#Behavioral Interview Questions And Answers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloudyluun · 3 months ago

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Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings:

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles

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jobpreppernation · 1 year ago

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youtube

Today, we're going to tackle the "What Are Your Greatest Weaknesses?" interview question.

Get prepared for the job interviews that will get you hired with this video series that walks through the most frequently asked job interview questions and provides tips for crafting impressive and well-thought-out responses.

#what are your greatest weaknesses #what are your weaknesses #jop prepper nation #job interview questions #job interview answers #job interview preparation #interview questions and answers #interview question examples #interview question tips #standard interview questions #interview coaching #common job interview questions #difficult interview questions #in person interview questions #behavioral interview questions #top job interview questions #best job interview questions #Youtube

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nuge · 1 year ago

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yikes some sw*fties are so nasty against kayla nicole

#like she just answered an interview question #and y’all are attacking her?#unhinged behavior #just say you hate black women and go #like her and Travis ain’t getting back together so why yall so insecure

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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hihi can i request how the media would react if they found out the bllk boys were married (itoshi brothers, kaiser, and whoever else you want)

ty, have a good day/night

“#𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐲𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬”

a/n: this is a whole new idea and i love it! also thank you, have a good day/night as well!!!

a/n #2: who let them get married (and how do i get that lucky)

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito

itoshi rin

the world stops spinning when it leaks that rin married you. nobody can compute it. no one.

he’s trending #1 globally with hashtags like #rinwifereveal #iceprincetaken.

confused fans everywhere are asking the real questions: “how did he propose if he only speaks in death threats?”

old clips of rin ignoring interviewers go viral again: “this man?? THIS MAN found a WIFE???”

his agency posts a really dry statement like: “itoshi rin is married. he will continue his professional activities as usual.”

the comments are gold – you getting praised like some mythological heroine: “if you married rin itoshi and lived to tell the tale, you deserve a national holiday.”

when asked about you at a press conference, rin’s response is peak rin: “it’s none of your business.”

but people notice he wears his wedding ring 24/7 and once smiled (barely) when someone said “your wife,” and fans LOST it.

you are now officially worshiped as the woman who melted the glacier.

itoshi sae

the media genuinely thinks it’s a typo when they find out sae married you. like itoshi sae??? able to love someone other than a soccer ball??? there’s no way he had the social skills for marriage.

headlines are so petty: “itoshi sae ties the knot: sources unsure if he even likes people.”

the sports tabloids zoom into old clips of him smirking mid-match like: “he must’ve been thinking about his wife 🫢”

memes explode overnight: “you: babe, can you smile for the wedding pics? sae: raises one eyebrow slightly”

your first public sighting together is chaotic. he’s pushing a grocery cart with a dead-eyed look while you’re happily picking snacks.

paparazzi snap a blurry photo, and boom: “breaking: itoshi sae domesticated.”

he literally never posts you (for privacy reasons), but when you post a picture of him cuddling you while half-asleep, fans combust: “WAIT he’s a softie for her ONLY???? iconic behavior.”

kaiser michael

he announces your marriage like a mic drop. the german media especially loses their minds.

posts a wedding photo with you on instagram, captioned: “still undefeated. married the hottest woman alive.”

media outlets around the world are scrambling to write articles fast enough.

magazines call you "the only trophy kaiser cares about.”

he does interviews where he says stuff like: “yeah, she’s my best win yet.”

every fan either: 1) cries about losing their delusions, or 2) makes memes of you carrying kaiser bridal-style after his matches.

during games, opponents will yell at him: “your wife’s watching, pretty boy!”

and kaiser just smirks, scores, and points to you in the stands like he’s in a movie.

you literally make him even cockier. he’s insufferable. but also hot about it.

isagi yoichi

the media basically short-circuits when they find out you’re married to him. like, nice boy next door isagi? married already???

they treat it like a scandal: “in today’s shocking development, yoichi isagi – japan’s golden boy – is officially off the market. hearts across the world have shattered.”

twitter is in absolute shambles: “NO WAY isagi’s MARRIED. i thought he was married to FOOTBALL 😭”

and you? you’re just living your best life, chilling while isagi is out here holding your hand proudly at press events like you’re his MVP.

he’s answering interviews all starry-eyed: “yeah! i love my wife! she’s the real reason i win games.”

you even get your own nickname in the press: "japan’s first lady of football.”

whenever you post a picture together, comments are like: “she’s the real endgame. we lost, but we lost to a queen 😭👑”

bachira meguru

everyone immediately falls in love with you, too. like, duh. you’re the perfect match for chaotic sunshine incarnate.

bachira’s announcement? just a pic of you both wearing matching crocs, captioned: “leveled up 💍🎮💖”

every comment is crying about how cute it is.

fans imagine the proposal like: “if i score 3 goals today, will you marry me? 😜”

he makes finger hearts at you from the field. sometimes he even dabs after scoring because you dared him to.

sports anchors have to explain “dab celebrations” on national TV now because of you two.

people call you “his player 2” and it’s so iconic that a brand tries to sponsor you both for matching gamer jerseys.

mikage reo

the media is CONVINCED it was some sort of billionaire merger. tabloids lose their minds speculating about your “secret heiress” identity.

but really? you’re just you. you married reo because he’s a clingy, golden retriever boy that genuinely loves you and treats you well.

he’s so defensive about it in interviews: “it’s not about money!! she’s literally perfect, end of discussion.”

still, fans are clowning: “reo mikage gave up his entire inheritance for his wife. love wins 😭”

reo keeps trying to pretend your life together is “normal” but then slips up like: “yeah, we took the jet to brunch lol.”

you constantly remind him not to flex, but it’s a losing battle. he just loves spoiling you too much.

he wears his wedding ring loudly like it’s a flex on single people.

nagi seishiro

no one is surprised. like, yeah. obviously nagi would get married to his first love.

he reposts a wedding pic you posted because he can’t be bothered making his own announcement.

interviewers ask, “what made you want to settle down?” and he goes: “she’s comfy. i love her.”

