#is there anyone that can screen record the whole thing and post it?

[ellsieee]

Oh they were hungry all right.

Source: @BlackWhiskey on TW

I didn't even notice the eating ramen *wink wink* reference on my first watch. Volume on. The sounds... 😳

I might not be willing to pay $10 for the VIP membership, but if I had bought it, I wouldn't be disappointed this was what I got.

@wanderlust-in-my-soul & @respectthepetty the series is good without the extra scenes, but I have to admit, this does add to my enjoyment. 🤭

[slattlicker]

literally so obsessed just thinking about reader streaming with schlatt , just the reader being so down bad and the chat disappointed in her taste, date or host set up or recording content and reader can’t lock in and is just giggly. Bonus points if schlatt returns the same energy or just mentions being into reader and reader full on cheers into her mic and bangs the table cause same. HE JUST LOOKS SO GOOD IM SICK OF IT. 😭🙏

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * a gamble for devotion ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: one mic, one camera, one man who won’t shut up—and a chat that’s watching you lose composure in real time. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: based on an ask that had me gigglinggggg...i luv a good streamer!au. shoutout to the girlies who fell for schlatt after seeing him on love or host. he knew what he was doing <3 and i'd like to just say here, that I am sorry if this is not fully accurate, i'm going based on my memory of the love or host streams, and that was a while ago.

warnings: streamer-style flirting, public humiliation via handsome man, light threats of chat bans, and someone absolutely folding live on mic.

enjoy! (≧∀≦)人(≧∀≦)♡

✧✧✧

“okay, chat—we’re gonna take a short intermission while our contestants get ready for the next round.”

you click the ‘brb’ screen and kill the voice channels, leaning back in your chair like your spine just gave up. there’s a water bottle in your hand, but you haven’t even unscrewed the cap. you just sit there, blinking.

“you good?” austin asks in your ear, voice dry and amused.

you groan.

“they’re all actually trying, austin. like… trying trying.”

“that’s the point.”

“no, the point was content. the point was funny flirt banter and bit farming. not—” you wave vaguely at your monitor, “—people saying they could see a future with me.”

he laughs.

“so what i’m hearing is…you’re flustered.”

“no, you’re hearing i didn’t expect them to be hot and earnest. it’s gross.”

austin hums. “so, who are your top picks so far?”

you pause. “i mean… miles is sweet. super funny. kinda dry. i like that.”

“yeah, he’s a fan favorite.”

“and then there’s remy. he said he’d fly me out to see a terrible movie and split popcorn in silence.”

“god, he’s good.”

“right? i felt that shit in my soul.”

austin’s quiet for a second.

“anyone else?”

you hesitate.

your mind flits to someone who isn’t even in the bracket. someone who could’ve been, if he ever answered his fucking texts. someone who said “dating shows are cringe” and “if you ever made me do one, i’d sabotage it on purpose.”

you shake your head.

“nope. that’s it.”

you glance at the clock. just a couple more rounds and this whole thing will be wrapped. maybe you’ll do a silly little post-show breakdown stream. a “where are they now?” style q&a.

and then you hear it.

discord ping.

you freeze.

your brain registers a name. a voice channel entry. one that was not supposed to happen.

“what’s up, sweetheart?”

your blood leaves your body.

the camera overlay hiccups. a new box opens. a familiar face slides into frame—lazy grin, headset slightly askew, hoodie zipped halfway, mutton chops fully operational.

schlatt.

live. in your show. on your stream.

you don’t move.

he leans forward, resting his chin on one hand like this is casual.

“didn’t think i’d miss your big love confession stream, did you?”

your soul exits through your mouth.

“i—what—no—how—”

austin is cackling. you can hear him wheezing off-mic.

“schlatt, what the fuck.”

“production let me in.” he shrugs. “or maybe i threatened someone. who’s to say?”

you slam your water bottle down.

“you are not a contestant!”

“well,” he says, adjusting his mic with the smuggest little tilt of his head, “you haven’t eliminated me yet.”

chat is frothing at the mouth.

chat:

“THE CHOPS HAVE ENTERED THE ARENA” “not him crashing her emotional arc” “we lost her. gg boys.” “he’s not even playing and WE ALREADY KNOW HE'S GOING TO WIN”

“schlatt—no. i—no. you don’t get to—”

“you look good tonight,” he says suddenly, cutting you off. “cute little headset. soft lighting. whole date night vibe goin’.”

“that’s because i’m on a date. with twitch.”

“lucky twitch.”

you let out an actual scream.

austin’s back in your ear, smug as hell. “should we add him to the bracket?”

“no.”

“too late,” he says, already typing. “production loves him.”

“AUSTIN, YOU ARE PRODUCTION!!”

schlatt grins wider. “told you.”

your heart is going feral. your hands are shaking.

and all you can think—over the roaring in your ears and the chaos in chat—is: he didn’t come here for content.

he came here to make things harder on you.

✧✧✧

“ladies and gentlemen,” austin announces, voice already smug, “we have a last-minute addition to the bracket.”

“this is so illegal,” you mutter.

“it’s called dynamic programming.”

“it’s called chaos.”

austin ignores you. “chat, please welcome our tenth contestant—he’s loud, he’s tall, he owns one pair of jeans—it’s schlatt.”

the camera cuts to him. he hasn’t moved. just blinks once, nods slightly, and goes:

“i chose love, y/n.”

you flinch.

“you’re—you’re supposed to wait to reveal that—” you stammer.

“oops.”

“you can’t just—”

“too late, sweetheart,” he says, smirking. “i already made my choice. and i think...it's the best one i'll ever make.”

your mic picks up the softest, tiniest whimper.

chat loses their mind at your reaction.

chat:

“HE SAID HE CHOSE LOVE???” “WHATTTT” “SHE’S GONNA EXPLODE” “i would honestly quit if i were a guy atp look at her”

✧✧✧

you try your best to regain control of the stream.

you’re down to your final four: miles, elijah, remy, and… unfortunately… schlatt.

miles goes first. he’s sweet. charming in a sort of awkward way. his hair’s fluffed up like he styled it for this. he leans forward with a crooked grin and says,

“if i had one day with you, i’d probably take you somewhere quiet. museum maybe? or that weird little bookstore you tweeted about once. and then we’d go for coffee, or ice cream, or whatever you were in the mood for. nothing huge—just time. just us.”

it’s so earnest it makes you blink.

“aw… that’s really cute,” you manage.

“thanks,” he says, glancing down. “i mean it.”

chat:

“MILES SUPREMACY” “NOT HIM KNOWING ABT HER FAV BOOKSTORE 😭” “BRO IS SWEATING FOR HER”

elijah goes next. still flustered from earlier interruptions by schlatt, but rallying himself.

“i’d fly you out,” he says again, with a little shrug. “rent a cabin or something. we’d cook together. or try to. probably burn everything. and then we’d watch horror movies and pretend not to be scared.”

you smile despite yourself.

“do i strike you as a horror movie girl?”

“nah,” he grins. “you’d talk over the movie explaining how they did everything behind the scenes. but i’d let you...hearing your voice is way better than watching any movie.”

chat melts.

“HE GETS HER 😭” “SHE’S GIGGLING AGAIN” “OKAY ELIJAH WAIT A MINUTE”

remy’s the wildcard. he doesn’t smile much. soft-spoken. he's kind of...intense.

“i think you’d hate a big gesture,” he says quietly. “you’d think it was fake. staged. so i’d keep it real. just show up at your door with something personalized—like your favorite gas station snacks. and i wouldn’t say anything. just hand it over. and stay there...be there with you.”

you go still.

it’s so specific. so simple. it feels like he peeled something back just enough to make you feel it.

“…damn,” you whisper.

“yeah...i got you, baby.”

chat is sobbing.

chat:

“THIS IS A NETFLIX DRAMA” “NOT HIM BEING THE QUIET KING” “i’m voting remy idc if schlatt’s hot”

and then it’s schlatt’s turn.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t sit up. doesn’t prep a speech.

he just looks at the camera, cocks his head a little, and says,

“i’d come over. probably unannounced. you’d act annoyed, but you’d let me in.”

you swallow.

“i’d sit on your couch. bring some dumb snack that i know you like...but you like a ton of them, so i'd just bring all of them. then i'd bring over some liquor you haven't tried, and you’d pretend to hate it, but you’d drink half of it anyway...we could share.”

your fingers curl around your pen.

“we wouldn’t talk about what we are. labels...nah. we’d just… exist. same room. same energy. tension, like how there is now. i’d take one look at you and know you had a shit day. and you’d say you’re fine. and i’d say i know you better than that.

“schlatt,” you murmur.

he shrugs.

“and when you finally lean your head on my shoulder and sigh like that,”—he mimics it perfectly—“i’d kiss you. real soft. like you’ve already been mine. i'll show you what forever feels like, y/n.”

you say nothing.

no one says anything.

even chat is silent for a beat. just hearts.

then—

chat:

“OH MY GOD.” “HE’S CHEATING. THAT’S CHEATING.” “REMYYYYY NOOOOO” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘LIKE YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN MINE’???” “SOMEONE GRAB HER SHE’S FLOATING”

you stare at the camera.

“i hate you.”

“nah,” he smiles. “you hate how much you like me.”

and the worst part is—

he’s right.

✧✧✧

“okay,” you say, voice shaky, hand barely steady on your mouse, “it’s time.”

your overlay flashes. the final four line up in little rectangles beneath your cam. miles. elijah. remy. schlatt.

chat:

“SWEATING.” “OH GOD NOT LIKE THIS” “REMEMBER WHAT SCHLATT SAIDDDDDD” “WHO’S GETTING HOSTED I CAN’T WATCH”

austin clears his throat dramatically.

“all right, y/n—it’s your show. who are you eliminating first?”

you close your eyes for a second.

then:

.

.

.

“miles.”

his camera window dims.

“shit,” he says, laughing, rubbing the back of his neck. “fair.”

“you’re sweet,” you say honestly. “and thoughtful. and i think someone’s gonna love that bookstore date idea. but... it doesn’t feel like us.”

“yeah. i get that.” he smiles. “thanks for not clowning on me.”

chat:

“NOOOO MILES” “HE TOOK IT SO WELL” “A SOFT KING TILL THE END”

austin clicks something on the backend. your screen shifts.

“and now,” he says, grinning, “let’s reveal what miles picked.”

miles sits up a little straighter.

the card flips.

HOST.

you scream. immediately.

“WHAT—!”

“WHAT?!” he echoes. “i thought i had NO CHANCE—”

“YOU MENTIONED MY FAVORITE BOOKSTORE! YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD—”

“i panicked! it's one of the first things that come up when i looked up your username!”

austin is howling.

chat:

“MILES YOU SNAKE 💔” “HE PLAYED THE LONG CON” “HOWWWW I WAS ROOTING FOR THEM”

you collapse into your chair, laughing and a little horrified.

“okay. okay. three left.”

you look at their cams.

remy’s face is unreadable. elijah’s bouncing his knee. schlatt is… smirking. like he already knows the ending.

“my next elimination,” you say slowly, “is…”

.

.

.

“…elijah.”

his smile falters. just a little.

“damn,” he says. “knew that horror movie line was a gamble.”

“it was really good,” you say, sincere. “and i hope someone says it back to you and means it. because you’re great. really.”

“yeah. thanks.” he nods, and then gives you a little wink. “you’re kind of a menace, though.”

“i’m...aware.”

chat:

“HE’S SMILING THROUGH THE PAIN 😭” “ELIJAH WE LOVED YOU KING” “OKAY WHO VOTED HOST LET’S FIND OUT”

austin hits the reveal.

card flips.

LOVE.

you blink. “wait—”

“i wasn’t faking,” elijah says, shrugging. “maybe next time.”

your jaw drops. you look at austin, completely shocked.

“you’re telling me i just eliminated someone who actually wanted me???”

“yep.”

“and miles didn’t?!”

“yep.”

“this game sucks.”

chat:

“ELIJAH BABY NOOOO” “MILES WAS THE RED HERRING” “Y/N LITERALLY FUMBLED OUR KING” “AND NOW IT’S DOWN TO TWO”

you look between the remaining cams.

remy. schlatt.

your heart’s in your throat.

“this is insane,” you mutter.

austin leans in like a game show host. “so. who’s it gonna be?”

you stare at the screen for a long, long moment.

and then:

“…remy.”

remy’s expression doesn’t change. not at first.

then he nods. slowly.

“figured.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, barely above a whisper. “you’re—god, you’re so genuine. and cool. and intense in a way that kind of scared me, but in a good way. but... my heart’s somewhere else.”

he gives a little shrug.

“then go after it.”

you’re about to thank him again—until austin hits the card reveal.

HOST.

you nearly fall out of your chair.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE.”

remy finally cracks a smile.

“was curious if i could make you pick me.”

“YOU WERE MY FAVORITE, REMY?! I CALLED YOU A NETFLIX DRAMA.”

“well, now you’re in the season finale of one.”

chat:

“HE HOSTED...all men do is eat hot chip AND LIEEE” “REMYYYYYYY NOOOOOOOO” “Y/N IS DOWN BAD AND BETRAYED” “IT’S ALL UP TO SCHLATT”

you turn to your last camera.

schlatt hasn’t moved.

he’s just watching you. still leaning back. still calm.

you take a breath.

“you said that you picked love right away.”

“i did.”

“you’re sure that wasn’t just you being cocky? and trying to trick me?”

“i’m always cocky...and it's up to you if you don't trust me."

you glare. “that’s not an answer.”

he sits forward. finally. eyes locked with yours.

“you want the real answer?”

you nod. look at your screen at the pixels that make up his face.

“yeah. i picked love. because i already knew how i felt about you.”

your stomach flips.

austin’s mouse hovers over the card.

“wanna see the official choice?” he asks.

you don’t even look away from schlatt.

“…i believe him.”

chat:

“SHE BELIEVES HIM” “NO CARD REVEAL??????” “SCHLATT LOVE ARC CONFIRMED” “I’M SOBBING”

you smile—small, helpless.

“i fucking hate love or host.”

schlatt grins.

“but you love me. and you'll love me either way.”

"let's get these lovebirds together one last time, before the final reveal!" austin announces with his best game-show host voice.

the overlays vanish.

chat is gone.

you blink and suddenly it’s just you.

him.

and a blank black backdrop with both your cams up top. no emojis. no alerts. just your names in little white text.

you: y/n him: jschlatt

you breathe. shakily. you can hear your own heartbeat through your headset.

“they kicked everyone else out,” he says.

his camera quality’s too good. he’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, rings glinting under LED glow. he looks obnoxiously smug.

“just us now.”

you try to laugh but it comes out half-sigh. “this is so weird.”

“yeah. private moment in front of, what, two million vod viewers?”

“shut up,” you groan.

“you picked me,” he says, all too casually. "knew you would. those other guys..."

he blows a low whistle, rolling his eyes.

“...they wanted a highlight reel. i wanted you.”

you go quiet. it lands heavier than you expect it to. no teasing. no chat or twitch notifications to buffer the silence. just him, looking straight at you, steady as hell.

“schlatt…”

“nah, lemme finish.”

he leans forward now—forearms resting on the desk, chain glinting under the soft LED lighting. his mic picks up the quiet scrape of it.

“look, i knew what this was. austin’s little, weird show. twitch content. supposed to be funny. dramatic. a little messy.”

he pauses. smirks, but it’s softer now.

“but the second i saw you on that screen, all dressed up and pretending like you didn’t already know who you wanted?” he shrugs. “i got serious.”

you’re still. swallowing past the ache in your throat.

“i didn’t come here to win, sweetheart. i came ‘cause it’s been driving me crazy—watching every other guy try and fail to figure you out. trying to flirt with someone i’ve been falling for since the first time i saw you stream, and realized it got recommended to me because you were using MY spotify playlist.”

you let out a shaky laugh. “it was not. we just happen to have very similar taste if you play our stream songs on shuffle.”

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

“nah. you used it.”

you raise a brow. “prove it.”

“january 3rd, 2:13 a.m. your stream title was literally, ‘let's talk real vs fictional men—schlattcore edition.’”

your jaw drops.

“THAT WAS PRIVATE!”

“it was public. twitch dot tv slash your name. i was THERE.”

you fling your hands up, speechless. he’s still laughing, his smile tugging crooked and boyish now, all smug and warm.

“you’ve been stalking me, schlatt.”

“i’ve been listening.” he leans in, tone dropping low. “big difference.”

and god, the way he says it. smooth. serious. the kind of voice that slips past your headphones and settles under your skin.

you look away before your cheeks betray you again. he sees it anyway.

“you’re blushing,” he says, grinning.

“you’re annoying.”

“you like annoying.”

you huff. and then softer:

“i like you.”

he goes quiet.

for the first time in the call, he’s the one caught off guard. not a smirk in sight. his eyes soften like you just pulled the rug out from under him.

“…say it again for me?”

you bite your lip.

“…i like you.”

a beat.

“god,” he breathes, tipping back in his chair. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“...because you picked host?”

“yeah,” he says again, voice like gravel now.

you blink. “you’re joking."

his gaze drops. to the desk. the mic. anywhere but you. and it’s the first time he looks unsure. the cocky facade, the flirting, all of it—slipping at the seams.

