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artmsdoll · 2 months ago

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just ask next time ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a yuma fic based off of this anon req !

content : nsfw writing about yuma (18+, if ur uncomfy pls don't read), yuma x fem reader, both are 18 in this!!, quickie in the bathroom, hickey receiving, ass grabbing, fingering + yuma munch

wc : 1500

a/n : GUYS IM ACC SO SORRY FOR GOING MIA FOR LIKE TWO WEEKS (?) AFTER DROPPING THAT FIRST MAKI FIC💔 THE WRITING BLOCK WAS INSANE BUT IM BACK!! also also tysm for all the support on my first fic!! also this is kinda ass... IM SORRY.. i tried

no one really knew what you and yuma were.

your friends gave up on trying to figure it out months ago. whenever they even bothered asking, you’d just shrug and say something like, “he’s so annoying and immature, i can’t stand him.” and, without fail, you'd always end up mentioning that one time he rejected you in front of everyone… in your first year of middle school. but so what if you’re petty.

and yuma? he’d just roll his eyes and say, “she’s so full of herself, thinking she can get away with things because her face is half-decent.” he remembered that same day in middle school, convinced you only asked him out to embarrass him in front of the whole school. so he rejected you. coldly.

you both swore you hated each other, but your friends saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. and how your tone always changed a bit whenever you talked about him, even if it was negative. somehow, almost every conversation circled back to the other.

“did you see his new hairstyle? blonde? seriously? is he trying to look like an idol or something?” or pointing out when he would purposely roll up his sleeves, loosen his tie, or unbutton his collar and fixing it for him, looking at him dead in the eyes with a smirk while he looked like a deer in headlights.

yuma’s friends had heard enough things like “is she really putting on lip gloss again? who even cares? we’re at school.” a pause. “not like i was looking at her or anything,” to know that if love and hate were a spectrum, you two were so far on the hate side it practically wrapped back around to love. at this point, you loved to hate each other… or hated that you liked each other?

whenever he walked in or out of somewhere at the same time as you, he’d hold the door just long enough to seem polite, then let it slam in your face. or you'd walk past him in class and his books would “accidentally” fall over.

all of this with the shared goal of being a harmless inconvenience to the other… or maybe to stay in the others head…

but this one day, you decided to take it up a notch.

by that, you meant pulling out the skirt you hadn’t worn all semester (and rolling it up), and the button-up shirt that hugged your chest a little too well in all the right ways.

you didn’t even look at him when you walked into school that morning, you didn’t have to. as you passed him in the hallway, you felt his eyes on you and heard him say, “what the hell are you wearing?”

you giggled to yourself and answered with your back and lowk ur ass still to him , “the uniform…. don’t tell me you’ve never seen a skirt before.”

a pause.

then you heard him mutter, just loud enough for you to hear it, “keep acting like that, and you won’t make it to class.”

you didn’t know if he meant you’d get dress-coded or… something else. either way, you were almost satisfied with your daily yuma teasing.

without thinking, you turned around, smirked, and met his eyes. “oh? is that a promise?”

his eyes darkened. you heard his footsteps. his hand caught your wrist, and before you could say another word, he was dragging you down the hallway to the nearest gender-neutral stall. the door slammed shut. and seconds later, your back hit the cold tiles.

“what’s this all for?” you asked, looking up at him (even though you already knew damn well).

“i could ask you the same thing. trying to get my attention, huh?” his hands rested loosely on your waist.

you giggled. “i can tell it’s working.”

you couldn’t even finish your words when he pulled you in closer and pressed his lips on yours, slightly opening them. he quickly backed off, his hands still on you and slowly making their way up to right under your chest that was tightly pushed up in your blouse.

“tell me to stop.” he whispered, his voice rough.

“no way.” you pulled him back in holding his shirts collar tightly and slightly shifted so you had his thigh in between both of yours. your almost bare cunt that wasn’t covered by safety shorts today, only your panties that were supposed to be the wild card here, but i guess he didn’t last until then rested on his leg.

you don’t know what came over him, or you, to finally crack like this but you weren’t mad.

as your kiss turned sloppier, you desperately pulled on his tie to signal you wanted more.

he slid his warm hands up, palms grazing your chest as he fumbled with your buttons, rushed, messy, like he couldn’t get you uncovered fast enough. his mouth slowly made its way to your tits, placing short kisses all the way down. then he latched on, sucking right below your collarbone until the pressure made you let out a breathy whimper. biting down just enough to make you shiver… just enough to mark you. he pulled back, lips red, his gaze dropping to the blooming mark on your chest. his thumb brushed over it.

his other hand slid down, sneaking under your skirt. to his surprise, there was nothing between his touch and your skin.