fans sob at the simplicity: “nagi just EXISTED and found true love while i’m out here struggling 😭”

you are considered the ultimate cozy queen by the fanbase.

nagi refers to you as “home” and it’s so casually romantic that everyone melts.

he basically just plays games, cuddles you, and naps, living the dream.

karasu tabito

he trolls the entire internet with your marriage reveal.

he posts: “sorry ladies, taken for life 💍🤪” with the hashtag #wifedup.

every comment is roasting him: “you????? married?????? how???”

no one believes him. not until you both post matching wedding rings with the caption: “teamwork makes the dream work 🫶”

sports reporters really don't know if it’s real or just karasu being karasu.

but it doesn’t change the fact that you and karasu become an iconic couple overnight.

karasu’s new favorite hobby is pretending to be a “wife guy” on twitter for clout. like he’ll fake cry on twitter about missing “the single life” while literally posting pictures of you two cuddling under captions like: “can’t go out tonight, gotta watch kdramas with my wife 💔”

fans call you "the MVP who finally fouled karasu’s heart.”

somehow you two are both chaotic and goals at the same time.

though media outlets are still confused whether to take him seriously because karasu’s like a walking clickbait article: “is he joking? is he not? find out on the next episode of karasu being karasu.”

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zaczenemiji · 1 year ago

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Hi I hope you are having a lovely day my dear ♥. I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x reader where the reader is an assistant manager to him and one day he like acts arrogantly towards her during one of his interviews when he sees a pretty journalist amongst the crowed of ppl interviewing him and he says some hurtful things to reader and collectively ignoring her and instead choosing to focus on the journalists girl. Ever since that day reader has been silent around Sato and he thought he didn't care but it bothered him because even though she is usually quite, these days she is *too* quite and then there is like a mini celebration for like a baseball game win and reader goes with a guy who is like an athlete but is not as famous as Sato. So the kicker is reader is absolutely DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and ppl at the party even think she is a model. So Sato get jealous and he acts all possessive and protective of her , while she is still angry at him but eventually he makes it up to her over time. If you have anything else to add please do.

Shattered Pride

Kenji Sato x AssistantManager!Reader

Word Count: 1,873

Genre/Warnings: Character Development, Eventual Romance, Forgiveness, Jealousy, Regret, Redemption

Author’s Note: The idea behind this was just fantastic! Thank you so much for the request, writing this was my honor.

MASTERLIST

Being Kenji Sato’s assistant manager is not an easy task. I repeat: Not. An. Easy. Task. Throughout his baseball career, he has had several assistants who quit as soon as they were hired because, for one thing, Kenji is stubborn.

Ghosted interviews, off-topic answers, and insults to other players were just some of the many things about him that gave you a headache.

You remember being referred to him by his last assistant saying that it was a high-paying job. However, you were skeptical at how quickly and willing they were to give off their job to another person.

You understood why the first time you met him. After the meeting, you asked him, “Is there anything else you need from me today?”

In response, he gave an irritated sigh. “If I needed something, I would have asked.”

Thankfully, you were more on the nonchalant scale, and how people respond to you didn’t bother you much. You were here to do your job—and excellently at that, not exactly to be friends with an arrogant baseball star.

Kenji’s behavior was… challenging, that’s the best word for it. He barked orders, rarely said thank you, and seemed to take your presence for granted. But in conditions like these, you thrive the most; you succeed where others have failed.

Today was a usual day with the usual crowd of journalists and fans gathering in the conference room. You stood by his side, ensuring everything was in order for yet another post-game interview.

It was going all smooth and well when Kenji suddenly paused mid-sentence. It was a very short pause that wouldn’t be noticeable to others but you, with all the time you spent as his assistant, noticed it.

Your eyes looked in the direction he kept glancing at. A girl, of course, strikingly beautiful with long sleek back hair that cascaded down in soft waves.

When it was her turn to ask, Kenji leaned forward to give her a dazzling smile. “Why don’t you ask me a question?” he said, ignoring the list of pre-approved questions you handed him before the interview started.

Kenji was holding court with this journalist longer than he should. You noticed that the others in line were starting to murmur in annoyance.

You stepped forward, maintaining your professional demeanor. “Excuse me, Mr. Sato, but we need to move on,” you said. “Other journalists are waiting for their turn.”

“I’m not done here,” he said arrogantly, not bothering to look your way.

You took a deep breath, wanting to handle this situation diplomatically. “I understand,” you said. “But we’ve exceeded the time limit, and it’s only fair to give everyone a chance.”

Whichever agency’s plan was it to send her here to get ahead of other journalists, it’s working. She gave you a polite smile, clearly enjoying the extra attention.

Kenji frowned and turned to you. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” He asked. “If you can’t manage your job properly, maybe you should reconsider.”

Your eyes widened. You could feel others’ on you, their stares almost cutting through your professional facade.

Swallowing your pride, you nodded and stepped back, keeping your expression neutral. But as neutral as you looked, deep down you felt a mix of anger and humiliation.

From that day on, you remained silent around Kenji, only speaking when necessary. You remained professional though, and you made sure that your job was not compromised.

During meetings, you no longer offered insights unless directly asked. When you did speak, your tone was strictly professional. Well, it has always been, but the warmth that characterized your interactions was now gone.

Like that one time during a team strategy meeting. Kenji asked for input on a new play. The room fell silent as everyone waited for your usual insightful suggestions, but you simply looked down at your notes, saying nothing.

The coach glanced at you, surprised. "Any thoughts, (y/n)?" You shook your head. "No, Coach. Nothing to add."

At first, Kenji was oblivious to all of this. He was absorbed in his own world and the adulation of his fans, as always. But as the days turned into weeks, your silence grew too loud to ignore that even he finally noticed it.

A month later, the team planned on celebrating a recent major win. This time, they have decided to invite other athletes as guests of honor. The organizers wanted to have a mix of established stars and up-and-coming talents from the sports world.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to have yourself pampered. You have been working hard, after all. Despite the obvious tension between you and Kenji, you were still able to do your job well.

That’s why at the party, you were stunning. Drop dead gorgeous, as the team said. Though the lights were dim, it seemed as if a spotlight was following you as everyone you passed by turned their heads to look.

