflovers4 , @ahintofchaos , @brekker157

Today was another day with Agatha. The older woman and witch had been teaching you for several months now after you tried a few academies where you used to live, only to be turned away as they were all full and getting guided toward being taught in private and stumbling over Westview and the witch residing there. At first you had no idea what to do with yourself, not knowing anything about magic other than remembering some mumbling about it during your childhood and the random outbursts that you couldn‘t understand.

The brunette had taken you in, allowing you private lessons in her house, ultimately her basement with several spell books and all kind of magic items. Over the months the two of you got along well and Agatha managed to teach you the basic spells to the point your magic grew more advanced, being able to perfect it well, even try your own spells and potions. By now you were only really around to stay in her company as there had been a chemistry between you from the beginning and both of you could tell.

„I have some errands to run today dear“ she told you after greeting you and you got started on the same book you had been working on for a while. „That‘s fine“ you smile at her, seeing her in a beige blazer, the same coloured flowy pants, her usual jewrely and details as well as some reading glasses. Her hands ghost over your shoulders in that all too familiar way before she leaves you to it. And as soon as you hear the front door upstairs, you begin with the book, eyes flying over the pages before you stumble upon something you hadn‘t seen before.

The spell looked simple really, deepening connections and your own magic, awareness and sensation. You begin by laying out your usual items, making sure you had read the instructions properly before whispering the words. At first nothing happens and you assume you may have done it wrong or with how old the page looks that you may have stumbled upon a spell that was wrong. But then you feel a warmth, spreading through your body. It‘s slow and gentle at first but it quickly spreads like a fire, leaving you trembling, panting and sweating.

You couldn‘t tell what went wrong or what you needed exactly but you needed relief. Your entire body feels on fire, as if you can feel every single muscle and nerves, heart beating incredibly fast. All you can do is grip the table in front of you to the points your knuckles are turning white. At last Agatha returns, even though it feels like minutes to you it had been a few hours as the woman trusted your abilities by now. She expects to hear the usual sounds of your magic practice downstairs, flicks of energy, whispers of incarnations but instead there is silence.

For a moment she even thinks you may have left already even though that wasn‘t like you but when she sees your bag and coat by the door she grows curious. She makes her way into her basement, finding you standing by the table, gripping the edges of the table tight, too tight. You don‘t turn to greet her like you usually do, instead your entire body is tense and a red flush creeps up your neck. Her eyebrows furrow before she teases „Well well, look who is all serious today“ the amusement in her tone is clear as she steps behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

„What has gotten you all wound up sweetheart?“ she asks curiously as she reads over the pages of the book that still lays open on the table. You flinch, just barely but of course she notices. And then she understands, seeing the open page of the book, your breathing shallow, a little line of sweat on your forehead and your fingers twitching almost unsure as what to do with yourself. The witch can feel your magic humming in the air, uncontrolled, restless and desperate.

Agatha hums knowingly, obviously already having connected the dots but enjoying this nevertheless. „Did you mess something up while I was gone?“ she asks curiously her voice playful. You glance at her and the answer is enough before she whispers „Maybe I should punish you“ which causes you to press your legs together at the tone of her voice and words. You exhale sharply, squeezing your eyes shut before whispering „I- I didn‘t mean to“.

The woman tilts her head to the side before turning you around, wanting to meet your gaze. „Didn‘t mean to what?“ she asks curiously as she steps away and leans against the table opposite you. You don‘t answer at first, shruddering under her intense gaze. „You tried a connection spell didn‘t you doll?“ she asks curiously before you nod and look away in embarrassment . „Poor thing, that wasn‘t a power boost silly, it was a heat spell“ she explains with a slight smirk on her lips.

„No wonder you are squriming“ she teases as she steps forward again. You make a soft noise, almost a whimper trying to pull away as the embarrassment overwhelms you for a moment. But she simply drags her hands down your arm, fingertips softly ghosting over your skin and then it happens, you whimper. It‘s quiet but loud enough for her to hear and the heat to travel straight to your face as your eyes widen and you understand what just happened. Agatha stops her movements for a moment before you see the deep smirk on her lips.

„Oh sweetheart.. you‘re burning up, aren‘t you?“ she pouts and you nod weakly as the back of her hand touches your cheeks and forehead to confirm. Her voice is sinful now, dripping with both amusement and seduction as you face her again. Your pupils are blown wide, lips slightly parted as you are trying to hold yourself together, feeling the heat travelling lower and lower with each second passing. Agatha catches your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes meet hers. „All you need to do is say the word and I‘ll help you darling“ she whispers before stepping away again, hopping onto the table opposite you casually.

For a moment the world stays still as you realize what is actually happening, what she is offering and suggesting you here. For a second everything overwhelms you as the thoughts circle in your mind. Thoughts of doubt and uncertainty considering she was teaching you and much older and you enjoyed getting taught by her but all you can focus is the way she is sitting, legs slightly spread and that knowing grin on her lips and you can‘t hold back.

„Please“ you whimper, louder this time, so desperate it matches how you feel inside, wanting nothing more for this feeling to go away and knowing the only person able to do this and you want to share this with being the woman in front of you. Agatha hums in satisfaction as she studies you, stepping towards you again and her grip firm on your hips. „Poor thing“ she whispers as she leans closer to your ear. „You must have been suffering so much while I was gone“ she pouts and you nod breathlessly.

Heat spreads through you even more and for a second you think you may explode under her intense gaze and gentle touch despite her body pressing against you strong and solid. Her fingers dance along your ribs before her lips ghost over yours and for a moment you close your eyes thinking she may kiss you before she pulls away again, leaving you breathless. „I could help you I suppose“ she whispers before smirking. „But I think I‘d enjoy it more to watch you beg a little first“. Your eyes pry open, finding hers so close before you stutter „Ag- Agatha“.

„Oh sweet girl, you sound so desperate already“ she sighs before she pulls back enough to study you again. Slowly and deliberately she squeezes your chin before you can‘t take it any more „Tell me how bad you want this“ she whispers before you almost cry in desperation, feeling the tears stinging in your eyes. „Please Agatha - I need you“ you whisper and that‘s all she needs to hear, the words causing her own pupils to blow as she captures your lips in a kiss at last, rough, possesive and so damn hot. She grips your waist, pulling you against her as your chest collides and you lose yourself in the kiss, lips wet and aching for the older woman.

She sends a pool of heat through you, already able to feel your soaked underwear at this point as she begins pushing you against the wooden desk behind you, legs weak under her intense touch. As she pushes you back further and further she begins exploring you a little, moaning into your ear, mouth exploring your neck as well as her tongue. In a swift motion she had your flannel ripped from you, exposing your flushed chest, the black bralette that drives her crazy as her eyes fly over your hardened nipples that undeniably show and how excited she feels to unwrap the rest of you.

But as she steps between your legs you can feel it and she has you gasping and freezing at the same time. Your wide eyes drop before she stops, immediately noticing your hesitation as she stops attacking your neck and looks at you. „What is it sweetheart?“ she asks a little concerned before your gaze drops to something hard between her legs. „I um.. didn‘t know you um“ you stammer before she realizes. „Have a cock?“ she asks so casually that it almost causes you to choke on the air. She watches your expression, the excitement but hesitation and she can‘t help but smirk in amusement.

„Does that.. does that mean you could get me pregnant?“ you ask and she can‘t help but chuckle lowly „Oh sweetheart, you really are a little innocent thing aren‘t you?“ she asks which causes your cheeks to go red yet again. „Yes I could knock you up right now if you wanted to“ she giggles as your mouth hangs wide open from her boldness. „But don‘t worry sweet thing“ she quickly composes herself as she brushes your cheek with her fingers „I know plenty of spells to prevent that“ she reassures before capturing your lips in a kiss again that has you melting right into her. „Don‘t worry, I‘ll take care of everything“ she reassures and you nod into her before her hands reach for your hips, lifting you up and sitting you on the desk as she begins undressing your lower half.

By the time your clothes hit the floor underneath you, the older woman is already between your legs, hands firm against your thighs as she begins exploring your aching pussy with her mouth. She is slow and gentle at first, assuming you hadn‘t done this too many times before or maybe not even at all and despite how much she wanted you, how much she wanted you to scream her name and make you fall apart, she wanted to make this special for you. Once her tongue comes into contact with your clit, your entire body relaxes for a moment before the pure bliss takes over, head thrown back in pleasure despite how hot the image is to have the older woman in between your legs, diving into you as if she is addicted to the taste already.

„Oh babygirl you taste so good“ she moans, her words sending vibrations through you as you grip the wooden table underneath you. She can tell you wouldn‘t last long, your first orgasm already approaching fast with how much she had been teasing you and with how strong this kind of hex was. Agatha wastes no time in teasing your entrance with her fingers, her tongue relentless at this point as your soft whimpers and moans fill her basement and she never wanted to hear anything else ever again, already addicted to you. „So good mm“ you moan, tears of pleasure streaming down your face before the knot in your stomach feels like bursting. „I“ you struggle but she shushes you as her hands stay firm on your legs. „Cum for me sweet girl, I promise it will feel so good“ and so you do, letting the woman elope you in this feeling as you cum undone on her tongue, your juices flowing down her as she licks up every last drop, only coming up to let you taste yourself on her tongue.

By the time you come down from your high, your chest is still heaving, eyes forcing open as you look at her, mouth slightly agape as she stands between you still, eyes searching yours. For a moment she isn‘t sure whether the hex was finished, your entire magic still all over the place. Agatha watches as your eyes go a shade darker, almost as if the desperation from the spell is replaced with something even stronger, lust and desire for the woman. She had been flirting with you for months and teasing you but you never felt ready and you knew by now she wasn‘t seeing anyone, wasn‘t interested in anyone else as she was anything but subtle.

„That better sweetheart?“ she asks curiously before you practically jump at her, innocence and shyness gone as you stand despite your legs feeling wobbly, despite your heart pounding as your lips crash against her own, pushing her into the table at the opposite end of the room until her back collapses against it. Without another thought you go on your knees, pulling her trousers down, wanting to see, wanting to feel what she had told you. Once her cock springs free and you see how hard she is, you waste no time in glancing at her, wanting to make sure she wanted this and by her expression, the way her lips are parted and eyes wide in shock and lust you waste no time.

Your tongue licks around the tip before you slowly take her into your mouth, almost as if you had been doing this a thousand times before and the older woman is so taken back that all she can do is grip your hair tight as she guides your head backwards and forwards until she is completely inside your mouth, surprised with how well you are taking her length and how you aren‘t even gagging, simply carrying on and on and driving her so much closer to her own orgasm. But then she realizes what is happening, how you are topping her, how she gave control to you and that‘s one thing Agatha simply didn‘t do. She drags you up by your collar with practiced ease despite wanting to whimper at the loss of your perfect mouth.

„Confident now are we?“ she murmurs as her lips attack your neck and before you know it she has you in her arms, legs wrapped around her waist before she carries you upstairs, so caught up in the moment and by your mouths exploring each other that you don‘t fully realize she is taking you through the house and into her bedroom. As soon as she lays you down on her bed she is all over you, hands roaming your body before she looks at you, really looks at you, seeing how beautiful you are, how obedient and perfect and how she had been wanting to do this from the first day you ever walked into her house with your notebook and pen wanting to learn from the older witch.

„Fuck Agatha“ you pant as she takes one of your hardened nipples into her mouth, messy and biting sligthly. „I want you please“ you whisper loud enough for her to hear. „You‘re gonna have to get a little more specific“ she smirks confident as ever before your voice wavers „Fuck me Aggie, please I want your cock inside me please“ you almost cry and your begging has her in another dimension as she happily does just that, aligining her tip with your dripping pussy before entering you. Gently at first and so much unlike her and each other‘s needs but all she can see right now is the trust in your eyes, the vulnerability and how this wasn‘t the hex anymore, the older woman being able to tell.

„Oh“ you gasp as soon as she pushes her tip inside, stretching you so perfectly as your eyes force closed at the sensation of having the brunette inside of you. „God- please“ you cry unable to contain how much you wanted this, how bad you wanted to make her feel good and how badly you wanted to cum on her. Agatha doesn‘t hesitate then, pushing in further and further until she is all the way in and surprisingly you take her so well, despite her length, despite how much she is stretching you. „Baby you‘re so tight“ she whimpers as she hovers above you on the bed, unable to deny how good you feel and how she is slowly losing her composure and dominance with you.

„Can you feel - that- darling..“ she pants and you force your eyes open locking with her own. „Mommy is stretching your tight little pussy so well“ she moans and her words send a shiver through your entire body, heart pounding and stomach flipping. With her free hand she takes yours and puts it on your lower abdomen before she smirks despite her own pleasure „Feel how deep mommy is inside you“ she gasps. Something overtakes you then, maybe the fact she called herself mommy multiple times, maybe the fact she was technically your teacher, maybe your huge crush on her or just the feeling of her cock inside you and each other‘s wetness echoing through the quiet bedroom.

„Please can you- can you cum inside me?“ you whisper before she lets out a ragged gasp. „Sweetie“ she hesitates but you don‘t care, don‘t care about the consequences wanting nothing more than for her to fill you up to the brim with her warm liquid. „I don‘t care“ you murmur before she can‘t take it. She always wanted to have you like this, have you begging for her, waking up many times to the thought of this and having to touch herself in order to feel relief for aching for you like this. And now she couldn‘t stop herself. Her right hand moves to your hair gripping it tight again before her left hand reaches for your leg, putting it over her shoulder and hitting into you even harder, the newfound angle sending you both over the edge quickly.

In the end Agatha has you screaming for her, your orgasm washing over you both at the same time „Mommy“ you cry out as her eyes search yours, telling you to keep them open and on her as you cum undone and once you feel her liquid filling you up you cum a second time seconds later. The two of you are breathless by the time she moves your leg from her shoulder and she collapses beside you on the bed. There is silence for a while, the two of you collecting your breathing and waiting for the rush and adrenaline of it all to slow down a little. You are the first to open your eyes, unable to believe this just happened and unsure whether this was maybe just another one of your dreams about the woman you had desired for the longest time now.

As your eyes dart towards Agatha her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted and a hint of a smirk playing on her features. When she notices you shifting onto your side she turns as well, meeting your eyes and tugging some hair behind your ears as she allows herself to take you in fully. „I‘m so glad you accidentally discovered that hex sweetie“ she chuckles lowly and you can‘t help yourself for giggling a little as well as your cheeks go red all over again. Agatha watches you carefully, despite her dominance and everything that happened, caring about your wellbeing more than anything and that you are comfortable with her. She watches you go from content, to shy to very quiet and thoughtful in moments and her eyebrows furrow as she senses something behind your beautiful eyes.