“i just—i didn’t know if you’d actually pick me. i didn’t think you’d…say that. not to me.”

your chest tightens. “but you came on the show.”

“for content. that’s what i told myself. ‘crash it. flirt. make chat laugh.’”

he meets your eyes again.

“but then you started flirting with all these other guys, but you rejected them all for me, said you liked me. fuck, y/n...i'm so sorry.”

you open your mouth—right as the screen flashes.

BREAKOUT ROOM ENDED.

you’re back in the main stream layout.

the chat is already moving at the speed of light.

chat:

“WHAT WAS THAT???” “DID HE PICK HOST??? IS HE KIDDING???” “HE LOOKED GUILTY ASF HELP” “WHERE’S AUSTIN. AUSTIN DO SOMETHING”

austin’s voice crackles back in.

“well! that was certainly something…”

you’re frozen.

he’s still in the call. eyes locked on yours, but distant. withdrawn. unreadable now.

“…over two million people tuned in today,” austin continues. “making this one of the biggest ‘love or host’ finales we’ve ever hosted.”

you barely register it. the ringing in your ears is worse than stream audio delay. worse than your heartbeat.

austin’s grinning, voice smooth. teasing.

“but none of that matters… if love doesn’t win.”

he pauses.

then clicks.

the final card flips.

jschlatt chose...

.

.

.

.

.

LOVE.

the screen flashes red and gold.

the chat erupts.

chat:

“HE CHOSE LOVE HE CHOSE LOVE HE CHOSE LOVE” “IM SOBBINGGGGGGG” "fucking liarrrrr !!!!!!!!" “WHY DID HE PLAY WIT HER HEART THO 💔” “this was literally a movie wtf”

you don’t move. can’t. you just sit there, blinking at the screen, lips parted like the words are buffering behind your teeth.

then, faintly:

“you asshole.”

schlatt flinches—visibly—and then starts laughing. full-bodied, stupid, breathless laughing. he doubles over in his chair, chain clinking, the mic barely picking up the sound over your mic:

“YOU MADE ME THINK YOU PICKED HOST—ON LIVE??”

your voice is shaking. not from tears (yet), but from pure, overwhelmed, rage-laced joy.

“YOU—YOU GASLIT ME IN FRONT OF TWO MILLION PEOPLE—”

“i panicked!!” he howls, wiping his eye. “you said you liked me! i blacked out!”

chat is losing its mind, a sea of caps-lock.

chat:

“BRO LOVEBOMBED THEN GASLIT” “GIRL STAND UP 😭😭😭” “hello youtube” “WHAT IS THIS HBO???”

austin’s in the corner wheezing. you don’t even think he knows what to say. you don’t either. you’re too busy putting your face in your hands and screaming into your mic.

“i cannot believe you did that to me,” you whimper.

“you picked me,” schlatt says again, and you can hear it—how close he is to grinning like an idiot again. “you like me.”

you peek through your fingers.

“chat,” you say. “this is my villain origin story.”

chat:

“AS YOU SHOULD QUEEN” “nah that’s ur HUSBAND be so fr rn” “ I SHIP IT. I’M DELUSIONAL. I’M ALREADY DRAWING FANART.” "this shi is literally so fake and scripted tbh" "wait what happebned to elijah"

schlatt leans into his mic, trying to look calm.

“can i fly you out?”

you don’t even hesitate.

“no.”

he makes a noise—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “what? why not?”

“you bullied me.”

“i love you.”

“YOU MADE ME CRY ON STREAM.”

“and i’ll kiss you ‘til you forget the entire chat spamming Ls.”

you raise an eyebrow. "no they aren't."

"well, now that i said that, they are."

“schlatt!”

he just grins wider, folding his arms like he didn’t just throw a molotov into your frontal cortex.

“come on, sweetheart. i got frequent flyer miles and emotional damage. let me treat you.”

you smack your desk. “OH MY GOD—”

“say yes and i’ll wear the suit. that one.”

"the..."

"yeah. the one all the actors you ranked S-tier were coincidentally wearing. i may have, pulled some strings...but i can't write it off my taxes unless we make content together..."

your mic peaks.

your voice cracks.

you yell directly into it: “CHAT I CAN’T DO THIS HE LOOKS TOO GOOD IN NAVY!”

chat:

"girl bffr we all wanna see yall matching" “NOT THE SUIT. ANYTHING BUT THE SUIT” “i’m so embarrassed for her rn and also same” "FOLD FOLD FOLD FOLD"

you slap your forehead. "i'm going to block you."

"no you're not."

"i'm going to mute you."

"then how are you gonna hear me whisper 'you look pretty even when you're mad'?"

your chair squeaks from how hard you roll back.

"NOPE. NOPE. MODS, BAN HIM. BAN HIM FROM MY LIFE."

“you picked me, sweetheart. i’m legally yours now. according to our sponsors at cash app.”

you groan. loud. dramatic. half-muffled by your sleeve.

“i hate you.”

“nah. you hate how much you like me.”

chat:

“SOMEONE GRAB HER SHE’S MELTING” “SHE’S SMILING. SHE’S SO GONE.” “I WANT A LOVE LIKE THIS BUT WITH LESS PUBLIC HUMILIATION”

you sit up, barely holding back a grin.

“…one stream. one collab. and that’s it.”

“sure,” he says. “we’ll call it that.”

you narrow your eyes. “what does that mean.”

he reaches off-screen.

brings something into frame.

first—a single boarding pass.

your city. your airport. departure: tomorrow.

you blink.

“schlatt.”

his voice is softer now. lower. like you’re the only one still in the room.

“you said no when i asked to fly you out. so i’m coming to you.”

chat:

“HELLO????” “ROMCOM TWITCH EDITION.” “omg well that airport is gonna be packed tomorrow”

“you’re serious,” you breathe.

“completely,” he says, and then—he reaches off-screen again.

and pulls out two more tickets.

international.

first class.

japan.

your name’s already on one of them.

your hand flies to your mouth.

“you told chat on your birthday stream you’ve never been,” he murmurs. “said it’s your dream trip. i’ve been. i know the spots. figured we could go together.”

you’re fully speechless.

chat:

“I’M CRYING INTO MY MONITOR” “PLS. HE BOUGHT HER A DREAM TRIP” “TAX WRITE-OFF MY ASS HE’S SO GONE FOR HER”

“this is a content trip and a date,” he adds, like it softens the blow. “if you agree to come, you have to hold the camera and kiss me once per vlog though.”

you choke. “schlatt.”

he grins.

“say yes.”

you’re laughing now, bright and breathless and so clearly doomed.

“…what do i even pack?”

he leans in. slow. smug. voice warm and low and loaded.

“not much.”

you blink. “what?”

he smirks. “i’ll help when i get there.”

a beat.

“…help you take it all off.”

you gasp.

chat:

“HE SAID WHAT HE SAIDDDD” “IM SWEATING IN MY GAMER CHAIR” “MA’AM YOU NEED TO TURN OFF THE STREAM RIGHT NOW” “NOT IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN (me)”

your jaw drops. your whole soul leaves your body.

“schlatt!”

“what?” he shrugs, unbothered. “it’s a content trip.”

“you’re sick.”

“and you,” he says, eyes dark and soft and dangerous, “are gonna let me ruin you in three time zones.”

you SCREAM.

then slam your desk.

“MODS END STREAM. CHAT CLOSE YOUR EYES. I’M REPORTING HIM TO HR—”

“no takebacks, sugar lips,” he purrs.

click.

his cam goes dark.

you sit there in stunned silence, chat pinging in your ears.

then quietly:

“…i fucking hate love or host.”

you reach for the end stream button. offer a stupid smile to the camera, and wave to chat.

“...i gotta go buy a suitcase.”

stream ended.

chat:

"OMG OMGGGG" "heyyyy I just got here what's happening" "I WAS HERE I WAS HERE" "HI FROM JAPAN !!!" "cash app sponsor me pls"

[ozzgin]

Hello!

🌟 here again! I'm here with another request for our lovely bodyguard yandere.

Have you ever seen videos of fans jumping up onto stages with kpop idols? Then get carried away by security behind stage?

I'd love to see how our lovely violent baby girl would react to not being able to react with immediate violence as a reaction given all the eyes and cameras on him. Would he be stone faced just carrying the stage crasher by the collar like a cat? Or would he be dragging him by the legs into hell?

The reactions of fans to the bodyguard would be interesting too, I could see Reader being jealous over people thirsting over bodyguard on Twitter or something lol. Or bodyguard confused on why people would say stuff like "he could snap my back like a twig and I'd say thank you" about him.

Hope you are taking care, and I have my fingers crossed to hear from you eventually

Sincerely

-🌟

Long overdue and I'm terribly sorry about that! I had the ideas for a while now, but I could never find the proper words to assemble everything. ;-;

Yandere! Bodyguard x Idol! Reader (III)

Your bodyguard has gained sudden Internet fame after dealing with a crazed fan on stage. Naturally, he couldn't care less about anyone else, but that doesn't stop you from trying to make him jealous in return. Someone will have to be the sacrificial lamb to his murderous possessiveness.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, violence, death, reader and yandere are both psycho

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The screen of your phone lights up again and you only need a quick glance to know what it is. Another post about last night’s event. About your bodyguard. You sink your nails into the leather chair and look ahead towards the mirror, exchanging a smile with the hairstylist.

“Oh, it looks lovely! You always do such a great job.” You compliment the woman as you tilt your head both ways, admiring the gentle curls. Now get the fuck out already.

“I’m so glad! Is there anything else you’d like me to-”

“No, that’s all. You can go”, you respond curtly.

The stylist collects her products and waves at you, exiting the room. The phone vibrates once more with a new notification, and you promptly throw it against the door. It scatters in large chunks of scrap across the plush carpet.

The whole ordeal happened within seconds. You were performing the final song of the evening when a fan hurled himself over the security barrier and onto the stage. The people standing at the very front began screaming and some took their phones out, scrambling for a good angle to record everything.

“Please, (Y/N), I’m your biggest fan!” the man pleaded, approaching you with shaking hands.

You froze in place, observing his actions with the same indifference of watching a TV ad that goes on for too long. Before the stranger could even reach your proximity, your bodyguard effortlessly and speedily threw him over the shoulder, giving you a reassuring nod and retreating backstage. He had that smile on his face that signaled he was pissed, and your mouth hung open in realization: You wouldn’t be able to witness the massacre.

You knew that expression all too well. That man would never see the light of day again, and under normal circumstances you would be right behind your bodyguard, cheering him on and suggesting ways to further torment of whoever dared to get too close to you.

And yet, your little ritual had been interrupted. You stood there on the stage, baffled, as the other idols gathered around you with worried looks. You poor thing. That must’ve been terrifying. The audience was shouting words of support, encouraging you to continue as if nothing happened. With pursed lips, you tightened your grip around the microphone and reassured everyone of your well-being. The show had to go on, regardless of your bloodlust.

This morning, you woke up to hundreds of posts online about the incident. Or rather, the way your bodyguard dealt with it. You scrolled through photos, videos, and confessions regarding the mysterious stranger who protected you from harm.

“I need a man like that in my life!”, “I know, right? So cool!”, “Imagine how easily he’d pick you up”, “The broad shoulders! I’m in love <3”

You don’t even have time to be properly upset about it. Your schedule for the day is packed with interviews and photoshoots. You glance in the mirror one final time and exit the room. The bodyguard has been waiting for you, resting against the wall with crossed arms.

“I need a new phone”, you tell him in a casual tone.

“What happened to the previous one?” He inquires, somewhat confused by your sudden request.

“Just do it!” You snap at the large man, rushing past him without providing any window for a reaction.

Ideally, you would very much like to tell him that the sudden influx of attention irritates you beyond comprehension. Then he’d reassure you that his indifference towards everyone else has not changed whatsoever, and thus your worries are entirely unfounded; but, if you need an outlet to release all that stress, he can easily find an empty changing room and service you like he always does.

Unfortunately, there is no time for that.

The bodyguard follows your movements with raised eyebrows, perplexed. What could’ve gotten you into such a sour mood? Has someone caused you to be upset? Are you still pouting after the missed playtime? He ponders the possibilities as he searches for an assistant.

The employee is visibly startled upon hearing his deep voice calling her. She turns obediently and nods, flashing her best customer-facing smile.

“Can you get (Y/N) a new phone?” he asks plainly.

“Huh? Sure…Did she specify any preferences? What was her previous model?”

He stares in confusion.

“…Can’t you guess?” she insists.

“I’m not good with these things.” The bodyguard rummages through his pocket and pulls out an old, cracked device to prove his point. “I don’t use phones much.”

Why would he? The only time he needs a phone is when he’s apart from you, which hasn’t happened since the Christmas incident. He previously considered a more modern option, so he could stalk your social media and make sure you don’t have any perverts sliding into your messages. That proved to be unnecessary, as you frequently leave your phone unattended or involve him in the process: most of your photos posted online nowadays are actually curated by his truly.

“Oh, so you don’t know about the recent craze?” The woman chuckles and takes out her own phone, speedily tapping on the screen before presenting it to the man. “See? You’re trending!”

He scans the multitude of messages. Ah, so that’s what it was. His lips curl into a grin. To think he’d witness his spoiled idol struggle with jealousy.

“That will be it for today!” the photographer announces, gesturing with his hands and guiding his helpers with the expensive equipment.

This was it, the last photoshoot. You unscrew the cap from your water bottle and take a healthy sip from it, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your other hand. The only good part about the continuous work was that you couldn’t check more of those annoying posts drooling over your bodyguard. Remembering it is enough to increase your heartbeat. The male model you were paired with for this campaign walks in your direction.

“Say, do you have anything planned after this?” He questions smugly. “You could come back to my place.”

What a ridiculous idea, you think with a grimace. Does this asshat think he’s worthy of your company? After a second of contemplation, you’re flooded with the same disappointment you felt back on the stage, watching your fan being carried away like a mere piece of cardboard over the much larger frame of your bodyguard. You might just consider the stupid offer. Why not? It’s not fair to be the only one plagued by jealousy.

“Sure. I know a better place, though.”

Your eyes narrow in a bright smile and you lead the young man towards your backstage room. As you pass by your bodyguard, you remember to mention in a low voice: “Make sure no one disturbs us.” He doesn’t answer, merely gazes at you with an empty expression.

“Man, that guy is scary as hell”, the model remarks as he throws himself in your vanity seat. “Are you not afraid to be alone with him?”

“Not really, no”, you respond idly. “You, on the other hand…”

“Excuse me?”

Now then. To set the scene, you gingerly climb into the man’s lap and adjust your arms around his neck. What a frail little human in comparison to your bodyguard. You blush in anticipation and begin counting in your head.

“H-hey, what did you mean-”

The young man is interrupted by someone’s abrupt intrusion. Your bodyguard throws you a quick glance before turning to close the door behind him. Alright, he can’t be too excited. He must pretend he’s furious, baffled, out for the hunt. You went all the way out for him. He even checked his watch to make sure you had enough time. He can’t let his enthusiasm betray him.

You jump out of the model’s hold with a gasp.

“It’s not what you think~!” you exclaim with feigned surprise. “He started flirting with me and I…” Your words trail off and you rub your arm nervously.

The bodyguard approaches the other man with monotonous movements and grabs him by the collar.

“Wait, you can’t possibly…he’s a well-known model!”, you protest with a fake cry.

Sweet little darling. Worry not, he won’t disappoint you. He’ll put on the best show for your sake. Anything to soothe your innocent heart.

“Could be the President himself”, your bodyguard confesses with a dash of theatrics, “and I’d still break his fucking neck for touching you.” He pulls out his pocketknife and looks at you. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, Miss.”

Your knees weaken and you have to rest against the vanity table. Among the screams and pleads for mercy coming from the poor butchered model, you can only focus on one thing: the violent fucking you’re about to receive.

Your bodyguard truly knows you best.

[lolobeey]

Crash and Burn (1) - Partnered

Because juggling one WIP clearly wasn’t chaotic enough: please enjoy a grumpy/sunshine buddy cop duo with murder, trauma, and sexual tension in equal measure.

Pairing: Detective!Bucky x Partner!Reader

Series Summary: You just made detective. Your first case? A cold one — missing woman, dead cop, and a cover-up that smells worse than precinct coffee. Your new partner is James Buchanan Barnes: metal arm, resting murder face, zero interest in teamwork. You talk too much, he broods too hard, and together you’re one bad day from a workplace incident report. But the case isn’t as cold as it looks. And if you don’t start trusting each other soon, you won’t live long enough to solve it.

Warnings: slow burn, buddy cop romance, angst, eventual smut, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, mentions of death / off-screen character death, strong language - stronger jawlines

Word Count: 4.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

You’re halfway through a suspiciously warm donut and pretending not to panic over the new department-issued laptop that hates you on a cellular level.

The thing keeps making a sound like it’s struggling to breathe and refusing to recognize your password like it's personally offended you made detective. Which, fine — maybe you're a little offended too. Not about the title, but the timing. First day in Homicide, first time sitting at a desk with drawers and your name on a placard, and this is how it starts: with passive-aggressive technology and a lopsided jelly filling trying to escape down your wrist.

You wipe your fingers on a napkin and try not to look too obviously lost.