“no shorts either?” he smirked.

“now you get it…” you giggled.

that was all the confirmation he needed.

he lifted one of your legs up and tucked your panties to the side.

“let me know if your leg gets tired okay?” his tone softened.

“mhm”

his fingers rubbed over your slick folds, passing his thumb over your clit a few times as your back arched on the cold tiles and you let out a few more whines. with no time to waste, he entered two fingers in your dripping cunt. trying not to make any more noise than you were already making, you pressed your lips on his once more. he fingered you within an inch of your orgasm.

you don’t know where this sweet side of him was all along, but he couldn't switch up that fast.

when he could tell you were just about to cum, he pulled out his fingers, gently lowered your leg, shoved his digits in your mouth as he watched you suck on them.

“please don’t do this to me, this is a form of teasing i will not accept” you almost pleaded, but with that sweet tone.

“oh i’m not done” he answered, teasing you, as he kneels and picks up your leg once more. you feel him grab the side of your panties as he slowly lowers them. he didn't waste a second to bury his face in your pussy while both of his hands squeezed your ass. moving his tongue in circles, hitting every spot and sucking on your clit lightly. you were almost at your limit, grabbing his hair and throwing your head back. when that knot in your stomach came undone, you felt his warm mouth cleaning up every last drop of your sweet juices.

you both took a second to catch your breath.

“how are your knees? i can’t have you do all this for me and not return the favour” you chuckled.

“don’t worry about me!”

“no i’m serious! we cou-” but the bell cut you off. “oh i guess first periods’ over…”

“yeah… you could say that we’re even now.” he helps you fix your skirt and your buttons, and then fixes his tie that was now loosely hanging around his neck. “so much for my tie being on wrong… oh and by the way, next time you want something from me, just ask, okay? the principal was talking about giving you those gross gym shorts to change into..” he teased.

“oh my god..” you felt a little embarrassed now.

then he quickly kissed your lips again while giving your ass one more squeeze before opening the door and leaving by himself, as if you guys weren’t five minutes away from hitting it raw in the school bathroom.

you were glad that that was settled… you think.. but now you just wanted more.

#hei writes⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#&team smut #&team imagines #&team hard thoughts #&team hard hours #&team x reader #&team yuma #andteam hard hours #andteam smut #andteam #nakakita yuma #nakakita yuma smut

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dozybeez · 5 days ago

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Practice Makes Imperfect (Pt. One)

A perfectionist ballerina struggles to find her rhythm-not just in her mandatory hip hop class, but in life itself. When she turns to Hoshi, a laid back hip hop major, he helps her see there is more to life than just structure and control.

→ part two coming soon

pairing: college au! kwon soonyoung x ballerina f!reader

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: slowish burn with eventual smut, internalized perfectionism, performance anxiety, academic and artistic burnout, emotional repression, subtle corruption kink, drugs and alcohol. MDNI

authors note: in no way do I think I'm a good writer. I wrote this a while ago just for self indulgence and decided to post it for fun, so please understand.

songs for this chapter:

- My Body Is a Cage by Arcade Fire

- Liquid Smooth by Mitski

You wake up before your alarm.

Not because you want to. You never want to. But because your body doesn’t know how not to obey the rules you’ve beaten into it. The light isn’t even up yet when your hand smacks the alarm off out of pure reflex. You’re already moving, already stretching your calves against the edge of your mattress like you’re warming up for war. In a way, you are.

You move through your morning like a machine. Hair in a bun. Breakfast by 6:00. Coffee black. Gym by 6:30. Run four miles. Stretch. Shower. Be on campus by 8:00 with enough time to revise yesterday’s math notes before your 9:00 a.m. class.

It’s exhausting, but it works. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You’re double majoring in Ballet and Mathematics. Most people can’t wrap their heads around it when you tell them. As if they’re opposite sides of the spectrum. But they’re not—not really. They both depend on precision. Repetition. Obedience. Structure. The ability to show your work and leave no room for interpretation.

People think ballet is art. Sometimes it is. But mostly, it’s numbers. It’s angles and physics and symmetry. It’s learning how to master your body so completely that it all becomes invisible to the audience. Seamless. Effortless. That’s the lie. That’s the goal.

You’ve been dancing since before you could spell your own last name. You don’t remember a version of yourself that wasn’t chasing perfection. That wasn’t stretching through injury, re-tying pointe shoes with shaking hands, staring into studio mirrors until your own reflection looked back at you like a stranger.

Everyone thinks you’re talented. What they don’t understand is that it’s not talent—it’s terror.

You don’t know how to be bad at something. You’ve never been allowed to be.