„What is it?“ she asks almost a little worried before your eyes almost grow teary. „Does this mean I won‘t get to come here anymore now?“ you ask, almost small and her heart shatters at your words and the sadness in your voice. „I just mean.. for teaching“ you admit, realizing you may have hinted at your by now obvious feelings for the older woman a little too much. But she is quick to move closer and scoop you into her arms. Her eyes search yours, filled with reassurance and kindness as she wipes some of your tears. „Sweetheart if you think I‘m ever going to let you go after that you are very wrong“ she jokes a little but her features and eyes are so serious that you know she means every word. You almost sigh in relief before she moves a little „Now come on let me clean you up“ she offers as she extracts a hand to you and by the fire in her eyes you could tell this night was far from over.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Hear me out...but an AU where König has a wife and kids (2 boys 1 girl and of course all of his kids are feral especially his little princess who he thinks can do no wrong) and his and his wife are called up to the school because his little girl got into a fight and of course her brothers go into it as well.

You his wife is beside yourself because you all just moved to this neighborhood and school district and you wanna make a good impression. You get to the school and enter the headmaster office and your darling husband freezes up. He's tense as he stares at the other kid's parents. It's some guy in a black medical mask, who's just as equally big and his wife who looks quite annoyed. These two men just kinda stare at each other, but don't say anything as the headmaster goes into explaining the issue.

Your daughter was called a name. She opened her mouth and said some mean things back (the exact insult was her saying, 'you have fatherless behavior, is that why you need to act like that?'). The other kid, a little boy around her age, may be a bit older, didn't take her dishing back the mean comments to his brother, someone got pushed. A fist thrown, and your two older boys jumped in and it was chaos. With your daughter yelling for her brothers to 'Do what Daddy does and tear them apart'

Truth be told you're worried but your husband has a blank face. And of course your husband shows exactly where his daughter gets her smart mouth from.

"You expect me to punish my daughter for being some kids karma ja?" His accent is thick and annoyed, "sounds as if it was fatherless behavior."

And for some reason, the dad with the mask on his face growls and says, "Of course it's your spawn that say something of the sorts, damn Austrian."

It's tense in the room and after the headmaster says that all of your children are going to have detention. Fighting isn't tolerated. Upon leaving you stop and chat with the other woman who didn't say much and was just over the whole thing. You both apologize for children's behavior outside the office, and then apologize for both of your husbands.

"I'm so sorry about Tommy." She says with a sigh, "He told me last night that he had a crush on your daughter and I told him that he should say something nice to her...didn't think he'd tell your daughter that her hair is soft like sheep wool..." she winced as she said that.

You just laugh "a misunderstanding really, kids will be kids." You both end up exchanging numbers with promises to get your kids together so proper apologies can be had. (You both may or may not have to get your husbands to go along with it. Neither of you know why they already hate each other and can't appreciate a good childhood crush and misunderstanding).

Idk...I like the idea of this and may flesh it out...because it's giving König's daughter and Simon's son getting married and these two have to put away their animosity for the sake of their wives and children.

[constantfragmentation]

Agreed.

Do I believe Vander blames himself, that he wronged Silco? Yes, I do. But he really doesn't do much beyond extended a weak olive branch to a trusted friend that he just tried to kill. It wasn't a fight that got out of hand, he tried to kill him.

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm sure as hell not going to seek my attempted murderer out afterwards to 'reconcile'. Yeah, no. Silco isn't going to the their special place in the mines, the Drop or anywhere else in FEAR he may run into his attacker and die the next time.

Let's also not forget, the Felica reason is really stupid. He lost his head? The writing is so weak here. Silco and Vander's break seemed more profound than an accidental death of a mutual friend. People get hurt and die in revolts. They had to know there would be casualties or why bother with revolting against Enforcers, who are heavily armed?

Also, if we use a vague timeline between the Day of Ash, Silco recovering from extensive injuries mentally, emotionally and physically, to the point in Arcane S1E1, WHERE... Vander and Benzo make the comment of 'there are worse things than Enforcers out there" meaning Silco and immediately painting him as the big baddie in the first episode.

So, by the age of the kids supposedly on the Day of Ash and then in Ep1, Vander had YEARS to try and contact Silco. They lived in the Underground, know the same people. There's not exactly an infinite places to stay hidden. Vander and Benzo clearly know Silco is operating in the Undercity.

You can't tell me in all those YEARS, Vander couldn't have made the effort to actually contact Silco and clear shit up. He chose not to and continued painting his 'brother' as a bad guy. For someone who 'never forgave himself', he sure didn't make an effort to find his brother. His effort was the weakest ever.

Even his "I never forgave myself" is hollow. No, buddy, you should have been begging your brother's forgiveness for what you did to him. It's this pathetic attempt of Vander's is what I find insulting. We're supposed to go, "oh look he was sorry , if only Silco KNEW!". But it doesn't address the work needed to regain a person's trust and forgiveness.

Vander didn't put in the effort to deserve Silco's forgiveness. End of story.

The mutliverse episode just felt like a slap in the face in this respect. Silco's personality completely changes which makes ZERO sense. The young Silco and Timeline Silco in S2 don't make any sense compared the characterization of Silco in all of S1.

Young Silco HAD to have traits that build into what makes S1 Older Silco. The drowning isn't going to make those traits magically appear. It was always about the cause. Even if Vander apologized, his handling of the Underground and working with Enforcers is what pits Silco against him. THAT is the betrayal.

I don't think Vander's letter would have done much if we're going off S1 Silco explanation of the drowning and aftermath. Silco tried to see if he could get back the 'old Vander' but also knew it might not happen and had Plan B in the wings.

" I let a weak man die".

Silco decided that the cause was still the most important thing to him and learned not to trust anyone so willingly and blindly.

The Felicia angle is so weak. There is no build-up to this magical trio of friends. Silco doesn't seem to know her kids or vice versa. The kids seems to see Silco as an enemy most likely due to Vander and Benzo.

If Silco was a true friend, why doesn't he know the kids or vice versa? You'd think due to their age prior to the bridge, Silco would be a part of their lives and not just Vander?

S2 was such a disappointing mess. If they really wanted to explore these relationships, then they should have laid some of the groundwork in S1 but didn't. The fact it was dealt with in such a sloppy manner and expected fans to love it? That's what bugs me.

And the blatant character assassination of SO many characters in order to make their plot work.

All of S2 was poorly executed. Period.

y'all. y'all know the letter wasn't the apology right. it was the olive branch. "you know where to find me" was an invitation. he couldn't apologize in a letter. he wanted silco to meet him. yeah it was a shit apology. because it wasn't one. my word.

[sincerelybubbles]

Caught in the Teeth

James Potter is sunlight—warm, golden, impossible to ignore. And you? You’ve spent your life convinced you’re anything but worthy of his orbit. But James has never been one to let something slip through his fingers without a fight, and he’ll prove it, even if he has to bare his teeth to do it. Warnings: Allusions to the body, blood, hunger, and longing in a way that may feel emotionally heavy. wc: 5.2k

James doesn’t seem deterred by your skepticism. If anything, he looks more determined, eyes bright with something unreadable, something that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. It would be easier if this were a joke. If he were just playing at it, letting his natural charm smooth over the edges of something that isn’t real.

But his gaze doesn’t waver.

"I’m serious," he says again, quieter this time, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes you grip your books just a little tighter. Like if you don’t hold onto something solid, you might lose your footing entirely.

"James." You exhale his name, like it might be enough to remind him what you are—what you aren’t. You don’t belong in the whirlwind of James Potter’s affections, in the grand, elaborate way he loves things. James falls fast, hard, and all at once, and you are steady. You do not dive headfirst. You do not know how to be the kind of person who gets caught.

But James only grins, tilting his head slightly, eyes still locked on yours. "I know what you’re thinking," he murmurs.

You shake your head. "You don’t."

"I do." He takes a half-step closer, and it’s nothing, really—nothing but space disappearing between you, nothing but the warmth of him seeping into the cold air around you. But it feels like everything. "You think I’m playing some game, that I just love a challenge. You think if I got you, I’d get bored."

You swallow, looking away, because it’s true. It’s exactly what you think.

James exhales, and for the first time, he almost sounds frustrated. Not in an angry way—just in that way he gets when he’s trying to explain something that matters and no one is listening. "You’re wrong, you know," he says. "I wouldn’t get bored of you."

It’s a simple sentence, but it lands heavy. You can feel the weight of it settling in your chest, in the space between your ribs.

"You fall in love too fast," you whisper.

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "No. I just know when something’s real." His fingers brush against yours, barely there, a fleeting touch that could have been an accident—except it isn’t. "And this is real."

Your breath catches, and you hate that it does, hate that he sees it, that he hears it in the way your next inhale stutters slightly. You shake your head again, as if that might be enough to shake the feeling away.

"James."

"I’ll wait," he interrupts, voice steady. "If you need time, I’ll wait."

And that—that—is what truly unravels you. Because James Potter has never been the kind of person who waits. But here he is, standing in front of you, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them, telling you that for you, he would.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

||||

It continues over breakfast.

James slides into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee knocks against yours beneath the table. You go stiff, eyes flickering to the rest of the Marauders—Sirius lounging across from you with an infuriating smirk, Remus with his usual quiet amusement, Peter already half-distracted by his plate. None of them look surprised.

You force yourself to focus on your toast, even as James leans in, voice just loud enough for the people around you to hear. "You know, I’ve been thinking about it a lot," he muses, stealing a bit of bacon off your plate like he’s been doing it forever. "You and me, dove. I think we’d be good together."

The words send heat crawling up your neck, but you shake your head, exhaling sharply. "James." His name comes out tight, more exasperation than anything else, but it only makes him grin wider.

"I’m serious." The table falls silent, James winks. "I mean, I'm James, obviously, but I'm also serious."

"You're never serious," you counter, refusing to fall into his jokes, speaking barely above a whisper. You can't stand the eyes on you, sure the other boys are studying your every reaction to use for teasing material later.

"About you, I am."

There’s a clatter of silverware as Sirius dramatically drops his fork. "This again?" He sighs, loud and exaggerated. "Mate, just put her out of her misery and snog her already."

Your face burns, and you glare at him, but James only laughs, unfazed. "I would, but she insists I’m not actually interested," he says, as if the idea is absurd. As if he isn’t James Potter, the boy everyone watches when he walks into a room, the one people whisper about, the one who is certainly not looking at you.

You shake your head, barely resisting the urge to push your chair back and flee. "You’re making a scene."

"Good," James says, undeterred. "Maybe if I make a big enough one, you’ll actually believe me."

You swallow hard, trying not to let the words sink in. "Why me?" It slips out before you can stop it, quiet and unsure, but James hears it. Of course he does.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked onto yours like they hold all the answers. "Because you make me nervous," he admits, and that—that stops you cold.

James Potter doesn’t get nervous.

Certainly not now, not as he holds your gaze, eyes bright behind his glasses. He doesn't look nervous, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You ignore, of course, the way his hands clench the corner of his table, a possible tell for something lingering behind his blasse exterior.

"I think about you when I shouldn’t," he continues, softer now, like it’s just the two of you, even with everyone listening. "I look for you first when I walk into a room. I make up excuses to talk to you, even if it’s just to hear your voice." He tilts his head, like he’s studying you, like he’s waiting for you to finally see what he’s been trying to tell you all along. "So, yeah, I’d say I’m pretty well gone on you."

Your fingers curl around the edge of your sweater, gripping the fabric like it might hold you together. The weight of his words presses against you, sinking into the places you’ve tried to keep protected.

Despite the late night conversations with Lily, insisting this is a bad idea, you feel yourself faltering.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

You lower your gaze, shaking your head. "It’s not real," you murmur. "I'm far too intune with your jokes, Potter. I know a prank when I see one."

James exhales slowly, and you brace yourself for frustration, for exasperation, for him to finally get tired of proving himself.

But instead, his hand brushes against yours under the table—gentle, steady. "I’ll just have to keep proving it to you, then."

And Merlin help you, but you believe him.

||||

It’s late. The sky is painted with the last dregs of sunset, streaks of pink and orange fading into the deep blue of night. The Quidditch pitch is empty, save for the figure circling above you—James, of course, looping lazily through the air like he has all the time in the world.

You don’t know why you agreed to this.

Actually, you do. James had caught you in the common room, full of his usual bravado, promising that if you didn’t come to watch his practice, he’d just have to resort to desperate measures—like standing on the Gryffindor table at breakfast and declaring his undying love in front of everyone.

"I don’t think that’s an appropriate use of the word ‘desperate,’" you’d muttered, trying to focus on your book.

James had grinned, victorious, because you hadn’t said no.

So here you are, sitting on the grass at the edge of the pitch, hugging your knees to your chest, watching as he tilts into a steep dive, the wind roaring in his ears. You know he’s showing off, and you hate the way your stomach twists every time he pulls out of a particularly reckless maneuver, a little voice in the back of your head whispering what if he falls?

He doesn’t, of course. He’s James Potter.

And, as if sensing your gaze, he makes a final sharp turn and lands right in front of you, dismounting in one fluid motion.

"Enjoying the show?" he asks, pushing his hair out of his face, still grinning like he owns the world.

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming?" He waggles his brows, twirling his broom between his fingers. "Devastatingly handsome? The love of your life?"

You scoff, looking away. "You’re incorrigible."

"Big words. Pretty ones, too. Just say the word, dove, and I’ll let you tutor me sometime. Preferably in a secluded corner of the library where I can stare at your lips while you try to explain whatever it is you’re always scribbling in that notebook of yours."

Your heart stutters, and he knows it. You can see it in the way his grin softens, in the way his eyes flicker to your mouth like he’s imagining it now.

You force yourself to keep your voice steady. "You should go back to practice."

James hums, tapping his broom against his shoulder. "Nah. Think I’ve done enough."

He drops onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out like he plans to stay for a while. You shift, suddenly hyperaware of his presence, of the warmth radiating from his skin, of the way he turns to look at you like there’s no one else in the world.

"You ever been on a broom before?" he asks, and the casualness of his tone is almost convincing. Almost.

You frown, suspicious. "Once or twice."

"Good," he says, pushing himself back onto his feet before offering you a hand. "Because I think it’s time you take a ride with me."

Your stomach plummets. "James—"

"Come on," he urges, tilting his head. "One lap. You and me. Hold on tight and I’ll do the rest."

You hesitate, looking between him and the broom like it’s some kind of test. And maybe it is. Maybe this is just another one of his ploys, another attempt to break past the walls you’ve so carefully built.

But when you meet his eyes, there’s nothing mocking there, nothing insincere. Just that same infuriating patience, the same quiet certainty that he’s had all along.

And that’s what makes you reach for his hand.

James grins, pulling you to your feet, steadying you as he swings a leg over his broom before patting the space in front of him. "Come on, then," he murmurs, softer now. "I’ve got you."

You take a shaky breath and climb on.

James shifts closer, arms caging you in as his hands grip the broom handle just beside yours. You can feel his breath at the back of your neck, warm and steady. "See?" he murmurs, voice just below your ear. "Not so bad."

