#rehearsal documentation

[futureproof404]

actor summoning circle

[heartsandbones]

red alert! tony in jean cut-off shorts and wife pleaser ?!?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

xmas rehearsal today, video from jenashtep, pic from brookeshapiro3

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I'm trying to prepare answers for a self-tape for an application to Trans Lifeline and in the midst of it I just made myself emotional with a tangent about why I'm actually passionate about the opportunity.

[callixton]

second lighting class in a row i’ve missed :( but i made the decision when i was out of bed/standing for fifteen minutes and still wasn’t feeling better so i believe it was the right call

[mothmvn]

small celebration: i'm doing the things that felt unreachable and fantastical 3 years ago!

[aslamat]

Prepare to Impress: A Step-by-Step Guide to Acing Your Next Job Interview

Landing a job interview is a significant achievement, but it's just the beginning. To make a lasting impression and increase your chances of success, preparation is crucial. In this article, we'll provide a comprehensive guide on how to prepare for a professional job interview, covering everything from research to rehearsal.

Stage 1: Uncover the Organization's Mysteries Before you step into the meeting room, you really want to know a great deal. Begin by diving profound into the organization's:

Site

Web-based entertainment profiles

News stories and official statements

Glassdoor and LinkedIn audits

Step 2: Decode the Job Description Study the job description carefully, highlighting the key qualifications, skills, and responsibilities. This will help you understand the interviewer's expectations and prepare relevant examples to demonstrate your expertise.

Step 3: Craft Your Personal Story Your personal story is a powerful tool in a job interview. Prepare a brief overview of your education, work experience, and achievements. Focus on the skills and experiences that align with the job requirements. Use the STAR method to structure your story:

Situation: Set the context

Task: Explain the challenge

Action: Describe your actions

Result: Share the outcome

Stage 4: Expert Normal Meeting Questions Questioners frequently request a blend from conduct, specialized, and situational questions. Plan replies to normal inquiries like:

What are your assets and shortcomings?

Might you at any point give an illustration of a period when…?

How would you deal with [common work scenario]?

Step 5: Rehearse Your Responses Practice your responses with a friend, family member, or even by recording yourself. This will help you:

Clarify your thoughts

Improve your tone and body language

Reduce nervousness

Step 6: Get Your Documents in Order

Make sure you have:

Multiple copies of your resume

A list of professional references

A portfolio or samples of your work (if relevant)

A pen and notepad for notes

Step 7: Dress to Impress Dress professionally and appropriately for the company culture. Research the company's dress code and dress accordingly.

Stage 8: Plan Your Course and Arrival

Research the area and stopping choices

Plan your course and leave ahead of schedule to represent traffic

Show up 10-15 minutes before the meeting

Stage 9: Get ready Smart Questions Set up a rundown of insightful inquiries to pose to the questioner, for example,

What are the greatest difficulties confronting the group at this moment?

Might you at any point educate me seriously regarding the organization culture?

What open doors are there for development and improvement?

Step 10: Follow Up After the interview, send a thank-you note or email to express your gratitude and reiterate your interest in the position.

By following these steps, you'll be well-prepared for your professional job interview and increase your chances of success. Remember to stay calm, confident, and authentic, and you'll be on your way to landing your dream job!

Optimized keywords: job interview preparation, professional job interview, company research, job description, personal story, common interview questions, rehearsal, documents, outfit, route, arrival, follow-up.

Meta Description: Figure out how to plan for an expert prospective employee meeting with our complete aide. From examination to practice, we take care of you. Support your certainty and increment your odds of coming out on top!

[mariasont]

hiii! I read your last spencer one shot AND I LOVED IT! IT WAS SO SWEET AND YOU'RE SO TALENTED!! Would you write something about post prison reid and shy reader? I was thinking of her as the media liaison (in my mind she is old-fashioned in music and clothes I'd wear skirts everyday, her emotional intelligence makes her good at her job, despite her shyness). Maybe she's clumsy, especially when she gets nervous and more especially (I don't even know if that's grammatically correct) when she's around Spencer.

Thank you so much for reading this, you're doing an EXCELLENT job, your works are a masterpiece!! 💕💖💝💓💓💖💞💕💖💓

Make a Wish - S.R

a/n: eekkkkkk post-prison spencer reid has me in a CHOKEHOLD! thank you so much for requesting, i'm so sorry for the delay! i hope i did your request justice!! I LOVE LOVE YOU!

masterlist

pairings: post prison!spencer reid x shy!reader

wc: 0.9k

You had been meaning to give the reports fastened in your hands to Spencer for give-or-take two hours now. Each time you gathered the courage to approach him, just one glance, one simple stupid glance from those piercing eyes set your nerves on fire and sent your brain in overdrive.

As the new media liaison from the narcotics unit, you were warned about the BAU's intimidating figures, particularly Rossi and Emily. However, no warning came regarding Spencer Reid. They mentioned his tendencies for long-winded explanations and awkward social interactions but not the aura of intensity he exuded. Whenever he entered a room, you instinctively started looking for an exit, not because of his criminal record, but because you found yourself hopelessly mesmerized by him.

He was perfect in every sense of the word—brilliant, compassionate, selfless, and an exceptional agent. At least, this is what you had observed from afar. A part of you was scared that any real interaction with him would shatter the idyllic image you had crafted in your head, and you weren't confident you were prepared for such disillusionment. However, you needed to give him these damn papers, dreading the alternative, which was getting summoned to Emily's office.

"Hi."

You did it, okay, first step complete. You opened your mouth, determined to get out the next part you had practiced a little over twenty times in your head, but the words seemed to dissipate into a misty fog in your brain.

"Um, these are for you," you said, rocking back onto the balls of your mary janes, placing the report on his desk. "It's the Henderson lie detector test transcript?"

"Is it?"

You realized you had said it like a question.

You paused, the part of your brain stuttering for a second, trying to flip over the thousands of scenarios you had rehearsed in your head for this interaction. None of them had included those words.

Just a little off script and you felt your fight or flight kick in—nails digging into your palms as you avoided eye contact.

"Yes." A little more confident this time, not by much, and it quickly deflated as you second guessed yourself, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder at the document. "At least I think."

"I'm just messing with you, it is." He said, eyes flickering down to the document, then to you. "You okay?"