You decided to settle by the bar for drinks. “Hey there,” came a familiar voice. You turned to see Jake approaching. He was one of the promising young athletes and a rising star in the sports world who was invited to this party.

He plays as a forward for a popular soccer team and has recently garnered attention for his impressive performance in the league. This wasn’t the first time you met as Jake and Kenji ran into each other a couple times before at different events.

He leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender for a drink. “It’s nice to see you again and this time, enjoying yourself,” he said. “You looked like you needed a break at the last event we were at.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating his observation. "Yeah, it's been a bit hectic lately."

Jake's drink arrived, and he took a sip, his eyes studying you with genuine interest. “Well, you look incredible tonight,” he said. “Have you been hearing what the others are saying?”

Jake turned to glance at the crowd, then back at you. “They were all asking if you were a model or something,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you replied, smiling. “You clean up pretty well yourself."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that put you at ease. "So, how's work been treating you? Still managing the chaos that is Kenji Sato?"

You hesitated, the memory of Kenji's recent behavior still fresh. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But I manage."

Jake's expression softened with understanding. "I can imagine. He's got a reputation for being difficult."

Unbeknownst to both of you, the baseball star you were talking about has finally arrived. His presence commanded attention as he navigated through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes.

As he made his way deeper into the club, his eyes caught sight of you. At that moment he froze. Or was it time that froze? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that for a little while, he couldn’t breathe.

You were stunning. Your outfit, a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated your every curve, made you look like you had just stepped off a runway. Your hair was styled to perfection, your makeup highlighting your natural beauty.

Suddenly, he noticed the man you were talking to, Jake. “That rookie soccer player,” he thought. Gosh, you deserved so much better. At that moment, with firm resolve, he declared upon himself that he would work to be the better that you deserved.

Kenjl's jaw clenched as his own possessive instincts flared up, a mix of jealousy and protectiveness surging through him. He made his way over to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

On your end, you noticed the crowd parted slightly, and you saw Kenji making his way towards you.

Turning slightly, you met Kenji’s gaze with a cool, indifferent look. "Kenji," you acknowledged, your tone polite but distant.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Jake looked at you, his gaze asking if you were fine with it. You smiled at him, a genuine and warm expression, something you haven’t given Kenji in a while. “I’ll go on ahead,” you told Jake. “See you around.”

Kenji led you away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner of the club. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned to you, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Kenji asked, his frustration evident.

You scoffed. “First of all, you didn’t ask me to.” You crossed your arms, fixing him with a hard stare. "And you made it very clear where I stand with you. Or rather, where I don't."

He winced, the memory of his hurtful words coming back to haunt him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I was wrong. I was an idiot."

You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I've been a jerk, and I know it,” he continued. “I was arrogant, dismissive, and I took you for granted.”

You watch him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Yet you looked away, the hurt still fresh. "You hurt me, Kenji,” you said. “You made me feel worthless and unimportant."

Kenji steps closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know, I'm so sorry. I was so focused on myself, on my career, that I didn't see how much I was hurting you. Your silence has been killing me. I miss your insights, your presence.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “I miss you.” He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“You're more than just my assistant,” he said. “You're the reason I can do what I do. You make everything better, and I've been too blind to see it. Please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to earn back your trust.”

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity. All you saw was genuine regret and a longing to make things right. "This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Kenji."

"I know," he said quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I just... I can't lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "We'll see," you said. "But it won't be easy."

He nodded, relief flooding his features. "I understand,” he said. “Thank you, (y/n)—for giving me a chance.”

As you walked back to the party, Kenji stayed close by your side, protective and possessive. arm subtly wrapped around your waist, a clear signal to everyone around that you were with him.

As the night came to an end, Kenji offered to drive you home. To which, you agreed. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything else, it was rather hopeful.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Kenji found you alone in the office. “Hey," he said softly, "I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just the two of us."

You looked up, surprised. "Dinner?"

He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. "Yeah. To thank you for everything. And to make up for being such an idiot."

You smiled at him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Dinner sounds nice."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman: rising #ultraman #fanfiction #oneshot

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narcjsistx · 12 days ago

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— 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

✶ plot: you and your boyfriend are invited to a show where you have to answer questions that your fans are asking on the internet. the situation couldn't be that difficult, right?

✶ characters: sae itoshi and micheal kaiser

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

✶ ITOSHI SAE ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

When Sae came home a week ago with the news that he was supposed to be on a TV show the following week, you honestly weren't that surprised. You knew how famous he was, how much reporters begged him to be on their TV shows and not just interview him after the end of a game. The only surprise for you was the fact that he accepted, knowing also how much he hates everything that doesn't concern soccer, you, and maybe his family. Maybe he accepted because he was interested in the topic they were probably going to talk about, or maybe he just felt magnanimous for once after the last time, where he almost insulted a journalist for insisting too much. Maybe his manager had simply forced him

None of your visions included a TV program like this, but above all you didn't expect to have to be at his side, even though you didn't mind. You and your boyfriend weren't big fans of publicizing your relationship on social media like most of his teammates did, but apparently this "hidden" act only fed the internet world more, especially his fanbase. Not that you or Sae were ashamed of the other, quite the opposite, but you preferred to love each other in peace rather than be forced, for a question of social ethics of celebrities, to always have to inform the whole world of what you were doing

Sae had explained to you that he didn't want to accept, but his manager had insisted so much that for the first time in years, he couldn't refuse. So, dressed in your best not so elegant clothes, you found yourself next to your boyfriend in a large TV studio in Madrid, not too far from your apartment. They had explained to you what you were supposed to do once the camera started broadcasting nationally, and honestly, the idea of answering questions was fun: you weren't very online with his fan base, but you knew how curious they might be about you or your relationship. Sae didn't share your enthusiasm, but honestly that wasn't anything new to be surprised either