You barely have time to process it before he kicks off the ground, and suddenly, you’re soaring.

The wind bites at your skin, your stomach lurching as the world below shrinks. Your fingers clutch at the broom instinctively, knuckles white, but James—James is steady behind you, unshaken. His arms are firm on either side of you, his chest pressed close to your back, solid and warm.

"You’re alright," he murmurs, just beneath your ear. You can barely hear him over the rush of the wind, but you feel the words more than anything, sinking into your bones. "I’ve got you."

And you believe him. That’s the terrifying part.

James Potter is many things—brilliant, untouchable, unshakable—but he has never once let you fall.

You don’t let yourself think too hard about the weight of that.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling against the cold air whipping against your cheeks. "I hate this," you mutter, but your voice is breathless, betraying you.

James laughs, his chin brushing your shoulder as he dips the broom lower. "No, you don’t."

And you don’t. Not really. It’s just him. His hands over yours, the way he’s tucked close behind you like you matter. Like you belong there. The way his warmth is the only thing keeping the cold from settling in too deep.

It’s the way it always is with him.

He is warmth. He is light. He is James Potter, and he is everything you are not.

It clenches at something deep inside your chest, that awful, aching reminder—James is James.

You have seen him in every possible light, have watched the way rooms shift when he enters, how people gravitate to him without hesitation. He belongs in the center of things, his presence too big for the edges of the world where you reside. He is brilliant. A force of nature, undeniable, blindingly golden.

And you?

You are not the kind of girl James Potter should want.

You’re not the one who turns heads when she walks into a room, not the kind who pulls people into her orbit without trying. You’re not outgoing, not effortlessly charming. You hesitate where James leaps. You second-guess where he is certain. He is so sure of himself, of what he wants, and you—

You are not.

You are not sure that you are worth this. Not sure that you are worth him.

The thought makes your stomach twist, guilt curdling beneath your ribs. James deserves someone who can match his light, who can meet him where he stands, arms wide open, unafraid. He deserves someone who loves as fully as he does, someone who doesn’t hesitate before diving into the deep end. Someone who doesn’t hold back.

And that isn’t you.

You hesitate. You hold back.

And James—James loves so wholly, so recklessly, that the idea of disappointing him makes your throat tighten.

What if you ruin this? What if you let yourself believe him, let yourself reach for him, and it’s a mistake? What if he changes his mind? What if you lose him entirely?

What if losing him this way—bit by bit, in small moments, in long glances and whispered confessions—is still easier than losing him all at once?

"Oi, stop thinking so hard."

James’s voice pulls you back, warm and teasing, his arms tightening just slightly around you.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "I wasn’t—"

"You were," he says, and somehow, it isn’t an accusation. Just an observation, a knowing smile in his voice. He dips the broom slightly, letting it glide through the air with ease, smooth and effortless. "You always do, love."

Love.

It’s an accident, probably. A slip of the tongue. A nothing sort of thing.

And yet it lodges in your chest like something sharp, something dangerous.

James shifts slightly behind you, the movement sending a fresh wave of warmth down your spine. His chin nearly brushes against your temple, his voice softer now. "Tell me what you’re thinking."

I think you are everything good in the world, and I am afraid to break it.

You wet your lips, staring out at the empty sky in front of you. "I think," you say, forcing your voice to stay even, "that I’d like to get back on the ground now."

James is quiet for a beat. Not in disappointment, not in frustration. Just quiet.

Then, finally, he sighs. "Alright, dove."

He guides the broom downward, slow and steady, easing you both toward the ground. His grip never falters, never shifts from where it anchors you. And when your feet touch solid earth again, when he swings off the broom and turns to face you, you brace yourself for something.

A quip. A knowing look. A playful shove to break the tension you refuse to name.

But James just watches you.

And then, softer than anything, he murmurs, "You know I’m not going anywhere, yeah?"

Your fingers curl into your sleeves, nails pressing into your palms. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

Because you don’t know that. You don’t know anything.

All you know is that James Potter is warm and bright and golden, and you are terrified of losing the only light keeping you awake.

So instead of answering, you muster a small, fleeting smile. "Goodnight, James."

And before he can say anything else, before you can let yourself falter any further, you turn and walk away.

||||

Weeks pass, and you're certain James has given up.

He's been ever-steady, a lingering presence just at the corner of your life. He's in classes, he's in the hallways, he's in your dreams.

You tell yourself it’s better this way. That the space between you is necessary, that the ache in your chest will dull with time. That James Potter is a passing thing, a bright light that was never meant to stay.

And yet—

He is still there.

Not pressing, not pushing, just... there.

You catch him watching you in class, the tilt of his head, the crease between his brows when you don’t meet his gaze. You hear his voice before you see him, laughter warm in the space between conversations, lingering at the edges of every room. When you pass him in the corridors, he falls into step beside you like he belongs there, like he always has. He nudges your shoulder in greeting, tosses a casual alright, love? into the air like it doesn’t set something alight inside you.

And it should feel different now. It should feel like he's given up. Should feel like he’s moved on, like he’s let you slip back into the background where you belong.

But it doesn’t.

Because James hasn’t given up.

He’s just waiting.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

So you do what you always do—you pretend not to notice. You fold your arms tighter across your chest when he looks at you too long, you take careful steps backward when he leans in too close, you laugh at all the wrong times just to keep the air light. You keep your head down, keep your hands to yourself, keep the walls steady.

You keep pretending.

But James Potter is not someone you can ignore forever.

It happens on an evening when the corridors are quieter than usual, the last rush of students fading toward the common rooms. You’re gathering your things from the library, stacking your books in your arms when you feel him before you see him.

"Alright, love?"

You don’t startle. His voice is too familiar for that. You just exhale slowly and turn. "James."

And there he is, leaning against the doorframe like he belongs there, like he’s been waiting for you to notice him.

You glance behind him, expecting to see Sirius, Remus, maybe Peter lingering somewhere close, but the corridor is empty. Just you and him and the silence between you.

He smiles, and it’s softer than usual. Less cocky, less playful—just James.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he says, tilting his head, watching you carefully.

You shift the books in your arms. "I haven’t."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Liar."

You inhale sharply, grip tightening around the covers. "James—"

"Just tell me," he says, stepping closer, voice quiet but steady. "Tell me what I did wrong."

Your breath catches in your throat. "What?"

"You won’t look at me anymore." His voice is gentle, but there’s something beneath it, something aching. "You barely talk to me unless you have to. You keep running, and I—" He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it."

You stare at him, heart pounding. "You didn’t do anything, James."

"Then why are you pushing me away?"

Because you can’t have this. Because you don’t deserve him. Because you’re terrified that if you let yourself believe him, if you let yourself want him, it will end in ruin.

Because James Potter is everything good in the world, and you are afraid you’ll break him.

"I just…" You swallow hard, throat tight, and shake your head. "You don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do."

James steps forward, and you don’t move away this time.

"Don’t you get it?" His voice is quiet but certain, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s already been decided. "I want to."

You can’t breathe.

His gaze searches yours, warm and steady, and for once, you don’t look away.

"You don’t have to want me back," he says, so gentle it makes your ribs ache. "But stop acting like I don’t mean it."

Your throat tightens.

You should push him away. You should tell him he’s wrong. That you aren’t worth this, that he should find someone who is.

But you can’t say any of it.

Because James Potter is looking at you like you matter. Like he’s already made his choice, like he’s just waiting for you to make yours.

And you don’t know how to do anything except want.

So you stand there, caught in the weight of it, in the warmth of him, in the unbearable truth of everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore.

And for the first time, you don’t walk away.

"I mean, Merlin. I've been chasing you for weeks. I can't sleep, I can hardly eat. The teams been ragging on me for playing like shit. I know, I'm a lot. I'm loud, I'm impulsive, I really don't deserve you. But give me a chance. I can prove I'm worth you dove."

You stare at him, throat tight, words stuck somewhere between your ribs.

James Potter, golden boy, brightest thing in any room, James fucking Potter—is standing in front of you, unraveled.

His shoulders are tense, fingers restless where they hover at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. His usual confidence—the easy charm, the practiced bravado—is nowhere to be found. This is him, stripped raw, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen.

And it terrifies you.

Because James is supposed to be sure. James is supposed to be steady, unwavering, untouchable. Not… this. Not standing here with his heart in his hands, waiting for you to decide whether or not you’ll break it.

"I know I'm not easy," he exhales, running a hand through his hair, making a mess of it like he always does when he’s too wound up. "I know I talk too much, and I think with my heart first, and I don’t always know when to stop—" He pauses, swallowing hard, eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something, some sign that you’re listening, that you hear him.

"I just—I keep thinking, maybe if I was different, if I was quieter, if I wasn’t so much, then maybe you’d let me have you." His voice is barely above a whisper now, raw and uneven. "But I don’t know how to be anything but this."

Your breath catches.

James Potter, who walks into every room like he owns it, who never seems to doubt himself for a second—doubts this. Doubts you.

And you hate it.

You hate that he’s standing here, picking himself apart like you’re something better, something higher than him, like he hasn’t been the brightest part of your world for years. Like he isn’t exactly the kind of person you should want, if only you weren’t so afraid.

"James," you whisper, and your voice wavers.

He exhales, shaking his head. "You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I just—" His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes darting away. "I love you, you know?"

The words punch the air from your lungs.

He says it like it’s easy, like it’s inevitable, like it’s just fact.

And maybe, for him, it is.

Maybe he’s known longer than you. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to see it, to believe it.

But you don’t know how to hold something like that.

Because James Potter is love without hesitation. He is all in, always. And you—

You don’t know how to be loved like that.

"I can’t," you whisper, barely choking the words out.

His face falls, just slightly, but he nods. "Okay."

"James—"

"It’s okay," he says again, and somehow, he’s still gentle, still trying to make this easier for you when it should be the other way around. "I just—needed you to know."

He takes a step back, and something inside you lurches, something instinctive, something that wants to reach for him, to tell him to wait.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So you let him go.

And it feels like ripping your own heart out.

James takes a step back. Then another.

And then he turns.

And walks away.

No hesitation, no lingering glance over his shoulder. Just leaving.

Something in your chest lurches, a sharp, ugly thing clawing its way up your throat, twisting through your ribs like vines tightening around fragile bone. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your temples, pressing against your skin like it’s trying to escape.

Your body knows before your mind does.

A breath—sharp, uneven—catches in your throat, and then you move.

Your legs stumble before they run, like your body is caught between hesitation and instinct, but once you start, you can’t stop.

Your feet hit the stone floor hard, the sound of them echoing too loud in the empty corridor. The air is thick, choking, like you’re running against a tide, pushing against something unseen but heavy. Your blood is thrumming, rushing beneath your skin, beating against the cage of your ribs like a desperate thing, like it knows—

You can’t let him leave.

"James."

His name rips from your throat, raw and desperate, but he doesn’t stop.

His pace quickens, and something inside you clenches, pulses. You chase after him, heart hammering against your ribs, breath coming too fast, too shallow. Your fingers twitch at your sides, reaching for him, but he’s always just out of reach.

"James, stop—"

He doesn’t.

It feels like drowning. Like something vital is slipping between your fingers, water rushing through a clenched fist, a slow-motion tragedy you can see but can’t stop.

The hall stretches before you, long and endless, and James is slipping further and further away.

Your throat is dry. Your chest burns. Your blood screams.

And then—

Then something breaks.

"James, please."

His steps falter.

It’s barely a moment, barely a hesitation, but it’s enough.

You push forward, lungs burning, body aching, and reach for him, finally catching his wrist. Your fingers curl around his pulse, warm and alive, and the contact sends a shock through your bones, something deep and primal, something that roots you.

He stills.

His back is to you, shoulders tense beneath his sweater, and you can feel the way he’s holding himself together, like one wrong move might shatter him entirely.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t know.

Only that his skin is warm, and his pulse is steady beneath your fingers, and that if you let go now, you’ll never forgive yourself.

So you don’t.

You swallow hard, pressing your fingertips against the inside of his wrist, feeling the blood rushing beneath his skin, proof of him, of his existence, of this.

"James," you whisper, softer now.

His breath shudders. You feel it, more than you hear it.

"I—" Your voice wavers, words tangled between your ribs, a mess of longing and fear and want want want.

He turns.

Slowly, like he’s afraid to look at you, like he’s bracing for something he doesn’t want to hear.

And you—

You break.

Because he’s right there.

James Potter, with his flushed cheeks and furrowed brows and parted lips, looking at you like he doesn’t know whether to hope or to hurt.

Like he’s trying not to need.

Like you aren’t already his.

Your throat is too tight, your heart hammering against your ribs, your hands shaking. You feel it in every inch of your body, the pull of something inevitable, something larger than just want.

James swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"Don’t do this if you don’t mean it."

The words are careful, controlled, but his eyes—

His eyes burn.

And you think—blood is not the only thing that keeps a body alive.

It’s this.

This ache, this yearning, this thing between you that has always been reaching, always been growing, always been something you were too afraid to name.

And now, here you are, standing on the edge of it, the weight of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, the shape of his name forming behind your teeth, and—

You take a breath.

And fall.

||||

It settles into your bones like warmth after winter.

Loving James.

It doesn’t strike like lightning, doesn’t drown like a flood. It seeps in slow, curling around your ribs, pouring into the hollow spaces of your chest like honey pooling in a jar—thick, golden, steady.

You feel it in the quiet moments, in the small things.

The way his fingers find yours beneath the breakfast table, tracing soft, lazy patterns against your palm. The way he grins into your neck when he wakes up, nuzzling into you like he’s still half-dreaming, like even unconscious, you’re the thing he wants most. The way he tugs at the hem of your sweater when you’re standing too far away, like he’s anchoring himself to you, like if he lets go, he’ll drift.

James loves the way the sun rises—slow and inevitable, golden in the way that means something—and you think, maybe, that’s how he loves you too.

He is warmth, always. Even in the dead of winter, even when the castle corridors are drafty and cold, even when you’re tucked beneath layers of blankets, your feet still frozen from the stone floors—James is warm.

And you drink him in like a starved thing, like a flower turning toward the sun, like a body that has been aching for heat its entire life.

"You’re staring," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, arm slung heavy across your waist.

You hum, tucked beneath the covers, fingers drifting absently over the plane of his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your palm, rhythmic, lulling. You press your fingers there, curling them just slightly, like you could dig past skin and muscle, past blood and bone, past everything solid and reach the grotesque, beating heart of him.

As if you don’t already have it.

James exhales, tilting his head slightly to meet your gaze, eyes still heavy-lidded, hazy with sleep. His lips curve, slow and lazy, a smile meant only for you.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, and it isn’t a question.

You feel it in your bones. In the honey-thick heat of his body, in the quiet of the early morning, in the way your heart swells and swells and swells.