"M-Me? Okay? Yeah, of course." The words were stumbling out of your mouth at a rate that was hard to keep up with. "Do I not look okay?"

"No, of course you look okay," he responded, brows knitting together as his gaze traveled down your body, no doubt dissecting your every thought. "You just seem... a bit nervous."

You opened your mouth, aiming to articulate a coherent thought, but it fell short and was quickly interrupted by Spencer.

He suddenly leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, hold still; you have an eyelash."

He was so close, you swore you feel his breath on your cheeks, instantly warming them. Your body was in overdrive, trying to recalibrate as his finger grazed the area under your right eye. You closed your eyes, almost unwillingly, relishing in the unexpected touch.

This was weird. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, and you balled your hand into a fist, attempting to mask the way you were shaking.

The sound of your name snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes followed suit, meeting Spencer's prying eyes. His finger was raised, your eyelash perched on the tip. Your face could have been a furnace, flames of heat spreading from your neck to your nose.

"Do you want to make a wish?"

He looked at you expectantly, eyes darting from your face to his raised pointer finger.

"Okay."

You closed your eyes, forming the wish in your mind before blowing on the lash. You watched it float to the ground, settling gently on the toe of Spencer's shoe. 

"What did you wish for?"

"I feel like I'm not supposed to tell you that," you say, pulling at the ends of your hair.

He was undeniably good-looking. It wasn't like you were just realizing it; you had eyes and you were only human. But up close, you could see every detail—the dark circles under his eyes, the rough stubble under his jaw.

"I think you're right."

The sudden intimacy of the moment made your heart skip a beat. You stepped back, nodding at his words and also nothing in particular.

"Anyway, yeah, those are the papers—," you began, turning to walk away. As you did, you bumped your hip into the desk beside you, hissing under your breath in response.

"Christ, are you okay?" His hand was on your hip as the words came out of his mouth.

The touch only seemed to intensify your embarrassment. You stepped out of his grip, dropping your phone as you did which you quickly bent down to pick up.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine, just forgot I have a meeting with Emily, so I'm just gonna—," you pointed towards her office, quickly making your escape from Spencer as you tried to catch your breath.

Once you were a distance you deemed safe enough, you allowed yourself a quick glance back at him. He was smirking, and you felt that all familiar heat rising into your chest once again.

You really hoped that wish would kick in soon.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @looking1016 @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @perpetuallydone @hiireadstuff @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3

join my taglist here!

[illumose]

a snowy day in nyc — harvey specter

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x harvey specter

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: fluff, sweet harvey, a shocked mike ross

⋆⭒˚.⋆ SUMMARY: mike never expected harvey to date someone, least of all to be this… relaxed.

masterlist

Mike Ross thought of Harvey as an old grumpy man who lived for his career. He was glad to be his associate, truly. Harvey had offered him a lifetime of opportunities. He could pay his rent without getting into shady business. However, his boss could be a bitch. And that's why Mike was now biking on this icy road with snowflakes hitting his face. He wanted to yell swears after swears but his lips felt so dry.

As he arrived near the apartment complex, he felt a rush of hope. Hope that Harvey will not ask him anything again. After all, Mike had spent two days working on filing documents and studying court appeals for their new case, whilst Harvey was enjoying work from his sofa. Winter was not his favorite season and he refused to step outside when snow covered the streets.

"I'm here to see Mr Specter," he said to the receptionist, hands full of papers. He was pretty sure that his fingers were frozen to death. Amputation was the way to go. Louis would never stop snickering if Mike came back with bandages.

"I'll let him know that you're coming up, sir."

"Thanks."

Inside the glass elevator, he rehearsed his grand speech. He was no houseboy. He was to be treated like a human being, and not a robot. He too had to eat and sleep.

He did not expect to find Harvey on his terrace putting a carrot onto a snowman's face.

"Love, your associate's here," you announced. "You look frozen dear, please have a seat. I'll prepare a cup of tea," you said, pointing to a cozy sofa.

Harvey rolled his eyes. "You're late, Mike." He closed the patio door and got rid of the snow on his jogging.

"And you're...." Mike could not believe his eyes. Harvey dating. Harvey having fun. Harvey dressing... casual? "I had to put on an all-nighter and try biking with this snow, it's hell."

"You're still late."

You sighed, grabbing the teapot whistling on the stove. "Don't be such a meanie, I'm sure he did his best. Besides, it's not like you really needed this. It's your day off."

"Well, I'm giving him a lesson. It's a teachable moment. The hustle never stops."

"Sugar?" you asked, pouring hot water inside a dog-shaped mug. You completely ignored your boyfriend‘s comment. He could be a jerk with his underlings, though you understood why. From what he told you about Mike, the kid needed structure.

"Yes, please." He turned to his boss, eying the man with curiosity. The brunette seemed relaxed. Unusually relaxed.

Harvey’s hand almost immediately found yours. You squeezed it. "Well, Mike… nice… thank… great job." Mike sure liked the influence you had on the man.

[reveryfics]

Saliva

Mark Grayson "Invincible" x Male Reader

Summary: Mark stumbles into your room, the aftermath of a brutal fight etched onto his skin in bruises and blood. Without hesitation, your instinctively drawn to mend his injuries.

A/N: I was going through different healing powers, and saw healing saliva......I could've picked something different, but I chose this.

TW: Blood - Broken bones - Injury - Licking - Comfort - Pre-established relationship

The corner of the room radiated a soft, internal warmth, the light emanating not from a harsh bulb but seeming to bloom from the very air. A solitary antique lamp, perched precariously on the edge of a small, scarred wooden desk, cast a butter-yellow circle that barely kissed the faded floral wallpaper. Within this gentle illumination, you were a study in muted tones, a dark silhouette against the brighter backdrop. Over-ear headphones, well-worn and comfortable, cradled your ears, a private concert of hushed melodies filling the otherwise silent sanctuary of your bedroom. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your fingers danced across the worn keys of your laptop, the only other audible sound, occasionally punctuated by a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts.