"Hi! Today we'll answer the questions that the director thought were the funniest and most interesting. For those who don't know us, I'm Y/n and this guy next to me is..." you say to the camera, which pans to Sae, who simply shrugs "Sae Itoshi" he says, and you press your lips together to keep from laughing at his already annoyed behavior. A small bowl full of notes is placed on the table in front of you, and both you and your boyfriend watch it curiously, while the program director explains to the viewers that you will have to fish out the notes and answer the question that has been asked to you

"Ladies first" says the host, and you smile at the camera, fishing out a note, one at the bottom of the bowl. You open it, the delicate pink paper creasing beneath your fingers "The first one who said I love you" you read aloud, looking up at Sae, who rests his head in the palm of his hand. He snorts, while you chuckle "Who said that, Sae?" you ask raising an amused eyebrow, and he takes the note, tossing it into the bowl of answered questions. It reminds you of an evening four years ago, where the December cold went away after a few simple words, after a few months of dating. Sae tilts his head "There’s no need to make a big deal out of it, I said so. You make it sound like something so impossible" he says, and you laugh "It seems impossible! I mean, you don’t expect such sweet words from someone who’s known in the field by such cold names that they make summer the new winter" you say, and as much as he wants to hide it from the camera, a small smirk curls across his lips, then replaced by a sigh "You're not funny" he says, but meanwhile he's taking the second note from the bowl. Sae reads it first on his own, then raises an eyebrow as he reads it out loud "Fans are wondering who stalked the most in the beginning..." he asks, and you purse your lips, glaring at him a little "There’s no need to respond to stuff like that" you say, but he tosses the note back, relaxing against the back of his chair "Does it bother you to admit you were obsessed?" he asks tilting his head a bit, and you immediately shake your head "That’s not true at all!"

"Just to give context to the people watching at home, before we even spoke for the first time she was following me everywhere" Sae says to the camera, but you laugh nervously "What’s wrong with following soccer players on social? Everyone does it. I never thought I’d date one" you say defensively, but he shakes his head, not happy "She was like an obsessed fan, sending random messages about her day as if I’d text her back eventually" he says, and you wonder if this is a TV show or the final scene of a movie about psychological torture. You throw up your hands "Is it so wrong to dream?" you ask perplexed, and he nods "Yes, when is really impossible" he says, but you glare at him "Something worked if we're together now though" you say, and the presenter chuckles a little backstage. Sae looks at you slightly surprised, then nods "Something definitely worked" he admits, and you smile victoriously before taking the next ticket "Who acts most single when they go out alone?" you read, but you and Sae look at each other at the same time, before throwing the note into the second container "Neither of us. We solve the problem at the root, by not going out" you say sarcastically, actually wondering why fans ask for such a thing, even though it's actually quite normal and surely just out of curiosity. Sae, who you know isn't particularly fond of giving further explanations, clears his throat "Neither of us because we just don't have the reason to behave that way. We respect each other, why we would ruin all by doing something so stupid?" he says, and you nod, your heart a little more in love. Even though you already know the answer in your heart, it's nice to hear that he has no problem saying it out loud. As much as you know perfectly well how much he loves you, hearing him explain it clearly on national television makes you even a little more proud of yourself for having found your soulmate

"You can move on to the next one" the host says, and you wake up a little from your reverie as you dip your hand into the bowl, fishing out yet another card. You open the card "What's the weirdest nickname you give to each other?" you read it, and start laughing uncontrollably. The camera focuses on you laughing, and Sae massages his temples "This is going to be a while…" he says dejectedly, and you can’t help but start wiping away the tears at the edges of your eyes "That’s a question I’ve honestly been waiting for" you say, and Sae looks at you a little puzzled "I wonder why" he says annoyed, and you shake your head "You are really full of resentment" you say, and the audience explodes a bit at your response. You clear your throat "For those who don't understand... about a year ago there were rumors that the two of us had broken up. Which was completely false! He had simply been away from home for 2 months for a training session in America and I couldn't reach him. To dispel the false news I posted a post on my social media where I compared him to my honey bear with cinnamon and sugar. Let's say he wasn't particularly pleased" you explain, and the audience starts laughing, unlike Sae "Just saying we hadn't broken up was complex?" he asks, and you nod "Very complex" you say, then throwing the note into the second bowl "Anyway I think the weirdest nickname I gave him was something related to the color of his hair. I think... reddish chocolate fountain with strawberries of my heart. Something like that" you say proudly, and he grunts "I only call her by her name" he says justifying himself, but you shake your head "He constantly uses "mi linda" guys!" you scream at the audience, earn yourself some laughs by the people and two eyes that look at you very badly, but in love

✶ MICHEAL KAISER ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

Appearing on TV, since you were in an official relationship with Kaiser, was not such a strange thing: his fanbase had loved you from the first second he had announced you as his lovely girlfriend, and the journalists at the same time loved how you were as charismatic as the so called "emperor". The paparazzi were your best friends by now, and as much as you and Michael hated being interrupted, you both loved showing each other how much you loved each other. Before you were with him you spent a normal tuesday night at home, maybe with a pizza and a cheap ice cream, now it was normal to see you parading on the biggest red carpets in dresses whose price you couldn't even pronounce. Kaiser just loved to show you, show you how beautiful you were in his arms, all his

You sigh, looking at yourself in the pocket mirror for the last time: the hairdresser has slightly ruined your hair, but you can improve it if they give you a few more minutes. Which you don't have at all, since in less than two minutes you have to appear in front of the whole of Germany. Kaiser chuckles, closing the mirror, putting it in his pocket "Come on, you want to make yourself look good for someone other than me?" he says sarcastically, and you snort "You know, we’re just about to be interviewed by our country’s main TV station. I wonder how you can be so calm" you say, and he lifts your chin, kissing your cheek "I already have them all at my feet. Plus, this red tux looks great on me" he says with a cocky expression, something you're used to by now. You sigh, pursing your lips "I swear, if you say anything even remotely embarrassing..." you say, but are interrupted by the static that announces you're about to walk into the studio. Kaiser smirks at you, taking your hand and starting to walk, while you let out a few long sighs