Your ballet instructor always said that if you have a backup plan, you’re already planning to fail. So you never told her about your math major. About the hours you spend calculating things no one will ever dance to. About the tiny voice in the back of your mind that keeps whispering: What if you don’t make it? What if all of this wasn’t enough?

You lug your backpack to every rehearsal even though everyone else just brings a water bottle and their shoes. But you can’t not bring it. You’d feel naked without it. Inside are your lecture notes, your meal plan, your backup charger, your vitamin C tablets, and three different highlighters. Control, contained in a zippered compartment.

There are no missed classes. No spontaneous nights out. No caffeine after 7 p.m. No social media during meals. Your calendar is color-coded and your playlists are sorted by tempo. You even schedule time to cry, though if it is a good day, you cancel.

It’s easier this way.

If you follow the rules, you won’t fall behind.

If you don’t fall behind, you won’t fail.

If you don’t fail, you won’t have to ask what happens next.

You’ll get the solo. You’ll join a company. You’ll make something of yourself before your body betrays you the way every ballerina’s body eventually does. That’s the plan. That has to be the plan.

There’s no room for error. No room for breaks. You’ve trained yourself out of both.

Because if you stop for even a second—everything might fall apart.

⸻

You’re not used to mirrors being this cruel.

In ballet, at least the reflection has grace. In hip hop, it just confirms what you already fear: you don’t belong here.

You’re not sure who thought it was a good idea to make Ballet majors take cross-disciplinary dance. Probably some sadistic department head who thinks exposure equals growth. Which is rich, considering all you’ve been exposed to this past hour is the fact that you move like a malfunctioning robot.

The music’s too loud. The mirrors are too honest. And your professor looks exhausted just watching you.

“Again,” she says, voice clipped.

You fall into the steps again—if you can call them that. Your limbs are tight, too calculated. You don’t bounce, don’t melt into the beat like the girl to your left does. You don’t ride the music, you choke it.

The routine ends. Everyone else is panting, laughing, high-fiving. You’re standing frozen in the mirror, jaw locked.

Your professor clears her throat. “You’re technically accurate. But there’s no flow. No rhythm. You’re… too stiff.”

The word lands like a slap.

Too stiff.

As if your body doesn’t understand what it’s being asked to do. As if discipline is a curse here instead of a gift.

You nod once, trying to swallow it down. You keep your face neutral, your spine straight. But something ugly starts crawling up your throat.

After class, you don’t talk to anyone. You shove your water bottle into your bag and speed-walk out of the studio before the tears can get any traction. It’s not even that you were the worst in the room—though maybe you were—it’s that for the first time in a long time, you felt exposed. Like the armor you’ve spent years building doesn’t work here.

⸻

You sneak back into the dance building by 10 that night before slipping into one of the vacant studios.

The lights are off, but you don’t bother turning them on. You need the quiet. The dark. The control. You shed your hoodie like muscle memory and begin putting on your pointe shoes, each movement clipped and clean. Your limbs are trembling, not from fatigue—but from something deeper. Something raw.

You throw yourself into the routine you’ve been rehearsing for months.

It’s a solo. Four minutes long. You’ve nailed it before—technique perfect, transitions seamless. But tonight, every step feels like a punishment. You slam into your fouettés too early. Miss your landing on the arabesque turn. There’s no audience, but your face flushes like there is.

You start over.

And again.

Each time harder. Tighter. You stretch until your legs scream. Force your body to obey until the pain pushes everything else out.

You dance until you can’t think.

You dance until the mirrors stop talking back.

You dance like perfection will undo the feeling of failure clawing at your chest.

Eventually, you collapse to the floor. Chest heaving. Eyes burning.

You tell yourself it’s just the sweat.

⸻

You weren’t planning to stay this late.

Your bones ached, your legs felt like jelly, and your calves had started screaming somewhere around the third hour. But you had a quiz the next morning and a ballet evaluation in two days, so your mind didn’t care how your body felt. You stayed. You always stayed.

It was a miracle you even remembered to eat.

Now, finally—finally—you were done. Kind of.

The studio clock blinked 12:47 AM in pale green. You were the only one left in the building, as usual. Just you and your exhausted reflection, slick with sweat and anxiety under the too-bright fluorescent lights.

You reached for your backpack—the one you dragged around like a safety blanket even to rehearsals. Inside was your laptop, your textbooks, and a perfectly organized stack of notes and assignments. You had submitted every paper on time, aced every test, and somehow still managed to keep your GPA intact. You didn’t allow yourself to slip, no matter how tired you were.

Because failure wasn’t an option.

Ballet helped. It always did. Or at least you told yourself it did.

For three hours, you’d been able to lose yourself in it. The lines, the form, the familiar ache of precision—each step like a prayer whispered under your breath. Your body remembered even when your mind didn’t. You didn’t have to think, you just had to obey. In the echo chamber of your movements, you could forget how humiliated you’d felt in hip hop class.