The laptop screen, its brightness turned low, bathed your face in an ethereal, cool glow, starkly highlighting the delicate lines of fatigue etched around your tired eyes. They felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and resistant to blinking, and every few minutes, your fingers would instinctively find the bridge of your nose, pressing firmly in a futile attempt to release the mounting tension. A long, drawn-out breath escaped your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. You leaned back in your creaky wooden chair, its once-velvet upholstery now flattened and worn smooth by countless hours of use. Your gaze drifted aimlessly, finally settling on the tall, standing mirror tucked awkwardly beside the overflowing closet door. A fleeting, almost ghost-like image of yourself stared back – hair slightly askew, the once-gray t-shirt now a canvas of abstract art created by spilled coffee and errant streaks of ink, a testament to the countless hours hunched over forgotten documents and late-night research. Beneath it, the waistband of plaid boxers was twisted and bunched, a physical manifestation of the constant shifting and fidgeting that accompanied intense concentration.

With a soft, almost reluctant click, the music paused, the sudden silence amplifying the low, persistent hum of the ancient refrigerator emanating from the next room. You closed your laptop with a decisive thud, the dim screen fading to a final, absolute black. Gently placing the headphones on the cluttered desk, you pushed your chair back, the worn wheels whispering a soft protest as they rolled across the faded floral carpet.

The faint, diffused light filtering through the heavy, closed curtains of the living room window served as your only guide as you padded silently through the familiar confines of your small apartment. The layout was etched into your muscle memory, each step automatic, a well-rehearsed dance in the near-darkness. You reached the kitchen, pausing momentarily in front of the refrigerator, its white surface marred by a collection of magnets holding up grocery lists and faded mementos. Your eyes lingered on one photograph in particular, held precariously by a cartoonish cat magnet – a picture of you and Mark, impossibly young, their smiles wide and gap-toothed, radiating a carefree joy that felt a lifetime away. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a momentary softening of the tired lines around your mouth. You reached for the cool metal handle of the refrigerator door, the sudden chill a small shock against the warmth of your hand. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar, slightly chaotic contents. After a brief scan, your fingers closed around the smooth, condensation-slick surface of a cold water bottle. With it clutched in your hand, you turned and retraced your silent steps, the soft carpet muffling your return to the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom.

The faintest rustle of your bedroom curtains, a sound barely perceptible against the ambient quiet, snagged your attention the instant you stepped past the doorframe. An instinct, primal and immediate, surged through you, and your hand shot out, fumbling for the familiar cool plastic of the light switch. The sudden burst of artificial light that flooded the room felt almost blinding after the hours spent in the dim glow of the lamp and screen.

Your breath hitched in your throat, a strangled gasp that caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. Your eyes widened in stark, disbelieving panic as the familiar yet horrifying contours of Mark’s face swam into focus. Bruises, a sickening tapestry of purple, blue, and yellow, bloomed across his skin, stark against the pallor of his complexion. Dried blood, a dark, viscous crimson, matted his hair and streaked his jawline. He was crawling through the narrow gap of your slightly ajar window, his movements clumsy and labored. A strangled cry escaped your lips as you nearly tripped over your own feet, rushing towards him, your hands instinctively reaching out, grasping at his arms, his torso, desperate to support him before he could collapse onto the floor. His body was dead weight against yours, heavy and unresponsive, as you gently, painstakingly, laid him against the soft cotton sheets of your bed. His breathing was shallow and ragged, a wet wheeze accompanying every strained inhale and exhale.

His body was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep lacerations, jagged and raw, crisscrossed his arms and legs, some still oozing a slow trickle of blood. His once-sharp suit was ripped and torn, the expensive fabric soaked in blood and grime, clinging to him like a second, gruesome skin. One arm lay at an unnatural angle, the bone visibly protruding through a tear in his suit. while his leg was twisted beneath him, a clear indication of a severe break.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the rising tide of nausea. With trembling hands, you cautiously worked at the remnants of his ruined suit, the stiff, blood-soaked fabric resisting your efforts. You finally managed to peel it away, discarding the shredded mess somewhere on the floor, your gaze never leaving his ravaged form. Your fingers, hesitant at first, then grew bolder as they ran lightly across his abdomen. His ribs felt wrong under your touch, a sickening crunchiness betraying the extent of the internal damage, mangled as if they had borne the brunt of a savage beating. Your eyes swept over his body, cataloging each injury with a growing sense of dread and a desperate surge of protectiveness, as you moved to cautiously hover above him. Mark sucked in a ragged breath, a low moan escaping his lips. His uninjured hand shot up, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength, raw panic blazing in his eyes.

“Shhh,” you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to soothe his fear. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.” You leaned down, your breath fanning over a particularly deep, gaping gash that bisected his abdomen. The metallic, coppery scent of blood filled your nostrils, thick and cloying, and then, moments later, it filled your mouth as you dragged your tongue deliberately against the raw wound. Mark’s back arched violently off the bed, his grip on your wrist tightening, his other hand moving from your wrist to clutch at your hair, a strangled cry of pain and shock escaping his lips at the sudden, intense stinging sensation. The torn flesh of the wound began to writhe and pull itself together, almost imperceptibly at first, then with increasing speed, thread by thread of muscle, nerves, and skin knitting back together as your saliva soaked into the damaged tissue.

Your powers, you knew, were far more potent when channeled directly from you, undiluted by the processes required for the General Defense Agency. They could mend bone and muscle with astonishing speed, even regrowing tissue that had been completely severed. You had never directly used them on another person in this way before, never truly witnessed their immediate, visceral effect firsthand, despite having possessed them since childhood. The clinical detachment of your work at the GDA was a stark contrast to the raw intimacy of this desperate act.

You nearly gagged as Mark’s blood, thick and metallic, coated your tongue and throat, your Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as you fought down the waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You looked up at Mark, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain, shock, and a dawning comprehension as he slowly relaxed back against the pillows, the frantic tension draining from his body. Without a second thought, driven by a desperate need to share the healing, you leaned into Mark, pressing your lips against his in a fierce, almost frantic kiss. You forced your tongue past his parted lips, your saliva mixing with his own, a silent offering. His throat bobbed convulsively as he instinctively drank in every bit of moisture he could.

Beneath you, his mangled bones snapped and cracked with sickening pops and grinds as they began to realign and repair themselves, the fractured ends knitting back together with unnatural speed. The grotesque tapestry of bruises that had blossomed across his skin began to fade just as quickly as they had formed, the angry purples and blues dissolving into a healthier, albeit still pale, complexion. Mark’s hands, which had been gripping your hair, now clutched at the back of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric between his fingers as he finally pulled away from your desperate kiss, his chest heaving with each deep, shuddering breath he drew in. His eyes, still wide and slightly unfocused, locked onto yours above him as you wiped the blood from your mouth on the back of your hand, leaving a crimson smear against your skin.