Before you know it, you're sitting on a velvet couch with his hand on your thigh. The audience roars happily as you wave to the cameras, and the host briefly explains what you'll have to do: answer questions, look hot, and just be honest. It doesn't seem that hard, but at the same time you feel a slight shiver from the anxiety. The women in the audience explode when Kaiser loosens his tie, before taking the first ticket and passing it to you. You thank him with a nod, before reading the note "Who flirts the most without realizing it?" you read, and the audience lets out a big yelp. Both you and him burst into giggles, as you lean slightly into him "I wonder why they wonder that" you say, and he shrugs, amused "Well, did you see us?" he says. You clear your throat " don’t think I even have to answer this question. I mean, I think you all know what Kaiser's like. He flirts and breathes. He does it even when he tells me he’s going to the bathroom and doesn’t want to be disturbed" you say, and the audience bursts into laughter again, and it seems like genuine laughter. Kaiser takes the note, throwing it into the empty bowl "I don't think anyone can stop me. After all, it's you" you say, and you leave him a kiss on the cheek "Next!" you say amusedly, taking the pink slip this time: you open it delicately, tilting your head "Who took the first step to make the relationship official?" you read, and think about it "Let's say it was him. When we became a couple I wanted to wait a few months because, well, he was famous. I didn't know his fanbase well and especially his fangirls, I was a little scared. But he insisted, saying they would love me, and one day he simply came into the living room and while sipping coffee he told me "I'm making it official" and then walked away, to the kitchen. I simply accepted it, let's say that way" you explain, and Kaiser nods "It was pretty much like that. Only I was sipping tea, not coffee. But I can live with a mistake like that" he says, and as you roll your eyes in amusement, he's taking the third ticket "... Who checked the other's phone first?" he question, and you tighten your lips, raising your arm a little defeated "Guilty" you say, and he chuckles, placing his hand on your thigh again "She was a little worried that a foreign manager was in my dm’s. She just found me telling this woman to fuck off" he says, and you remember that moment with a bit of embarrassment "I haven't done it again... and then it was like the first month of the relationship! I still had some doubts" you say defensively, but he doesn't seem worried at all "After three years I think you can eliminate all your doubts" he says amused, and you sigh, taking the card

"Who gives in first after a fight?" you read, and he looks at you, smirking "Anything to say?" he says, and you throw the note away, in another cup "Be thankful we're on national TV. Anyway, me" you say crossing your arms, and he chuckles into the camera, with his usual charisma "She can't physically stay away from me in silence for more than a few hours. It often happens that even after arguing she asks me to hug her before sleeping, and I always have to accept" he says proudly, and you raise an eyebrow "Was it so necessary to expose myself so much?" you ask annoyed, and he kisses the back of your hand "Afraid of reality, pretty face?"

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boatswainscall · 3 months ago

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SPOILERS FOR TECHROT ENCORE AHEAD, CONCERNING ON-LYNE

DE with On-Lyne could have very easily gone the stereotypical route of "beloved boyband that advertises brotherhood but secretly all hate each other's guts" but on brand with their overarching themes of love and family went in the complete opposite direction. Like the Coda are clones, but they parrot the boys' real thoughts and feelings. And despite the imperfection of that cloning their fierce bond of brotherhood endures.

For one, all of them are so so protective of Packet and it makes me want to cry. This bit from Harddrive especially just has me dreading how horrible the media was to all of them but him especially as he is the youngest.

Packet also has a line during his final confrontation talking about the panic attacks he suffers, which I can only assume is a result of constantly being scrutinized by media outlets and their label. (edit: ITS DJ-ROM THAT SAYS THIS NOT DRILLBIT) has a line during his final confrontation which I think is related to that where he's clearly in the context of an interview and is defensive about questions regarding their personal lives, and even volunteers to answer any of those questions in the others' place.

And while they are all especially protective of Packet, they look out for each other just as much. Packet himself has lines talking about how happy he is that Harddrive punched someone out for making fun of him and another expressing just how worried he is about Zeke and the amount of pressure he is under as the band's leader.

Drillbit similarly talks about how much respect he has not just for Zeke but for DJ-Rom and how much hard work he puts into keeping things running well with the band - how while Zeke is the charismatic public face of the band - Rom, while quiet, is the true brains behind them maneuvering their predatory label's demands.

And then DJ-Rom himself talks about his own bitterness about record labels and how exploitative they are of young talent. He also mentions his familiarity with the industry, and how he uses that knowledge to keep the boys safe from predatory behavior within their label.

Which in hindsight adds more terrible context to why their manager decided to turn to the Technocyte Coda (aka Generative AI) to fully clone the band so they could keep making music with their likeness but stop paying them. DJ-Rom was clearly such a persistent and stubborn thorn in their side in regards to blocking their attempts at shorting the boys what they were owed that their manager resorted to cutting the human element out entirely.

Rom also during my confrontation with him confesses to the fact that he knows how annoying and shallow people view pop music and them by extension, but how it's shallow in itself to see pop music as not "real music/art" and that what he and the boys do has just as much value for all the work they put into it. Which is frankly a message that a lot of us should take to heart, (myself included frankly).

As always DE has delivered on the lore and now that I've converted one of each of the boys I can't wait to resume my farming of them to hear more of it.

#warframe #warframe spoilers #warframe 1999 #techrot encore #technocyte coda #on-lyne #fiver.plays #warframe packet #warframe drillbit #warframe harddrive #warframe zeke #warframe dj rom

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krazycat6167 · 4 months ago

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Say No

(written for @keferon’s Apocalyptic Ponyo AU. A bit of Jazz and Prowl set after most of the events of the au. Enjoy!)

-.-.-.-

Prowl watches from the sidelines as Jazz goes through yet another interview. He can’t shake the feeling that there is something off with Jazz. That there is something that isn’t right.

Oh sure, Jazz looks happy, but Prowl doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust it though, so he’s scrutinizing Jazz and his behavior to try and figure it out.

The other orca mer is smiling, talking as animated as he usually does (though notably trying to be polite by staying in one general area), using his hands as he speaks. Those are normal Jazz things to do, even if he seems a bit…more Jazz-y? He’s using a bit more inflection, slightly more exaggerated movements, a smidge extra charm behind the smile. The effect is entertaining, sure, but-.