“You’re too stiff,” your professor had said earlier that day, not unkind but blunt, in front of everyone. “There’s no flow. You’re not letting the music move through you.”

Like your muscles were marble. Like your whole body had forgotten how to breathe.

The words clung to you all evening, even now, tucked into the corners of your shoulders like bruises. You knew he was right. You hated that he was right.

In ballet, you didn’t have to flow. You had to be exact. You had to hit every count with razor-edged sharpness. You could be a machine. You could be perfect.

So you stayed late.

Practiced harder.

Punished yourself, maybe.

Because you didn’t want to be bad at something. And if you couldn’t make yourself flow like the music wanted, you’d at least do what you knew: outwork the ache.

You didn’t even glance at the mirror before leaving. You already knew what you’d see.

The hallway was still, almost eerily so. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how loud your brain is. Your shoes scuffed softly against the tile, the only sound between the studios and practice rooms. You were already rehearsing a mental to-do list—shower, email Professor Greer, review unit circle identities, remember to check if the spring showcase had updated the cast list—

Then you heard it.

A low thump. Then another. Music.

Not piano. Not violin. Not anything meant for pliés and pirouettes.

It was deep and pulsing, like a heartbeat echoing through the building’s chest. You froze mid-step, your brows knitting as you tilted your head toward the sound.

It was faint, but rhythmic and you followed it.

The sound drew you past Studio A, past the empty dressing rooms and vending machines that hadn’t worked since freshman orientation. You hesitated as you neared the last door: Studio C.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to let the music bleed out into the hallway. A shadow moved inside. Someone was still dancing.

You should’ve kept walking.

But your hand moved without thinking, fingers curling around the edge of the doorframe as you eased closer, careful not to make a sound. You peeked through the narrow crack.

And there he was.

Back to you. Shirt damp. Hair a mess.

His whole body moved like it was made of smoke and sound. Controlled chaos. You couldn’t look away.

Up close, he was… beautiful. But not in the polished, pristine way you were used to.

His dyed blonde hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty strands, the ends curling a little at the nape of his neck. His skin glowed under the studio lights, warm and flushed with exertion. A silver chain swung around his throat, catching light every time he moved. His black tank top clung to his toned frame—shoulders strong, arms cut and lean like he was built for this exact kind of motion.

And his legs—his whole stance—radiated confidence. Power that wasn’t rehearsed or clean. It was raw. Unapologetic. Loose.

You stared, transfixed, while your lungs forgot how to function. His body carved shapes through the air, and it was messy—but in a way that worked. He danced like he didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone thought.

God. What was that like?

You leaned closer without realizing it.

And then—he turned.

You hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t even breathed, but his head snapped toward the door like he’d felt you watching. His eyes landed directly on yours.

Time stopped.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

His chest rose and fell beneath the clinging fabric. Sweat glistened along his jaw. His mouth parted slightly in surprise—just enough to knock the air clean from your lungs.

Your entire body went rigid.

You stumbled backward, your bag thudding against your hip as your heart sprinted into your throat. You didn’t wait to see what he’d say. You didn’t want to know.

You turned.

And bolted.

Your steps echoed as you power-walked down the hallway, mortified and breathless, arms clutched tightly around your middle like you could somehow hold all your shame in. Your face burned. You didn’t stop until you were out of the building, into the night air, and halfway across the quad.

He’d seen you.

Worse—he’d caught you watching him.

You dragged your palms down your face and groaned into the dark. What the hell were you thinking?

But the image wouldn’t leave.

The way he moved. The beat pulsing beneath his skin. The look on his face when he saw you.

You lay in bed later, twisted in sheets and guilt, staring at your ceiling like it held answers.

But all your brain played was him.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying that moment. Over. And over. And over.

You didn’t even know him.

But now you couldn’t get him out of your head.

⸻

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for this <3

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tinybeetiny · 15 days ago

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Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 1: Deviation Detected

The way i wrote this with the quickness... was very excited I guess........

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian idk pls help ->CW: none

Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The screen flickers to life, casting a sterile blue glow across the high-glass boardroom. A chime sounds. The synth music is soft, warm, unnaturally comforting.

“In a perfect world… who says you have to be alone?”

[Scene: golden morning light streams through a smart-home window. A woman sips tea as a tall, smiling man ties her apron for her. Cut to holographic customization panels, fingers sliding across facial presets, hair types, emotional spectrums. A glossy chrome heart pulses as code flows behind it.]