Mark stuttered over his words, his voice hoarse and shaky, before finally managing to express how incredibly disgusting yet strangely, undeniably hot it had been to see you lick his wound. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of relief and lingering nausea, as you shifted, moving to straddle his hips, your knees pressing gently against the mattress on either side of him. You shook your head, your gaze apologetic. “I panicked,” you whispered, your voice still thick with the taste of blood. “I would never… I won’t do that again.” Another wave of nausea washed over you, and you swallowed hard, a visible gag reflex rippling through your throat. Mark, his color returning slightly, pushed himself up on his elbows, his hands finding your hips, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “It’s okay. I… I’m sorry. I could’ve gone to Cecil. I just… I panicked too. I didn’t want to worry you.”

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, a reassuring rhythm after the frantic chaos of the past few minutes. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his before pressing a soft peck to his lips. “It was much faster this way,” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. “But don’t make it a habit of needing me to shove my tongue down your throat, okay?” A weak chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pressed another, more lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Duly noted,” he whispered, a faint smile finally gracing his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ CONSUME (richgirl!yn | chaewon x reader )

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing

— BONUNS CHAPTER | the dark sides of the moon family

JUNE 21st 1994

“On June 21st today at exactly 3:14 am Moon Minjun son of Moon Joonho was found unconscious in the road. The 18 year old has been rushed immediately to urgent care and is reported to be okay, but this has us all wondering how and why was he found in this state?”

In the heavy silence of the room, the camera lingered on minjun's face, his expression tense as he glanced between his father and mother. his father scanned the documents in front of him, offering no reaction, while his mother placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, a hint of worry in her eyes..

a reporter finally broke the silence. "Minjun, can you explain why you were found in such a state?"

minjun cleared his throat, shifting in his seat with a forced composure. "I was... out with other young professionals in similar family businesses," he began, his tone carefully measured. "and, well, I believe someone may have slipped something into my drink."

gasps rippled through the crowd as reporters exchanged looks of shock. he nodded slowly, letting the words sink in before adding, "I have my suspicions about who it could be, but I won't be disclosing that in this press conference."

he kept his face neutral, holding the lie in place with an almost practiced precision. but behind the mask, the truth remained locked away, hidden from the prying eyes of the public.

the real reason was overworking and exhaustion and maybe a little bit of over drinking, but nobody would know the conditions of the family.

the headlines were off the rails two weeks later.

KIM SUBIN UPCOMING LEADER OF K.I IS NOW IN CUSTODY FOR SPIKING MOON MINJUN’S DRINK WHICH LEAD TO HIM BEING FOUND IN THE ROAD

poor subin.

FEBRUARY 14th 2014

“On february 14th five members of the Moon family held their monthly conference. The youngest that we know as 12 year old yn was sitting in between her two older brothers while Their father was talking. From what we could see from the video Moon Yeonjin gestured for yn to get a water bottle for her brothers which the she complied to but she didn’t get far after completing collapsing after two steps. An insider reported that the cause was due to lack of food and fluids, which makes us wonder why a 12 year old girl is lacking those nutrients.”

the camera zoomed in on yn’s gaze that nervously swept across the rows of reporters and journalists in front of her as her family stood solemnly behind her. she cleared her throat, mentally rehearsing the words she had been given, each syllable feeling heavier than the last. for some in the audience, this scene was painfully familiar.

a reporter leaned forward, his voice laced with concern. "How are you feeling today, YN? Have you eaten well?"

a faint smile broke through her nerves, and she replied softly, "yes, I've been okay. I had a big breakfast." Her answer brought a ripple of fond laughter from the crowd, a brief moment of levity that softened the tension.

"can you tell us if there's a reason why you weren't able to meet your basic needs?" he continued, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

yn’s heart raced, the weight of her words pressing down on her. "I had been sick the week before," she began, keeping her voice steady. "I didn’t have an appetite and couldn’t keep anything down. I was still recovering during the conference."

the lie words left her lips smoothly, a perfectly crafted explanation. she didn’t dare look back at her family, praying her carefully delivered answer was enough to satisfy the room’s prying eyes.

and make her family proud.

DECEMBER 23rd 2018

“On December 23rd the every single person apart of the Moon family was called into an emergency press conference regarding the business but the business was the last thing on peoples minds after seeing the terrifying look of the family.

People described them as sick looking and pale. The family has never looked like this before in public which is causing a lot of worries onto why every single Moon in the room looks like this, take a look at the video.”

the cameron zoomed in on minjun who looked rather pale his eyes steady on the papers in front of him, the room had an scary silence to it.

the camera went into to zoom in on every single member of the families face, all of them draped in chanel, they all talked normally and acted normally but looked unusual, like a tim burton animation.

they looked sick.

when the camera finally landed on yn, she looked directly into the lens, her eyes hollow, her gaze unsettlingly steady. it was the killing shot of the whole video, an unspoken message from the youngest member of the family, leaving viewers to wonder what unspeakable truth lay beneath the moon family’s facade

[cece693]

YOU ARE FREE TO LEAVE, BUT KNOW THIS...

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader synopsis: You had enough—determined to end your relationship, you assumed Hannibal would react more to your confession, however, he merely nodded and let you walk through the door. He knows you'll come back; this was merely a lapse in judgement.

The knife rests on the cutting board like a third heartbeat—steady, inevitable, and glinting. Hannibal sets it down only when he hears your key hesitate in the lock, that fractional pause betraying nerves you’ve trained all day to hide. He smiles to himself and wipes his hands on a crisp linen towel, turning the music down until harpsichord and silence become indistinguishable.

You step inside smelling of cold air and decisions.

He knows at once.

Tonight’s cassoulet simmers on the stove, but the aroma doesn’t coax the usual softening around your eyes. Instead, you linger by the foyer, fingers tightening on the strap of a messenger bag you never bring to his house. An exit bag, he thinks—documents, wallet, charger, sweater for the bus ride you expect to take. You haven’t plotted every step yet; the lines in your forehead say you’re still rehearsing your speech.

Hannibal tilts his head in greeting. “You are late.”

“My phone died,” you lie with reflexive ease. “Work ran over.”