You’ve been on the force long enough to earn this seat. Your stats are clean. You’ve got the de-escalation record of a hostage negotiator and the kind of instinct that once made a guy in Vice call you a "crime whisperer" — right before you tased him for getting in your face during a domestic dispute call.

Still, none of that keeps your stomach from flipping like it’s auditioning for the Olympics.

You shift in the chair that’s technically yours now. Not borrowed, not loaned. Not somebody else's.

It’s weird.

Across the bullpen, people glance your way — some congratulatory, others speculative. You know how it goes. Every promotion comes with eyes. Some waiting to see you fail, others waiting to see if they can ride your coattails. You give a two-finger wave to no one in particular and return to whispering threats at your laptop like that’s ever helped anyone.

It’s not just the promotion that’s making your pulse flutter. It’s the weight of change. The rhythm shift. You spent your whole career building trust, beat by beat, post by post. Patrol. Vice. Now Homicide. You worked your way up like a damn mountain goat — not pretty, not smooth, but determined.

Your desk still smells like the last person who sat here. Carter, probably. Cigarettes and menthol lip balm. There’s a hairline crack in the corner of the monitor and a sticky note half-peeled from the edge of the drawer that just says "FUCK OFF HOSKINS." No idea who or what that is. Might be a warning. Might be an inside joke you’re not yet inside of.

The hum of the bullpen is familiar and not. Phones ringing, someone muttering about reports, the mechanical sound of the printer you already hate.

That’s when Captain Sam Wilson opens his office door and says your name in That Tone™.

The “I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day-but-with-love” tone.

You freeze with your fingers still mid-type (or mid-prayer, honestly, trying to remember if you turned on the VPN). Then you push away from your desk and follow him in.

You hurriedly brush powdered sugar off your shirt and wipe your hands down the thighs of your slacks. Sam doesn’t care about your donut crimes, but you care. First impressions in Homicide matter. Even with someone who’s technically been your boss for a while.

His office smells like cheap coffee and responsibility. The blinds are half open, slats angled to slice sunlight into soft bars across the floor. His desk is clean — unnervingly so. A few commendations hang on the wall, none of them flashy. Just… earned. Quiet power.

He gestures to the seat across from him. You sit, pulse picking up.

“Congrats,” he says. “Promotion’s official. You’ve earned it.”

You open your mouth to say thanks, maybe throw in a joke to cut the tension, but he lifts a finger.

“You’re getting a head start on your caseload.”

A beat.

“Unofficially,” he adds, carefully sliding a thin folder across the desk.

You blink. “Already?”

“Think of it as a welcome gift.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the folder.

“Cold case,” he says. “Not in rotation. Disappeared into storage years ago. Someone recently sent this to my desk.”

“Anonymous tip?”

“Anonymous photo.”

You open the folder and pause.

Avery Thompson.

Missing eight years. Legal aid clinic. Lived alone. No body. No leads. A dead case if you ever saw one. But paper-clipped to the front is something new.

A recent photo. Blurry. A crowd shot at a street fair — but in the middle of it, almost missed in the movement, is her face. A little older. A little more tired. But it very well could be her.

Your eyebrows lift. “You ever promote someone just to drop them in the deep end?”

“Only the ones I like.”

You smile despite yourself. And you’re still processing that when there’s a crisp knock at the door.

Sam glances over your shoulder. “And don’t worry, you’re not working it alone.”

The door squeaks open behind you.

You feel it before you see it. The shift in air pressure. The sudden heaviness, like the oxygen was reconsidering its contract.

James Buchanan Barnes.

New badge clipped to his belt, shirt tucked like it had never dared wrinkle. Hair tied back. Jaw set. One glove on — the left hand. Metal underneath, if the rumors were true.

He’s taller than you expected. Broader too. His face is sharp in that movie star, old-photo kind of way — all angles and quiet. And when his eyes land on you — briefly, coolly — it’s like you’re furniture. Like he’s assessing exit points and blind spots, and you don’t even register.

Your brain, ever the traitor, short-circuits for one hot second.

Of course, he's hot.

Cool.

Captain Wilson gestures between you. “Detective Barnes is returning from extended medical leave. He’s got history with the file.”

“History,” Barnes says, voice low, unreadable. “My old partner caught the original report.”

You already know the name before Sam says it.

“Steve Rogers,” he confirms. “He and Barnes worked the early leads until the file was closed.”

Your stomach tightens.

Steve Rogers. A legend. A loss. That name still lives in this building like a ghost — spoken soft and careful, like people are scared it’ll echo too loud.

Sam looks between you both. “I want this quiet. Off the books for now. No press, no noise. You two are the only ones working it. If anything smells off—”

“We bring it to you,” you say.

“Exactly.” He stands. “Don’t let him scare you off.”

You snort. “I don’t scare easy.”

“That’s why I picked you.”

You rise, folder in hand. Barnes is already halfway out the door — no handshake, no greeting. Just gone.

You stare after him, then mutter under your breath, “Well. If I’m gonna get ignored, might as well be by a man who looks like he could casually bench press the department’s vending machine. Fully stocked.”

Sam chuckles behind you but says nothing.

The bullpen doesn’t go silent when you walk out after Barnes, but it shifts. The noise thins. Conversations soften. You feel eyes moving toward you — then quickly away, like no one wants to admit they’re curious.

Not about you. About him.

Detective Barnes walks like someone who was made, not born — precise, heavy, locked-in. He doesn’t move like a cop. He moves like a weapon that learned how to walk upright. Three steps ahead of you, hands at his sides, jaw set like a trap.

He doesn’t need an introduction. He’s been here before. Every cop on this floor knows his name. Half of them probably have theories about why he left. The other half probably have nightmares about why he’s back.

You’re the new one. Technically promoted as of 9 am, given a badge with your name on it, and a chair that still feels like it belongs to someone else. You're aware of every eye that slides toward you and then pretends it didn't.

Your footsteps sound too loud behind him. Your file feels too thin. Your shoulder holster itches like it doesn’t quite fit. You’ve worn it for years — but never in Homicide.

You find your desk and slide into the seat like it doesn’t matter that it squeaks or that the monitor is cracked at the corner. You belong here now. Probably. Maybe.

Barnes doesn’t sit. He just stands at the desk across from yours like he’s guarding a perimeter. Shoulders squared, weight evenly balanced, spine too straight to be comfortable. Rigid silence and haunted war-veteran posture.

You glance up at him, trying for casual. “You good?”

No response.

He doesn’t even blink. You’re not even sure he heard you.

You glance at the file in your hands, then back up at him. Still nothing.

Okay then.

Before the awkward can go nuclear, a voice cuts through the static.

“Barnes, welcome back. You still brooding or did you pick up a new hobby in physical therapy?”

You turn.

Darcy Lewis is leaning over a file cabinet like she owns it. Granola bar in one hand, lanyard looped three times around her wrist, and an expression like she’s already read every file in the building and memorized the parts that matter.

She’s technically forensics and records, but everyone knows Darcy’s real specialty is data with attitude. If there’s something weird, something buried, or something half-whispered, she’ll find it and probably make a spreadsheet about it.

Barnes gives her a barely-there nod. It might be hello. Might be a death threat.

Darcy, unfazed, grins wider. “Still a man of many words, I see.”

Then her gaze flicks to you. Her eyes brighten, a little mischievous spark lighting up her entire face.

“You must be the newbie. You’re different than I pictured.”

You blink. “You pictured me?”

“Sure. Everyone’s been talking.” She tears off another bite of granola bar and waves it vaguely in the air.

“You’re the rookie from the Hot Dog Cart Incident. Crash, right?”

You groan. “I was hoping that name would die in Patrol.”

“Wouldn’t bet on that,” Darcy says, delighted. “Not after you wrecked a patrol car, two scooters, a newspaper stand, and a man’s entire lunch business.”

Barnes turns his head toward you. Slowly. Methodically.

You glance at him, then back to Darcy. “And still made the arrest.”

“I heard you were covered in mustard.”

“And glory,” you shoot back.

Darcy snorts. “Yeah, well. Nice to meet you, Crash.” She winks.

“Catch ya later, Barnes.”

And just like that, she vanishes, slipping into a nearby records room like a caffeine-fueled witch.

You’re left sitting beside a man who hasn’t said a full sentence to you since you met, but is now definitely aware you were once taken out by a hot dog cart.

You glance at Barnes again.

He’s now sitting in his chair, but barely. Upright. Back straight. Hands on his knees like he’s waiting for the next drill sergeant’s command. Not twitchy. Not anxious. Just… contained.

Like whatever lives in his chest has been locked up and labeled Do Not Open.

The silence stretches.

You open the file Sam gave you, mostly just to look like you’re doing something. Names, addresses, incident reports. Paperwork you should be diving into with your full attention.

But your eyes keep flicking up.

You wonder if he remembers your name. Or if he even cares. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t think you’ve earned your place at this desk. Maybe he’s still seeing Steve Rogers every time he looks at that file.

You hate that your brain keeps circling back to how good he looks — in that cold, ex-military, do-not-engage kind of way. Broad shoulders. Square jaw. That stubble like he shaved yesterday and immediately resented it. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not the point.

Still, there’s something about the way he sits. Like he hasn’t rested in years.

It’s not like you haven’t worked with guys like this before. Usually they crack a joke eventually. Try to test you, push your buttons, see if you’re tough enough to sit at the table. You know that game. You’ve played it and won.

Barnes doesn’t push anything.

He just doesn’t see you. Not really.

And for some reason, that makes it worse.

You tap your pen against the edge of the file and try not to take it personally. Maybe he’s not an asshole. Maybe he’s just rusty. Or tired. Or broken in ways that don’t heal.

You’re just about to speak again when a voice cuts in like nails on a chalkboard:

“Well, look what the wind dragged out of the evidence locker.”

You don’t need to look up.

That voice is permanently etched into your brain like a poorly done tattoo.

John Walker.

Of course.

You resist the urge to groan. Barely.

“Didn’t know they were letting Patrol mascots into Homicide,” he says, strolling up with that signature smugness and way-too-clean uniform.

“Didn’t know they were letting insecure men wear that much hair gel on duty,” you shoot back.

He grins like you complimented him.

“Crash. Still got the mouth. Good to know some things survive promotion.”

You fold your arms. “Still got the superiority complex?”

“Please. I earned it.” He flashes a badge with gold trim. “Seniority.”

Of course.

You knew he’d bring it up. He’d been your Field Training Officer when you first joined the force, before being quickly promoted out of the department. He likes to boast how he’s the one who trained a star officer, but in reality, he sat in the passenger seat and made you get him coffee for a month.

He turns to Barnes with mock surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you back, Barnes. What, you run out of dark corners to lurk in?”

Barnes doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at him, stone-cold.

Walker’s grin grows when he notices the file in your hand and Barnes sitting across from you.

“Wait a second—don’t tell me.” He points between the two of you. “You’re partners now?”

You say nothing. You don’t have to.

He laughs. “Man, they really just threw you in the deep end, huh? Hope you brought floaties.”

You open your mouth — something sharp, something just this side of fireable — but Barnes beats you to it.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is low and even, but there’s an edge to it. Not anger. Not threat. Just final.

You glance at him. He’s already standing. Already moving.

You look back at Walker and smile, all teeth.

“See you at the top.”

And then you follow Barnes out of the bullpen — shoulders square, file tucked under your arm, stomach burning with something that feels suspiciously like adrenaline.

Let the cold case begin.

---

Barnes doesn’t tell you where you’re going.

You try — casually at first.

“So… are we headed to a specific lead, or is this just a scenic tour?”

Silence.

No grunt, no side-eye. Just the steady click of the turn signal and the hum of the engine.

You glance at him, trying to read the profile — stone-cut jaw, stubble like he shaved yesterday with regret, expression locked somewhere between deadpan and “don’t ask.” His hand is tight on the wheel. The right one. The other’s gloved and motionless, resting near the gearshift like it’s not entirely his.

You try again.

“Blink twice if we’re about to break into a place I’m supposed to pretend I didn’t know about.”

Still nothing. Not even a muscle twitch.

He drives like he’s on a clock only he can hear — precise, no wasted movement, every lane change premeditated. Windows cracked just enough to let in the October air, cold and dry.

You settle back in your seat, staring out at the city as it scrolls by.

The silence stretches so long you start to spiral a little. Maybe he actually doesn’t talk. Maybe this is a test. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who communicates only in nods and quiet guilt.

Maybe Sam is punishing you for something.

Finally, just to fill the space, you mutter, “For the record, I’m fun on stakeouts.”

Nothing.

“I bring snacks. I ask insightful questions. I don’t hog the radio.”

Still nothing.

You glance sideways again. He’s not tense exactly. But contained. Coiled. Like someone wound too tight for too long.

You sigh, give up, and slump deeper into the seat.

“Cool. Hot and broody. Love that for me.”

That gets you something.

A subtle shift of his mouth. Not a smile. Not really. But close enough to make you feel stupidly victorious.

You decide that’s a win and open the case file.

There’s not much. A few witness statements from her old neighbors, all dated within the first week of her disappearance. Two of them contradict each other. One says she was seen getting into a car around 9:40 pm. The other insists she came home alone, groceries in hand, around the same time.

There’s a flyer for her missing persons alert. A note in the margin: 

No official suspect. No forensic hits.

And that’s it.

You blink. This is it? No deeper file? No full casebook, no internal review?

Barnes pulls into a narrow side street in Sunset Park, slowing in front of an old hardware store with half the letters burned out on the sign.

He cuts the engine.

The silence hangs for a second longer. Then he finally looks at you.

“Don’t say anything weird.”

You blink. “Define weird.”

But he’s already out of the car.

The hardware store smells like grease and dust and memories that don’t want to be stirred. Barnes walks in like he’s been here before. You follow, still unsure where you’re going until he stops at the back counter.

The man behind it doesn’t flinch — doesn’t smile either. He’s built like a blunt object and has the posture of someone who doesn’t want to talk.

“Ernie Delgado?” Barnes says.

The man sighs. “Figured I’d see you again someday.”

“Last time you talked to Steve Rogers. You told him something off the record.”

“Yeah. And then he died.”

Ernie doesn’t say it like an accusation. More like a warning.

“Avery Thompson. Your old tenant,” Barnes presses. “She was asking the wrong questions. You said that back then.”

Ernie shakes his head. “Poor girl. Caught the scent of something and thought she could do it smart — document everything, build a file, push it through legal channels. But she didn’t realize who she was circling.”

“Did you?” you prompt, earning a casual glare from Barnes.

Ernie hesitates. “She… she met with someone. Not often. Once, maybe twice. He never gave a name. Government type. Not local. Steve asked me about her meeting spots. I told him the guy drove a dark town car and never got out when he picked her up. Like he didn’t want to be seen with her.”

“What else?” Barnes presses.

“He wasn’t the only one watching her. I saw a second car tailing them once. Plates were swapped. Military decals. I told Steve and he got this look… like he already knew. Or was afraid he was right.”

“And then?” you ask.

Ernie shrugs. “He left. Said he had one more conversation to have before he dropped it.”

You and Barnes both freeze.

Barnes speaks, voice flat. “He said that to me too.”

“I didn’t hear from him again,” Ernie says. “Didn’t know what happened until it was too late. Didn’t want to know, if I’m being honest.”

You study Ernie’s face — the guilt, the years weighing on him. You know that look. You’ve seen it in your own mirror.

“It never stops mattering,” you say softly.

He looks at you.

“What?”

“The thing you didn’t say. The thing you could’ve done. Doesn’t matter if it would’ve helped or not. You still carry it. Every day. Every time you look at your reflection or the hole someone left behind.”

Ernie goes quiet.

Barnes does too.

You’re not even sure why you said it like that. Maybe because it’s true. Maybe because you know what it’s like to feel like you’re five minutes late to the moment that mattered.

Ernie finally nods toward a shelf. “There’s a box under that cabinet. Steve left it with me. Said not to open it unless someone came looking for him. I kept it. Couldn’t bring myself to toss it.”

You retrieve the box. It’s small. Heavy. Unlabeled.

“Thanks,” Barnes says, already turning away.

You nod. “For what it’s worth… you did more than most.”

“Yeah,” Ernie mutters. “And it still wasn’t enough.”

---

The box sits between you and Barnes on the center console like it might explode. Small. Heavy. Unlabeled. A presence all its own.

He hasn’t touched it since Ernie handed it over. Just let it sit there like a bomb someone else might defuse. He’s staring out the windshield, knuckles pale on the steering wheel, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

You sip your terrible gas station coffee. Bitter. Burned. Just enough to keep your mouth busy while you try to figure out what to say next.

Five seconds of silence pass. Then ten. Then twenty.

You cave.

“So… are we gonna open it, or are we pretending we’re on a stakeout with an incredibly tense paperweight?”

Nothing.

“Seriously,” you prod. “Is this a brooding exercise, or are you waiting for it to hatch?”

Still no response. Not even a twitch. The silence from him is so practiced it almost feels cruel.

You sigh and reach for the latch. His voice slices through the air, low and sharp.

"Don’t touch it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Pretty sure Ernie gave it to both of us."

His glare cuts over, cool and lethal. But you hold it. Don’t flinch.