"Yeah," you whisper. "I am."

James hums, pleased, and tucks you closer, pressing his lips against your hair.

And you let yourself sink into it.

The warmth. The ease.

The love.

Like honey. Like sunlight. Like something that has always, always been yours.

[nakylvr]

— ALL THE THINGS I NEVER SAID

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary જ⁀➴ you've had a crush on sophia for a while now. on the week before valentine's day you write a letter confessing your love to her, but hide it away. until one of your friends finds it and gives it to her on valentine's day without you knowing.

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, college!au, mild language

wc જ⁀➴ 2,4 k

you were a person with a lot of thoughts. a lot of words left unsaid because they weren't important or you didn't have the confidence to say it out loud. you were quiet, you didn't have a big group of friends, but you had the ones that counted. you weren't exactly seen in classes unless you answered a question and then the moment would pass and you would be forgotten again. but, you didn't mind it a whole lot.

valentines day was one of the most obnoxious days in the year. at school, at least. you thought once high school was over that it would tone down but no, it got worse if anything. you’d have to sit through multiple classes of boyfriends coming in and asking their girlfriends out on dates, you’d have to deal with girls giggling about what their boyfriends did for them for the holiday, shit, you even had to sit through your roommate being serenaded by her girlfriend first thing this morning. you weren't big on the holiday. what was the point if you didn't have someone to celebrate it with?

and as much as you would hate to admit it, you hated missing out.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you didn’t have crushes on a lot of people. a few here and there throughout the years, but none of them went farther than admiring from afar. you never confessed, too afraid of it backfiring and ending in a mess. and it was the same this year.

sophia laforteza, aka the girl so far out of your league that you would rather die than admit your feelings for the girl. you had spoken to her a few times with you being in technical theatre and her being the star of all the musicals and plays alike, and you ended up falling for her. her warm smile, her sweet voice, her beautiful eyes. it was hard not to. especially once you saw just how many people were pining for her.

you walked into the theatre with your binder in your arms filled with all the things you needed to get finished before rehearsal for “romeo and juliet”. could you guess who juliet was? pretty easy. but it still surprised you when you saw sophia sitting on the edge of the stage looking at papers in her hands as the door shut loudly behind you.

sophia’s head perks up upon hearing the door close, and a smile grows on her face at the sight of you. “sorry, i didn't think anyone would be coming in this period,” she says apologetically.

you could feel your heart skip a beat just at the sight of her smile towards you, feeling your anxiety creeping up the closer you approached the stage clutching the binder in your hands like a lifeline. “oh, it's okay!” you assure quickly, shaking your head. “i’m usually in here during free periods when a show is coming up. there's a lot to get situated.”

“i’m sure.” sophia nods, setting the papers down next to her and crossing her leg over the other. “you do a lot of work in tech, don't you?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“uh, well, i guess you could say that,” you respond shyly with a short nod. this was the longest you've held a conversation with sophia without one of you being dragged off, and you didn't know what to do. “but, i mean, you do a lot too. i’m sure memorizing all the lines and stuff is hard.”

sophia just shrugs her shoulders lightly. “i guess, but it's nothing technical, literally, like you do. i may be the one on stage, but you're the one who lights me up.” she smiles at you, not a hint of hesitation in her voice as she talks.

“well when you put it that way…” you mumble, glancing down at the ground. your face is heating up the longer you feel her gaze on you, your heart practically beating out of your chest. when you finally meet her eyes again, you quickly look away again. “i uh i need to get some things done before rehearsal today so uhm, yeah,” you manage to say. “you can stay though! or do whatever it was you were doing! i don't mind!” you quickly add, not wanting her to think you were kicking her out.

the giggle that comes from sophia makes your face turn redder than it already was as she smiles at you. “if you don't mind me talking to myself repeating the same lines over and over again, i’ll stay.”

“i don't.” you shake your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

a moment of silence fills the large theatre before you clear your throat and make your way to behind the stage, scurrying off like a scared cat having a showdown with another. once you were behind the stage and sophia was out of your line of sight, you let out a sigh of relief as you set your binder down on the table with a thud. running a hand through your hair, you started to get things ready.

you heard a few people talking about thirty minutes into you doing your work, leaving you confused as you overheard a few things. but, you tried not to think of it too much. that was, until a ginger-haired girl crashed into the back room, literally.

“megan! jesus christ!”

you stare at the scene in front of you, wires in your hands that you were trying to set up for the lighting as sophia rushes in after the ginger.

“holy crap! there's all this shit back here?”

“megan!” sophia grabs megan by her arm, yanking her up off the ground before her eyes land on you. “i’m sorry! my friends wanted to help with my lines. i told them not to come back here.” she shoots a look at megan who puts her palms together.

“i’m sorry! please don't kill me, pretty theatre tech lady!” megan apologizes immediately.

“what?” you let out in surprise, your face turning red.

“it's her words, not mine!” megan continues.

“and we're leaving!” sophia smiles, but her eyes are wide with an emotion you couldn't recognize as she then drags megan back out onto the stage.

what the fuck was that. you stand there frozen for a few minutes trying to process what just happened, hearing the faint voices assumingly yelling from you being able to distinguish a few of the voices. shaking your head, you quickly finish what you were doing before going to your bag.

searching through your bag, your eyes widen when you realize something is missing.

every time you had a crush, you wrote a letter. it was the easiest way to express everything you were feeling rather than mess it up by not knowing what to say at the moment. you poured your heart out into every one you wrote, and it was only a few.

so when the letter you had in your bag is now gone, you obviously were going to freak out.

“shit, shit, shit,” you curse, pulling items out of your bag to see if it was at the bottom or in another part of it only to find it nowhere. “oh my god…” you mumble quietly.

and then, you remembered something. your best friend, danielle, had asked to look in your bag for a spare piece of paper, and you were too busy doing something else that you didn't even notice she never took paper. she probably took the letter.

grabbing your phone you call her, waiting a minute until she picks up.

“yn? what's up?”

“did you take the fucking letter?” you angrily ask quietly.

“what letter?”

“don't even right now!” you try to keep yourself from yelling, knowing that sophia and her friends were still out there. “did you take it?”

“maybe. you needed a push! i’m that push! i’ll give it to her after rehearsal. i know you signed it so it won't be weird.”

“oh my god, danielle, what the fuck?” you sigh dramatically. “this is insane!”

“no, it's me being an amazing friend and getting you a girlfriend!”

“it's not going to work! it never does!” you say, your voice getting louder without noticing.

“because you don't try! trust me, this will work.”

you didn't even respond, just hanging up instead and setting your phone down. letting out a loud sigh, you put your face in your hands.

“i’m doomed.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

rehearsal went well. or, you assumed it did, seeing as no one texted you saying things were going wrong. you couldn't even show up. not when you knew danielle would give sophia your note at the end of the day.

you sat at the bleachers of the field, looking at your phone with your headphones on, not paying attention to anything else around you. you tried to keep your mind off what was probably going to go down tomorrow. word will probably go around, you’ll end up rejected, and you’ll move schools as a result. you knew it was a dumb idea to write the letter in the first place, but to be fair, you were never going to give it to her! it just had to be danielle to take matters into her own hands. for your sake. little did you know just what had happened after the rehearsal, or how the day would finish.

feeling a light tap on your shoulder, you jump, turning your head and sliding your headphones off to see sophia standing there, making your heart drop to your stomach.

“oh, h-hey!” you mentally curse at yourself for stuttering right off the bat.

“you weren't at rehearsal today,” sophia says, sitting down next to you.

“yeah, i got caught up in some stuff,” you lie, looking away from her.

“not because of the letter?” she asks.

your heart is beating so fast you think you're going to pass out in a minute or the next at her question. you don't even know if you're breathing at this point. you can't even think of how to respond.

sophia hesitantly reaches her hand towards yours, gently grabbing ahold of it, causing you to slowly look at her and see the small smile on her face.

“you didn't want danielle to give it to me, did you?”

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head. “i-i didn't want you to have it anyway.”

“why?” her expression turns confused, eyebrows furrowed together.

“because i knew you wouldn't like me too,” you mumble quietly.

“you thought i don't?” sophia asks you, her eyes softening once realizing you were serious.

“i mean, yeah.” your voice gets quieter. “i thought you didn't even know i existed until this play.”

sophia hums and nods her head. “i guess i was pretty bad about it at first. but i saw how much work you put into phantom that i kept trying to get a part even if i didn't really want it. i just wanted to see you, even if i was just awkwardly staring from afar and messing up my lines multiple times,” she admits, letting out a short laugh. “i read your letter, and i thought it was really sweet. you have a way with words, y’know. and i’m glad danielle gave it to me, because it made this whole thing a lot easier. i really like you, yn.”

“what?” you accidentally say. to say you're shocked would be an understatement, because you weren't even believing the words that left sophia’s mouth. “are you serious?” you question.

“yeah,” she answers with a nod.

there's a short silence then, as you try to come up with what to say. you couldn't find any words. thankfully for you, sophia speaks up.

“can i kiss you?”

your eyes widen subtly in surprise, and you ultimately nod your head, not trusting your voice. sophia’s other hand cups your jaw as she slowly leans in before softly pressing her lips against yours. the kiss is slow, almost hesitant with both of you not wanting to push it too much, and when she pulls back, her smile is wide and she giggles at the dazed expression on your face.

“you're so cute,” she says fondly, her thumb wiping off a bit of the lip gloss that transferred from her lips to yours. “are you doing anything tonight?”

“no.” you shake your head.

“then be ready by six, and wear something nice,” she tells you, her smile widening. “i’ll be waiting outside your dorm.”

“how do you know where my dorm is?” you ask, looking at her confused.

“your roommate kazuha is my friend daniela’s girlfriend. i was told how irritated you looked when she and megan showed up this morning," sophia answers.

“oh my god.” you shake your head. “okay well, i’ll make sure to be ready.” you smile at her.

“good, cause i don't want to be waiting outside in the hallway all night.” sophia stands up, still holding onto your hand. “you don't mind if i keep the letter, do you?”

“huh?” you look up at her. “uh, no. why would you want to keep it, though?” you ask.

“like i said, it was really sweet. i want to remember it,” she answers like it was nothing. “promise you’ll meet me at six?”

“yeah, i promise.” you nod, trying to ignore her answer to your question. “as long as you don't kidnap me.”

“you think that low of me?” sophia gasps dramatically, acting hurt. “all i’m doing is taking you to a nice dinner, nothing more! unless you want to–”

“okay!” you cut her off, laughing. “i’ll be ready, i swear.”

“you better.” sophia leans down, kissing your cheek. “i’m really glad today turned out this way.”

“me too,” you respond quietly.

“i’ll see you later, pretty.” sophia smiles, pecking your lips before walking away.

watching her walk away, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, missing the warmth from her lips on yours and her hand holding yours. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you take it out you shake your head. “loser,” you mumble under your breath reading what danielle sent you.

you hated to admit it, but you were happy with how things went today, even if it wasn't how you originally planned it to be. it went better than you expected, and you were thankful for that. even if it was because your best friend stole your letter and gave it out. but you would never say that out loud.

[auvrorsa]

if i didn't know better - r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x ex!reader

warnings: death of a child, grief counselling

prompt: two estranged lovers join the same support group. this is the first meeting.‍

author's note: this is my first time writing fanfic so pls be kind!!

It's been exactly six months since your daughter passed away.

It's been exactly five months and thirteen days since you had last left your house, until now. Here you stand, like a fish out of water, outside the community centre that holds the grief support group once a fortnight.

It's taken all this time for your friends to manage to convince you to at least try it out. That's the only reason you're here. You didn't believe in any of this therapy shit, but you promised them you would try.

Taking a deep breath, you step inside the building. Now or never.

The room is heavy and you find yourself overwhelmed. This is too much. Too soon, You think to yourself. Just as you turn to leave, someone who you assume is the leader of the group announces it's time to start.

It's busier than you thought it would be, you think as you all take your places in the school chairs that have been placed in a circle. There must be at least twenty-five people here, including yourself. It almost makes you feel less alone.

"Hi everybody, my name is Linda and I'll be hosting this weeks' support group," the woman introduces herself. She must be in her sixties. She has dark brown hair that sits in ringlets and her skin looks almost sun-kissed. You notice that she has soft wrinkles from smiling, although there's no sight of a smile when you look at her today. Immediately, you recognise her as one of your own. You may not know Linda, but it's obvious to anyone who has experienced loss that this woman has been there too.

She continues, pulling you away from your observation. "I wanted to start this session off by saying thank you. Thank you for trusting me and everyone around you with this and thank you for coming. I hope that you all are able to find some semblance of peace after your time here."

Everyone acknowledges her statement with a nod. You swear you even hear a sniffle from across the circle.

"To start off with, we're going to be-" Linda is interrupted by the door bursting open.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I, uh-traffic was a bitch."

Your head immediately snaps up. You would know that voice anywhere. After all, you have spent the best part of your life in love with it and the person who owns it. Sure enough, your eyes lock onto the father of your daughter.

Rafe Cameron.

Seeing him here threw you through a loop. Of course, Poppy was his daughter too but… Rafe had never exactly been the type of person to sit down and talk about his emotions. It's partly why you two ended. That and losing Poppy. Neither of you were the same, you never would be. Your daughter had taught the pair of you the most valuable of lessons and now she was just… gone. It was cruel. Soon enough, you started arguing and he started staying out late drinking with his friends. In the end, you both realised you needed to separate. You both reminded one another of what you had lost and what you could never get back.

He breaths out your name, breaking you out of your stunned daze.

Linda looked between the pair of you, clearly confused. "Thank you for joining us, Rafe. It is so lovely to have you here. Do you two… know each other?"

Rafe looks at you for a second, trying to determine whether or not to open up the bag that you've both spent the past six months trying to close. He must see something on your face because he shakes his head, "Not really, just both from the same side of town."

"Oh, okay. Anyways, take a seat and we'll get started," Linda says with a warm smile on her face.

Once Rafe takes the last seat, which just so happens to be directly opposite you because of course it is, Linda explains how the session is going to work. Starting with herself, she will introduce herself with a fun fact about herself and then explain why she's here.

"Hi everybody. My name is Linda and I also teach yoga outside of this group. I'm here today because almost five years ago, I lost my husband of thirty-one years to a heart attack."

After Linda, the person to her right introduces herself and so on. It's mainly people who have lost their grandparents or parents. You feel eyes on you and immediately know who it is. When you meet Rafe's gaze, you know you're both thinking the same thing. You're both thinking about how unfair it all is.

Maybe that makes you both horrible people but it's what grief does to you. It takes the person you once were and tears you apart, right through the middle, until you're nothing but a scrap piece of paper.

When it gets to your turn, you're shaking. Somehow, you manage to stand up.