But…he is…being entertaining. He is here, in an interview, answering questions both benign and personal, and he is putting on a show.

Prowl’s gaze flicks around the room. Multiple cameras, stage lights, a dazzled audience.

The interviewer, masterfully directing Jazz through the narrative with light and heavy topics and making sure to end on a high note.

Jazz, big movements, big personality, put on display like a thing to be marveled at.

A large grin that had been bothering Prowl the whole time because it is wrong. And now he knows it’s because it is fake.

When the interview ends and Jazz swims offstage, Prowl takes his arm and leads him away. Away from the crowds, the lights, the cameras. Just away. From everything. Anyone who even thinks of approaching the two as they leave take one look at Prowl's hard expression and become too scared to even try.

“While I enjoy swimming with you,” Jazz says when they are properly away from everyone, “is there a reason we left so quick?”

“You were uncomfortable.” Prowl answers.

“Is that so?” Jazz says, amused.

Prowl stops and turns to Jazz, stopping the other mer cold with a hard stare. “Yes, you were. You were putting on a show like it was still an obligation you owed for living somewhere when in reality you don’t owe anyone anything of yourself that you don’t want to give.”

The fact that Jazz looks shocked by this makes Prowl’s heart clench painfully.

Prowl takes both of Jazz’s large hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he says while giving his hands a reassuring squeeze, “that I didn’t see it sooner. You did so many interviews and I didn’t see how similar they were to that tank until now.”

“Wha- hey, no,” Jazz brings their hands closer to his chest. “don’t apologize for this when it wasn’t even your fault. They asked to hear my story and-“

“And you could’ve told them no.” Prowl interrupts. “You don’t have to do these things anymore. You can say no. You can leave off you want. You aren’t confined to a small space anymore with no escape and no privacy. You can say no.”

“I- I can say no.” Jazz whispers like it’s revelation straight from the vents below. “I can leave.”

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want.”

Jazz floats there, clutching Prowls hands to his chest like they’re a lifeline, as his gaze drifts down in thought. “What I want…”

Slowly, Jazz looks up at Prowl. “I want you to show me that Crystal Reef you were talking about.”

Prowl smiles. “This way then.”

-.-.-.-

Two of the things Jazz loves about Mer society are the pouches that he can carry stuff—his stuff—in and the phones. After years of seeing humans use them (filming him, taking pictures of him), he now has one of his very own. An underwater phone, a fish phone, a fone (“It’s funny Prowler, trust me.”). It’s awesome!

Not very awesome right this second though.

It’s vibrating, meaning someone is calling him. The screen only shows a frequency instead of a name, meaning it’s someone he doesn’t know.

He sees Prowl look at him curiously from where he’s been sunbathing next to him as Jazz answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello! I am Undertow, a reporter with The Tuning Trident. Is this Jazz?”

Jazz sits up. “Yeah, I’m Jazz.”

“Excellent!” Undertow says, chipper. “We have been working on an article covering your story and the trials you went through. We here at The Tuning Trident are dedicated to bringing our readers the most accurate information that we can provide and we were wondering if you could come over sometime within the next few days to answer a few questions we have about your experience.”

Jazz freezes. He…doesn’t really want to talk about it with reporters anymore. He’ll just have to politely turn them down.

Jazz opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is suddenly dry. He swallows his trepidation and tries again. “Uh…”

Is that it? Is that all he can bring himself to say that isn’t a fake and enthusiastic agreement?

The reporter on the phone starts talking again. “Of course, if coming in is an inconvenience, we can have a small team come to you to conduct the interview. We are very flexible here, so whatever may be best for you, we can certainly work with!”

That was even worse! He didn’t want nosy strangers coming to his favorite spots!

But he still can’t say no.

His gaze flicks to Prowl, desperately and silently pleading for help.

Prowl sits up and holds his hand open to Jazz. Jazz gives him the phone.

“I regret to inform you,” Prowl says with no regret or remorse, “that Jazz won’t be doing any interviews for the time being.”

“It’ll just be a quick thing.” Undertow promises in a small tinny voice that Jazz can still hear. “Only a couple of questions to clarify a few facts.”

“No.”

“I- but- who is this? Who are you to speak for Jazz?”

“His manager.” Prowl's tone turns cold. “He is not available for an interview at this time.”

“Why not?”

“Jazz has his reasons and he doesn’t owe them to you. Good day.”

“Wait, if you could just tell us-“

“No.” Prowl hangs up. “The nerve of some Mer, it’s like they forgot that you're an apex- urk!”

Jazz hugs him, eyes shut tight, tucking his head into Prowl’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Thank you.” He whispers, voice wobbly.

Prowl returns the hug, using one hand to cradle Jazz’s head. “Of course. You deserve some peace.”

“I tried.” Jazz says to Prowl’s shoulder. “I wanted to say no. I tried but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get that one word out and I tried.”

“I know.” Prowl pats Jazz’s head through his beanie. “It’s okay. You keep trying. And until you are able, I can say no for you whenever you need.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

#Keferon #apocalyptic ponyo #tf Jazz #tf Prowl #merformers #maccadam #Having fun with this transformers au

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demie90s · 24 days ago

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That’s My Point Guard

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ PAIGE BUECKERS X READER ꒱ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST

⭑ pairing: Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

⭑ summary: You’re out on injury reserve, but that doesn’t stop you from showing up post-game in full team wife mode—flowers, smug energy, and a crowd full of cameras catching it all.

⭑ genre: Fluff, chaos, public affection, team teasing

⭑ warnings: Slight language, unserious behavior, light PDA

⭑ word count: ~ 0.7k

The post-game press conference room was buzzing. Reporters scrambled, flashbulbs clicked, and Paige was already seated front and center, still glowing—sweaty curls pinned back, legs crossed like she didn’t just drop 20 and 10. UConn had just taken a hard-fought win, and she was calm, collected, politely answering questions like a pro.

Until the door opened again.

A beat passed before everyone turned their heads.