Finally, he moves. Opens the latch himself, slow and deliberate, like it costs him. The lid creaks. The contents inside are aged but carefully packed: a black spiral notebook, an old precinct group photo, a flash drive in a cracked case, a manila folder labeled A.T., and a faded sticky note, curled at the edges.

Barnes stares at it.

You lean in. “What does it say?”

He doesn’t answer. Just picks it up and hands it to you like it burns.

The note reads: Check shift logs. Nov 2. Cross-ref 721-B. Red ink = wrong name.

You frown. “What’s 721-B?”

“Old witness form template,” he mutters. “Filed in cold cases before the department went digital.”

You flip the note over. Nothing else.

“So Steve thought one of the original witness names was fake.”

“He knew it,” Barnes mutters.

“And this was his backup plan? A breadcrumb trail?”

He nods, jaw tight. “He thought someone would care.”

You glance at him. “You mean you.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.

You reach into the box and pull out the notebook. The cover is soft from use, corners bent, the spiral a little rusted. You flip through it — Steve’s handwriting, neat and compulsive. Names, arrows, dates, short phrases, and patterns that loop back in on themselves like he was trying to catch something too slippery to hold.

“He was building something,” you murmur. “Trying to reconstruct her last few weeks. Clients, locations, conversations. He’s got a dozen entries for ‘H.M.’ and ‘S-26.’”

Barnes leans in slightly, reading over your shoulder.

“H.M. is probably Harold Marks,” he says. “Avery’s last known client. Worked private security. Got stabbed three days before she vanished. Refused to press charges.”

You glance at him. “How do you remember that?”

“I don’t,” he says. “Steve did.”

There’s a bitterness in his voice that cuts deeper than you expect. Guilt woven through every word.

You shut the notebook. Let the weight of it rest in your lap.

“You know,” you say lightly, “this whole thing would go a lot faster if you stopped treating me like a stranger who wandered into your grief party.”

His head snaps toward you. “This isn’t a party.”

“No kidding.” You meet his eyes. “But you’re not the only person who’s ever lost someone. And I’m not here to steal your tragedy. I’m here because Sam asked me to be. Because something about this case doesn’t add up. And maybe — just maybe — Steve trusted you enough to think you’d know what to do with this. But he didn’t lock it in a vault. He left it with a guy who sells bolts by the pound. That doesn’t scream ‘classified.’ That screams ‘findable.’ Eventually.”

He stares at the windshield again. Long inhale. Like the air tastes different now.

Then, “You’re loud.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated. Guess we’re even.”

His mouth twitches — barely — but it’s there. The first crack in the wall.

You pause.

“Sam put us together for a reason, you know. I talk. You glower. Classic partner setup.”

He glances at you sideways. Not quite a glare. Almost amusement. Almost.

“This isn’t some good cop/bad cop shit.”

You shrug. “That’s fine. I prefer chaotic good and emotionally repressed.”

He gives you a confused look.

You beam. “We’re gonna work great together.”

He sighs a long sigh.

"Sure, Rookie."

Your nose wrinkles at the name, but you let it slide. For now.

At least it's better than Crash.

You tap the sticky note. “November second. That’s two days before Avery’s missing persons report was filed.”

He pulls the manila folder out of the box. Opens it. Inside: photocopies of old witness statements, interview transcripts, surveillance stills, and a printed street map with five addresses circled.

“That’s her apartment,” he says, pointing. “The other four? No clue.”

He flips to another page. You see Steve’s handwriting again.

Only one witness testified. Two people reported the incident. Second report vanished. Name mismatch. File logged at 4:17 a.m. by ‘S. Barnes.’ I wasn’t on shift.

Your stomach twists.

“Someone forged your name?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.”

He leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer’s written in the liner.

Taking a deep breath, you finally ask the question that's been plaguing you since Sam's office this morning.

“What really went down that night you guys got hit?”

His voice is quieter now. Raw. “It wasn’t just a hit. It was scripted.”

You frown. “Scripted how?”

“The call came through dispatch like any other. Said there was a lead on one of our cases. Attached to a real case number — one that had already been closed.”

You feel the chill start to settle in your spine.

“We didn’t know it was fake,” he says. “Whoever set it up had clearance. Routed it through our precinct. Scrubbed the logs afterward. Picked a location with no cameras. No comms. No way to call for backup.”

“And backup didn’t know you were out there.”

He nods. “By the time they showed up, it was just me. Steve was already gone. And the place was clean — like someone came through right after to erase whatever trace they could.”

You exhale slowly. Your hands feel too tight around your coffee cup.

“And right before that,” you say, “Steve told you he had one more conversation to have.”

“He wouldn’t say with who. Just said it wasn’t solid. Didn’t want to jinx it.”

You nod. “And then…”

You don’t say the rest. You don’t have to.

He lost more than his arm that night.

The quiet stretches long again. Then you speak, voice soft but firm.

“You think this lead — the fake witness — that’s what got him killed?”

“I think someone didn’t want him following it,” he says. “And they made sure he couldn’t.”

You glance at the box again. At the map. At the tangled list of clues.

Then back to him.

“How deep does this go?”

He doesn’t answer.

But you both already know — it’s not just about what happened to Avery Thompson.

It’s who’s still making sure no one ever finds out.

[midnightfantasiez]

Babydoll | Lee Hyunjae

SUMMARY: your sugar daddy only wanted a simple request: record a series of sex tapes for him on a weekly basis. but when he finally made the move to meet you in person, it was there and then that you finally realised what he was truly capable of when he was off the screen.

PAIRING: sugar daddy!Hyunjae x f!reader

GENRE: smut (18+ MDNI!!)

WARNINGS: he's literally your sugar daddy 😃, sex tapes, dirty talk, cum play, hickeys, breast play, sex toys (ribbons are used), Hyunjae makes reader dresses up as a doll, praise kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bondage, doggy style, rough sex, missionary, petnames (babygirl, princess, babydoll), reader loses her virginity

WORD COUNT: 2,836

A/N: i am alive yes 😃 dedicating this fic to the miraes @daisyvisions @jinkoh @kyaroscuro 😚

Your hands began to tremble as you dragged the video that you had just recorded into the dropbox on the website, and you mentally battled yourself to click send. 

It shouldn’t have been too hard for you, especially when you have been doing this almost every day for the past couple of months, especially when the sender was your very own sugar daddy who had been sending you more than enough money to survive on a daily basis. 

You met Hyunjae online, and it took a while for you to accept that he’s not someone you would consider a stranger, let alone report to the authorities. Well, at least when you finally convinced him to actually send you pictures in real time to prove that he’s not lying about his true identity. 

Getting a random message from a stranger online seemed scary, but you definitely couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was willing to pay you ten times more than your part-time job at your local coffee shop downtown. You were struggling to pay for your university fees as you finally reached your last semester, and you were this close to taking on another job to pull through if you hadn’t met Hyunjae. 

What was interesting, or rather strange, was that he wanted you to record videos of yourself and send them to him weekly.

Erotic videos of yourself, to be exact.

That idea freaked you out because, for one, you had never lost your virginity, nor were you knowledgeable in conducting any of these sexual acts at all. Second, where and who were you going to go out to be able to find and convince them that you were practically planning to film an actual sex tape with? And of course, you weren’t particularly fond of posting your nude body out there on the internet for everyone to see. 

But before you could even start rejecting the male’s offer as you blabbed out all the potential things that could go wrong, he reassured you that the videos are just meant for him, and you don’t have to film them with anyone else. All you had to do was set up a camera in front of you, pleasure yourself and send the clip to him every weekend, and he would then transfer the agreed amount of money to your bank account. 

You weren’t too sure of the idea and knew from the back of your head that this all felt so wrong, but the temptation of the large sum of money he was willing to pay was too hard to resist, so you told him that you would try it out first to see. 

And he respected your decision, as well as reassuring you that you can always back out later if this isn’t something up your alley. 

The very first time you did it, it felt awkward to say the least. Even before mustering up the courage to record yourself, you had actually gone online and done a little bit of research on what was considered doable for your first-ever sex tape for Hyunjae.

There were definitely many ones that were a little too intense for your liking, especially on your first try, so you decided to choose the most tame amongst them before you began playing out the whole scenario in your head for a couple of days.

The moment you finally recorded yourself doing the act, it felt strange yet so good. You definitely discovered many things about yourself that you didn’t know even existed, especially in certain spots where you felt a lot more sensitive than others. 

It took less than a minute for Hyunjae to reply to your message when you first sent your video to him. Instantly, a large sum of money was transferred into your bank account. Feeling satisfied with your little accomplishment, you decided to try it out a couple of times to get the feel of it. 

Eventually, a month had passed, and you gradually increased the number of times you sent videos to him. What used to be a weekly habit was reduced to sending one every 3 days, and eventually every day from the start of this month. 

Hyunjae made sure that he had an actual conversation with you as well—giving you feedback on how you could do this particular action better or even suggesting new ideas that you could potentially try out the next time. But what really intrigued you the most was his praises—and god, how much those words sounded so sweet to your ears. 

Over time, both of you began talking a lot more than just about sex, and eventually got to know more about one another as well. Hyunjae would send you random photos of his daily life through text, and you did the same with yours. Eventually, you’ve come to realise that he’s actually a pretty goofy guy who loves random cute plushies that you would come across whenever you’re out with your friends. 

There are times when he would whine and actually send you messages that definitely did not seem to have come from a grown adult like him, where he would send you multiple crying emojis and begging you to buy it for him instead.

This childish side of him was lovable, and you giggled whenever he acted in such a way, but it also turned you on when he would suddenly switch to being this cold, yet dominating side whenever you would send your little gifts to him.

As you came back from reality and finally mustered up the courage to hit send, it took him less than 10 seconds to send you back a reply. But this time, it was something that was a lot different from usual, and your eyes widen the moment you read through his messages a couple of times, just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

🐻: shall we meet up in person real soon? 

You immediately started panicking. Being his little sugar baby was one thing, but meeting him in person? God, how your fingers started trembling as you struggled to come up with a proper reply. 

So many questions ran through your head: what exactly will he look like in person, to if he was genuinely as nice as he was online. Part of you wanted to meet him, yet another part of you was scared and reluctant, because if there was one thing your parents had taught you well, it wasn’t always safe out there. 

But before you could even think of a response, Hyunjae immediately sent you the date and location and a rather unusual request. 

🐻: i would love to see you dress up in pink with ribbons tied neatly through your hair. 

🐻: see you then :) 

As you read through that last message a couple of times, you finally threw your phone towards your desk before plunging yourself down onto your bed—burying your face and screaming into your pillow.

Oh god, what will I do now?

The dreaded date has arrived as you stood in front of the designated hotel sent by Hyunjae a week ago. You already knew that some passersby were giving you the looks, and you weren’t too fond of that idea. Ducking your head down the whole time as you tap your feet on the ground, you constantly prayed in your head, hoping that Hyunjae wasn’t just all talk and he really was on his way to you.

Just as 20 minutes passed, you suddenly heard loud footsteps approaching towards your right, and you looked up to see the very same man you had been waiting for. As your intuition was right, he was definitely a lot more attractive in person: his dark brown hair parted towards the side as he wore a black leather jacket paired with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

When he finally stopped right in front of you while catching his breath, he quickly shoved the flowers straight towards your face, bowing down a couple of times while he was at it to apologise profusely towards you.

“I-I’m so so sorry- the train got delayed and I had to go pick up the order I made for these flowers and-” 

“Oh my god! Don’t be, I just got here not too long ago as well,” you reassured the male, but he was able to wipe off that little lie you had just made towards him.

“My dear, Y/N. You don’t have to lie to me, and I should be the one who’s all embarrassed for making a lady wait,” he grunts before running his hand through his hair. And god, did that simple action make him look hot as hell. 

As he finally composed himself, he reached out his arm towards you, signalling for you to tag along as you both finally entered the booked hotel room. “Sorry for making you wait, my princess. Shall we finally go and have some fun?”

It was then you finally realised why on earth Hyunjae wanted you to dress up the way you did for tonight. 

As you examined the room, you could see that Hyunjae had picked a themed room for both of your visits for the night. It was a dollhouse room: covered with dusty pink wallpaper with a few toys that would satisfy the occupants of this room.

You already knew that you both were going to go down with some kinky shit the moment he had you dress up in pink, but definitely not like this. 

Hyunjae made sure to get you all comfortable before you could even think about sex: prepping you a hot cup of tea that was provided and letting you sit comfortably on the bed. As time quickly flew by and you two were comfortable enough, he slowly approached you before taking a seat right next to you. Gently, he snakes his hands onto your neck before pulling you in for a kiss.

The kiss was soft and sensual at the beginning: pleasuring you with soft yet hungry kisses and giving you time to adjust to his pace. His lips tasted like strawberries, and you knew that he probably went along with the pink theme that he had in his mind. As he had expected, you did not reject his touch and let yourself loose as you let him take full control of everything.

It all felt like a haze, and you were so mesmerised by his beauty and demeanour that you couldn’t pull yourself away from his grasp. 

Slowly, he moves his hands down to give your breasts a gentle massage, before going down underneath your dress to rub your already wet underwear. Hyunjae smirked in between your kisses, and he quickened his pace as your pants finally turned into soft moans. 

“I love how you’re so sensitive, Y/N,” he chimed, taking a few breaks between kisses to stare down at your now red, burning hot face as tears formed in your eyes. 

Just before you could even climax, Hyunjae abruptly stops as he stands up to pull one of your pink ribbons away from your hair to tie both of your hands behind your back. You were flabbergasted by that sudden action, but he was too distracted to even hear you ask what was even going on in his head. Followed by that, he pulls away another ribbon from your hair and positions it in between your thighs—hurriedly yanking down your wet underwear and tossing them aside. 

He then places the ribbon right underneath your wet, dripping clit and commands you to sit before he started pulling the ribbon back and forth. The friction from the fabric was now rubbing your clit, and god, did that stimulated you good.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, desperately wanting to cum at this point, and you knew from the look of his face he was trying his best to drag this out as long as possible—wanting to make you cry out to him more than you were right now. 

“H-Hyunjae…p-please…” You mumbled, trying to get his attention and wanting him to cut the act and get straight to the point.

“Hmm? What’s that, princess? I won’t know unless you tell me what you want.” 

“I-I want- Hngh-” 

“Yes, tell me, babygirl. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

“F-Faster…please…” You begged as your teardrop finally drips down from the corners of your eyes. 

Hyunjae smiles, and it does not belong to the goofy guy who would beg you throughout your texts for you to buy him the latest jellycat doll that was available on the market. 

No. This was your sugar daddy: the one who counted on you to make sex tapes for him once every couple of days for his own gratification. 

“Now that’s my good girl,” he winks as he quickens his pace, rubbing it faster and harder, which makes you scream in agony. “I just love messing with my little princess.” 

During the heat of the moment, he reconnects his lips with your bare skin—leaving a trail of kisses from your neck all the way down to your collarbone before he started sucking on them to make sure that he was going to leave a bright, red mark where it would be extremely visible. 

You, on the other hand, were suffering from the consequences of his actions. Tears continued pouring out as you finally felt a little knot form within your stomach, and it only took Hyunjae a few more attempts before the hot, warm liquid started flowing from your thighs down onto the bed. He simply smacked his lips before taking that very same wet ribbon and placing it right onto your lips, making you taste the aftermath of your own hard work.

“Tell me, how does it taste? Do you like it?”

“V-Very m-much…” You mumbled while biting the ribbon before he finally pulled it away from your lips. Though he wasn’t done, and this time he gently pushes you down before he positions himself behind you, and that’s when your eyes widen in fear. 

An unzipping noise was heard, and you knew exactly what it was without having the need to turn around to look. And frankly, you couldn’t have done that since your hands were still tied behind you, and you could only mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. 

Just as you had expected, his tip has just lightly brushed through your dripping wet clit before your entire body squirmed for a second. Hyunjae had to lean forward and whisper into your ear to reassure you that he would be gentle and take good care of you. With one hand gently massaging his tip at your entrance, his other one came down to caress your cheeks as he reconnected his lips with yours. 

Turns out he did kept his promise, and he waited until your body was no longer stiff with fear before he slowly pushed his member into you—causing you to yelp much louder than you did before. 

“Shh…everything is okay, babygirl. Just trust me,” he cooed as he kissed your cheeks softly before pulling himself back up and resting both of his hands on your waist. It didn’t take long for him to slowly pick up his pace, and he moved one of his hands onto your hands as he began pulling them backwards—making your body move up slightly and giving him a lot more room and pressure to thrust within you.

“God- You’re - So- Tight- Y/N-” Hyunjae grunts as he applies a tad bit more pressure each second. It was then you felt like your walls were legitimately breaking apart, and god knows how much longer you can take his cock anymore. 

Grunts and moans filled the entire room, and the bed shook vigorously, to the point you were starting to worry if it would even collapse with the amount of pressure he was exerting. The once soft and demure Hyunjae was gone, and he was now a beast. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” Hyunjae grits his teeth before he finally filled you up completely—all of the extra liquids oozing out from your clit and they continued dripping down your thighs to the bed. You were a complete mess from that whole ordeal, and you finally heaved a sigh of relief when you finally came down from your high.

But you wished that you had held onto that thought for now. 