“Introducing Build-A-Boyfriend™, a revolutionary experience by KQ Inc., the world’s leading innovator in emotional robotics. Whether you’re looking for loyalty, laughter, protection, or passion — we’ve engineered the perfect companion, from his cheekbones to his charm.”

“Over 100 hairstyles. 20 hair colors. Hundreds of adjustable features: emotional intelligence, love languages,

conflict styles. Everything is customizable. Everything is yours.”

“Build trust. Build comfort. Build connection.”

[The KQ logo glows softly: a platinum rose blooming from circuitry.]

Build-A-Boyfriend™

Grand Opening — November 17, 3258 — Hala City

The video faded into silence. Then the lights returned, crisp, clinical, bright.

At the head of the table stood Chairwoman Vira Yun, CEO of KQ Inc. Her expression remained unreadable, but her eyes gleamed, the kind of gleam found in calculated ambition, not excitement.

She turned to face the table of top engineers, market strategists, and high-clearance developers.

“Thoughts?” she asked, her tone brisk. “Feedback. Questions. Concerns. Suggestions.”

A silence followed, not out of fear, not exactly, but out of discipline. KQ Inc. didn’t reward enthusiasm. It rewarded precision.

Finally, a market rep near the center offered, “The tone tests well in demos. Emotionally aspirational, but still sterilized enough to fit city guidelines.”

“The language?” Yun asked.

“Romantic but controlled,” another replied. “'Ownership' is implied without being direct. Citizens won’t be alarmed.”

“Excellent,” Yun said with a curt nod. “Then we proceed as planned. Hala City's flagship store opens November 17th. Media campaign rollout begins in three days.”

She paused, her gaze sharpening.

“The special line will not be mentioned until one week after launch. Is that understood?”

A few heads nodded. Only a handful at the table even knew what that “special line” truly entailed. Yn was one of them.

She sat toward the far end of the table, posture poised, eyes tired. Her tablet rested on her lap, screen dimmed, but behind the sleep mode glowed a list of internal reports tagged:

ATEEZ-BETA UNITS: BEHAVIOR DEVIATIONS – OBSERVATION LOGS PENDING

Yn said nothing.

There were already signs the line was unstable. Minor things: timing issues in reaction sequences, spontaneous micro-expressions, strange audio interference. Nothing outside protocol, not yet. Nothing that couldn’t be debugged.

Hala City was the Matriarchy’s masterpiece, a glass-and-steel paradise built after the Fall, when nature reclaimed the earth and humankind rebuilt without the burden of chaos.

The male species was gone — extinct from war, plague, or something worse. The truth was debated in underground circles, but the government insisted: peace was found through elimination.

The Supreme Matrons ruled with quiet efficiency. Reproduction was artificial. Emotional regulation was enforced. Love — in its unpredictable, biological form, was discouraged as outdated.

Children were raised by state guardians. Affection was simulated and scheduled. Bonds were monitored through neural metrics and performance reviews.

In that vacuum, KQ Inc. thrived.

They created companions for the emotionally delicate. Tutors for the socially underdeveloped. Grief simulations for those who had lost what the government refused to acknowledge.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ was simply the next logical step.

The meeting ended, the room emptied — chairs tucked in without a sound, tablets tucked under arms, footsteps softened by KQ’s luxury anti-clatter flooring.

Yn lingered a moment longer, tablet resting against her chest, fingers tense.

Then she slipped out of her seat, crossed the vast corridor of frosted glass and synthetic sunlight, and pressed her palm to the exit panel. The doors whispered open, exhaling a puff of sterilized air, and she stepped outside into the city.

Outside the glass wall that stretched from floor to ceiling, the city pulsed in clean, geometric order. Silver transport rails carved silently through the skyline. Light panels glowed in a muted spectrum, perfectly synchronized to the day’s emotional calibration code. Every color, every sound, every rhythm was regulated, each calculated to keep citizens at a precise emotional neutrality.

Stability. Efficiency. Harmony.

Those were Hala’s sacred values. Engraved into the entrance of every government building, stitched into every school uniform.

Hala City had no military, no prisons, no religion. The old world’s chaos had been scrubbed from its bones. Instead, there were wellness assessments, emotional correction centers, and State Therapeutic Companions — androids assigned to citizens whose neural scans showed spikes in sentiment, unpredictability, or unresolved grief.

It had been 149 years since The Great Reset, when the last male died and the Matriarchy took hold. Whether extinction was natural or engineered no longer mattered, the Supreme Matrons had rewritten history to begin after.

The world before was called The Collapse Era. Now, the world simply was.

From childhood, every citizen of Hala was raised by assigned maternal figures, rotations of calm, trained nurturers programmed to teach logic, order, and controlled affection.

Love, in the romantic sense, was considered a chemical imbalance. Desire was tolerated only in controlled expressions — within VR therapy suites or government-regulated media.