He notes the absence of flowers, the lack of a quick kiss, the way you keep your shoes on. Evidence enough. But this is not a courtroom; it is a dining room designed like a chapel, and he the only minister. He gestures toward the table where two crystal glasses wait.

“Sit. Eat while it is still hot.”

“I’m not hungry,” you answer, voice thin. A rehearsal line, spoken too early.

Hannibal’s smile is pale and precise. “How unfortunate. Desire is the seasoning of life; without it, meals—and people—go bland.”

You swallow. “Actually, that’s sort of why I need to talk to you.”

A flick of genuine curiosity warms his gaze. “Proceed.”

You set the bag down—as though placing an infant in a cradle—and fold your hands so tight your knuckles blanch. “I’m leaving, Hannibal. I love you, but I can’t keep living like this. The intensity. The things we see. The things I suspect.” Your throat clicks. “I booked a flight for tomorrow night.”

He watches, unreadable, yet the room seems to contract around your lungs. You expect rage or persuasion—perhaps the cold scalpel of logic—but Hannibal simply pours the wine. Ruby liquid swirls, catching chandelier light like arterial spray. “Merlot,” he murmurs. “Full-bodied. Loyal to the tongue once tasted.”

You flinch at the metaphor. He notices.

“May I ask,” he continues softly, “how long you have planned this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only to measure my own blindness.”

That stings—he lets it. Silence grows carnivorous, devouring oxygen. Finally, you force the words: “I can’t sleep beside you without wondering if you’re dissecting the sound of my breathing, cataloguing my pulse like… like a specimen.”

Hannibal’s eyelids lower, savoring the accusation. “And you do not wish to be studied?”

“I want to be loved, not preserved.”

He sets his glass down untouched. “You do not leave a relationship like ours the way one leaves a café, closing the door with a polite bell. Love of this caliber is an ecosystem; uproot one vine and entire orchards die.” He steps forward, slow enough not to spook you. “Come here.”

“No.”

“Come.”

Your refusal quavers. He hears the hairline crack—fear, yes, but also history, trust, longing. He steps closer, enough for you to smell rosemary and bone marrow on his cuffs. “Look at me.” Two fingers tilt your chin with something gentler than force, crueler than kindness. “If you must leave, you will at least understand what you abandon.”

“I have shown you every layer of myself,” he says, voice husky with something perilously near pain. “Curated symphonies for your moods. Fed you truth in courses small enough to digest. I have tolerated your moral fevers—your nights of conscience when you fled my bed to retch over thoughts you could not bear.”

Your eyes brim. He brushes a tear away, studying it on his thumb like a jeweler inspecting flawed crystal. “And still you stayed.”

“I stayed because I believed—”

“Because you belong,” he finishes, tone silk-steel. “As surely as spleen belongs beneath the ribcage. Remove it, and the body suffers cascades of failure.”

You shake your head. “That’s not love, Hannibal. That’s possession.”

“Possession is merely the visible spectrum of love.” He smiles, sad and terrible. “The rest lies in wavelengths few can see.”

The room tilts; you step back until the wall stops you. He follows, not hunting—orbiting. “Tell me what future awaits you in whatever city you have chosen. A small apartment. Weeknight dinners of wilted takeout. You will google therapists who promise immunity from the extraordinary. And still, when it rains, you will taste saffron and wonder if I am cooking somewhere nearby.”

Your breath fractures. “Stop.”

“Say instead: continue. Honesty deserves encouragement.”

“I said stop!”

He does. The sudden obedience unsettles you more than pursuit. Hannibal folds his hands behind his back, posture of a surgeon waiting for anesthesia to take hold.

“If your fear is police,” he says, “know they cannot protect you from an ache that originates inside your own ribs. If your fear is me—” he inclines his head—“then you admit I live within you already, and distance is a theatrical illusion.”

You glare, wounded animal edging toward fight. “You think I’m too weak to leave.”

“I think,” he answers softly, “that you are strong enough to attempt it but too sentient to succeed.”

You retrieve the bag, slinging it over one shoulder like a life raft. “I’m going to a hotel tonight.”

Hannibal steps aside, courteous. He even opens the front door. Lamp-lit drizzle threads the street; taxi lights bloom like fireflies. You hesitate in the threshold, cold biting your cheeks. “May I offer you an umbrella?” he asks.

“No.”

“Very well.” He leans against the doorframe, half in shadow, half in amber glow. “You will return.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I have prepared the cassoulet precisely to your palate.” He gestures toward the dining room. Steam curls skyward like a prayer. “When hunger humbles you, my address will be the only one your body recalls.”

You almost laugh—a ragged, incredulous sound. “People move on, Hannibal.”

“Indeed,” he agrees. “But not from sacrament.”

The hotel bed is too white, too flat; your muscles remember the give of his mattress, the scent of bergamot on starched sheets. You dream of silverware glinting under low chandeliers, of a wine glass that never empties. You wake at 2:14 a.m. and realize you are starving.

Dawn paints Baltimore in bruise-purple shadow. You stand outside his townhouse—bag still clutched, pride bleeding from a thousand paper-cut doubts. Before you can knock, the door opens. He has been awake, of course, reading by the fire, hearing your shoes in the gravel. Hannibal says nothing, only lifts an eyebrow that asks, Hungry?

You nod, throat too raw for speech. He takes the bag, sets it gently inside the foyer—never once looking to see whether you intend to stay. Because he knows.

In the kitchen, cassoulet waits, kept warm through the night. You sit. He pours. The first spoonful is a benediction laced with surrender, and when you finally meet his eyes across the table, you expect triumph. Instead you find relief—vast and tidal—as though the world has balanced upon its axis again. “Welcome home.”

[lostreverb]

bed chem (short n' sweet)

(colin zabel x fem!reader) your internship just got more interesting...

warnings / content: not really proofread, age gap (reader is 20-22, colin's like 32-34), swearing, perv!reader tbh, NSFW - masturbation (toys) + fingering (fem receiving), p in v

(this fic is a part of my short n' sweet collection!) a/n: every time i listen to this song i think of colin like he's just so... AHHHHHHHHHH i've literally had this idea since the album came out! tried to incorporate as many lyrics as i could idk how well i did tho!