Without even pulling out his member, he abruptly turns you around and snakes himself over your hands so that they were now wrapped around his neck as he lowered himself down to the point that you could feel his breath on yours. 

If you thought what just happened a minute ago was bad enough, you were in for another ride as you’re practically locked under Hyunjae’s grasp. The male simply licks his lips before responding with a sly smirk on his face. 

“My babydoll is such a good girl, and I believe she deserves another round.”

A/N: suddenly i've forgotten how to write smut so pls bear with me 😭

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @k-films @flwoie @mamuljji @synthwxve @j4edo @daisyvisions @h0mebody-heaven (join my permanent taglist here!)

[angellayercake]

Finally home and ready to put some actual thoughts together about this week.

Obviously many many Skeletour spoilers ahead 😊

I am going to go song by song even though my memory is pretty terrible so I might get some things in the wrong order haha and I will be honest this is going to skew very Papa heavy. For me at least he is so magnetic when he is performing I barely have eyes for anyone else. Although I did pick up on a few ghoul antics.

Peacefield: It was a little risky to open with an unknown new song especially with how iconic Imperium into Kaisarion was but man did it pay off. I said it in another post but I know that it is instantly going to make me cry when I listen to it again on Friday because it really set the tone for the whole ritual and it is forever going to be associated with these shows for me now. It is such a hopeful reassuring song and by the third night I was easily singing a long to the chorus (please don't ask me what the lyrics are now haha) It was only at the third show that I realised they show Papa singing on the screen before the curtain came down but seeing him there at the fourth show of the tour with part of the crowd already starting to sing along was such a special moment. @ghelullu explained it so well here you should go and read that if you haven't already.

Lachryma: Every single night the crowd went crazy. It was here during the Manchester Ritual that I got to see him smile for the first time when he was being drowned out by everyone singing the chorus back to him. It is incredible live and I could really hear how the new half mask has changed how he sings on stage because he was just note perfect every night. I have always been impressed with how he managed to sing so beautifully in spite of the mask but now it is just on another level.

Spirit: Spirit is right up there with my top favourite songs and it was one I never expected to hear live in person. I believe Papa says something about us joining him on a hallucinogenic journey or something along those lines and even though the final lines always blow me away his voice again is just so powerful and clear it feels a little like it is taking over your own spirit.

From the Pinnacle to the Pit/Faith: In Manchester we had the Meliora trio but it was switched out for faith in London and Birmingham. I did think there would maybe be some switching out for new songs once the album dropped but this was a nice surprise. I wonder if the change is permanent or if other songs are going to get switched in as the tour progresses but only time will tell.

Phantom Moment: All three nights Phantom had a little moment with the crowd where he split us and started a who can cheer loudest competition. One thing I do enjoy about the ghouls but especially Phantom is how much they emote through the masks and not speaking at all and it was a very fun interlude while we waited for Papa to be ready for the next song.

Majesty: It took me such along time to figure out where the hell he was in Manchester and when I did pretty much all I could see was the top of his hat! Could see a little more of him in London but it was only in Birmingham that I could see the whole thing. The robes really are incredible and the way the hands move and catch the light in the gauntlets. I am almost 99% sure it was not him in the robes though but we never get a clear look at him and the screen footage is pre recorded. That being said Majesty was the PERFECT song for this and is another one I never expected to experience live. My only wish was that he was a little more visible because Tobias or not the spectacle of him floating up in those giant robes just needs to be seen. Seeing the giant grucifix begin to move was a highlight I don't have the technical knowledge to really go into detail but what was already an outstanding light show is now mind blowing. Everything about the stage set is just bigger and better.

Chatting: The stage goes dark and all is quiet, except for the thousands of people screaming and cheering of course then up comes the spot light and there he is! In Manchester I am pretty sure he was still wearing the leather jacket but in both London and Birmingham he came out in just the shirt. In Manchester and Birmingham we had him coyly telling us he was new but it went a little differently each night. In Manchester he explained that the ghouls knew what they were doing but he did not and when he asked if we would be gentle with him the answer was a resounding no. And this where we got our first taste of flirty V he asked if we were going to treat him rough and when we said yes he promised to hold us to that. In Birmingham he asked the same question and half the crowd said yes and half the crowd (the side we were in of course) said no and he pointed out that the other side was being much nicer and that we would have to fight it out in the parking lot to decide. In London we got a little bit about it being very hot and steamy in the venue. Each night he transitioned his little speech into talking about the future which leads us too....

The Future is a Foreign Land: I was so so hoping we would get this on the setlist. It is so uplifting and another part of the show where the crowd singing almost drowns him out. When you are part of such a crowd screaming this message all together it really does feel like everything will be ok. And I especially liked the change from 2024 to 2034 it just feels like a little nod to how things in the outside world are a getting scary at the moment but that we all have to hope that it is not always going to be this way. If he is not wearing a jacket the end of this song is a key part to pay attention for tummy flashes.

Devil Church: The Grucifix is absolutely mesmerizing here as it raises to reveal the new stained glass window set. It is so so beautiful and a transitions nicely to the part of the show where you do really feel like you are being taken to (satanic) church.

Cirice: Cirice is another one of my favourite songs and one that I always recommend people to start with when checking out Ghost. The choreography is very similar to Copia era however it felt like he takes it a lot more seriously than Copia did. (Controversial opinion time. I always thought Copia was a bit too silly during Cirice. I love that goofy man but this is probably the one song that I feel is Terzo through and through and IN MY OPINION Copia never even came anywhere close to matching Terzo and the way he performed Cirice but I am very biased.) V seems like he had the Copia choreography for the larger stage with the intensity (not intimacy though but that is more due to venue size than performance) of Terzo. The very lucky person who was ciriced got an extra long kiss blown to them in Birmingham and if you are not anywhere near the actual ciricing make sure you watch the screen because they show some beautiful close ups of his face and his eyes. We also got the sparkly mask here in London and in Birmingham.

Darkness at the Heart of my Love: This was another big setlist surprise for me and not the only song from Impera I thought we would end up with. It is a very big emotional moment however they still seem to be perfecting the performance. It has had the most lyric fluffs of any song this tour and in Birmingham he managed to miss the entire first line. During the breakdown he asks everyone to make little ch ch ch sounds along with the rhythm which is a sweet little audience participation moment.

Satanized: And then we are straight into Satanized. This is the only transition in the setlist that feels a little jarring it kinda works to lift you up after the emotional dip of DATHOML but it still gives you a little whiplash. It sounds absolutely incredible live though and another moment of the show where the audience almost drowns him out. Screaming Blasphemy! Heresy! at him did not get old at any of the shows and he reacted accordingly every time even going so far in Birmingham to cower against the drum riser steps during the solo. It is a very fun performance and was a highlight every night.

Ritual: A classic and one I hope stays on the setlist forever. Very little has changed he still introduces Dew at the beginning a lot of the choreography is the same. The Lords prayer sounded like they have stopped adding the effect to his voice. It wasn't as growly as it has been in the past and it sounded more like him talking in a lower register.

Umbra: I loved what I could hear of Umbra which wasn't a lot really. The mix was pretty shit every night but it is definitely a song to dance too! The tune of the chorus is super catchy and the guitar and synth solo goes so fucking hard. There was also a fair amount of Papa gyrating which is always enjoyable and seemed to get more obvious each show. At the beginning he pops out of a trap door brandishing the cowbell which he gestures with to Swiss before marching across the stage and handing it to him and only after he has checked he is properly using it does he head for centre stage. After the solo 'Papa' comes out and runs across the back of the stage except we realised in London it is definitely not him. If you don't believe me look at the arms and thighs during your ritual and I promise you you will see it. I don't know if there was a replacement in Manchester because if I remember there was a bit of a delay starting Year Zero and he came out without the hat but I know for certain it was a double for London and Birmingham.

Year Zero: For me Year Zero is where it becomes akin to religious experience. His whole demeanour is much more serious even down to his posture. The reveal of the back of his cassock and the skeletal embellishments was an insane moment in Manchester and I feel like everyone in the place simultaneously screamed he has a tail!!??! It is just as epic every single time I hear it and the fire and the drama just make you feel part of something so much bigger. I was a bit sad there is no ancient serpent deceiver any more but it does track with V's more straight performance and the epic destruction of the stained glass did make up for it slightly.

He is: Is always another highlight. I makes me feel how I think I was supposed to feel going to church as a child. I enjoyed watching the stained glass rebuild itself into depicting 'good upstanding Christians' and thumbs up rocket ship Jesus gave me a good giggle.

Rats: After Jesus goes to space the church collapses leaving us in a hellish landscape ready to be overrun by vermin. I can't remember anything much from Rats. He comes out in his silver jacket which has a very subtle embroidered Grucifix on the back and the plain silver mask back on. I think in Manchester we didn't get as much of a reaction during his 'No' moment but it got more pronounced each show but still nowhere near as dramatic as Copia.

Little Chat: This is where we got the infamous 'Do you like things that go boom Manchester?' moment which was a bit cringe given the venue history but I really think he just goofed and was talking about pyrotechnics only. In London we got the 'I will give you everything you want if you just follow me' speech which was so so incredibly hot . He has some how managed to make asking the crowd if they would like a kiss even more slutty and filthy sounding and I am so very here for it.

Kiss the Go Goat: I fucking love dancing to this song. There are many many Mwahs through out and I even noticed him a couple of times making a little butthole with his fingers and kissing it. I also managed to take notice of the Ghoulettes at this point and they look very very hot in the new costumes with their wings dancing away.

Mummy Dust: It is straight into Mummy Dust then which goes hard no matter what. In Manchester the Mummy Thrusts started a little bit tame and Copia's whore moment was nowhere to be see. The thrusts at the beginning were a little more aggressive in London but by Birmingham we had some very vigorous thrusting both in the introduction and during the breakdown. Two of the canons went off a little early in London and I noticed the Mummy Dust does not travel very far back any more so unless you are in the first couple of rows you are better off waiting until the end. The only night I managed to catch any was in Birmingham.

Ending Chat: Here we got the winding down speech. To my shame I can't really remember what he said in Manchester but in London he spoke about the first show they ever played in London and told us to go and check out the venue after the show and this is also where he referred to Primo as his Uncle. In Birmingham he told us off for shouting no when he said it would be the last song and jokingly called us shit. It was here in Manchester that I completely lost my shit when he said 'Conclusively I give you,' with such a shit eating anticipatory smile on his face while he let us scream because we knew what was coming next.

Monstrance Clock: The final song on my list that I never thought I would hear live. I love this song so fucking much and the nipple tweaking is gone from the 'lady revealed of cloak' part but the boob groping is very much still there and in Birmingham he even flashed his fuck you patch at someone in the crowd at this part. They orgy background is very fun and I especially loved the erotic alphabet that was used to show the lyrics to the choral refrain at the end. They are just fun little touches that bring a new spin to this song and I like that they chose to go this direction instead of trying to replicate Terzo's birds and bees speech in some way.

Encore: He doesn't keep us waiting long for our encore. In Manchester we got a little bit about him being confused about how things work and no one told him what he was supposed to do but he guesses he could give us a couple for songs. In London some people had started to leave which he pointed out that they had the right idea. In Birmingham I can't remember exactly what he said but there were a lot of what I would refer to now as V noises that basically were asking if we wanted more.

Mary on a cross: In Birmingham we got a 'This is a song my Daddy used to sing'. Unfortunately I can't remember exactly what he said the other two nights but it was variations on the same theme. I am guilty of not listening to it so much anymore because I did listen to it to death when I first started listening to ghost but live the harmonies are just so incredibly beautiful and I just get transported back to those first few months of getting immersed in this fandom and everything Ghost. I didn't notice during the first two but in Birmingham at the end when they extend the last note he was looking towards the drums and apparently straight into a camera and the smile on his face was probably the most beautiful thing ever. In Manchester he did the marijuana cross but in London he just said Mary on a before saying fuck it and going into Dance Macabre and in Birmingham he said marijuana before saying fuck it.

Dance Macabre: Wobbling is out but shaking is in. At least I think that is what he said where wobble wobble used to be. He is very mobile during this dancing around all over the place. If anything of note happened in Manchester or London I can't remember because all I can remember is Papa and Swiss smooching. He was over the left side of the stage on the podium and as he ran around towards Swiss he some how ended up almost kneeling in front of him while they were dancing together before he kind of started to shimmy up until their faces were close and then Papa went in for a kiss. We couldn't quite believe what we saw but I am very glad we were in the right place at the right time because we had the perfect side view.

Square hammer: Just the biggest party all three nights. The pink/purple jacket is beautiful and I am glad we get little V versions of these things. I am so happy that this was kept as the closer because I am not sure what song could top it (although I may eat my words when Skeleta comes out). We also got the return of once more up the poop chute in Birmingham.

The ending bows are almost exactly the same but now we get to see him smile and blow kisses at the crowd which just makes the whole thing even more emotional and then it is final bows and it is all over.

This week has been absolutely incredible but I am going to save all the mushy stuff for after my last ritual in Linköping because I know I am going to have even more to say. Little shout outs to @ghelullu @bonecloaks @thew0man @callmemamaemeritus @da-rulah @her-satanic-wiles @dolceterzo @onlyhereforghost @abusivegreed @preqvelle @osiiiris(even though we didn't quite manage to make it work) and all the other people I have met so far this tour you have all made it so much more special than it already would have been 💜💜

If you managed to get this far bless you and I hope you enjoy all your ritual adventures!

[goodluckeddie]

things I’ve been thinking about recently and want to make posts about but I don’t have the energy:

Tía Pepa’s conversation with Buck was the reason he put in for a transfer. Bro completely misinterpreted what she meant by embracing change - he heard “things have changed and you must go with them” rather than “things have changed but you must take it in your stride.”

Eddie point blank LYING about how much he was grieving because he’s a big strong rough tough repressed man who doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it except his husband. Getting a 12 in the grief assessment… sure buddy sure. The way he explodes in the kitchen fight is because nobody had asked what finding out about Bobby was like for him - while he only specifies Buck, I think literally nobody had asked him about it. But he didn’t blow up around anyone else because he wanted Buck to ask him. He wanted to grieve with Buck. The one person he can always go to, the one person who always comes to him. But Buck’s way of grieving was to shut himself off, so he couldn’t come to Eddie purely because he was struggling too. All Eddie wanted to do was grieve together.

That moment in 4x14 after Eddie gets shot and the they’re in the fire engine on the way to the hospital, and it’s the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment of Eddie weakly raising his hand as if he’s going to reach for Buck, but he can’t manage it and it falls again.

3x01, Bobby pushing Eddie towards Buck right before they hug at the surprise party. Bobby Nash always at the scene of the crime.

How I’m so pissed off that Mara’s adoption didn’t get a storyline. I know we got the whole thing about the foster license at the start of the season, but it’s the sort of thing that should have been given a more satisfying end. I’m glad she’s adopted, but I would’ve loved to see it happen properly.

Similarly, Madney’s wrong gender reveal cake went nowhere??? Think of the touching Maddie-Chimney-Jee moments we were robbed of when they had to explain to her that it was a boy, not a girl.

Despite shoddy writing for a lot of the death arc, I really enjoyed the tension between Athena and Chimney. It did feel very real, and Angela and Kenny acted the shit out of it.

Dramatic Eddie Reveals. He should be revealed like that every time he’s on screen.

Buck setting a new record for how many times he can say Eddie’s name in 8x11. The episode didn’t even feel like Eddie wasn’t in it because you knew at any given moment Buck was about to start yapping about him. Oh, and the competition scene. The motherfucking competition scene. The scene about the competition. The fact that Buck’s ex-boyfriend canonically saw Eddie as competition. Eddie haunting the narrative like a bitchy little ghost.

I want Athena and Buck scenes in s9. Less like Buck is Bobby’s dog who Athena begrudgingly but lovingly takes care of now that he’s gone, more like Buck is a goldfish that Athena occasionally feeds because she’ll be damned if she lets Bobby’s fish die. (But like Buck is still a dog. If that makes sense.)

Christopher and Denny bestieism would heal my soul.

Jealous Eddie my beloved <3

Where did Carla go???