To crave more was a sign of dysfunction. To want more? Dangerous.

But over time, cracks began to show.

The rise of emotional dependency disorders — the ache for connection that no algorithm could suppress. The quiet epidemic of phantom longing. Citizens reporting dreams they weren’t supposed to have. Feelings they couldn’t place. Names they didn’t know how they knew.

KQ Inc. had the answer: give them what they wanted — but make it safe.

Build-A-Boyfriend™ wasn’t about love. It was about control. A need engineered, then sold. And the citizens of Hala were already lining up.

She turned down a quiet residential corridor — the one lined with mirrored trees and soft sky-glass tiles that absorbed her footsteps. Her apartment block loomed ahead, blinking her ID tag onto the entrance gate.

She glanced once at the skyline before entering — her eyes landing on the KQ Tower far in the distance, its dark silver peak glowing like a god in the clouds.

The door sealed shut behind her with a quiet hiss. Inside, her apartment was as minimal as the rest of Hala — soft lighting, neutral tones, minimalistic furniture, automated temperature preset to her emotional range for the day.

No clutter. No pictures. No history.

Yn set her tablet down on the charging dock near the entry shelf. The screen flickered to life automatically.

⚠️ ALERT: BEHAVIORAL DEVIATION DETECTED — ATEEZ UNIT 06 Timestamp: 19:04 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike — Eye Tracking Outside Command

The warning blinked in silence.

Yn didn’t see it. She had already sunk into the corner of her sofa, head tilted back, eyes closed, letting the hum of her apartment’s emotional regulation system blur the sharpness of her thoughts.

She didn’t see the screen pulse again.

⚠️ Second Deviation Logged. Timestamp: 19:10 | Lab 3A Observation Room Severity: Red Flagged: Autonomy Spike —ATEEZ UNIT 06 SPOKE WITHOUT PROMPT. Transcription Pending... “YN"

The screen dimmed. The room fell silent. And somewhere, deep below the city, something smiled.

Taglist: @e3ellie @yoongisgirl69 @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie @atztrsr

@honsans-atiny-24 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz @melanated-writersblock @hwasbabygirl

@sunnysidesins @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @seonghwaswifeuuuu @lezleeferguson-120 @mentalnerdgasms

@violatedvibrators @krystalcat @lover-ofallthingspretty @londonbridges01

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

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eternal-adoration · 6 months ago

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So you know how many of the jjk men like to tease…? Autistic reader who can’t tell they’re teasing pls 🙏🥺

Such a great concept, anon! I don't know much of autism, just that it's a spectrum, so I hope I've written this well! Also, I wasn't sure if you wanted a SMAU, so I'm just doing a regular thing <3!

JJK men x Autistic!reader

ft. Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro

TW: angst, hurt to comfort

pt. 1(?)

A/N: This isn't necesarilly autistic!reader coded, this can count for everybody! also i dunno if I'll make a second part, but we'll see.

Satoru Gojo

You were out with your boyfriend, Satoru, to a café in a more quiet part in Tokyo after a long business trip he had to take. He held your hand in his, fingers intertwining while sitting next to the other as you both looked at the menu to see what drinks and foods sparked your interest the most. You pointed at something on the menu, it was a pancake sandwhich shaped like a cat! It was absolutely adorable in your eyes, and you just had to show your boyfriend!

"Satoru, look! A pancake sandwhich shaped like a cat!"

The white haired sorcerer chuckled softly upon your excited chirping. He peered over your shoulder to see the food item that got you so excited. A little smirk formed on his lips as his sunglass-covered eyes scanned the picture

"A pancake sandwhich, huh? You're really lettin' yourself go, babycakes."

Satoru commented as he kissed your cheek. He didn't hold any malice in his tone, he was just teasing you. But to you, it felt like he thought you were gaining too much weight. You placed the menu card down, and got up. Mumbling you had to go to the bathroom. Satoru noticed the look in your eyes. But before he could ask anything, you already went to the restroom. Satoru decided to wait for you to come back, not thinking much of it. That was, until you were in the restroom for longer than usual, which made him grow concerned. He grabbed his phone, texting you.

"Mochi? What's taking so long?"

After a couple seconds, Satoru noticed you read his text, but you didn't reply. He knew you only left him on read if you were either multi-tasking or if you were mad at him. He assumed the latter.

Meanwhile, you were crying in the bathroom stall, thinking your boyfriend thought you were getting too fat for his liking. You tried to calm yourself down by playing with your rings, but it didn't help much. In the midst of your crying session, you could hear a familliar knock on the door of the women's restroom and a soft voice speaking from behind it.

"Honeybun? Are you there? Can you come out for me, please?"