You begin by introducing yourself, "I don't really, uh, have any cool facts about myself. I'm here today because six months ago today I, uh," tears well in your eyes. "I lost my daughter. She, uh, had an allergic reaction at her friends house and she- she didn't have anything to help her." You look at Rafe, seeking that same source of strength from him that you always have, but find nothing. He's simply staring back at you with tears rolling down his own face. The pair of you must be a mirror of each other.

Linda hands you a box of tissues and apologises to you quietly whilst the next person takes their turn.

Eventually, it's Rafe's turn. He rubs his hands on his jeans as he stands.

"Hi guys. My name is Rafe. The coolest thing about me is that I was Poppy's dad. And that's why I'm here today. Because I'm nobody now that she's gone." That's all he says before he sits back down and once again looks at you. A silent conversation being had with just your eyes.

I'm sorry, you say. Me too, he replies.

You both stay like that whilst the rest of the group takes their turns. Simply staring at each other, tears in both your eyes.

Finally, Linda's voice brings you back to reality, announcing that the session is over. You and Rafe stand at the same time and slowly walk over to the door.

Once you both get outside, you head towards the car park. As fate would have it, you find that Rafe has parked next to you. Of course he has.

"This is me," you explain, waving your thumb in the direction of your car. "I know. I remember," is all he says.

Rafe turns towards his own car. He has his hand on the handle when he stops and turns his head towards you. "I miss her. Every single day."

You physically feel your heart crack even more at the crack in his voice.

With tears rolling down your eyes, you reply. "I know, Rafe. So do I."

The next thing you know, Rafe's strong arms are wrapped around you. This is the closest you two have been since you broke up and fuck have you missed it.

"I'm so sorry. It was my job to protect her and I didn't-"

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence, "No. No. We did everything we could and- fuck, no one could have protected her from that."

He holds you for what feels like hours, until your sobs turn into mere sniffles.

Pulling back slightly so he can look down at you, "Are you sure you're okay to drive yourself home?"

"I- uh- I should be. Thank you, though."

"Always. Text me when you get home."

You nod softly at him as you get into your car.

When you get home, you pull up Rafe's contact on your phone.

YOU: home.

He reads it almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for your text.

Rafe: good. Rafe: i'll see you at the next meeting.

[knitmeatardis]

Making Up for Lost Time

I can't believe I am actually posting this, but you all have given me such lovely Hotch x reader fics, I felt the need to add my own contribution. I do not usually write this kind of thing, usually slash all the way, but here we are. For my favorite Hotch smut dealer @aureatelys

Words: ~6.9K; Rating: 18+; Aaron Hotchner x fem bau!librarian!reader

Warnings: safe p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), canon typical violence, reader is being stalked and threatened, smut, no use of y/n

There’s a certain anonymity involved in being the research librarian for the BAU. No one really takes notice of you, and you assume no one even knows your name, while you get to watch and observe everyone and get to know them from afar. Spencer and Derek, messing with each other like brothers. Emily, so assured and beautiful, confident in everything she does, especially the way she moves. JJ, open and warm despite the daily horrors she deals with. Rossi, the pater familia of the whole crew. Garcia is the only one you have any real rapport with, but she spends so much time in her cave that you rarely see her.

The only one you can’t get a read on is Hotch. In fact, you only know he goes by Hotch because that’s how you hear the rest of the team refer to him. You know he has a son and his ex-wife was killed. You know he’s often the first one here and the last one to leave. But his stern expression never really seems to change. He’s always polite to you, nodding his thanks when you bring the files he needs, but rarely speaks. 

So it is all a bit of a shock when JJ stops me in the hallway. “Hey,” she greets you, but her face is pinched, worried. “We need you in the conference room.”

“Me?” you blanch, frozen to the spot.

“Yes. You. Right now,” JJ says, taking files out of your arms and walking quickly toward the conference room. 

You follow in her wake, feeling like a bug under a microscope when you enter behind JJ and everyone’s eyes turn to look at you. It may be the first time most of them have ever really seen you. 

Hotch stands behind a chair and looks at you. He pats it. “Sit, please.” 

His voice is gentle, soft, almost apologetic. He offers his hand to you to guide me into a chair. His touch makes a strange flutter go through your body but with the way everyone is acting, it’s too hard to focus on it. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm,” Hotch says, looking at the screen and pressing a button, “that these pictures are of you.” 

The screen fills with pictures of you outside your apartment, outside the grocery store, on the Metro on the way to work, and most alarmingly, through the curtains into your bedroom while you were undressing. Your blood runs cold. You clear your throat. “Yes. Those – those are all of me. What’s – I’ve never seen anyone…”

“These photos were sent to the bureau,” Hotch explains. “To me, specifically. It’s obviously a threat of some kind, but it isn’t clear exactly what’s going on.”

“Who else knows you work here?” Rossi asks. 

“I mean, lots of people know I work for the FBI. It’s on all of my forms and employment records. Friends and family. But only my immediate family knows I work with the BAU. I don’t discuss it with anyone. Not anyone.”  You can feel your heart racing and your stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

You can feel Emily following you as you run for the ladies’ room. She’s waiting near the sink with a wet paper towel as you finish vomiting. You’re shaking violently and it feels like your legs are going to go out from under you.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she reassures you, pressing the towel to your forehead. “Do you think you can come back to the conference room and listen to the plan?” 

You nod and follow Emily back to the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, leaving just Hotch and you and the pictures up on the screen. You can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to them. Emily puts her hand on your shoulder for a moment and then leaves us alone. Hotch reaches over and turns off the television. 

“I know this is distressing –” 

“Why you?” you ask suddenly. “We’re not close. I’m not a regular member of the team. You’re only nominally my boss. I mean, technically I report to you but I spend more of my time reporting to the other librarians. We barely speak.”

Hotch’s brow draws together as he looks at you. “That’s a good question. We think that whoever this is has cast me in the role of protector and he has chosen you as the object of his delusion. He wants to draw me out for a confrontation.”

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“We’re going to give him what he wants,” Hotch says, putting his hand over yours.

….

The next several hours are a blur. The team stash you in Garcia’s lair, deep inside the bureau and away from any windows. Garcia arms you with several of her comfort tokens to keep you safe. As soon as the team is ready, you’re shuffled down to the garage and into the back of an SUV. Hotch sits next to you while Morgan drives, Prentiss next to him.

“Once we get surveillance on your apartment set up,” Hotch says to you, “I’ll take the first watch. He’s going to want to see me protecting you.”

“I understand.” Of course he’s watching you. That’s what the photographs were all about. Making sure you knew that he could see you but you couldn’t see him. “And if there’s anything I need, I should call you.” 

“Right,” Hotch says. He’s gone over all of the protocols with you several times, but he seems to understand that you repeating them is your way of dealing with your anxiety. “Agent Morgan will be walking the perimeter as well.” 

You nod, looking out the window at the scenery without really seeing it. When you get to your apartment, Hotch keeps his arm tight around you as Morgan and Prentiss lead and take up the rear, respectively. Despite the circumstances, something about the way he’s holding you makes a little thrill go down your spine. 

The three of them are efficient, almost brutally so. You want to laugh and cry at how comfortable they are with setting up this kind of surveillance. They barely even have to talk while they’re doing it. Still, it’s getting dark by the time they’re done. 

“I can only imagine how invasive this feels,” Hotch says, his voice gentle as he sits next to you on the sofa. “As much as possible tonight, go about your normal routine. In the morning, one of us will pick you up for work.” 

“Normal routine,” you huff. “At the moment, I can barely think of what that is.” 

“Well. I know when I get home, I like to take off my tie, maybe fix myself a drink.” Hotch gives you a small smile. “Just close your eyes a second. Think about what you’d be doing if none of us were here.” 

Obediently, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The first thing I do is change into my pajamas and fix myself something for dinner, I guess. I’m pretty domesticated and boring.” 

“There’s nothing boring about having a normal life,” Hotch says. “We’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“C’mon,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a smirk. “It’s Hotch.” 

“Hotch,” you say with a small smile. 

….

You try not to think about the microphones and cameras around the apartment as you go through the motions of eating something and watching television. You work on some craft projects, not really paying attention to any of it. You keep listening for someone outside or trying to come into the apartment. Finally you give up and get into bed, but all you can do is toss and turn. 

You contemplate picking up the phone and talking to Hotch, but you don’t want to distract him. On the other hand, he did say to reach out if you needed anything. And all you really want to do is sleep. You cave in, too exhausted to care about seeming weak or needy. You pick up the phone and call him.

“Hey. You alright?” Hotch answers immediately.

“I’m fine.” You huff. “I just can’t sleep. I keep listening for someone to come in.” 

“That’s not going to happen. I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and certain. It feels warm. “Would it help if we talked?” 

“Agent Morgan can’t hear us, can he?” 

“No, he can’t hear us. Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you know. I’m just staring up at my ceiling thinking about some random guy out there who wants to maybe kill me or kill you or both, so not much really. What’s going on with you?” 

Hotch chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m just sitting outside a nice woman’s apartment trying to make sure that no one hurts her. So not a lot going on here, either.” 

That startles a real laugh out of you. “So yeah, boring.” 

“All totally normal.” Hotch smiles to himself. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “How long have you been at the FBI?” 

“You already know the answer to that,” you say. “You hired me.” 

“So? Tell me again.” 

“I’ve been a librarian at the Bureau for about five years,” you say. “After I got my masters in library science from Georgetown. I never thought that a librarian would be needed for something like the BAU, but once I started working with the unit, I loved it.” 

Hotch leans back in his seat, looking at my apartment, imagining you laying in bed on the phone. “That’s not something I hear very often.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of burnout,” you say. “And if I was an agent, I’m not sure I could hack it. But when you all come home and you’ve saved someone or brought someone to justice, I get to feel like a little tiny part of that. It’s not a bad feeling.” 

“I probably don’t say it enough, but we value your help. We couldn’t research everything we need to on our own.”

“Of course not. You need to get your boots on the ground. I know that,” you say. You pause, worrying at your lower lip. “Before today, though, I couldn’t be sure any of you even knew my name.” 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I know your name. I’ve always known it.” He clears his throat. “We’ve always known it.” 

“Thanks, Hotch,” you say softly. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, just as soft. “How are you feeling now? A little less anxious?”

“A little, yes. Thank you, Hotch.” You smile into the darkness. “Your voice is very soothing. And, forget I said that because that’s just embarrassing.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hotch isn’t able to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m glad I can help. Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you say to him. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

He clears his throat again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.” 

….

You’re groggy and grumpy and still in your pajamas when Hotch calls you from outside your front door. You check the peephole like he instructed and then let him in. 

“Good morning,” he says softly, holding out a cup of coffee to stall any protests. 

All you can do is grunt and accept the cup, taking a long sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you take it. You look at Hotch, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Give me five minutes to fix my hair and put clothes on,” you say to him, turning away back toward your bedroom.

“You have at least ten,” he says, looking around your front room. You try to imagine what he’s seeing and the conclusions he’s drawing as he looks over your family photos, nerdy collectibles, books, and stuffed animals. You brush your hair and throw on some lipstick, thanking your past self for having your closet organized in such a way that makes it easy to pick something out and put it on. 

You emerge from the bedroom, put together and ready to go. “Told you I only needed five,” you say, pushing your hair off my face. 

There’s a moment when he looks at you that something surprised and interested crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with his patented professional stoicism. “Let’s go, then,” he says, holding an arm out to usher you ahead of him as he opens the door. Hotch escorts you down to street level. There’s an agent you don’t know driving as Hotch helps you into the backseat.

“I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment all the time now,” you say lightly to him as he joins you. 

Hotch smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just settles into the seat next to you. This drive is less anxious than the one the previous day, even though you’re still mostly looking out the window. Hotch is a solid, calming presence next to you. 

“You’re so gentle,” you say out of nowhere, immediately blushing. “Sorry. I was just – I’ve seen you during briefings and with the team and you’re direct. Concise. I wasn’t expecting you to be so warm with me. Encouraging and solicitous.” You shake your head. 

Hotch nods in acknowledgement. “Not everyone gets to see that side of me. It’s usually when bad things happen.” He glances at you. “I’m working on it.” 

“Well, just know that I appreciate it,” you tell him, putting your hand lightly on top of his. There’s a small tinge of red across his cheeks, but he slips his hand out from under yours quickly enough that you think you might have imagined it. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. 

When you get to Quantico and up to the 6th floor, Hotch walks you to your office. “While you’re in the building, you can move around freely. But if you have to go outside for anything, get one of us and we’ll walk you.” 

You take a steadying breath and nod. “I will. Thank you.”

He puts a soft hand on your elbow. “This isn’t going to be forever. We’ll find him. I promise.” 

“I believe you,” you say, offering him whatever kind of smile you can manage. He nods at you and drops his hand, heading away as you go into my office. Without his hand on your arm, you feel suddenly cold, but you try to shake it off and concentrate on your work. You can already see that the messages light on your phone is blinking. 

Trying to recapture some sense of normalcy, you sit at your desk and check your email, looking to see if there’s anything urgent that needs attending to. Then you start with your voicemail. The first ten messages are normal, mundane, then there’s the last one. All it contains is a long exhale and then a low laugh before he says, “I see you have your knight in shining armor giving you rides, walking you into the building. That’s good. It’ll be all the easier to kill you both.”

Your blood runs cold, but you manage to hit save on the voicemail system. Your fingers are numb when you pick up the phone and call Hotch’s extension. It feels like seconds between when you hang up and when he’s there in your office. Penelope has already pulled the voicemail off the servers and saved it to her own system, but he wants to hear it for himself. It’s somehow more disturbing the second time through. When you look up at Hotch, his lips are pressed into a hard, thin line. 

“Does he sound familiar to you?” he asks you. 

“No. But I talk to a lot of people when I’m processing requests. Everyone starts to sound the same after a bit.” 

“He sounds familiar to me.” He frowns and crosses his arms. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll tell you,” Hotch promises, looking you in the eyes before he leaves. 

You feel like you’re at loose ends, not at all sure what to do with yourself. You start to work on requests and email, but your attention keeps drifting away. Every time your phone rings you think it’s going to be him again, taunting you. Eventually you turn off the ringer and turn to stare into space, until Hotch returns.

“Anything?” you ask, looking up at him. 

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. Penelope is working on it.” Hotch takes a deep breath. “Are you okay back here? I could find a desk for you in the bullpen.”

“I’m fine. I can’t really concentrate, so not much is getting done. But I’m alright.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll make sure someone picks up the slack for you,” he says. 

“Hotch, isn’t it safer if I stay at home?” You look at him with wide eyes. “I was hoping that work would be a distraction, but that doesn’t seem to be working out so much.”

“Now that we have confirmation that the threat is to both of us, it’s better to keep you close.” He twitches an eyebrow. “I��ll get Garcia to set you up with some games on your computer.”

You chuckle and duck your head. “Thank you. I’m going to owe you so hard after all of this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is what we do for our own.” Hotch lingers in the doorway for a moment and then leaves. 