Okay that’s all I’ve got for now <3 feel free to add your own things to this list <3

[angelkiyo]

i saw u write bleach too so what about ichigo college au bf hcs? 🤔

a/n: first bleach askkkk 😸 yus i lob ichigoat thank you lovely. this is gonna be so self indulgent ilh <333

ʚɞ ⁺˖ college au! ichigo, who you met at your barista job near your university. he’s been more noticeable recently due to his need to grind out for his linguistics midterms— specifically for syntax and sociolinguistics. he orders the same thing: cold brew with light cream and one sugar, and camps out by the corner of the cafe with his eyes glued onto his laptop screen. you rarely see him with anyone else accompanying him at the café which causes for your co-workers to attempt to give you the push to talk to him.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ college au! ichigo, who notices your little notes and glances from across the cafe. in his opinion, you seem chill and he’d like to know you. from what it appears, you seem a bit shy and nice, the worker who always takes his order when he wants his usual, to the point where you even remember his redundant order. he appreciates the gestures but doesn’t know how to reciprocate—should he compliment you? he would really want to get to know you. it isn’t until you stay an extra shift to see ichigo leave where as you pick up the dishes from his table do you notice a 20 dollar bill with a note aside stating “here’s my number, call me …”

ʚɞ ⁺˖ college au! ichigo, who, once you start dating, is a complete gentleman. he gets to the point during your first date at a local round 1 and gets a few things straight; he hates situationships and isn't into "just casual". he's a genuine guy who learns the little things about you; your likes and dislikes, what your favorite order is, favorite color. he’s the type of person to type it in his notes app in case he ever forgets (will most likely not). you also learn about his own goals; be a translator and survive his sophomore year as well as his own interests like rock and the whole punk aesthetic in a toned down way (which is super cool). something else you learn he’s a huge romantic in his own nonchalant way as you two soon get to know each other more.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ college au! ichigo, who walks you to class and loves to subtlety show you off on his social media. he enjoys letting you pick out what photos he should post and letting you pick the songs he chooses on his stories. he likes having you be active in his hobbies and even encourages you to go with him at his martial arts gym for moral support or if you want to also try it out. you also meet his sisters and they become fond of you, sparking him to fall even more in love with you. (his dad catches wind of you and teases him on his “game”)

ʚɞ ⁺˖ college au! ichigo, who is so boyfriend material. he def seems the type to also attempt to play basketball, point at you and say “this is for you” and not miss (bc ichigoat neva misses). he’s also the type of person to acknowledge that you can handle yourself. however, he is a definite overprotective guy and would defend you if you were to ever be in a misunderstanding with anyone.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ if anything, your dynamic would look smt like listener x yapper and would be interchangeable. he loves to listen to your rants about different people and about your hyperfixations. however, ichigo def yaps about what he’s listening rn. the two of you would probably have a shared playlist where he adds his radiohead, foo fighters, and occasional the weeknd songs. he would definitely be the type to dedicate playlists about you filled with cute love songs (just don’t mention it to him, he’s gonna start nonchalantly denying it).

ʚɞ ⁺˖ he would def set up dates with you to go thrifting based off on the literal fire fits he has on and then later on, go to a record shop. dates in general would consist of either going to places like that, going to the park, or just going in his room and staying in. he’s a very simplistic person but he puts in a lot of effort. he cares a lot about you and your interests as well, showing it in his own way by buying you merchandise. remember talking about hyperfixations? mention a book series, manga, or show you like? he’s the type of person to “casually” drop by with one of those bouquets made of books or cds just to see your cute expression.

———

a/n : loved doing this on the train ty for this ask ml — this was fun 😭😭

[lemotmo]

😂😂😂

Q. You all keep screaming Buddie Canon. You're even running to the 911 socials and screaming it. Do you actually not know what canon means? You all do understand that the only Buck relationship that currently exists within the ACTUAL canon text of the show is BuckTommy? Canon means actually confirmed on screen. Not in fandom. Not online. Actually acknowledged as fact within the text. Just thought you might find this helpful.

A. I'm very aware of what canon means, thank you very much. I'm also very aware of what context, subtext, and story building is as well, all things you seem to be completely unaware of. So just for the record it is NOT canon that Tommy had a troubled home life. It is NOT canon that he's autistic. It is NOT canon that he was a victim of bullying his whole life. It is NOT canon that he treated Chim and Hen like shit because he was afraid to let everyone else know how sensitive and caring he really is. It is NOT canon that both Chim and Hen forgave him for the way he treated them and consider him a good friend now. It IS canon that he tried to out Buck to Eddie and has now tried to out Eddie to Buck. It IS canon that he sees Eddie as his competition as far as being with Buck is concerned. It IS canon that he was only willing to try again with Buck because Eddie is now 800 miles away. It IS canon that he's condescending. It IS canon that everything about Buck, other than his physical appearance, seems to irritate him. It IS canon that Buck now knows he was never in love with him, not even close. It is also NOW canon that he's pathetic and in fact willing to be someone's second choice so long as their first choice isn't actually physically nearby. This was fun, anon.

Thank you Nonny.

As for Ali's answer?

OOOPS! 🤭🤭🤭

Puh-lease! Most of us have been in the trenches for 7 seasons now. We know exactly what the word CANON means. You know what else we know? We know that CANON isn't always the most important thing of all. We have succesfully been shipping a fanon ship fraught with romantic subtext for years now, throughout all of their failed CANON relationships, such as BT. And look where we are now...

Our patience has finally paid off. Both of them are single and there are obvious CANON signs that one of them is starting to realise the truth about their relationship.

I cannot wait for the next episode! Bring it on!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[scary-grace]

Opposites Attract (Chapter 6) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Chapter 6

The doctor marks your height, and you watch the number pop up on the computer screen. “Why do you always take my height?” you ask as you put your boots back on. “It never changes.”

“We’re measuring change over time. Now your weight.” The doctor watches you make your way to the scale. “Boots off.”

You take your boots off again, then step up. There’s a ping, and the doctor scoffs. “I know you didn’t gain three hundred pounds in six months, Skynet. Stop altering the readings.”

“It’s unnecessary to weigh me,” you say. You’ve talked to other participants in the study, and you know getting weighed and having their weight commented on makes them feel gross. “It’s got nothing to do with my quirk. Or anybody’s quirk.”

“We’re measuring change over time,” the doctor says again. “The point of the weigh-ins isn’t to embarrass you or anyone else. It’s to measure the effect of sixth-generation emitter-type quirks on the human body. We don’t know what changes may result from quirks like yours.”

“I get it,” you say. “You still don’t need my weight.”

“If you’re insecure, I can tell you that it doesn’t look as if you –”

“I’ll break this scale,” you say. The doctor looks shocked, then offended. “Either record my weight with the extra three hundred pounds or don’t record it at all.”

The doctor sighs and gestures for you to step off the scale. You start putting your boots back on for the second time, trying to suppress the weird surge of triumph you get from breaking a stupid rule and getting away with it. That’s not something you had before. You know where it came from.

The doctor continues on with the questionnaire. “Are you on birth control?”

“No.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” The doctor gives you a look, which you return. Then she taps the side of her neck, and you cringe.

You aren’t sexually active. Making out doesn’t count as sexually active. Having a whole hickey on your neck, one which you thought you’d covered successfully, doesn’t even come close to counting. The doctor marks a yes anyway. “How many partners do you have?”

You could argue about it. “One.”

“Was that so hard?” The doctor clicks through to the next screen, or tries to. You tap your finger against the table and scramble her hard drive ever so slightly. She turns to look at you, already exasperated. “Was this you?”

“No,” you say, innocent as can be. She can’t prove it was you, and besides, it was her fault. If she hadn’t been so insistent on the sexual activity thing, you wouldn’t have had to crash her computer.

You aren’t sexually active, but that’s not for lack of opportunity. The Shigaraki thing has officially gotten out of control. You were going to end it, whatever it was, but then you kissed him, and now he thinks you’re his girlfriend. Ever since the confrontation where you stole the quirk-canceling bullets but let him escape, he’s been at your apartment more nights than not, and it’s – weird. Weird because he’s a villain. Weird because in spite of being a villain, and in spite of the fact that he’s not your boyfriend, Shigaraki is still somehow the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He tells you how he feels about things – if he doesn’t like something, you hear about it, but you hear about it when he likes things, too. And he likes you, a lot. Usually guys play hard to get, trying to keep you on your toes, seeking their approval, but Shigaraki doesn’t. He shows up often. He doesn’t want to leave once he does. He’d come by more often if he could get away with it. There are only three problems. First, that he’s a villain. Second, that he wants you to be a villain, too. And third, he’s just really, insatiably horny.

Part of the reason you’re not sexually active is the same reason he’s been staying so much later than he used to. When he’s with you, Shigaraki has a time-management problem. He wants to eat dinner. He wants to talk. He wants to watch something. And he also wants to make out, whenever one of the other three things isn’t happening. Getting him the gloves was a mistake, because Shigaraki’s now the handsiest person alive in more ways than one. Even when you’re both doing something else, he’s always touching you – your hand, your shoulder, your back, your foot, whatever’s in reach. And more often than not, it turns into making out at some point.

The handsiness is a big distraction for you. So much so that you didn’t notice he’d marked up your neck until after he left. Shigaraki is going to hear about that from you the next time he comes over. Or maybe you’ll just pay him back in kind and let the League of Villains do it for you. Failing that, you could move your relationship into sexually-active territory, then tell him it’s off the table if he chews up your neck again. The doctor is one thing, but you have friends, too, and none of them need to know anything about what’s happening in your apartment four or five nights a week.

The doctor finally reboots her computer and moves into the next part of the questionnaire. You’ve been doing these twice a year since you moved to Japan to attend UA – it’s one of the conditions of your presence here – and the interview’s never anything but uncomfortable. You know why they do it. They want to see if the presence of a sixth-generation quirk affects the way you think about your quirk, which means that they hook you up to an EEG and ask you to talk about the day your quirk awakened. You’d be perfectly happy never to talk about that day again.

You can’t read an EEG, but your results must be consistent at least, because they don’t try to stick you in an MRI. They do have follow-up questions, though. An unfair amount of them. “We’ve followed your professional activities since your last evaluation, and we’ve noticed a shift in your use of your quirk,” the psychologist says. “What’s the origin of that?”

“Uh –” You should have guessed that they’d ask this. You should have had a response ready. “I guess I always thought it was too dangerous to use on a broad scale. That’s what everyone always told me.”

The psychologist nods. “And recently?”

“I realized I needed to use it more. I tried to think of ways to make it safe, and I have,” you say. “My property damage figures have been reasonable.”

“They’ve been subthreshold,” the psychologist says. You blink. “In fact, the truck you flipped during the latest League of Villains incident required no repairs other than a windshield replacement. The damage caused when you stopped the Tohoku Shinkansen from derailing was similarly small. In your past evaluations, you’ve seemed almost afraid of your quirk – not unusual, for a sixth-generation wielder. It doesn’t seem like you’re afraid anymore.”

You don’t answer. “Why is that?” the psychologist prompts. “I’ve been evaluating you since you were fourteen, and it’s a significant shift in viewpoint. Did something happen?”

Yeah, something happened. Shigaraki happened. You might be justifiably wary of his quirk, but he’s never been scared of yours – he’s always commented on how strong it is and how well you use it, usually in an appreciative tone, although there have been a few times where he was visibly surprised. Nobody else has had that kind of confidence in your ability to handle your quirk, and it’s kind of rubbed off on you. If Shigaraki, who knows all about destructive quirks, thinks you can handle yours, maybe it’s true.

It goes further back, too – to your failure at Kamino, which led directly to your decision two weeks later to say screw the property damage and stop the Shinkansen anyway. Shigaraki might be trying to turn you into a villain, but he’s made you a stronger hero in the bargain.

“Well?” the psychologist prompts again.

“I don’t really know,” you say. “I was scared of it as a kid. Maybe I just grew up.”

That wasn’t the answer they wanted, but it gets you through the rest of the evaluation, and you really couldn’t ask for more than that. It’s late when you leave the building – you grabbed the last possible slot, coming here straight from patrol – and it’ll be even later when you get home. Shigaraki won’t stop by tonight, you don’t think. That’ll be a good thing. You always feel weird after the evaluations. Even though the research is theoretically going to enhance understanding of quirks and help sixth- and soon to be seventh-generation wielders cope with their abilities, it still makes you feel like there’s something wrong with you.

Because there is something wrong with you, just like there’s something wrong with a lot of sixth-generation wielders, apparently – your use of your quirks is too instinctual, too unconscious, and therefore too dangerous. Your metal sense, your awareness of the magnetic fields you manipulate, is something you have to consciously ignore if you don’t want it to distract you. It’s always there. You tap into it as you walk to the train station, scanning everything around you. The parked cars, the quiet streets, the infrastructure always humming just below the surface. And there’s something else, too – a human-shaped concentration of iron, barreling towards you at high speed.

You grab for it, latching onto the magnetic field, but your attacker’s too close. Momentum does the rest, and his fist strikes the side of your head with blinding force.

You feel like your head’s exploded. Everything whites out, then comes back spitting sparks, like an old-time desktop computer with an ax through the screen, as the person who struck you drags you into the alley and out of sight. “Got you,” he hisses, his voice low and rattling. He’s big. Big isn’t a problem for you, usually. You claw for your quirk, grasping his magnetic field again, only for him to backhand you across the face, scattering your concentration for good this time. “Nuh-uh. Try to freeze me again, you bitch. I’ll make this hurt even worse.”

You don’t freeze him. You drive your knee into his groin, and he slams you back against the wall with a snarl. Your head strikes with a hollow crack, and your vision goes white for longer this time, your head splitting with pain. The criminal drops you to the ground, aims a kick directly into your ribs. The air leaves your body in a harsh, painful gasp, and you slump sideways. Your quirk is straining to break free of every control mechanism you’ve placed on it, ready to pull the city down to save you, to bury this man under tons of rubble and steel and let you crawl away alive. You could do it.

But you can’t. You can’t risk killing other people, so the choice is brutally clear, obvious even to you with your aching head and bruised ribs. Someone is going to die tonight. If you don’t let go of your quirk, let it protect you, it’ll be you.

A blurry shadow appears at the head of the alleyway, blocking the light. A familiar voice rings out, jagged like you’ve never heard it before. “She’s mine.”

“Come and get her, then, runt.” The man turns away from you, towards the intruder, and you force yourself into motion, grabbing his foot and trying to yank him off balance. He kicks back in response and you throw yourself sideways, narrowly avoiding getting your face smashed in. “I told you, you fucking bitch. If you try to –”

His voice cuts off in an abrupt gurgle, and you look up to find him already crumbling, falling to pieces from the spot on his shoulder where Shigaraki grabbed him. Shigaraki throws him aside while he’s still disintegrating and gets right down on the ground next to you. “What happened?” he demands. “Are you –”

You shove him away, hard, and even so, you barely avoid throwing up on him. Your ears are ringing and your head hurts so badly that you almost wish someone would come along and kill you. Maybe Shigaraki will do the honors, since you almost puked all over him. The retching makes everything worse, but you can’t stop. Even getting dragged behind a train didn’t feel like this.

“Hey. Come on.” Shigaraki is pulling you backwards, away from the puddle of vomit and the pile of dust that used to be a human being. “Sit up. Let me see. How many times did you get hit?”

Three times. But it wasn’t until he threw you against the wall that you went down for the count. You hold up four fingers, you think, and Shigaraki’s voice sharpens. “You could have killed him,” he says. You shake your head. Big mistake. You find yourself retching again, and Shigaraki holds you upright, still snapping at you. “Bullshit. I know you could have. You can do anything with your quirk. Why didn’t you do it?”

“Hero,” you mumble. “Heroes don’t –”

“I don’t care what heroes do! If I hadn’t been here – fuck!”

What was he doing here? He’s mad at you – probably the exposure, because you’re in a populated area, and he’s Japan’s most wanted criminal, and right now he’s dealing with you. A stupid, injured hero. “You have a concussion,” he says. “You need a doctor. Where’s the nearest clinic?”

“My phone –” You fumble in your pocket, and Shigaraki lifts it out of your hand. Unlocks it, too. When did he learn your passcode? “You need to get out of here. If you get caught –”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps. He consults the screen of your phone. “Three blocks that way. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t ask if you can walk, so you don’t have to lie and say that you can. If he lets go of you, you’re not sure you can stay upright. Shigaraki wraps one of your arms over his shoulder and one of his around your waist, and starts dragging you down the street. You mumble something about getting caught, and he ignores you. He has the hood of his coat up and his head ducked, and although you can see his face when you look up, you can’t read his expression even a little bit.

Finally you’re across the street from the urgent care, just outside the glow of the streetlight. “I can’t go in there. Can you get across the street?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up. It’s safer than nodding. “Good. Go.”

He says that, but then he doesn’t let go. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you blink up at him, trying to clear it. He’s mad at you, you think. Sorry, you say, or mean to say. Something else comes out: “You saved me.”

“Shut up.” Shigaraki apparently doesn’t trust you to do that, because then he kisses you – even though you threw up ten minutes ago and haven’t done much more than spit a few times to clear things out. “I – just go.”

You get your feet under you and push away from him, getting upright under your own power. Then you turn away, step into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp, and start staggering across the street. You make it all the way to the clinic before the dizziness overwhelms you.

The nurses are really nice to you. You’re in costume, and you clearly got beat to shit, and when you tell them it was a criminal who attacked you, they get even more sympathetic. They do ask how you got away, though. You’re so out of it that you tell them someone saved you.

“Who?” the nurses ask, and you shake your head, even though it nearly blacks you out. Even if you told them, they wouldn’t believe you.

Your cheekbone is fractured, your ribs are bruised, and you have a concussion. But because you didn’t pass out, it’s not considered severe, and as a result, they release you to your own devices with some painkillers, prescription anti-nausea medication so you can keep food down, and instructions not to overwork your head. The nurse who goes over the discharge instructions with you hints strongly that you should call someone to sit with you. You tell her you’ll call somebody if you get worried, but you don’t need to be worried. You’re fine.

You’re fine, but the walk to the train station wears you out. You’re fine, but you get dizzy climbing the stairs to the platform. You’re fine, but you have to set an alarm on your phone to remind you of your stop, in case you fall asleep. You’re not supposed to fall asleep for long periods of time right now. You’re not supposed to read or look at your phone or listen to loud music or anything. Your injuries are bad enough that when the nurse logged them into the hero network, you were automatically removed from active status for a week. But you’re fine.