You let out a shaky sigh, stepping out of the stall. You quickly washed your face and dried it with a paper towel before stepping out, avoiding your boyfriend's concerning gaze. He gently took your hand and lead you out of the cafe to a side alley before speaking

"What's wrong, sweetpea? Did something overwhelm you? You can talk with me, I'll listen"

Satoru stated, a soft smile on his lips as he tried to comfort you by rubbing a thumb over your knuckles, waiting patiently as you gathered the courage to voice your thoughts.

"Toru? Do you think I'm gaining too much weight for your liking?"

You avoided his widening gaze when the words fell from your lips. Satoru was silent for a second before speaking up, his voice soft

"What? Of course not, babycakes! You're perfect to me, so what makes ya think that?"

A lump you didn't know was in your throat got swallowed as a red blush crept on your cheeks from embarassment and endearment. Of course Satoru thought you were perfect, he always told you that. But his words just felt so mean to you..

"Well.. When we we're ordering and I showed you the pancake sandwhich, you said I was really letting myself go.."

Your boyfriend's blue eyes widened as guilt slowly filled them, he totally forgot that you had a hard time taking hints like sarcasm and teasing, taking things often too literally. He carefully wrapped his arms around you, holding you in a gentle embrace as he hid his face in your hair

"I'm so sorry, babycakes. I was just teasing you.. Didn't mean to make ya feel bad 'bout yourself.."

He mumbled, kissing the crown of your head. You hugged him back, sighing as you hid in his chest. You both stayed like that for a while until Satoru spoke up, a smile on his lips

"Cmon, babycakes. Let's go get those pancake sandwhiches. I'm starving"

It's save to say that Satoru would be trying his best to hold back his teasing comments for your own sake and self-esteem

Suguru Geto

Suguru walks after you in one of the bustling malls of Tokyo. Your boyfriend was internally disgusted by all the filfthy monkeys around you both, but he didn't let his distaste show. After all, today was supposed to be a fun shopping outing for the both of you since he has been preoccupied lately. Meanwhile, you happily gaze at the shop displays to see which shop you wanted to see first. Eventually, a cute display caught your eye. It was a beautiful layered dress with white frills at the edges. You headed towards the display and showed it to your raven-haired boyfriend

"Suguru, look how cute that dress is! Wouldn't it fit so well with my new shoes?"

Suguru switched his gaze from your beautiful face to the shopping display. He let out a soft huff, imagening you in that dress. It wasn't exactly your everyday style, but he knew you could make anything look good.

"Someone's feeling a little bold today, isn't she?"

Once those words left his mouth, you couldn't focus on what he was saying next. Did he think you wouldn't look good in it? Did he hate the dress? Was he making fun of it, of you??

Your racing thoughts distracted you from how he said you'd look good in it. Your feet simply dragged you away from the display. Suguru's eyebrows knitted together in concern as you suddenly left without a word. What happened? He couldn't tell. Your boyfriend wasted no time in following after you.

"Darling, what's wrong? I thought you said you liked the dress? Don't you want to get it?

He was met with silence, which he didn't like. He firmly grabbed your wrist, but still making sure not to hurt you.

"Sweetheart, I asked you something. The least you could do is answe-"

You suddenly pulled your hand out of his grip, telling him to leave you alone as you ran into the busy crowd. Suguru was concerned, what happened? Did he do something wrong? He honestly couldn't tell. When he tried following after you, he eventually lost you in the large crowd. Frustration and concern bubbled up inside him. The raven-haired cult leader sent out some of his smaller curses to search for you across the mall.

Meanwhile, you were infront of some sort of bookstore, panting heavily from how fast you were running. You felt like crying. Suguru's comment made you confused. He never said something like that to you, so it made you feel sad. You knew you shouldn't have just run off like that and give him an answer, but your emotions got a hold of you.

Still upset, you decided to head to a cafe across the bookstore and order yourself something to cheer yourself up. You sat on a sofa and ordered your favorite. A few minutes later, you got your drink and were about to enjoy it as much as you could until you noticed something out of the window.

It was one of Suguru's curses, jumping and pointing at you. In the distance, you could see Suguru approach. When he saw you through the cafe's window, he seemed relieved. Suguru flicked his wrist and the curse dissapeared as he made his way inside.

You sheepishly averted your gaze, your eyes filled with guilt. Suguru sat next to you and wrapped and arm around your waist, pulling you closer

"Oh, sweetheart. You're alright.."

His voice was filled with relief as he tenderly kissed your forehead before placing a hand on your soft cheek, his eyebrows still slightly furrowed.

"Why did you run away, love? What's going on? I wan't you to tell me the truth."