….

Nothing happens the rest of the day except that you have a new obsession with video games thanks to Penelope. Hotch again rides with you to your apartment, promising to take the first watch again. 

“Hotch, you should go home. I know you have a son. You don’t have to spend another night watching over me when you can go be with him.”

“Jack is on a trip with his aunt and cousins,” he says, ducking his head. “Which is good because since this unsub wants to kill me, too, I’d have to stay away from him anyway.” Hotch looks back at you. “I’d rather stay where I can get to you if I have to.” 

There’s something in his voice, something beyond his professional concern, but it’s too quick to identify. “Okay. Good night, then. If I can’t sleep…”

“Just call me.” He smiles softly. “I’ll be here.” 

Once again you try to go about my evening routine and after you try to go to sleep. When once again you can’t, you talk to Hotch. This time you’re on the phone for almost half an hour before you start yawning and he tells me to go to bed. 

The morning is a repeat of the previous day except there’s no creepy voicemail today. Feeling a little more like you’re on solid ground, you start working. The requests have piled up, despite the help you’re getting from other librarians, so you dig in. Once you generate a list of materials to pull, you head to the archives. 

The stacks are comforting and quiet as they surround you. The smell of paper files is familiar and strangely soothing. You start working through your list, putting files in carts and organizing them per request. You don’t even hear the footsteps as someone comes up behind you. 

“Good morning.”

You jump and whirl, barely biting back a scream. “Jesus! Sean! You scared the shit out of me.” You laugh a little, pushing your hair off your face. “Sorry. Just a little on edge today.” 

Sean looks you over. “That’s what happens when your white knight leaves you alone to fend for yourself.”

That’s when you see the gun. Your eyes go wide, but before you can ask any questions, he pulls you to him, your back pressing against him, the barrel of the gun pressed into your side. 

“Shh, shh, your part in this little drama is almost over. Don’t worry. I’ll kill you quickly. Come on. We have to go see your knight.” 

Sean walks you through the hallways, managing to keep the gun concealed. No one really looks at you, too absorbed in their own tasks to notice. When he pushes you into the bullpen, no one even looks up. 

“They don’t even see you. They don’t care,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s a tragedy. So I am going to make sure that they never, ever forget you. Go on. Get their attention.” 

“A-Agent Hotchner!” you call out. Everyone’s heads turn and in an instant he appears at the top of the stairs outside his office. Before you can even take the next breath, the guns of all the agents in the room are pointed in your direction, including Hotch’s.

“Oh, well done,” Sean says to you. He keeps you in front of him, using you as a shield and making sure no one can get behind him. “What are you going to do now, Agent Hotshot!” he says, looking at Hotch. “Huh? You, always in the spotlight, always getting attention! Think you can get me from there, Hotshot? The sniper expert.” Sean sneers at him.

Hotch stares at him for a long moment. “Lower your weapons,” he says, not raising his voice but adding a hard steel. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team slowly lower their weapons. His gun doesn’t even waver. “Yes, I can kill you from here.”

You can’t take your eyes off of Hotch, the relaxed but poised stance, his sharp eyes focused on you and the tip of his weapon steady, trained on you.

“Can you do it before I put a bullet in her?” Sean says, ramming the barrel into your ribs and making you whimper. 

“Before, no. Within a heartbeat after, absolutely. But it’s not really what you want. You want to be recognized, you want me to see you,” he says. “Well, Sean. I see you. Now what?” 

“So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed? You walk around here like you’re the king of the castle and we’re just peasants under your feet. You have her, right here in front of you every day and you never see her worth,” Sean says, looking at you. 

His arm is so tight around you that you can barely breathe and you’re suddenly afraid that you’ll pass out. “What are you talking about?” you manage.

“You. You’re amazing and they don’t even consider you part of the team. You do everything for them, and they never see you. Not the way that I do. Not the way you should be loved and adored every minute of every day.” Sean’s eyes are adoring for a moment but then they turn hard again. “So I’m going to take you away from them. I’m going to take you away forever, so they will know what it means to live without you like I do. And then I’m going to kill him for every slight you had to take because of him, every late night and exhausting pace and overloaded work. I’m going to punish him for all of it.” 

“Sean, Sean,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t need to do that. Agent Hotchner, he’s been amazing. He’s taken such good care of me, and he always has. He’s never treated me badly or ever raised his voice. When I’m working late, he’s right here, working, too.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sean yells. “He doesn’t see you when it matters! He doesn’t stand up for you! He doesn’t care! And I’m going to prove it.” 

Sean’s grip loosens and he pushes you so that you’re facing him, his gun raised. You scream as strong hands tug you down and away and a shot rings out. You hit the floor hard and you’re immediately covered by the body of whoever pulled you down, protecting you. There’s a terrible silence for a long moment, the sound of your breathing loud in your own ears. Slowly, the body over you – Derek, you realize – starts to move. 

“Hey, sweet heart,” he says, looking down at you as he gets up and then offers a hand down. “How you doing? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I’m alright,” you say, breathless. You keep your eyes on Derek. “Is – is he…?”

“Yeah, yeah he is. I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice gentle. He turns you away and puts his arm around you. 

You hear Hotch’s feet on the stairs as he comes down to the bullpen.

“Put her in my office, Morgan,” he says, still strong but quieter now. “Please.” 

You feel more than see Derek nod and then your feet are moving. He leads you the long way around, through the round table room and along the catwalk around to Hotch’s office, all the while shielding you from the scene below. He closes the door and helps you over to the couch, quickly closing the blinds. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, crouching down in front of you.

You haven’t stopped crying, your eyes sting, your ribs and chest hurt from the way Sean had grabbed you and squeezed. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, letting out a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. “I could use a shot of tequila,” you say, sniffling again. 

“How about some water instead?” Derek says, putting a hand on your knee. 

“Water. Yeah. Water is good.” 

“Good. You just sit here and breathe and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. You can hear activity outside when he opens the door, but when he closes it again, it is perfectly quiet. You sit on Hotch’s couch, wondering how long it will take your hands to stop shaking.

….

When you wake up, still on Hotch’s couch, you realize that someone has come and put a blanket on you. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but it was sometime after Derek brought you water. You glance out of the window and realize it must be mid to late afternoon now. You sit up, groggy and confused after the adrenaline crash. You’re only sitting up for a few minutes before Hotch comes in. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning one of his chairs around to face you on the couch. 

“Exhausted.” You rub your face. “I can’t believe Sean did all this.”

Hotch takes a deep breath. “We found more photos of you on his computer. It seems he’s been obsessing over you for some time.”

“I had no idea. He rarely speaks – spoke – to me. I’d smile at him in the stacks or if I saw him in the hallway, but not much else. Why did he fixate on you? And what was all of that about you not considering me part of the team?” 

He opens the file folder he’d brought in with him and hands you some folded paper. You recognize it immediately as the internal FBI newsletter. Inside there’s a profile about Hotch after he broke the record for Quantico’s long-distance sniper accuracy. The article has a picture of the BAU team, naming everyone. The photo was taken in the bullpen, and in the background, there is a blurry picture of you pushing your cart and delivering files to the desks. “He had this pinned up in his office,” Hotch says. “We think this is where it all started.”

You start to laugh and it sounds hysterical to your own ears. “How do you deal with this kind of thing every day? The bizarre thinking and the leaps… that something as small as this could precipitate everything we just went through for the last 48 hours.” You shake your head. “I want to go home.” 

Hotch nods. “I’ll drive you.” 

“No, come on. You’ve done enough,” you say softly, reaching out and touching his knee. “I can make it home on my own.”

“I should take all the surveillance down. And you’re exhausted. This is going to hit you. Hard. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere is it?” you ask, smirking. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

You nod and stand. Your legs are still shaky though and you stumble a little. Hotch’s hands are right there to steady you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he holds you. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you,” you reply, matching his tone. 

He walks you to your office so I can gather your things and then down to the garage. Instead of an FBI SUV, you get into his personal vehicle, you sitting up front with him while he drives. The ride is quiet still, but not the scared, tense silence from the other drives. When you get to your apartment, he escorts you inside, his hand on the small of you back instead of the protective circle from earlier. His body is firm and warm next to yours, and even though the danger is over, you still feel safer with him there.

He goes about collecting the cameras and microphones and putting them in cases as you toe off your shoes and head into your kitchen to look for something to eat. You are still staring into the fridge when Hotch pokes his head in. “I got everything, so…”

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. “I’m starving and my fridge is in pathetic shape. I could order something.” 

“That’s not –”

“Just – it’s the least I can do, Hotch. And you said I shouldn’t be alone,” you say, cocking your hip.

Hotch smirks and crosses his arms. “Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, right?” 

“Exactly. So. You like thai?” 

Laughing softly, Hotch takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair in your small dining room. “I do. Very much.”

“Good,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and starting a delivery order. You hand it to him when you’re done. “Get whatever you want. I’m going to change.”

When you come out of the bedroom in your pajamas, a tank top and knee-length short pants, Hotch is in your kitchen opening a bottle of wine. He turns his head when he hears me approach. You notice that his tie is off, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to show his forearms. Your mouth waters for a moment. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought some wine might be helpful.”

“You know your way around a kitchen,” you say, approving. “Thank you.” You accept the glass from him after he pours and go sit on your couch. You drink in comfortable silence for a couple of moments, just sitting there examining his profile. “I meant what I said, by the way,” you say into the quiet. “About you taking great care of me. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

“Like I said, we look out for our own,” he says, turning his head and looking at you. His face is soft and affectionate before he lowers his gaze back to his hands. “He was wrong, you know, about me not seeing you, not knowing your worth. When I saw him there with you, that gun pressed into your side…” He shakes his head. “The idea of living without you in my life really scared me.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly shy.

“Hotch… what are you saying?” Your hands tighten around your glass. It’s no secret that Hotch is attractive, and the way you’ve gotten to know him over the last couple of days has been alluring. 

“I’m saying that I have been trying to maintain my professionalism,” he says, “around you. For some time now.” He licks his lips. “I know a lot about you. How you take your coffee. That you like the burritos from the place 10 blocks away even though there’s a place just around the corner. I know you have a sweet tooth. You get stressed out when there’s a chance of snow in the forecast.”

You laugh at that one. “You have been watching closely.” 

“It is sort of my job.” He gives you a small smile. Then he puts his hand palm up on the couch between you, offering it to you to take. “But I’ll admit that I had additional motivation where you were concerned.”

“Hotch…”

“Aaron. We’re off the clock. You should call me Aaron.” 

You slip you hand into his. “Aaron. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I’m your boss. And I didn’t want the risk of something going bad between us and losing you. You are part of the team. We need you.” 

“Still, I wish you’d said something. We could have been doing this the whole time,” you say, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but his free hand comes up to caress your jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb tracing your jaw line. 

“No,” you say looking him in the eyes. “I’m worried about transference and hero worship and all those kinds of things, but at the moment all I know is that your hand is warm and I want you to touch me.” 

Aaron takes the glass out of your hand and puts it on the coffee table before tugging you closer and over into his lap. He cups your jaw in both hands and pulls you into another kiss. This one is hotter, wetter, his tongue sliding between your lips and exploring your mouth. 

You moan softly, pressing against him as he moves his mouth to your jaw and the side of your neck. You tilt your head back, encouraging him as his hands grip your waist hard. You can feel him as he starts to harden in his dress pants, and you can’t help rubbing your hips into him. “Fuck, Aaron,” you murmur, running your hands all over his chest. His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the small of your back. “Bedroom. Please, Aaron. I need to feel you.” 

“What about dinner?” 

“It can wait,” you murmur, running your fingers into his hair and claiming his lips again.

Aaron helps you onto your feet, then stands and scoops you into his arms. He carries you into your bedroom and lays you across the mattress, covering you with his body. He kisses you over and over, his hands slipping under your shirt and caressing your breast over your sports bra. You hook your leg over his hip, arching up into him.

“Aaron…” you moan. “God, you feel so good.” 

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his already deep voice dropping into something even darker. “So stupid… wasted time. When I could have been –”

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. Then a wicked smile curls your lips. “You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” you tease.

Aaron actually laughs, his whole face relaxing. “Challenge accepted,” he says, licking his lips. His hands are deft and efficient as he removes your pajamas, and together you work on his dress shirt and the belt of his dress pants. You can’t help giggling as you get tangled up in a flurry of limbs and discarded clothing, but finally you’re able to press skin to skin, his mouth fastened on your neck and collarbone.

“God, Aaron…” you arch against him, your breasts dragging through his chest hair. “I need you.”

Pulling back, Aaron smirks at you but also tenderly pushes hair off your face. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. He shifts his kisses to the base of your throat and then over the curve of one breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth and making you gasp. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue seeking out any place that seems enticing to him. When he reaches my ribs, he runs his thumb over the skin and you wince, realizing that you must already be bruised badly. Aaron presses a soft kiss to the spot before he moves on. 

Gently, he pushes your thighs open, and you groan as the cool air hits your hot skin. You arch as his tongue dips inside your folds, grazing your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, your knees bent over his shoulders as he licks and sucks on you. His chin and the stubble across his jaw rubs at the sensitive skin. His tongue teases at your entrance and then up to your clit. You reach back and wrap your fingers into the pillow as pleasure races along your spine. You’re breathless and panting, waves and waves of intense need and want running through you. 

“Oh, god… god, Aaron. I’m – I’m gonna…”

Aaron sucks hard on your clit in response, slipping two fingers deep inside you. You arch and cry out as my orgasm swamps you. He licks and caresses you through it, helping you come down. Your heart is racing and you’re blinking fast to try to get your vision back online as he crawls back over you, licking his fingers and wiping his mouth. You grab his face in both hands and draw him to you for a kiss. Your tastes are mixed in his mouth and all you can do is moan. You can feel how hard he is, his tip teasing at your skin. 

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, still holding his face and looking into his eyes. 

“Do you –”

“In the nightstand,” you say, gesturing at the drawer. 

Aaron lifts his eyebrow and smirks but says nothing as he shifts to reach over to the nightstand. He locates the condoms easily, and kneels up to show you as he rips the packet open. You can hear him sliding it on, his mouth dropping open as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck, what you’ve done to me,” he groans as he drags you closer and pushes inside you. 

You gasp as he fills me up, the tip of his cock rubbing in exactly the right places. One hand is braced on your headboard while the other tenderly caresses your skin as he starts to move. Ecstasy settles across his stern features and you pant and moan together. He makes the most delightful soft sounds as he works inside you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Your pleasure is spiralling up again, the coil tightening in your spine, but you push it down. You want to come with him, you want to crash through the barrier at the same time. 

“Close… fuck, I’m so close,” he groans.

You run your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. Yes, god. Aaron. Let me feel you.” 