You’re telling yourself that – fine, fine, everything’s fine – when someone sits down right next to you on the train. There are dozens of empty seats, but they chose the one next to you, and people who do that rarely have good things in mind. You really hope they keep their hands to themselves. If your limbic system activates, it’ll take your quirk with it, and right now, your ability to control your quirk is at a low ebb.

A hand slides from within the sleeve of a black coat, clad in a black artist’s glove. It settles on your leg, palm turned upwards. You look over and up and find yourself looking into Shigaraki’s red eyes. His face is shrouded by the hood of his jacket. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you lace your fingers with his and lean against him, your head falling onto his shoulder and staying there for the rest of the ride home.

No one speaks until you’re actually inside your apartment building, and Shigaraki’s the one to break the silence. “This place looks even worse from the inside. Which one is yours?”

“You don’t know?” Of course he wouldn’t – he only ever comes in through the window. “It’s 4B.”

“Right.” It’s quiet again as you climb the stairs. “Keys?”

You don’t need keys – at least not when your quirk’s under control. Right now you’re going to have to try hard not to blow up your doorknob. You move the tumblers with agonizing slowness until the latch clicks, and Shigaraki pushes it open, looking impressed. “You can pick locks now?”

“I just know how this one works.” You only thought as far ahead as getting to your apartment and getting inside. You’re out of ideas past this point. “Um, Shigaraki –”

“Quit acting surprised. I said I couldn’t go in with you. I never said I was going to leave.” Shigaraki is going through your fridge. He stops and looks up. “What is that?”

“Huh?” You’re holding a piece of paper. You don’t remember being handed one, but it’s easy to imagine it happening. “I think it’s discharge instructions.”

“Let me see.” Shigaraki snatches them out of your hand, scans them. “I’ll read them. You’re not supposed to read right now anyway. Go – do something.”

Do something. What do you usually do when you get home, right away? Get out of your costume. You make your way down the hall to your room, shedding costume pieces as you go. It occurs to you that it’s not nearly as safe as it usually is for you to have Shigaraki in your apartment – not just for you, but for him. You don’t have an insurance policy on him right now, and worse, your quirk is all the way out of your control. If he startles you, you could hurt him. It’s happened before. Maybe you should warn him, but what would you even say? You finish changing clothes and sit down on your bed to think about it.

You must think about it for longer than expected, because the next thing you know, you’re propped awkwardly on your pillows with an ice pack balanced on your face. Shigaraki’s never come back to your room before – whatever the two of you have been doing, you kept it on the couch – but he’s here now, stretched out on the bed next to you and playing a game on a phone. Your phone. “Um –”

“I don’t have one right now. And mine didn’t have any games,” Shigaraki says. You try to sit up for a look and he pushes you back down. “You’re not supposed to look at screens.”

“What are you playing?”

“The one where you make a disease and try to kill the world. Weird game for a hero to have on her phone.” Shigaraki’s wearing his gloves. “This virus one is tough.”

“Yeah, if you’re playing on Mega-Brutal,” you say. You glance at Shigaraki from under the ice pack and see him scowling. “You don’t have to do everything on hard mode, you know.”

“Neither do you,” Shigaraki says. He pauses the game and sets your phone down, and you can tell he’s not happy. “I’ll kill creeps for you. I don’t care about that. But I need to know. Is it that you can’t, or you won’t?”

“I don’t want to kill people,” you say. Shigaraki makes a skeptical face, and you realize that you’re lying – that you’re lying, and that he can tell. “I didn’t want to kill the people who would have died if I’d tried to kill that guy right then.”

“Collateral damage? Don’t lie. I watched you rip the guts out of one of Twice’s copies without hurting anybody else who was there,” Shigaraki says. “Level with me. Which is it?”

You don’t know how to explain. “I didn’t have control. I still don’t. I’d have just been protecting myself, not fighting back, and I couldn’t –”

“Why do you think that would kill somebody?” Shigaraki demands. He’s mad at you, like you thought – but not for the reason you thought, and as you watch, his expression shifts, contorts. “You’ve done it before. When?”

You don’t want to tell him. It’ll just make him try harder to turn you. But you don’t want to fight about this, and given how much exposure he risked helping you, you feel like you owe it to him. “When my quirk awakened,” you say. You already had to talk about it once today. What’s one more time? “Someone was shooting at me. I sent the bullets back at him, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just scared. And he wasn’t the only one I hit.”

Your quirk awakening definitively killed two people – the man who decided to shoot up your primary school, and a police officer who’d arrived too late to stop him – and one of the shots you returned was the final blow to an already critically-injured victim. You also damaged the building, pulled up every water pipe and buried fiber-optic cable on the school grounds, and distorted every radio broadcast going in and out of the police perimeter. Your quirk awoke in response to fear, and in protecting yourself, there’s no such thing as a proportional response. If you’d used your quirk tonight, facing a criminal who’d beaten you half to unconsciousness, he wouldn’t have been anything close to the only casualty. And you decided a long time ago that it was better to be hurt than to hurt others. Or it was decided for you. It was such a long time ago that you don’t remember which.

Shigaraki is staring at you. The silence is a heavy weight on your chest, so heavy that it forces words out of your mouth. “Say something. Please.”

“You were – a kid.” Shigaraki’s mouth distorts around the words. “Nobody came to save you, so you had to do it yourself.”

People were coming. They just weren’t coming fast enough. Shigaraki’s still talking. “When you were talking about the law the first time I came over – the intention thing – and premeditation – this is why. Right?”

You almost nod, then remember how badly nodding hurts. “Right.”

“So it wasn’t on you,” Shigaraki starts, then stops. Something’s happening to him. All the blood’s draining from his face, and his hands are trembling in his lap. “If it matters, what was happening before – then –”

“Hey.” Even through the pain in your head, you can see that Shigaraki’s in trouble. You sit up slowly, keeping the ice pack in place one-handed, and edge closer to him. It’s not just his hands shaking now. His whole body is shaking, too. “Shigaraki, hey. Hold it together, okay? Everything’s okay.”

“Not if you’re right.” He’s speaking through clenched teeth. “If you’re right about this, then that means he’s –”

“Who?” you ask. Shigaraki shakes his head. You’ve never seen him like this before, and if he wasn’t wearing his gloves, you’d be getting as far from him as possible. You know what it looks like when someone’s about to lose control. “Okay. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Um, should we –”

Your eyes fall on your phone. You pick it up and find that Shigaraki’s paused it midway through getting his ass kicked. When you look at the symptom clusters he’s evolved and the transmissions he’s selected, it’s not hard to see why he’s losing. “I’m just going to fix this,” you say. “Want to keep me company?”

For a moment you think he’s too far gone to respond. Then one shaky hand comes up and takes the phone from you. “You’re not supposed to look at screens.”

“Okay, so you can look,” you compromise. You’re glad he’s got it. The blue light from the screen was making your skull ache. “I’ll tell you what to do. You have to devolve some stuff.”

“I’ll lose DNA points.”

“Yeah, you will.” You roll so you’re lying on your side, raise your head slightly so it’s against Shigaraki’s shoulder. “But you have to get rid of Total Organ Failure right now, or it’s going to kill off everybody before they can transmit the disease.”

“Fine.” Shigaraki taps the screen with his thumb. He’s trying to free his arm from his side, and once it’s free, he wraps it around you. Then he curses. “Now it says I need higher-level symptoms again.”

“Evolve Necrosis,” you say. “It still kills people, but their bodies become transmission vectors after they’re dead. That should help.”

Shigaraki taps the screen again. “I didn’t know you liked games.”

“Only some games,” you say. He’s calming down. You can tell, even before you set one hand on his chest, just over his heart, and feel the movement of the iron concentration in his veins slowing down. “Did you pick any transmission or mutation genes when you were setting up your virus at the start of the game?”

“Don’t remember.” Shigaraki lifts one shoulder, then lets it fall. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts,” you say. “How are you?”

“I’m getting my ass kicked by a mobile game on my girlfriend’s phone. How do you think I feel?” Shigaraki’s voice sounds like his again, but his arm wraps more tightly around you, molding your body against his. “Next time, if I’m not there – kill whoever you have to, however you have to. You’re more important than they are.”

“It’s not going to happen again, Shigaraki,” you say. It won’t – not so long as you limit the number of headshots you take. “My life isn’t more important than anyone else’s.”

“It is. To me.” Shigaraki’s chest rises and falls beneath your hand in a deep, slow breath. “And you shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

“What?”

“Shigaraki,” he says. He’s looking away, tapping impatiently at the screen, and the words come out quieter than usual. “You should call me Tomura.”

A jolt runs through you – half excitement, half apprehension. Somehow it feels like a mistake, saying yes to this. More of a mistake than losing focus at Kamino, than letting him in that first night, than kissing him and letting yourself forget for longer and longer periods of time what he’s done and what he’s planning to do. Knowing it hasn’t stopped you yet, and it doesn’t stop you now. “Tomura,” you say, and you feel him relax completely at last. “Okay.”

<- Chapter 5 Chapter 7 ->

tag list: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @cryptidfuckerofficial @lvtuss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @minniessskiii @issaortiz @evilcookie5

[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 you 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 you 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 you 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 your 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 your 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 your 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 your 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 you 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 you 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 your 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 you 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 your 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 your 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 your 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 you 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. 

[girlactionfigure]

Eve Barlow today (excerpts):

When your enemies murder babies with their bare hands there are no longer two sides. There were never two sides, of this we know, but our neighbors insisted there were two sides. This is now a myth debunked. There are no two sides when there are barbarians who strangle little children with their bare hands.

What their hands do, and what our hands do are not the same. We are not the same. Our hands are not the same.

I thought about the hands of the Palestinians a lot when I first watched the bodycam footage that Hamas themselves recorded; the footage that was shown to journalists in private screenings after October 7. I thought about their hands the whole time. Their hands on the trigger of their machine guns, mowing down the elderly at bus stops, shooting up little houses where sleeping families were naked and defenseless, throwing grenades into bomb shelters filled with young festival-goers, dragging the bodies of Jews across the 232 highway, so they could kick the dead, ripping off the clothes of young women who they had tied to tree trunks. I thought about their hands moving in these ways; the mechanics of it all. I couldn’t stop thinking: how were they physically able to do such things with their own hands?

Shame, and guilt. I wonder if in 100 years time the world is going to understand how absurd it was that people en masse set everything on fire because a criminal was killed in police custody in the spring of 2020. The West feels shame and guilt about every conceivable act of prejudice, except for the oldest prejudice on the planet. The West feels shame and guilt about everything other than what they’ve done to Jews for thousands of years. That is why the world stood silent today as the Jewish people were forced to reckon with the greatest evil our lives have ever known. We thought Hamas were evil and we were right. But we did not know how evil the evil can be.

The world remains silent but they have not been silent for 503 days. No not at all. They have been loud. Loudly sharing Palestinian emojis. Loudly posting memes such as “All Eyes On Rafah”. Loudly signing petitions to boycott Jews. They have shared all of Hamas’s work on their social media accounts. They have been duped and they are very quiet today. For 503 days, all they have done is provide an endless amount of oxygen to the worst people on the planet because it made them feel good. Some things never get old. The joys of antisemitism is one of them.

This morning I caught someone in the street with a glum look on his face. Are you ok? I said. “I can’t look at the news. I hate him. I HATE him. He disgusts me. He’s a dictator and we live in a fascist dictatorship and we’re just standing by and watching. Why aren’t we marching in the streets?” I just smiled and I kept quiet because the last 48 hours were some of the worst in modern Jewish history. Yesterday our slain, executed babies were returned in caskets by real Nazis, by real dictators, by real Islamic fascists, who held a parade and danced, and who returned a female body of their own people instead of the mother of those children, who finally tonight has been received and identified by forensics.

I just smiled and kept quiet because nobody is marching in the street and because I can’t help anyone who is that delusional and removed from reality. They need help. I am not going to provide it.

[fallstaticexit]

helloo :D

this is kind of like a wcif/question i always find myself asking whenever i see incredible art styles and phenomenal posts.

i came across your simblr again and i can't help but love your stories. it takes so much imagination, creativity, and energy to put into something so amazing.. and you've done so good!!

one thing i absolutely love about your stories is your flawless editing style. it’s so unique and full of feeling, i just love it 🥹

i was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble could you maybe share your storytelling process? like what helps you build such heartwarming moments and edit them so beautifully? i really love editing myself and have gotten pretty used to photoshop and all its weird little turns, but i’d love to hear from someone as talented as you, how do you (or how can anyone) edit in such a nostalgic and dreamy way?

(also, a little side question to wrap this up. what font do you use in H.A.G.S? especially when you wrote out the lyrics to 505 by Arctic Monkeys in Chapter 9!)

and if it’s okay to ask, how do you do that outline around Lacey in Chapter 10? was it hand-drawn or is there an easier method for that kind of look?

thank you so much if you read this and take the time to reply. your stories are so lovely and inspiring—please keep doing what you love and take care of yourself too!! don’t overwork that incredible talent of yours. you deserve breaks and all the love. thank you again and goodbye :)

(p.s. apologies if my grammar's a bit sloppy.. i'm just fangirling over ya!)

OMG hiiii! thank you for sending me this ask! I am more than happy to answer your questions! :))

First, I'll answer your WCIF! The font I use for HAGS is called CC Wild Words, which is your typical font found in most online manga. I grabbed it from DaFont.com! . The lyrics are the same font, just outlined heavily.

I edit HAGS in canva (I use photoshop for touch ups and such). I have canva premium, so I'm not 100% sure if this is a free or paid feature but I can clip out sims and object from the photos and there's another feature that allows you to outline them. Pretty neat and very simple process! :) ( I do alot of editing magic alot of the time because the editing options in Canva isn't 100% perfect or clean like how it would be in photoshop, which would be something I'd have to show one day cause Idk how to explain how I do it )

As for the storytelling process, 90% of it really just lives in my head lol I have a whole world in there and luckily the sims is a great outlet to get the stories out. I do alot of my planning on Canva, here's a snippet of how my workspace looks:

That's the tool for outlining. ^^^

Everyday- several times a day (because I work remotely) I just work on my comic and the worldbuilding in my game. I have an idea - or general idea of what I want to happen- since it's a gameplay inspired comic, I do give myself the time to actually play the game. Let my sims interact with each other , go places, etc. and then I hop into canva, after taking a million screenshots and start putting together the story (although lately, I will take the screen shot and while my game is still running, mid gameplay- build the comic. It's why I'm able to get the issues out so quickly too!)

I also use Pinterest! I don't have a very organized board or whatever it's called, that I could share- but it's where I get the feel for what I want or stories I want to tell - the aesthetic and feel of it as well. (I'm also a lover of all media, movies, music, tv and such so you see alot of my favorite things in the stories I tell: Yellow Jackets, Life is Strange, Lost Records, etc etc.) I also tell stories of things I've experienced in life too! (Is Aria a self insert? Maybe lololol)

I really want to put together a full blown "Get Ready with me" kind of video where I show my whole process from start to finish , because I've gotten asks like that and like this, and I want to show rather than tell. It's on my never ending , to do list but I WILL do it this year for sure lolol But I love helping people and sharing things I've learned.

I hope i didn't yap anyone to sleep reading this- and I hope I answered your questions too. And thank you so very much for asking! and for reading my story! It's my baby and I am so proud of it and it brings me great joy that other's enjoy it too!

[ivalice-tifalucis]

So you've just discovered Robbie Williams through Better Man and then got into Take That as well...

That means you're like me hahaha, but I got through this from watching his performance in World Cup 2018 opening ceremony and got curious afterwards.

Anyway, I haven't be able to see the movie yet but I heard the spoilers and I know all the stories like god knows how many videos and documentaries I've watched about them. I almost see when I was in Singapore for New Year's Eve because they got the early screening but I didn't know it was only after January 1st and I was busy going around and my family didn't let me and ok maybe I can watch the next day on the 2nd and...the movie was no longer there. I still regret it now because there was no sign of it about to release in my country. I guess I have to wait for that in streaming service.

You heard some of Robbie's songs in the movie. You saw how his music reflects his feelings and thoughts. He basically writes everything about his life and all his favorite people and enemy. Each get their own songs. Angels isn't really written for his Nan and instead it's this song called Nan's Song, his father is essentially his whole Swing When You're Winning album, Eternity for Geri Halliwell/Ginger Spice, and then for his wife IMO it's Bodies (she's also in the MV, at that time very new to the public and very unknown). And then his children, in general he made Love My Life, his eldest Teddy got Go Gentle, Charlie got M*therfucker, Coco got Coco's Christmas Lullaby, and for Beau I don't know if he made a song yet. And many more there was cover of Me and My Shadow which explains his buddyship with his best friend Jonny Wilkes (who also sings this with him and they never interact these days none of us know exactly why), there's David's Song dedicated to his manager David Enthoven one of the notable person who essentially saved his life, really. He died over 15 years ago.

Take That, is a subject of many of his songs. In return, Take That, especially Gary Barlow and Mark Owen, made a lot of songs for and about Robbie.