You walked in slow—still in your tracksuit, knee brace visible but not slowing your stride. In your arms? A ridiculous bouquet of flowers—tulips, roses, something that looked expensive and loud. You wore your shades indoors like you had somewhere better to be, even though you knew damn well you cleared your whole schedule just for this.

The cameras clicked faster. Paige glanced up—and for the first time in twenty minutes, she cracked.

A half-smile pulled at her lips, subtle, but real.

One of the reporters whispered, “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” another muttered, lowering their mic. “That’s her.”

You didn’t bother asking for a mic. You just walked over and slid in next to Paige like the seat had been reserved. You dropped the flowers into her lap and leaned toward the mic like you were the one getting interviewed.

“Just wanted to say congrats to my girl,” you said, voice smooth, unmoved. “Twenty points, ten assists, four ankles snatched, one heart fully owned.”

The room howled.

Paige tilted her head and bit back a smile, looking down at the flowers like they were offensive. “You are so unserious.”

“And yet, I still showed up with gifts,” you grinned. “Unlike some of these people in here asking weak-ass questions.”

Coach Geno from the side, half in frame: “Seriously.”

The UConn media staff looked like they wanted to speak up, but didn’t. The reporters were losing it—some were laughing, others just recording silently like they’d struck gold.

One brave soul asked, “Y/N, how’s recovery going?”

You leaned into the mic again like it owed you rent. “God’s strongest soldier, baby. Still cute. Still loyal. Still watching from the bench like a jealous wife. Couldn’t let her slay on court and not show up.”

The crowd laughed again. Paige just sighed and shook her head. “Can someone please get her out of here?”

“No,” you answered, straight-faced. “I’m the morale coach now. I motivate. I hydrate. I show up pretty with flowers. That’s all that matters.”

Another reporter asked Paige, “How do you feel about having such strong sideline support?”

You didn’t let her answer.

“Let me handle this, baby.” You turned, still facing forward.

“She loves it. I keep her humble. Make her smoothies. Post her highlights with corny captions like ‘mine fr’ and ’anyone else breathing can stop now.’ I’m what they call crucial support.”

The UConn team Instagram immediately posted a story:

📸: Y/N crashes Paige’s post-game like a true sideline baddie.

💬: “Crucial support.”

Someone from the back mumbled, “This is why she shouldn’t be mic’d ever again.”

Meanwhile, your girl tried to hide her laugh behind her hand. You could see her biting the inside of her cheek to stay composed.

Another reporter—clearly one of the brave ones—asked, “So… is this official now?”

You tilted your head. “Was it not?”

Paige leaned into the mic, voice dry. “It’s always been official. She’s just loud about it.”

You smirked like you’d just won something. “And don’t you forget it.”

Across the gym, the rest of the team was already texting the group chat:

📱 Ice: “Mom and Dad are fighting again but like… cute fighting.”

📱 KK: “Can someone mute Y/N. She’s hijacking the whole media session.”

📱 Ayanna: “Paige better propose with a ring AND a press pass.”

📱 Jana: “I need what they have. Minus the sass. Maybe.”

Later that night, the clip of you sliding into that press seat would hit TikTok and rack up over 200k likes in less than two hours.

The top comments:

👤 @uconndynasty: “nah this is couple GOALS”

👤 @ballislove: “I want someone to crash my life with flowers like this.”

👤 @benchwarmbaddie: “Still watching from the bench like a jealous wife is the quote of the

#paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige x oc #uconn x reader #dallas wings x reader #wnba x oc #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wnba fanfic #wbb x oc #wbb imagine #wbb x reader

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if i could request a spencer x fem kindergarten teacher! reader who has to be interviewed by the team when something happens to one of her students (they find him) and spencer sees her and is just like in love immediately. thank you so so much!

kindergarten crush | S.R.

when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to ask you some questions

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to child abuse/endangerment but nothing detailed, kindergarten teacher!reader, spencer is smitten, emily is such an older sister, average cm case stuff word count: 1.86k a/n: ugh if you know how much i love teachers then you know how much i loved writing this!!!! tysm for requesting!

“Don’t teachers leave school when it ends?” Emily asked, following the secretary through the elementary school hallways.

The secretary glanced behind her to make sure Spencer was still following, “Contract hours end at four in the afternoon, which is about twenty minutes after the last bell,” she responded. “Some teachers are in charge of after-school clubs or they’ll stay to grade or plan for the next day, but the rest head home at the end of the day,” she continued.

Emily nodded in understanding, “And when does Ms. Y/L/N usually leave for the day?”

For a moment, the secretary’s resigned expression faltered to one of concern, “Once all of her students leave for the day.”

“Is that usually at a different time every day?” Spencer asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they turned another corner, the walls were coated in colorful flowers with the names of what he could only assume were the kindergarteners scrawled on them.

There was nothing but a sigh from the secretary as she considered her answers, “That might just be a better question for you to ask her.” She continued leading the way until she stopped in front of a door that was being held open by a doorstop, knocking on the door, she peeked her head in, “Y/N?”

From where he was standing, Spencer could see your head peek out from beneath a desk, but once you recognized that you had unexpected guests, you stood up straight, “Oh, hi,” you greeted, hastily walking around the clusters of tables as you made your way to the door.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” Emily asked, pulling her credentials out when you confirmed your name, Spencer followed suit, “We’re Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, do you have the time to answer a few questions about a case we’re working on?”

The bright smile that had initially been on your face quickly fell as you eyed the FBI credentials in front of you, “Oh, Cody,” you murmured. Stepping to the side, you gave the two federal agents space to enter your classroom.

Prentiss thanked the secretary before stepping into your space, “Oh, it’s colorful in here,” she said.

“It’s a kindergarten classroom,” Spencer responded quickly, “Studies show that there’s a link between bright colors and brain development, so these colors are probably conducive to a productive learning environment.”

He went over to the side of your classroom, watching you as you nervously wrapped your arms around yourself, “Thank you?” You said quizzically, not sure if you should take what he was saying as a compliment, “You are here about Cody, right? Cody Jenkins?”

Spencer nodded, “We are, you knew immediately, though.”