--

the easttown police department wasn’t exactly a hub of thrilling action. that was probably a good thing for the town, but for you, it made the days of your internship drag endlessly. stuck behind a desk, processing minor domestic disputes and petty incidents, the hours stretched out. you couldn’t help but wish that, just once, you’d be allowed to join an officer out in the field. to witness a slice of the town's life up close instead of through dry reports. but no, you were stuck in the back office, relying on your imagination to fill in the blanks while you typed up incident after incident.

on this particular afternoon, you were making your way down the hallway with a precariously high stack of files balanced in your arms. you could feel the papers shift, hear the quiet rustle of their movement as they started to slide. panic gripped you briefly—this was going to be embarrassing. you were already imagining the cascade of documents scattering across the floor, how you’d have to drop to your knees and scramble to gather them up, probably while everyone watched. just as the stack tilted dangerously to one side, a hand swooped in, catching the top section before it could tumble.

"here, lemme help you with that," a man said, accompanied by a friendly smile. a smile too relaxed, too bright for this quiet, indifferent corner of pennsylvania.

grateful, you gestured toward your desk a few feet away. "thanks," you mumbled, trying not to sound too embarrassed as you placed the files down with a sigh of relief. he set the rescued papers down beside yours, glancing at you with a foreign look. like he actually saw you as a person instead of the intern that does the shit no one else wants to do.

"you doin' okay?" he asked. his concern seemed genuine, which again, took you a second to process.

"yeah! yeah, i'm good!" you responded, a little too enthusiastically perhaps, as you straightened the files in a futile effort to regain your composure. "thank you."

the man chuckled softly. "you know, sometimes it’s easier just to take the two trips." he shot you a wink that made your pulse quicken. "speakin' from experience," he added, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret. "when i was in your shoes, i had to learn the hard way."

the chief called him over and, after a charismatic "duty calls" farewell, he walked off. you sat down at your desk, face hurting from the corners of your mouth being lifted for so long, but you couldn't bring them down.

you buried your face into your arms, letting your forehead rest against the cool surface of the desk for a few minutes. if anyone saw the flush creeping up your cheeks, you’d never hear the end of it. you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling, willing yourself to get back to work. but the more you tried to focus, the more impossible it became.

why? because guess whose office was in clear view of your desk? mare's. and guess who was now in mare's office quite adorably rehearsing a conversation with himself?

yeah... you were done for.

the man's lips moved slightly as if he was practicing lines for a play, his brow furrowed in concentration, and every so often, he’d run a hand through his neatly cropped hair, or shake his head in disapproval, looking entirely too charming for his own good.

you needed to find out who he was right away. what was he there to talk to mare about? was he a detective? why couldn't you stop thinking about him pinning you against a wall?

unable to live with the mystery you pushed yourself up from your chair and marched over to the nearest officer, your pulse still racing. "hey—uh, hello." you cleared your throat, trying to sound casual despite the warmth still lingering in your cheeks. "who’s the cute guy in mare’s office? you know, uh.."

wide brown eyes, chiseled jawline..

"navy jacket- big briefcase."

the officer looked up, raising an eyebrow at your blunt description before glancing toward the office. "county guy chief brought in to help with the katie bailey case," he replied nonchalantly. "last name's zabel if i remember right."

you nodded, pretending like that was enough to satisfy your curiosity, but then another officer nearby chimed in with a smirk. "that’s him? poor guy’s gonna be in for it."

they quickly devolved into their own conversation, talking shop and completely forgetting you were even standing there. under normal circumstances, their dismissal might’ve bugged you, but you had bigger priorities now.

back at your desk, you grabbed your phone and opened up a browser, your fingers flying across the screen. within moments, you’d found him. detective colin zabel of delaware county. recently praised for solving a cold case involving a missing 10-year-old girl—a feat that had earned him respect in the force and beyond.

you couldn’t help but grin. of course he was the hero detective. it made perfect sense. but now that you knew who he was, it didn’t make the butterflies in your stomach any easier to ignore.

when mare had finally arrived, you watched the awkward interaction between the two of them. colin outstretched his hand only for her to disregard his formalities. you saw it coming, but it didn't make it any less painful to observe.

you waited until she had left (which wasn't very long) to discreetly travel over to the office. the door was open so you knocked on the frame.

"it's not personal. she's got a lot going on" you said with an understanding smile.

at the sound of your voice, colin turned around, giving a deflated chuckle towards your remark. "you er- saw that whole thing?"

"my desk is right there" you said, pointing, the two stacks of files barely touched. "sorry i kinda.. visually eavesdropped"

"no worries-" colin briefly smiled at your humorous confession then looked away. "uhhhhhh- did you need somethin'?"

"just wanted to introduce myself" you said, extending your hand out. "i'm y/n"

when he firmly took yours in his, your eyes couldn't help but flicker down and notice the veins that decorated them. a thought crossed your mind about where they might show up on other parts of his body.

"that's a pretty name"

you looked up from the grip your two hands were intertwined in, colin's attentive dark eyes on you.

"thank you.." you said softly, pulling away. shit, why were you out of breath? "uhm- i read about that... that case you solved? amazing work"

"oh- that was- i'm not-" he scratched the back of his head, trying to find words to minimize the accomplishment. you didn't know what was more attractive—hearing him stumble over his words or his humility. "we brought her home you know? that's what matters"

you nodded earnestly in response. "100%... well let me know if you need anythin'. i know people here can be a bit closed off but it's not all that bad."

"yeah thanks... nice to know i got a friend already" he smiled.

a friend... for now.

--

seeing as he was always in the back of your mind, and you couldn't care less about filling out reports, daydreaming about colin became your favorite past time. and every smile, every corny joke he greeted you with only fueled your crush.

it wasn't long before you noticed he had his eyes on mare, but the way he stared at you while you spoke about your criminology major... crossing his built arms, leaning forward on his desk to show you he was really listening. the way he'd routinely check on you and stop by your desk to chat....

for god's sake he started to get you coffee every morning.

there had to be something there... right? something more between you than mere camaraderie.

you definitely thought so. and thought about it often.. in bed.

eyes closed, you pictured colin's body hovering over yours. you could discern his toned figure from the form fitted button-ups he wore.. he'd have absolutely no problem picking you up and turning you over, manhandling you... though he probably wouldn't. he's too sweet for that. so sweet... and yet no ring? colin seemed like the type of man who should've had a wife and 2 kids by now...

maybe you could be the one to give that to him.

not now of course.

one day though.

still thinking of him you reached down into your panties, playing with your delicate folds in the caring manner you imagined him to have.