Aaron’s hips fall out of rhythm as he chases his pleasure. He groans, low and long, as he shudders through his orgasm. The feel of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge. You grind your hips against him as you come, your head thrown back in pleasure. 

“Fuck… are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Aaron asks, braced above you. He pushes hair off your face, his eyes laced with concern. 

“Right now, I am feeling zero pain,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. “I am riding the high of two spectacular orgasms. Jesus.” You caress his face and lean up so you can kiss him again. 

Aaron drags his fingers along your jaw as you kiss. He slips out of you and rolls onto his back before efficiently removing and disposing of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he gathers you into his arms, caressing the curve of your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“You’re so incredible,” you murmur, your hand caressing his pecs and abs. “You make me feel so amazing.” 

“You’re amazing,” Aaron counters. He runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the nape of your neck with his thumb. “I didn’t think sexy librarian was one of my types but then I met you.” 

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Isn’t sexy librarian everyone’s type?” you ask, teasing. You tilt your face up and grin when you get another kiss. “So. Does this make us officially a thing?” 

When you look up, Aaron is blushing delightfully as he smiles. “I wouldn’t begin to presume…”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “If you think I’m letting you go easily after all of this, you have another thing coming,” you say. “We’ll figure it all out. But I’m not giving up the chance to maybe have something great.”

Aaron nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Neither am I.” 

Your breathing settles and evens out and you can feel yourself starting to drift when both of your stomachs rumble loudly. You giggle. “Our food is probably downstairs in the lobby,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” he says, sliding out from under you. “We’ll need the fuel for later.” 

“Later?” you ask, lifting your eyebrows and biting your lip. 

“I’m not nearly done making up for lost time with you, yet,” he says, grinning. 

[cluedoenthusiast]

Big Autism Post

(I'm not calling him autistic. These are just some autistic traits that I've noticed that he has that neurotypicals can also have)

This is a list of ND traits, each with a few examples of instances or whatever:

Like to lead conversations and provide extensive information on the specific topics you are interested in.

Find it easier to talk ‘at’ people, rather than engaging in a two-way conversation.

“Oh… I forgot to bring my cheat sheet. I’ve got a folder with notes, which I planned on bringing with me. But it also feels a little know-it-all and self-conscious to start giving a lecture from my own notes here. My best line… I wouldn’t know! I simply don’t know all the lyrics by heart yet. [long pause] I think ‘Big Ideas’ as a whole is a very accomplished song.” [X]

Have your own unique phrases and descriptive words.

“A bone-coloured gentleman” - him describing a spider [X] [+post I made a while back about him and words]

Find building and maintaining close friendships and relationships difficult in a range of environments.

hmm 🤨

May use facial expressions and make gestures when speaking with people that others find unusual.

This whole interview is just him stimming but specifically watch 1:46 in the video when jamie mentions it

The Zane Lowe The Car Interview where he’s doing the same hand stim over and over again

He makes a pained expression sometimes when he’s just talking about normal things but there’s too many examples to get

Autistic individuals are often perceived as controlling. + Have a strong desire to set and follow rules, whether in the classroom, work or social situations.

“…but I'm quite a control freak." He grins. "There's a bit of that." [X]

Would you describe yourself as a control freak in the studio? “Yeah, probably… (Laughs) well, definitely. I think somebody needs to take the reins and I’m happy to do that. I’m sure it’s quite annoying for other people at times, but I think they’re glad that someone is… not exactly in charge but has a vision.” [X]

Alex Turner is not satisfied with the light of the room chosen to serve as the basis for our interview. It is a small and cozy hipster hotel in the neighborhood of Los Feliz, in Los Angeles, of those who are above a cafe with tables occupied by young people on the computer and without queues at the cash registers that do not accept cash payment. The leader of Arctic Monkeys, the largest rock band to leave the United Kingdom in the last 20 years, moves the switches until he finds the perfect balance of luminosity. "Is that okay with you?" he asks, but doesn't seem to care much about the answer. Turner likes to have full control over his environment. "Where do you want to sit? Here will be the best place, right?" he asks, with coffee in his hand, already standing in front of a small beige table below the lamp that insisted on not releasing the proper light. Shy to the point of never completing an entire sentence, as if the mouth did not accompany his fast brain, Turner is fully aware of his obsession with control and attention to detail, something that has become greater in recent years ahead of the band. [X]

Have intense conversational focus on subjects that interest you, combined with a minimal interest to engage in conversation on other topics.

This interview (2:08 - end) where he kept talking about wrestling (+finger flicking) while the interviewer kept trying to steer the conversation back to the question.

This TBHC moment where he got excited about something Zane said.

May speak in a monotone, with an accent, in a very proper and formal way or not at all.

I’m very excited. I want to just… y’know, jump up and down on the bed :|

Zane Lowe bullying his “nice one”

Making repetitive body movements, such as hand clapping, hand flapping or rocking, making noises, or frequently clearing the throat, also known as stimming.

Hair + Head/Neck hold

Rocking

His shoulder tappy thing + the shoulder hug thing he does when he’s nervous like when he met Julian Casablancas

Eyes

Jaw

Fingers + finger biting + finger biting (gay)

Arm rub

Legs

The Car 

Prefer hanging around on your own, rather than joining in with others.

“I like to feel foreign, alone. That said, I probably live far too much inside my head, it would be good for me to have more relationships with real people.” [X]

There are fan stories about them seeing him eating alone at like 2am or something but those don’t count everyone does that

Anxiety in social settings

“[very long pause] I just don’t wanna get it wrong in front of everybody” (when asked about his favourite dessert)

Him apologising for calling Batman’s butler Albert instead of Alfred (I lost it ): ) (update: [X] thanks slippy)

His ipod suddenly playing T-Rex

“It’s gonna be alright…”

…The next day, Turner sends me an apologetic email. “I sat myself too far away from my internal cue cards and few sentences made it to the finish line,” he admits. [X]

I would fire a question at them and Miles would respond at length while Alex would emit, perhaps, a tiny smile and draw back a little further in his chair. If you address a question directly to Alex he clams up. If you ignore him then, bit by bit, he comes back because Alex clearly thinks Miles is amazing. [X]

"I was racking me brain for this," he admits in his undimmed Northern accent, holding up a little piece of paper covered in hand-scratched recollections. (Mistaking the hotel lunch menu for his notes at one point, he even cracks a self-deprecating joke; Tuscan kale, he knows, is not the answer we came for.) [X]

Ability to “hyper-focus” on work or a specific interest

“I’d just gotten obsessed with cardboard.” (not a great example but it’s funny)

Experiencing emotions more intensely than others

- “He just feels a bit…. I don’t know… Fragile”

Often accused of being rude or blunt.

no need for example 

May have perfectionism in certain areas.

Find that others don’t understand how you are feeling and say that “it is hard to know what you are thinking”.

I can’t find a good example for these two, but it’s been mentioned before.

Masking, where specific behaviours are consciously or unconsciously concealed to fit into social norms or to avoid negative responses from others.

"You know how Shakira's hips don't lie? Well mine are incredibly good liars. A mask if you like." (I looked everywhere for the video I had it saved a few years ago but I can’t find it)

Echolalia and vocal stims

“Stupid slow dirty PC” & “The year is 1965” [X]

“Ipswich”

“In the big room”

“Spectrum section spectrum” (was not a stutter, he just liked those words together)[X]

Stealing peoples accents and mannerisms

Andy: “…he soaks accents up a lot, ‘cause when he started hanging around with Miles quite a lot, he started to get a bit of a Scouse twinge to his accent.” [X]

His Americanish accent in that SIAS interview (I can’t find it, but he says the word “pretty” in an American accent)

Dino hands: This unique posture, colloquially known as "autistic T-Rex arms," is commonly observed among autistic individuals.

Dino hand compilation

While not every neurodivergent person reports high justice sensitivity, and many people with high justice sensitivity are not autistic or ADHD, this can be an autistic or ADHD trait.

The Green Book: Everyday Guide to Saving The Planet [you can also spot “The Abortion” and “Natural cures and gentle medicines”]

Recycling (4:00)

Telling the interviewer that it’s wrong to say “The Gays” [X] (5:06)

“I once stole a ‘Dip Dap’. I walked out of the shop immersed in thought and when I came to the next crossing, while I was enjoying my lolly, I suddenly realised that I hadn’t paid for it. So I walked back to the shop and kindly paid for it.” [X]

May struggle with eye-contact (either too little or too much)

“Alex Turner on the other hand is an inveterate fiddler with keys or phone while he talks. Otherwise he has the slightly unnverving habit of staring at you unblinkingly with his dark brown eyes, like a curious young horse.” [X]

Some autistic individuals struggle with being on time

“Matt: He's always late. He's like clockwork in his lateness. Yesterday in Southhampton, the bus was picking us up at half 12 at the hotel to go to the venue, and [tour manager] Timm phoned him, goes, 'Al, where are you? The bus is here.' Everybody knew what time they had to be down there. He said, 'I'm watching Danger Mouse'. He was still in bed.” [X]

Obsessive interests

Whatever show he's currently watching (The Sopranos, The Wire, Breaking Bad, True Detective etc…): “[Staring] Sorry, I’m just thinking about True Detective” [X] (17:53)

Space

Films (maybe this interview the most) + this clip “Man, Alex was really into this whole sci-fi thing, Man…” [X]

etc…

Zoning out/taking a long time to think

“Well, everything has changed. [2 minutes of silence while you can almost hear a movie playing in his head] …” [X]

Cluedo Enthusiast interview!

Distracted Compilation

Zoning out compilation

People describing him:

‘With Alex, I knew this was someone unconventional, a little bit different, with a brightness and a cleverness that would serve him well. He had a very original sense of humour, as you'd expect, but he was always quite reserved. I remember giving a class a bollocking once, and he was sitting there like Gromit from Wallace and Gromit – mute, but with these incredibly expressive raised eyebrows, as if he was saying sarcastically: "Ooooh – we've really cocked it up now."’

Alex was never particularly vocal, but you could sense when some pieces of poetry moved him. [X]

I think one of the Gallaghers called him a weird guy but he likes him or smt it was a tweet (update: “Strange little chap but I like him” [X])

“…In fact I began to think that Alex (Turner) might be in touch with them (aliens) in some way, the way he works on his lyrics. If there was a line to hone or edit he’d step outside without paper or a pen, stare at the horizon for a few seconds, then walk right back in and deliver some majestic new couplet. Seeing him conjure these lines from nothing I wonder if he’s not at least part extraterrestrial himself.” - Josh Homme 

Other:

Doesn’t like hearing himself

“And yet, in person, Turner, a man acclaimed as the voice of his generation, is surprisingly tongue-tied. “Where am I going with this? Uh… I… Yeah… No… I’m sorry, I’ve completely lost it,” he says at one point. “I just hear myself talking sometimes and I’m like bleurgh!” [X]

Taking off Headphones Compilation

Characters/embodiment autism

How he changes looks, haircuts, voices, accents etc depending on where he is in his life at a specific moment. 

This Compilation

Twitchy Compilation + him twitching when his phone rings here

Taratata

how hes weird in fan photos idk (not that he’s always weird but yknow)

The one instagram post where the fan asked him to smile and said it didn’t work out (I can’t find it they were skiing and she was a waitress) all i have is this:

I think in the last gif they said he was shy (and smelled like cigarettes)

well he’s terrible at faking a smile in general:

stupid smile compilation

Something about change? He’s been wearing the same clothes until they’re worn out and he always uses that brown bag. I dunno he seems like he loves change but I don’t know him and it’s none of my business (I’m aware of how ironic it is that I’m saying this at the end of this post)

For more stuff on this topic just visit my featured tag thingy.

This post is sponsored by this ask

[babybearnation]

Lando\charles comforting you after you flunked your exams?

(I did so bad on my exams tdy)

it's okay! take it from me - i failed 5 out of my 6 exams when i was 17 and still went on to get 2 university degrees. also, i'm not sure if you meant these two together or separately so i'll do both those options lol

gn!student!reader

lando norris:

he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but lando knows how hard you worked for this and he also knows what failure tastes like

not afraid to make an actual fool out of himself if it'll make you laugh and cheer you up, even if momentarily because he hates to see you frown over anything

not the best with words but his flustered bumbling is more sincere than any pre-prepared speech could be and it makes you feel so much better about your failures

if retaking them is an option, lando will totally encourage you to do so and, if it costs money to retake them, he'll pay that cost for you because he knows what you're capable of and he wants you to be happy

charles leclerc:

charles hates seeing you so upset but also he totally understands why you feel so stressed out about failing because he hates it too

will go above and beyond in making you a delightful dinner and a sweet dessert to try and take your mind off of the failures

he's very sweet and knows exactly what to say to cheer you up and any time he catches you being miserable, he somehow manages to say another uniquely supportive thing to make you feel better

charles will encourage you to retake them if you can/motivate you if you have to, but if you decide that you wanna change paths, he's also not gonna stop you from doing that because as long as you're happy, so is he

polyamorous!lando x charles:

these two together are not gonna let you dwell on your sadness and your failures for very long because with charles' soft sweetness and lando's chaotic support, you physically can't

they'll clear their schedules for a whole day and dedicate it to you - you wanna have takeaway for every single meal? that's okay! you wanna go shopping? charles & lando have their cards ready! you just wanna curl up in bed and sleep or watch movies? lando & charles are right there with you!

any drivers or staff members who have gone through schooling or university and have failed exams/courses will be asked to speak to you or send advice because, at the end of the day, failed exams don't mean your stupid or incapable and charles & lando wanna make sure you know that

will support whatever path you choose to take - you wanna retake and try and nail them next time? charles & lando will help in any way they can. you wanna abandon them and try something else? they'll be cheering you on. you need them to just hold and support you whilst you re-jig your life? they've got you!

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[genoskissors]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy - Initial Character Thoughts

This is going to have a lot of Danganronpa comparisons, name analysis, and just my overall thoughts on each character before the game is out. Feel free to comment your own thoughts!

Darumi Amemiya (飴宮 怠美)

"A young woman known for her mood swings and obsession with all things dark and depressing. She's a big fan of killing game stories and has no fear of death. If she has to die, all she wants is a death that's as dramatic and flamboyant as humanly possible."

Crazy thing I'm about to say, she reminds me of Genocide Jack. She sticks her tongue out a lot and seems to be completely desensitized to anything regarding death. It makes me think she's just desperate for a thrill in her life.

I don't really like her design but I think if the vibrant colors were turned down, it would be much better. I do enjoy it in a way, being able to dress however you want reveals a lot about someone's confidence. I love how she looks in her other outfit and I honestly think if her shirt was less white, I'd love her hair.

Ame means candy, miya means palace, daru means lazy, and mi means beauty. Daru is not common in names, so it definitely has a meaning. This name doesn't have any straightforward meaning to me, but I suppose Darumi is a more unique character. Her name might make sense later. I do theorize, for the lazy part, she was bored before getting into dark stuff, kinda like Junko.