You moved your hand to cover your heart as if it was racing, “I was worried when he wasn’t here yesterday, but I knew when I didn’t see him today that something was wrong.” Your eyes flickered between Emily and himself, waiting for either one of them to say something, “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Why were you so worried when Cody didn’t come to school for two days?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the side, raven black hair catching in the fluorescent school lighting.

Sitting down at your desk, you sighed, “Cody loves school. He’d never miss a day unless it was absolutely necessary – I’m the one who brought the first concern to the administration that there might be problems at home, but…”

Raising her dark eyebrows in curiosity, Emily shared a look with Spencer, “But what?”

Watching you, Spencer noticed the way you nervously fiddled with a beaded bracelet on your wrist, although he couldn’t quite make out what the lettered beads spelled, he was able to deduce that the bracelet was important to you. “What’s on your bracelet?” He asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, he craned his head to try and read it on his own.

“Oh,” you said, looking down at the bracelet as if you needed reassurance that it was still there, “A student made it for me a long time ago. When I was still a student teacher,” you looked at the beaded creation fondly, “The mascot was the dolphins, so it just says ‘dolphin’. Spelled with an F, of course, because she was four.”

Once he knew what the bracelet said, he was able to make out the words, even noting the dolphin charm at the end of the word, “You care a lot about your students,” he said, stating the obvious, but the words seemed to put you at ease. “What do you know about Cody’s home life?”

Your eyes widened as you looked back up at Spencer and he tried to make himself seem as friendly as possible. “I know his parents have had some trouble – his dad has a bad history, as I’m sure you know, but his mom is a good person,” you said, reaching your hand up and scratching the back of your neck.

“But she never left Cody’s father,” Emily said questioningly, seeking confirmation more than anything else.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrugged, “I’ve never been in that situation before, I don’t get to speak on the difficulty of leaving, but I can tell you that she’s a good person – she loves her son.”

“You care a lot about your students,” Spencer noted aloud, he looked around at the clusters of tables – each table was stocked with the same supplies. You even had a snack station at the back of your classroom.

Quickly, you nodded, “I don’t believe in kids getting a lesser education just because they don’t have the money or the support system at home. I do what I can,” you admitted. “Do you… do you think Cody’s dad did something to him?”

Sadly, Emily affirmed your question, “He’s a person of interest in the case.”

Pressing your lips in a thin, white line, you slouched back into your office chair, “Sometimes I wonder if there’s more to do. The state requires me to teach these kids about stranger danger, but last year a majority of AMBER Alerts that went out were for family abduction.”

“I’m sorry that you know that, Ms. Y/L/N,” Spencer told you.

You brushed off his apology, “For eight hours a day, five days a week, it’s my job to keep these kids safe – even if that means knowing things that I don’t like.”

Both Spencer and Emily accepted this, and they continued to ask you a few questions about what you knew about Cody. From your point of view, he was just a kid trapped in a bad situation, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it ever hurt you to send him home at the end of the day.

As the two of them left the elementary school, he shook his head in disbelief, “She made three reports on the father, and none of them were taken seriously by the school.”

“I know, Reid,” Emily commiserated, “So, the teacher?”

Her question came when the two of them piled into the SUV, giving her a bewildered look, Spencer furrowed his brows, “What about her?”

Emily scoffed, “’You care so much about your students,’” She said in a mocking voice, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on her chest, “’Oh, I’m so sorry that you have to know that information’. What was that about the colors in her classroom?”

Rolling his eyes, Spencer sat back in the passenger seat, “Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that. Second of all, I was building rapport – you should try it sometime.”

She chuckled from the driver’s seat, tossing a piece of paper in his general direction before placing her hands near the bottom of the steering wheel, “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” He asked as he took the paper and unfolded it.

Humming, Emily didn’t even look as she responded, “I wrote down her room number for you, so you can go ask her out once this case is over.”

Your door was closed when he got there and he wasn’t quite sure if he should knock or just give up. It wasn’t a far drive to get to your school from Quantico, and if he could ever work up the courage to make the drive again, he could always try then.

Lifting his hand to knock, he hesitated again, opening his palm and letting his hand drop to his side. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself, taking the sticky note that Emily had ‘gifted’ him and triple-checking the room number as if his memory and your name on the door weren’t enough confirmation.

Giving up, he turned around, stuffing the paper in his pocket as he did so, and almost running into you in the process, “Oh!” You said, stumbling back and taking a moment to reorient yourself before meeting his eyes. “Oh,” you repeated, softer this time, “Dr. Reid, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Spencer,” he corrected and immediately cringed. “I mean, I’m not here in any professional capacity, so… you can just call me Spencer.”

Flashing him a bright smile, you grinned in response, “It’s nice to see you again, Spencer.” You proceeded to tell him he could call you by your first name before inviting him into your classroom.

Looking around the room, the colors of the space once again made him feel welcome, “You’re here late,” he observed, looking up at the clock and noticing that it had passed your contract hours while he stood outside your door.

You nodded, “It’s the first of the month tomorrow, so I need to switch over my calendars and everything.” You went to pick up a dry-erase marker from the whiteboard, “Um, have you… did you find Cody?”

“Yes,” he responded immediately, remembering the excuse he had given the team when he told them he was going back to visit you. Morgan and Emily weren’t likely to let him forget. “He’s safe, and it looks like he’ll be able to stay with his mom,” he informed you, relishing the way his words put you at ease.

Any remaining stiffness in your stature faded, and the weight of your missing student was officially off of your shoulders. “Thank you – and thank you for coming back to let me know,” you said, putting your hands behind your back, the two of you seemingly at an impasse.

Taking a deep breath Spencer braced himself, “I actually didn’t come back for that. No, I mean, I did. I wanted to let you know that Cody was safe because you were worried and he’s a kid so obviously that was something that I thought you deserved to know since-“

“Spencer?” You said quizzically, smiling at him as he rambled on about your previously missing student, “What else was there?”

His eyes widened as you smiled at him, “Would you want to go out? With me?”

Your smile dropped from your face, and he began to emotionally prepare himself to lay face down on his couch tonight, but what you said next surprised him, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

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