"so beautiful" he'd whisper, pumping two slick digits in and out of you at a sensual pace.

gasping moans escaped from your mouth as your fingers moved faster, the squelching sound of your fluids filling the room.

"that's it... god, i love how y'sound..."

belt unbuckled, he'd pull down his pants and boxers in one swift motion revealing his hard cock ready to drive into you. from underneath your bed you grab your dildo—oversized and veiny as colin would be and removed your now-soaked underwear.

he'd smile against your lips as he slotted himself between your legs, your body accommodating as he entered. after he'd ask (quite endearningly) if you're okay, you'd quickly nod, giving him permission to continue.

you try to imagine the expression of lust on his face... the sound of his deep groans in your ear as you fucked yourself gently, attempting to emulate your bodies rocking together in synced movement, the riveting sensation of the veins against your walls sending shockwaves through your body.

"fuck... oh my god" you panted, feeling the heat build up in your core. you were close.

"let go, i've got you... taking me like this, you're doing so well... makin' me feel so good..."

you increase the pace at which you pummel the dildo into your quivering cunt, eyes rolling back as you reach your climax, your body left trembling.

with colin, your sure you'd probably both arrive at the same time.

but for now you just had to live with unsatisfaction of not feeling his warm release coating your insides.

--

the next morning the chief had called you into his office.

a grin spread on your face as the he detailed the new program the department was implementing, how you'd finally be able to shadow an officer like you'd hoped when you first applied for the internship.

"any officer you have a preference to be paired with?"

you turned your head and caught colin's gaze through the office window. he was deep in conversation with mare, but when he noticed you, he gave a small wave. you smiled back, feeling a slight flutter.

"yeah, i’ve got someone in mind."

--

extra note: part two coming (hopefully soon!) it'll be based off the song "busy woman"!

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8

[mrspiastri]

prompt 24 + oscar + coworker reader (pr/photographer) please?

oscar piastri x reader

prompt 24. “So, uh… do you wanna be my Valentine? No pressure, though. I mean, lots of pressure, but like, in a cute way.”

💌💌💌

Y/N had photographed Oscar Piastri hundreds of times before.

From race weekends to sponsor events, behind-the-scenes moments to dramatic podium shots—her camera had captured every version of him. The serious, race-focused Oscar. The rare, celebratory Oscar. The one who rolled his eyes whenever she asked him to pose but always did it anyway.

But today, something felt different.

She wasn’t behind the camera now—at least, not in the way she was used to. Instead, she stood off to the side of a McLaren media studio, observing as Oscar filmed a Valentine’s Day Q&A.

And for some reason, his answers kept throwing her off.

“All right, Oscar,” the interviewer said, flipping through their notes. “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your ideal type?”

Y/N expected something vague and rehearsed. Instead, Oscar tilted his head, considering. “Someone who keeps me on my toes,” he said. Then, with a slight smirk: “Maybe someone a little bossy.”

The crew chuckled. Y/N’s grip tightened on her camera strap.

The shoot continued, and it only got worse.

“Biggest green flag in a person?”

“Good under pressure. Knows how to take charge.”

“Dream date?”

“Something simple. A coffee shop, maybe. Or sitting in a hotel lobby, pretending we’re meant to be somewhere else.”

Y/N’s heart lurched.

The hotel lobby. Singapore. Last season.

She and Oscar had both been late for a press event, yet instead of rushing, they had sat down in the hotel lounge, pretending they had nowhere else to be. She had snapped a candid photo of him then—one of her favorites.

Now, Oscar was bringing it up here? On camera?

Her pulse spiked, but she forced herself to focus. She was working. She was supposed to be documenting this moment, not getting caught up in it.

Once the cameras stopped rolling, Y/N immediately busied herself checking photos on her camera, pretending her heart wasn’t hammering out of her chest.

She needed to get out of here before—

“Hey.”

She froze.

Oscar was standing next to her now, hands in his hoodie pockets, looking slightly nervous.

“Got a sec?” he asked.

Y/N hesitated. She glanced around—the crew was still here, but they were distracted, discussing clips for social media. She sighed, nodding. “Yeah.”

They stepped into a quieter part of the studio, where the overhead lights weren’t as harsh.

Oscar rocked back on his heels. “So… you gonna say anything about earlier?”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Oscar. You practically confessed on camera.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”

She shot him a look. “You know you did.”

Oscar sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. Kind of.”

Her heart pounded. “Why?”

He met her gaze, all teasing gone now. “Because I like you.” His voice was steady, but his fingers twitched slightly—a rare tell. “I have for a while.”

Y/N swallowed.

This was different from the usual back-and-forth between them.

This was real.

She gripped her camera tighter. “You’re serious?”

Oscar huffed a small laugh. “Would I joke about this?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

Because now, standing in this quiet corner of the studio, away from the bright lights and cameras, she realized—

She had always known.

It was in the way he lingered after media duties, making excuses to hang around while she sorted through photos. It was in the way he never minded when she adjusted his posture for pictures, even when other drivers rolled their eyes. It was in the way he had let her drag him to that hotel lounge in Singapore, letting her take a photo of him just because she wanted to.

She inhaled sharply. “Oscar—”

“Look,” he said, cutting her off. “If you don’t feel the same, just tell me. I’ll drop it. But if you do…” He hesitated, rubbing his jaw. “Then I’d really like to take you out. For real.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart hammering.

This was insane.

This was completely unprofessional.

This was exactly what she wanted.

Her fingers flexed around her camera strap. “You still want an answer?” she finally asked.

Oscar tilted his head, hopeful. “Would be nice, yeah.”

He took a breath, looking more nervous than she’d ever seen him. Then, with an awkward chuckle, he said, “So, uh… do you wanna be my Valentine? No pressure, though. I mean, lots of pressure, but like, in a cute way.”

Y/N exhaled, something warm spreading in her chest. A small smile. “Yes.”

Oscar’s breath hitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A grin broke across his face—bright, genuine. “Okay. Cool. That’s… good.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You just confessed on camera, and *now* you’re nervous?”

“Terrified, actually.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Come on, Piastri. Let’s get out of here.”

And just like that, everything between them finally clicked into place.