This is their songs for each other in timeline order:

How Deep Is Your Love (Bee Gees cover) (1996)

Their last single before they disbanded in 1996 and at that time it was final, none of them know they will return again 10 years later. They announced this single in a very close time they announced their separation lol. At that time there was only four of them because Robbie had already left few months prior. I will never not tell anyone that suspiciously they announced their disband in 13 February 1996 which is Robbie's birthday. It's like a bitter birthday gift, you could say. "Hey, we're done now, no thanks to you." And us fans have been talking whether this song is chosen for their last single because of the interesting lyrics.

2. No Regrets (1998)

At that time, both Robbie and Gary both reaching for their post-boyband solo success. The UK public is like boxing ring to them. In 1998, it was a rather equal ground. Robbie was just starting and he started poorly, Gary had got everything he needed to succeed but lack the charm. After Angels, Robbie got rocket trajectory and famous even beyond Take That teenage girls audiences. He started spewing more bad stories behind the scenes with Take That and Gary in retaliation also spewed bad things about Robbie. He then released this song which he often even explicitly said is about Take That but especially for Gary Barlow (honestly I think this song is just for Gary but he doesn't admit it blatantly). After they mend their relationship, the last lyrics in the song "I guess the love we once had is officially—Dead!" sometimes changed in live performance to "I guess the love we once had is officially Alive!"

3. Believe in the Boogie (2005)

Take That was reunited in 2005 because of the documentary called Take That: For the Record. At that time, the other four's condition was Gary became a reclusive songwriter living in his mansion with his wife and two children, Howard became a DJ living half his life in Germany for his daughter who was raised by his ex and ofc England for his other daughter raised by his other ex and also in addition was slightly depressed and unsure about his life, Jason became a traveling nomad living in his jeep, while Mark...was trying for his solo career. After he won Celebrity Big Brother in 2002, he got a recording deal to make his second album and even got him to be able to reach out to Robbie but the album didn't work out so he had to collect money to finally released his third album in 2004. At that time, Robbie Williams was in and out of rehab. This single was released after the Take That documentary was released and take a look at the lyrics.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh There's a friend of mine Who's wasting all his money Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Think he's had his time Think he's lost his mind Still a friend of mine

Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Could have had it all From the Albert Hall To the uni-ball How the mighty fall

4. Shine (2006)

After the documentary, which actually got big attention in the UK, they had a tour, the beginning of their "Take Two" phase. The tour was very successful that Take That, just four of them, got a record deal to make their fourth that nobody could ever expect, Beautiful World. The second single from this album, is this song, Shine. Sings by Mark Owen and judging by the quirkiness, it is written mostly by Mark (able to detect which song majorly written by who is a skill that a Thatter must have). The song over the years is revealed to be written for Robbie Williams (you should click this link really) who at this point in time, was still in and out of rehab but now also very depressed and reclusive. He even said he was retiring from performing and became agoraphobic. Robbie had held his panic attack on stage for years and it finally got him.

5. Said It All (2008)

In 2008, after the success of Beautiful World, Take That didn't waste any moment and immediately returned to the studio for their next album, The Circus. IMO, this album in almost its entirety are written for Robbie. Fight me if you disagree. And why? Because they recorded this song in LA where Robbie lived, hence that quote from Gary's biography about that movie-like moment where it turned out they tried to look at each other from the windows and balcony they were in. I should've known the moment Robbie started uproot his family back to London and Switzerland, he's planning to try for success in the US. For decades before, he lived peacefully in Beverly Hills because he knows no one there would recognize him. Like, he tried once for US success and he gave up entirely for that reason. Back to 2008, Take That were writing this album and they managed to have someone to contact someone who got to make 4 of them meet Robbie in his home, where they started talking again for the first time since the 90s. It was a start which is why, for many fans, this song is about that moment.

All of the miles of words we've spoken All of the lines that got away Didn't we take the time to say them all?

6. You Know Me (2009)

Not long after, Robbie Williams released his album. He didn't do any promo at all. Just one or two live tv performance and that's even. Not even a tour. He was too afraid and too unsure for that. But, in this album, Reality Killed the Video Star, there is this song that actually his reply to Shine. He never confirm this but the rabbit living in his own fairytale world is referred in his tour with Take That, Progress Live where after Shine is performed, the transition to his setlist is done with a guy dressed up as bunny, entered a screen and become Robbie Williams who jumped out to perform.

7. Shame (2010)

After the success of The Circus, and its gigantic live shows, Gary Barlow returned to LA with his family of four (they just had another baby at that time :3) for a holiday in 2009. This was the time when he, the one in Take That who must've felt the hardest to forgive Robbie, really like really had quality talk together. Gary and his wife visited Robbie's house, and they started writing songs together. The writing sessions resulted in two sings: this one and Heart and I. Robbie then put these two songs to his Greatest Hits album, called In and Out of Consciousness and had Shame as the single of this album. A public statement that Robbie Williams and Gary Barlow had mended their relationship and enemies no more. Robbie even dragged Gary around for the press junkett and small tour in small venues he did for this album...and also the previous one that never got its own tour. Oh, I love return back to those clips, they were so bare, no flashy stage costumes, got nothing to lose. Dude, they looked emotionally charged, you can't fake this maan. Oh yea, there's also that Children in Need before that, it's a lot, you gotta see the documentary or the videos on your own. This was also around the time they just released Progress album and announced the tour next year which led to...

8. The Flood (2010)

The first song that they wrote for this album, mostly by Robbie. Look at the lyrics, this song is a statement. Solid song, who unfortunately never gonna sound the same as long as Robbie not in Take That and Howard sings this in live shows. Robbie sings this sometimes in his shows though, but with the rest of Take That, it doesn't sound the same. Anyway, the whole Progress and its deluxe version Progressed is by far the furthest Take That album ever. Half of the songs in this album is about themselves and their rekindled relationship and half of them is Mark Owen high on alcohol influenced his friends into writing songs about dystopian sci-fi that is terrifyingly relatable today. You should all listen to Progress/Progressed at least once in your life. Another song from this is their B-side, called Rocket Ship and another is never even released by them but Robbie had shown this in his live streaming called Blue World.

9. Different (2012)

After Progress, Robbie Williams and Gary Barlow returned back to their studio and have more quality time together, continue tightened their relationship while also make an album out of it. They eventually cancelled the album and each took the songs they made to their respective albums. To this album that became his comeback after reunited with Take That, called Take the Crown, Robbie had Candy and Different, both were used as the singles. But there is also the song in this album called Into the Silence which from the lyrics you can tell this is a song for Gary. This song in particular, is very close to him, he rarely performed this, by the way. I think the last time he did was when he was touring this album. Even the music video that I shared is the one re uploaded because somehow the original is deleted. I don't know why.

This time I'll be different, I promise you, This time I'll be special, you know I will, Just don't leave with me in your eyes. This time I'll be better, I want you to know, This time I'll be special, oh God, make it so, Just don't leave with me in your eyes, your eyes, your eyes

Gary in his album also had Requiem from his sessions with Robbie. The song is dedicated for his father who died in 2009, if I'm not mistaken. But, there is a song in the deluxe version, called Mr Everything who suspiciously probably was written inspired by Robbie.

10. Into the Wild (2014)

After Progress, they had a break. Robbie returned to his solo, Gary to his solo as well his first album since his badly badly failed second one in the early 00s, and Mark also to his fourth album. And when it's time to return, Robbie preferred to go his own way, he got projects he wanted to do lining up. Jason suddenly quit the band. That left only three of them. The three determined to continue and make their next album, the first since they became just three. One of this song, performed by Mark, Into the Wild, seemed to dedicate to Robbie. Just look at the lyrics.

Up tight, tied up again Tied up again with my one and only friend Your voice is all I can hear All I can hear it's the music to my ears

Staying out of trouble staying in and out of touch In and out of touch I can never get enough Up tight, tied up again Some things will never change

It's almost like we go Dance with desire then we go playing with fire Then we go into the wild again

Tumblr only lets you attach 10 videos in one post so I guess I'll have to stop here for now. There are still many songs to explore. It got less in recent time but doesn't mean there's nothing more. There are. He's not lying when he said "Gary Barlow, I think about you a lot." Even if Mark is constantly thinking about Rob 😂

[simplyycherry]

Since people still like my old Obey me headcanon posts, I decided to completely empty it out. I didn't have the motivation to post more and also quit the game like since the beginning of Nightbringer.

If I add in the ones I posted before accidentally, then srry.

Lucifer ☕

Lucifer’s D.D.D Lock Screen is black but his homescreen is his brothers & Mc:)

• Lucifer has separation anxiety from us?

• Lucifer smells like hmm coffee, idk old cologne?

• Lucifer's head hurts sometimes.

• Lucifer cries at night.

• Lucifer's favorite movie genre is horror because he enjoys paranormal things ig.

• Every once in a while Lucifer will bond with his brothers doing what they like.

• Luci listens to Levi rant sometimes while he does work.

• Luci and Mc has matching necklaces.

• You can call Lucifer Luci when you're not in public together.

• Luci doesn't like PDA but when he is home alone he is very cuddly.

• To Lucifer Mc is the most important thing in his life along with his brothers.

• When Lucifer‘s excited or worried and he‘s alone in his room, he actually jumps around and does a lot a different facial expressions.

• Luci sometimes not all the time but sometimes just randomly pokes his brothers and walks away.

• Lucifer leans on the table with both arms and like his shoulders slightly up iykwim.

• When We Came Back To Devildom Again, You Know How Lucifer “Wasn’t Antsy” I Bet He Was Squealing Inside, “OMDTHEYREBACKOHMYIGETTOHUGTHEMANDLOVE”.

• Lucifer will hold your waist/pull you close when they see other attractive demons walk by to make it seem like "you're theirs".

• Luci has a photo album of him and his brothers & Mc in his desk so whenever he gets stressed out he looks through it and it helps him relax.

• Lucifer often asks his brothers or Mc to talk about their interests while he works.

• Lucifer's way to relax is to make origami he's particularly good at it.

• Lucifer always keeps a photo of his brothers and Mc with him.

• Lucifer uses the excuse of " punishing Mammon" to spend time with him.

• Luci feels a sense of security when Mc's is on his lap. In some way he believes that as long as he has a comfortable hand around your waist, nothing can take you from him.

• If you drink coffee or tea in the morning Luci would try to make it for you.

• Luci is right handed but can write well with left hand.

• If lucifer catches you looking at a certain sweets or items he would by it for you just to you happy.

• Luci adores it when you fall asleep near him or knowing he’s in the house/room. It shows you trust being that vulnerable around him to keep you safe.

• When you are near Luci when he is working he will glance at you when your not looking.

• Luci plays fetch with Cerberus and cuddles with them.

• I feel like Luci would enjoy going to the human world with you and visiting your favorite tourist attractions.

• I like to think that when he does his little patrol, if he finds your still up Luci will make sure you get to bed. Sometimes even tucking you in.

• If anyone has Lucifer's phone his background and lockscreen will have a picture of you.

• Lucifer have a folder of pictures of you.

• Luci asks you to help him with work as an excuse to spend time with you.

• Luci melts when you bring him coffee :)

• Even though Luci stays up late, he makes sure that everyone goes to bed at a reasonable hour.

• Since Luci has records, he’ll buy vinyls of your favorite bands (even if he’s not a huge fan of them) to listen to with you.

• If you sleep with Luci, he keeps you in his arms the WHOLE night.There is no leaving.

• I feel like if you give Luci small gifts like random doodles he'd put a spell on it so its never damaged and keeps it forever.

• Luci loves to mumble a song while you sleep near him while playing with your hair.

• When Lucifer's drunk and you're nearby, expect to be covered in kisses. It's canon that he gets lovey dovey when he's drunk.

• Since Luci's the avatar of pride i feel like if he sees you admire someone else's skills he'll immediately try to one up them.

• Lucifer definitely enjoys playing board games with you in his spare time, but he always allows you to win because he’d feel guilty if he didn’t.

• Luci loves giving forehead kisses, or if he sees you sitting down as he’s walking by he’ll kiss the top of your head.

• If you fell asleep on the couch, Luci’d carry you to your room and tuck you in (doesn’t matter if ur heavy or not, he’s a demon, he’s stronggg)

• Lucifer takes off his gloves whenever you want to hold hands because he feels it more intimate ☝️& makes him feel close to you.

• I feel like lucifer throughout random times of the day just randomly gets up and starts looking for you because he really misses you.

• Lucifer sometimes let's MC and Levi go to the human world to get new Manga, games, and merch.

• Cerberus became somewhat fond of MC after they made their pact with Lucifer.

• Luci drapes his cloak over you when he finds you sleeping.

• Luci would softly knock twice on every door he goes through.

• Luci shortly meditates everyday to relieve stress.

• Lucifer quite enjoys human world beaches.

[quincyhorst]

Inazuma Japan Appreciation Post! ⚡️

Hello, I was wondering, but is there anyone in the fandom who's also a fan of the japanese representative?

I know that out of Block A they aren't the most popular team, but I can't deny I've been so interested on them. Their only relevance was on episode 102, when Red Matador goes to visit them for a practice match. The whole episode was focused on the team getting massive culture shock from all things japanese, that they accidentally forgot to give actual screentime to the actual selection. You can even compile it in a quick video! (Excuse some of the odd cuts, the spanish wouldn't stop commenting every two seconds 🤪)

Unfortunately after this episode they never get to appear again, which sucks a lot knowing captain Endou's promise of a rematch :(

I'm also not the biggest fan of how the fandom treats this team. Every so often I'll see people making fanarts of Orpheus and Unicorn yet leaving Inazuma Japan behind, and the amount of times I've seen people call them ugly is frustrating. Their designs aren't the best but come on, you just can't look at Sakuma and not think that's a top tier design.

The treatment from the japanese themselves is super weird too. I understand having your main representation be PENGUINS is strange, and to this day I'll forever wonder what Quinto Nivel was thinking while designing some of the characters (One has dreads and other has donut lips...). But I dislike that the only time they seem to aknowledge this team's existence, is only to use their pictures whenever irl Japan wins a match :/

So as to change this, I'll make some comments on them! Feel free to share yours below, too!

The most relevant players on this team are the keeper, Endou, and the trio that perform the hissatsu Koutei Penguin Nº3; composed of Kidou, Fudou and Sakuma.

I can't deny that on the few scenes he appears, Endou gave me the impression of being cocky. But after the match its shown he's quite the nice guy! I really wish we could have seen the dynamic with his team, I think he'd be friendly with all of them.

Also, wonder why his hissatsu is called "The Hand" is there's no actual hand on the first place. YOU HAD ONE JOB QUINTO NIVEL!!! Seriously!

Kidou is a character that's sorrounded in mystery, and the fact that this is his only appearance stresses me so much. Maybe he's a showoff? I dobut it, because he seemed too nervous over something. Maybe its the upcoming final match against Orpheus, and with a reason. Both teams got eliminated off screen :(

Also, Nº3? I know that later on the series we're shown that Brockenborg knows some Penguin Moves, but only the Nº2. There's also the in-game Nº1, which Jens and Sakuma seem to have. Can't deny the description for this move scares me, as it calls it "forbidden". Yet another plothole left unanswered! When I get to write a fic about InaJapan, I will make sure to adress that.

Either way, Kidou and the other two seem to be super close, just like our beloved Slingshot trio. I also can picture them having a similar origin: Sakuma and Kidou have a close relationship though were rivals with Fudou at some point, who'd start to warm up to them as they played the FFI together. Classic.

There's also this one manager that seems to be very keen on recording Red Matador. His name is Megane, apparently! It's never explained why he records Spain, but unfortunately we never get to see him use the information he got.

AND WAIIIT I ALMOST FORGOT SOMEOKA!! He's iconic to me because of his manga cameo. Even if he was there just to be Juan's 100th catch, I'm happy the two got on well at the end. Do you imagine what could happen if the teams were swapped? I like Samuel, but there's no way in hell he'd be like that to Endou...

I really want to ship him with someone, and all the 5 fanarts I've seen on Pixiv ship him with this one bencher called Fubuki. Dunno why but I APPROVE! 😍

I guess I could also comment on Tobitaka since he stops Joan's move. He has a nice hair. I think he'd be one of those people who REALLY puts a lot of love to it. His appearance also reminds me of the stereotypical japanese delincuent (Clever choice!), so I like the headcanon of him having a gang back at Japan.

One last thing, but shoutout to the female managers!!! THEY'RE ARE SO CUTEEEEEE 😭 Outside of Spain and Germany we don't get to see other managers in the FFI, so knowing the japanese do have some too is comforting. If only we knew their names...

(The scenes with them and Isaac were rather awkward, however. I also wish Virgina was here to intereact with them instead, but oh well, she had to visit her cousins anyway)

That's all for now, everyone! In the future I'll post more stuff with Inazuma Japan, and if anyone's interested I'd like to also do stuff for Unicorn and Orpheus :>

I sometimes wish there was an alternate universe were these three had more relevance... What if there was an entire trilogy centered about Endou instead? I'd gladly go there if it existed.

I've heard rumours of my city's obelisk hosting a plant-alien thingy that can transport me to another dimension, but I'm not sure how it works. Guess I'll pay it a visit today.

See ya!

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AND HAPPY APRIL FOOLS!