Eito Aotsuki (蒼月 衛人)

"Takumi's most trusted ally. Eito cares very deeply for his friends and isn't shy about expressing those feelings, corny as they may sound. He's been weak and sickly since he was little, but his impressive intellect might be just what the team needs to guide them through the war safely."

We are all thinking about the exact same image. Anyway, I think I'll love him because it seems he has a bit of a crazy side as well (I love crazy people). He's also very forward and compassionate, so I'll enjoy seeing both sides of him.

He looks like one of Nagito's beta designs which I think tells me everything I need to know. I find him cute but his jacket being the same color as his skin kinda throws me off. I'm also curious as to why he wears gloves, he's dressed like it's winter.

Ao means blue and tsuki means moon. His first name is interesting, as the kanji for Ei is the same kanji used in the game's title, meaning defense. To means human and is also a common ending for a boy name. I find the term blue moon fitting for his appearance, and I assume his role in battle will mostly be defense.

Gaku Maruko (丸子 楽)

"A guy who's true to his personal desires (to put it delicately). He's a coward and always looking out for himself. However, there's something so refreshingly honest about his pettiness that it's hard to hate him. Gaku's also good at taking care of other people once he opens his heart to them."

I will not lie, I don't think I'm going to like him. I'm okay with a character being a coward and I'm okay with a character being selfish, but both does not seem like a mood maker to me. I think I'll find him annoying but I'll be happy to be surprised.

He's got some patchwork in his clothes, so I think he might come from a troubled past. His shirt is really stupid looking though, but it's stupid enough to circle back to being slightly cute.

Maru means round and ko means child, but together, Maruko is a type of meatball. Not exactly the same as Western ones, but very similar. Gaku means comfort. I think his first name goes well with the fact he takes good care of those close to him. In Japanese, Gaku is also a homophone for the word school. As for Maruko, I don't know.

Hiruko Shizuhara (雫原 比留子)

"Leader of the Special Defense Unit. A cold, almost heartless beauty, she always says what's on her mind, even if it means offending others. She's just as merciless on the battlefield, where she gets a twisted sense of pleasure from tearing invaders apart."

She enjoys murder, I think I'll like her. I'm very curious as to why she's considered the leader of the group. The way she's described as merciless on the battlefield makes me think she has murdered before. Maki but a little more crazy (I love crazy people).

She has a lot going on that I really enjoy, the piercings, the makeup, the hair clip. She's also 5'11, which I think will be funny next to our 5'6 protagonist.

Shizu means droplet and hara means original, but is also just a common ending for Japanese surnames, like Saihara and Gokuhara. Hi means compare, ru means remain, and ko means child. Hiruko, spelled 蛭子, is also one of the names of Ebisu, a God of fishing, wealth, and fortune. Ebisu also uses the kanji 比, which is in Hiruko's name. Her last name is also water related.

Ima Tsukumo (九十九 今馬)

"One of a set of twins - Ima is the elder by a few minutes. He acts like a carefree joker, but underneath that humor is a hint of something darker. A hardcore siscon, he thinks of nothing but protecting his sister. If anything or anyone dares to threaten Kako's safety, Ima will show them no mercy."

This might ruin people's perception of me, but I don't care that he's a siscon. Like at all. It might be an uncomfortable attribute but after four Danganronpa games, I could not be less phased. I think I'll like him since he seems silly but also a little crazy (I love crazy people).

One of the cutest characters here. I thought he was a girl at first but he just has luscious eyelashes. I love the color of his hair and the streaks in it, I think they go well with his eyes. His sprite here looks very chummy.

Tsukumo means ninety-nine, which is one less than a hundred and how many days they have left after day one. Ima by itself means now but his name only uses the “I” part of it and then uses horse for the ma part. Basically 今 = Ima and 今馬 = Ima. It would be the same with or without the last kanji, but I assume it's there to make it seem more like a name. However, I can't help but connect him to Oma.

Kako Tsukumo (九十九 過子)

"One of a set of twins - Kako is the younger by a few minutes. She's prone to spacing out, but also has a keen mind and a healthy sense of curiosity. Kako is a big fan of mystery stories and wants to be a private investigator when she grows up."

She seems like a regular teenager to be honest, but the spacing out and solving mysteries reminds me of Chiaki. I think I'll like her, but I can't really pin her personality based on this description.

I adore her hairstyle and her bow. The color of her hair looks really nice with her eye color. Funny enough, I didn't realize her and Ima were siblings until I saw the eyes. Like the uniform did not give it away for some reason.

Like her brother, Kako's last name means ninety-nine. The kanji for ka means past, contrasting the meaning of her brother's name. I like to theorize there will be a character named something including future, but that's a reach. Ko means child, it's a very common ending for female names. It might just be to make Kako seem more like a name, but perhaps it also represents childishness.

Kurara Oosuzuki (大鈴木 くらら)

"The scion of one of the most wealthy families humanity has ever known. She's proud, overbearing, and acts like she's better than anyone else. She always wears a strange tomato mask, never showing her true face."

I like the proud type of character, someone like Miu or Byakuya. She seems to be more focused on degrading others than uplifting herself though, but that's just based on her quote. I also really want to see her face but oddly if it's never shown I won't be disappointed.

I don't really care for masks that completely cover a character's face, I like to see at least some parts, but the fact the mask expresses emotions makes me content with it. I also thought it was a Jack-o-Lantern at first, but I guess it's just a scary tomato? The rest of her outfit is nice, fits the rich girl thing.

Oo means great, suzu means bell, and ki means tree. Suzuki is a very common Japanese last name, so adding great in front of it makes sense for her prideful personality. Kurara is a type of plant that is very bitter. I assume this will also relate to her personality.

Kyoshika Magadori (凶鳥 狂死香)

"A young samurai who's utterly clueless about the modern world. Has never even heard of multiplication tables, let alone learned them. She has a disturbingly close relationship with her katana, the Holy Jumonji Sword."

Kyoshika is who I think my favorite character will be. She's very Tenko like, a character I love very much. Her birthday is 11/11 which I hope is a joke about how she cut 1111 perfectly in half. While she isn't very modern, I can still see she has a reliable personality. Her name also hints she might be a little crazy (I love crazy people). Lastly, Ninja's are cool.

I love her outfit, especially the katana on her hip and the huge cape. She also has a normal ponytail, not often seen in Danganronpa. I like how her ponytail looks like a shuriken. Her face reminds me of Maki a bit, another character I love. I also love the colors. I just really love her so far.

We have a very straightforward name here. Maga means bad or unlucky and dori means bird. Unlucky bird? Crows are often associated with death, but that might not be the message it's going for. Kyoshi literally means crazy to death. Ka means scent, but is also just a common ending for a girl name.

Moko Mojiro (喪白 もこ)

"A young woman who is blowing up on the high school pro wrestling scene. Her courage and boundless energy is a source of inspiration for the entire Special Defense Unit. Whenever she has a problem, she faces it head on. She didn't choose the wrasslin' life - it chose her."

Her personality reminds me a lot of Aoi. Probably with more courage though. She seems like she'll get along better with girls than boys. The boundless energy makes me think she'll be fun to play, but we'll see.

We finally got ourselves another buff woman, Sakura fans rejoice. I like how her hair, face, and outfit are cutesy, it shows she can be physically strong while still being girly, something Sakura wanted.

Sigh... I don't get her name at all, Mo means mourning and jiro means white. Her first name is in Hiragana so I don't know the exact meaning, nor do I really have an idea on her last name. I thought about Peko and how pekopeko is an onomatopoeia. Mokomoko is an onomatopoeia for something thick and soft. Not sure if that relates to her personality. I'd say her last name is a death flag but everyone dies in this game so that doesn't mean much.

Nozomi Kirifuji (霧藤 希)

"A high schooler who combines a kindhearted nature with dogged determination in battle. She's very passionate about the Special Defense Unit's mission, but also seems to be hiding something. For some reason, Nozomi is identical in appearance to Takumi's childhood friend Karua."

I'm a sucker for characters hiding a big secret, so I'm excited for hers, I assume it's related to Karua but how so? Much to think about. She's kind and passionate, so I think she'll be very easy to like as a character.

Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute!!! She is adorable from her hair to her shoes. I really like her hair especially. Her name is cute too. I think she's my favorite design overall, it's pleasing to look at.

Kiri means fog, which, like Kirigiri, I believe represents the mysterious aspect of her. Fuji means wisteria, which are purple just like her. Nozomi means hope, which is a name I was surprised Kodaka never used. I always thought Nozomi would be a great name for Chiaki, but I'm getting off track. Overall her name is peaceful but mysterious, fitting her description.

Shouma Ginzaki (銀崎 晶馬)

"A young man who, by his own admission, has absolutely nothing going for him. On a scale of one to ten, his self-esteem's at negative five. He's constantly putting himself down."

It seems like a lack of self-worth is gonna be his whole thing. I'm not really looking forward to it. Nagito did it too, but was also a very positive person, but it seems Shouma is just depressed. I just don't want everything he says to be about how he's worthless.

His design is okay. I think I'd like it better without the hat but it's not too bad, just makes him look a little immature. I do think his face and haircut are cute. He's also very small.

Gin means silver and zaki means small peninsula, but is mostly associated with being an ending for a surname, so I doubt it changes the meaning. Shou means crystal, and like in Ima, ma means horse. The silver and crystal parts are definitely connected, maybe he's wealthy? Or maybe it symbolizes his personality instead. Not very sure.

Takemaru Yakushiji (厄師寺 猛丸)

"An old-school delinquent who lives to ride and rides to live. Despite his rough-and-ready demeanor, Takemaru's really a nice guy on the inside. Impulsive, straightforward, and honorable to a fault, he's sworn to never use his strength to bully the weak."

He seems like a generally good character but I can sense there will be a lot of him yelling. Honestly, he just seems a lot like Mondo to me, so I don't have much to say. I like Mondo but I'm not sure we need another one. Also he says he doesn't hit girls, kids, or the eldery, so first thing I know is he sees girls as weak.

Give him the corn hair and he's literally Mondo. I do like Takemaru's hair though, it's kinda cute. He's got a lot of scars on his face, so I feel like he might be a little reckless. All the characters have dull skin but I feel some vibrance would do him good.

Yaku means disaster or evil, shi means master, and ji means temple. The temple part adds up with the old school aspect, like in Saionji and Shinguji. The first part likely just represents him being a delinquent. In his first name, Take means fierce and maru means round. I think this is mostly just a pun, “Takemaru Hair” is a hair style associated with delinquents.

Takumi Sumino (澄野 拓海)

"The main character of this story. A completely average high schooler from a completely average family. He can be a little indecisive and pessimistic at times, but when he has something to protect, he'll fight with everything he's got."

Classic average high schooler as our protagonist, expected for these kinds of stories. I'm in no way a hater of the archetype, I love Makoto, Hajime, and Komaru lots, so I think I'll like him too. His introduction is pretty negative, but I find pessimism to be an endearing trait, so I feel like I'll love him.

I'm not really a fan of the bright red hair, but it's not bad. I would like if the red and black in his hair switched. Also, classic ahoge. I find his eyes beautiful, they're very sharp, great for a pessimist. Not much to say about his outfit.

I don't know why but I really like his name and the kanji used in it. It just sounds and is written nice. Sumi means clear and no means field, but it's also just a common ending for surnames. Taku means opening land and mi means ocean. I think the opening land part fits the fact he's in a new place and the sea is more metaphorical for how vast it is.

Tsubasa Kawana (川奈 つばさ)

"A young woman who knows a lot about machines and what makes them tick. She had a bright, lively personality, but isn't good with stressful situations. When she gets nervous, she gets nauseous, and then..."

She is so cute I already know she'll be one of my favorite characters. She's energetic and social but gets sick when nervous, I can very much empathize with her... If this game has things like free time events, I'd like to spend some with her.

I absolutely adore her design. Her hair is beautiful, her entire outfit is cool, I like the way she carries herself. She also has the classic Danganronpa mouth mole, a need for all of Kodaka's games. Her necklace thing is odd but I'll look past it.

Kawa means river and na means doubts, however, the kanji for na isn't really known for its meaning and is mostly associated with being a part of a name. The last sentence implies she throws up when nervous, so, for lack of better phrasing, maybe the river represents that? And doubt is what fuels that nervousness? I think I'm reaching here. Tsubasa means wings, which I think is bright and lively like her personality.

Yugamu Omokage (面影 歪)

"A striking young man who's been in the business since long before the war started. Unlike the rest of his family (who are also assassins, by the way), Yugamu believes that killing should be done with love. He enjoys torture and other immoral forms of pleasure."

He's crazy like for real crazy (I love crazy people). His description makes me raise an eyebrow about what exactly "immoral forms of pleasure" are but I won't make assumptions until the game is out. He kills for love which reminds me of a character I love with all my heart. He'll never compare to her but it's okay.

The outfit is very nice but the random organs are a bit odd. That's probably the point, but it's just really random. I find him ugly and I love it. His hair is also bad and I love it. I love this ugly boy.

Omokage means face shadow, referring to imagining someone's face with your mind. Kind of like imagining someone, usually dead, is there with you. Yugamu means distorted. Another on the nose name. Remembering a face but it's distorted, could refer to his own scarred face, or perhaps forgetting what someone who has passed away looks like. He has a strong connection with love, so perhaps someone he once knew. It likely just refers to his own face.

Sirei and Nigou (ＳＩＲＥＩ) & (ＮＩＧＯＵ)

"The principal and commanding officer of Last Defense Academy. To put it another way, a weird little robot that orders the members of the Special Defense Unit around. Under his command, Takumi and the others will be working to wipe out the mysterious School Invaders." "Sirei's assistant and second in command. An odd little robot that has a gentle, caring personality, but is also prone to making careless mistakes. He's completely loyal and subservient to Sirei."

I'll keep it short and simple, if these two aren't funny I won't care for them at all.

I kinda like their designs. It's unique how you can see their brain and heart, but I think that's because those two are the most vital organs. Also, what's with Nigou's lips? I don't even know their gender so I'll just use they/them for the time being. The English description says "He" but the Japanese text doesn't explicitly use he and there no other instance to use.

Their names are romanized in Japanese as well, so they don't have an obvious meaning, but I have a theory! I believe Sirei is 司令 “Shirei” meaning in command and Nigou is 二号 “Nigou” meaning number two, as in second to Sirei. Sirei and Shirei are pronounced the same in Japanese.

Final Thoughts

I'm hyped for this game. I haven't talked about the gameplay aspects but my absolute favorite thing in games is multiple endings. A hundred endings is a paradise for me. A lot of the sneak peaks leave me curious, so I'm excited to play it. April 24th! I think I'll enjoy the cast. I also like the majority of Kodaka's characters because they're so complex, so I have no doubts about loving this new cast.

Sorry for any spelling errors, this was a lot to proofread.