[goldfades]

could you write a fic with joe burrow where reader is a ballet dancer? i’m one myself and thought it would be cute to read 🎀🤍like maybe reader is getting ready for class and joe is all lovey dovey and infatuated with her skills or something along those lines😆🤍

this took such a long time cause i genuinely didn't know anything about ballerinas but i finally finished it! i hope you enjoy!

you’re standing in front of the mirror, tugging your hair into a sleek bun with a precision that feels second nature by now. the elastic snaps against your wrist, the rhythm of muscle memory guiding your fingers. the early morning light spills through the window, casting a pale pinkish glow on the hardwood floor of your apartment. your bag, stuffed with pointe shoes and an assortment of worn leotards, sits slumped against the door like a patient, silent companion.

you don’t hear him at first—too lost in the ritual of tying up your hair and mentally walking through the combinations you’ll be rehearsing later. plié, tendu, jeté. the words are as familiar as your own name. but then there’s the unmistakable creak of a floorboard, and you catch his reflection in the mirror, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

“how is it possible,” joe says, voice still gravelly with sleep, “that you look this graceful even when you’re just standing there?”

he’s in sweats, hair a mess, arms folded across his chest as he watches you like you’re some sort of masterpiece in motion. and maybe to him, you are. his lips twitch into that soft, lopsided smile—the one that never fails to disarm you, even after all this time.

you roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “you’re bias.”

“nope.” he steps further into the room, bare feet quiet against the wood. “just observant.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you finish securing the last stubborn strand of hair into place. joe has this way of making every little thing you do feel like an event worth documenting, like he’s quietly cataloging moments to replay in his mind later. it’s sweet, if not a little overwhelming at times.

“shouldn’t you be at practice or something?” you ask, reaching for your bag. you don’t turn to look at him, not yet but you can feel the warmth of his gaze like a second skin.

“shouldn’t you be at class?” he counters, stepping closer. his hands find your waist, gentle but deliberate and he spins you around to face him. you barely have time to protest before he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. “i’ve got time before meetings. figured i’d spend it wisely.”

“wisely, hm?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. but there’s no real bite to it, especially when his thumbs start tracing lazy circles against your hips. it’s maddening how easily he can undo you with the simplest of gestures.

he nods, his expression softening. “yep. watching you do what you do best is a pretty solid use of my morning.”

you blink up at him, momentarily disarmed. “joe, i’m literally just putting on shoes right now.”

“doesn’t matter,” he says, tilting his head like he’s considering something profound. “you make everything look... i don’t know. effortless. like you were made for it.”

heat blooms in your cheeks and you glance down at your feet in an attempt to compose yourself. his words always seem to hit a little too close to your heart, peeling back layers you’re not always sure you’re ready to expose. but joe has a way of doing that—of making you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

“stop,” you mumble, though your voice lacks conviction.

“not a chance.” his voice is low now, teasing but tender and you feel his fingers brush a stray thread of your sweatshirt. he tugs at it absentmindedly, his touch lingering like he’s unwilling to let you go just yet.

you step back, needing a moment to collect yourself and crouch to dig through your bag. the familiar scent of worn fabric greets you as you pull out your shoes. they’re old, the satin fraying at the edges, but still serviceable. joe crouches beside you, his knees cracking as he lowers himself down.

“i’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now. “i just... i don’t think you realize how incredible you are. how much work you put into this. it’s—i don’t know, just amazing to watch.”

you glance at him, and there’s no trace of sarcasm or pretense in his expression. just honesty. it’s almost too much.

“you’re such a sap,” you say with a smile, trying to deflect, but the words come out softer than you intend.

he grins, completely unbothered by your deflection. “you love it.”

and god, you do. more than you probably should admit.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Tour Clips

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Singer!Reader

Summary: Jack and his girlfriend are on tour and Wyatt is documenting all their backstage moments on tour. Fans even help him out by capturing a secret moment between them after a show.

The tour was in full swing, and as expected, Jack and [Y/N] were a constant source of entertainment—both on stage and off. Wyatt, being the content mastermind he was, put together a behind-the-scenes montage for the tour vlog, giving fans an inside look at their dynamic.

Backstage Footage: Jack hyping her up before she went on stage. “Go out there and do that ethereal, angelic, heartbreak-inducing magic you do.”

Hotel Room Chaos: Jack stealing her microphone during rehearsal and dramatically lip-syncing one of her ballads, complete with fake tears.

Soundcheck Playfulness: Him walking past her soundcheck, pausing dramatically as she hit a high note, then turning to the camera like he was in awe. “You see this? I gotta go on stage after this. How is that fair?”

Side Stage Moments: Jack watching her perform from the wings, nodding along with a proud smirk.

Goofy Tour Bus Moments: A clip of them singing (badly) to one of her songs at 2 AM, both in sweatpants, laughing too hard to finish a verse.

Fan Interactions: Jack taking a fan’s phone, seeing the lock screen was a picture of his girlfriend, and fake-pouting. “Damn, I lost to my own girl? That’s crazy.”

The montage was already packed with golden moments, but then a certain fan-recorded clip sent social media into a frenzy.

It happened after a show, when most of the crowd had left, but a few dedicated fans lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jack or [Y/N].

One fan had their phone rolling when they spotted them at the edge of the stage—just the two of them, barely visible in the dim lighting.

Jack was standing in front of her, hands on her waist, his forehead resting against hers. Their voices were low, lost in the distance, but from the way his thumb stroked over her hip and how she tilted her head up toward him, it was clear it was an intimate moment.

For a few seconds, the world around them didn’t exist. No cameras, no fans, no crew—just them.

Then Jack kissed her, soft and slow, before pulling back with a grin, saying something that made her laugh.

The fan who caught the moment kept quiet, not wanting to intrude—but later, they posted the clip with the caption:

“They really think we don’t see them having their own little world.”

The video went viral overnight.

“THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A ROMANCE MOVIE.”

“Jack Harlow is officially the blueprint for men.”

“They are so unaware of how in love they look, I’m sick.”

“The way they just EXIST in their own little bubble???”

Jack, of course, saw the video. His response?

A tweet that read: "I thought we were being sneaky 😭."

[Y/N] quote-tweeted him with, "Clearly, we're amateurs at this."

And Wyatt? He reposted the fan video with, “Y’all think this is cute? Try filming this in real time every day. My life is a rom-com.”