A sigh escaped your lips, averting your gaze as he cupped your face so tenderly. It made you feel bad about not telling him before.

"Well, when I showed you that dress, you said I was getting bold.. Do you think I'd look ugly with the dress, Sugu?"

Your boyfriend's eyebrows raised, realizing why you reacted like that so suddenly. He felt stupid now. He completely forgot you can't easily tell when someone's just teasing you.

"Oh, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that! I was just teasing you, I think you would look wonderful in that dress, my pretty girl."

Your cheeks reddened a little, feeling silly because of the way you reacted..

"I'm sorry, Sugu.. I should've told you earlier instead of acting so childish.."

Suguru smiled softly, kissing the top of your head while rubbing your back tenderly

"It's okay, pretty. 's not your fault." he mumbled, grabbing your hand in his.

"Let's go back to that store, and you can try out that dress to see for yourself how pretty you'll look, alright?"

And with a smile, you nodded. Quickly paying for your drink before walking hand-in-hand with Suguru to the shop. Guess this day will have a good end after all.

Toji Fushiguro

You and Toji had been dating for a while. You were aware of what he did, and that he wasn't always home because of it. But you didn't mind taking care of Megumi when he wasn't there, you loved the kid with your whole heart!

Today was one of those rare moments when Toji was home. Megumi was fast asleep and you two decided to have a cozy night in, watching TV. Though, you weren't really focused on the show in front of you, instead, you were talking Toji's ear off about a comic series you read with Megumi the other day. Toji listened to your every word, though it didn't look like he seemed interested, he was, really. He was happy whenever you and Megumi found something you both enjoyed, it made his heart swell despite the aloof exterior he always tried to keep.

Middle into your info-dumping session, Toji interrupted you

"Yeah, ma, sounds really interestin'. How 'bout we continue watching the movie, yeah?"

To Toji, it didn't feel like he said anything wrong, he just wanted you to also focus on the movie a little since you kept on asking him to see it. But to you it felt like he was dismissing your info-dumping. A seed of insecurity was planted into your head as the idea of Toji finding your constant chatting annoying gnawed at the back of your mind. So much to the point that you just zoned out.

Toji looked down at you, mindlessly staring into space. He waved a hand infront of you, but when you didn't react he called out to you

Eventually after the fifth time of him calling, you snapped out of your 'trance'. You looked up at Toji who seemed a little concerned

"Hey ma, y'r alright? You were kinda out of it just now"

You gulped, nodding your head while averting your eyes. You didn't feel so good, so you got up, saying you had to go to the bathroom.

Toji was a bit concerned, but he figured you just needed to wash your face or something.

So when you didn't come out the bathroom after 15 minutes, he got up and knocked on the door, being careful to not wake Megumi who was asleep down the hallway

"Everything good there, ma? You been there for a while now.."

Truth be told, everything was not good. You couldn't help overthinking about what he said, which lead to you subconsciously scratching your lower arms. You didn't hear Toji calling out for you until the door was suddenly kicked open.

There in the doorway stood Toji, who got onto his knees infront of you, holding your hands

"Hey, hey, ma. What's wrong, huh? Why y'r scratchin' yerself? Come on, talk to me, sweetheart."

You managed to look up at Toji, blinking a few times and taking some deep breaths before speaking

"It's.. It's just- God, Toji- do you think I'm.. annoying? That I.. talk too much?"

The raven haired man's eyebrows knitted together at that question, one of his hands went to caress your cheek with his thumb while the other still held your hand

"Hah? Course not, ma. What makes ya think that?"

You look down at your hands before looking back up at Toji. God, you felt so embarassed, and for what? You didn't know. You let out a shaky breath before replying

"Well.. When I was talking to you about the comics I read with Megumi the other day, it felt like you were dismissing me cause I talk to much.."

Toji let out a huff when you said that, though it wasn't one of annoyance. He gently wrapped his big arms around you, bringing you close

"I'm sorry, dollface. Didn't mean to make you feel that way. I love hearing ya talk, ma. But I wanted to have you focus on the movie 'cause you kept asking to see it with me."

That made your cheeks flush in embarassment, you hid your face into Toji's chest, mumbling apologies which earned you a gentle swat at the back of your head from Toji.

"Don't apologize, dollface. Now, how 'bout we watch the movie another time and you tell me all about those comics, yea?"

When Toji saw you nodding your head, he grinned and picked you up over his shoulder, which made you squeal in surprise. The assasin went to grab the doorknob, but then realized that he had kicked it down...

Guess you two will have to go door shopping tomorrow..

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ponett · 2 days ago

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If I may ask, does any of the characters in SLARPG have neurodivergence or is it more coded? Because your girl melody is like one giant call out to how I respond to things and if not I at least thank you for making characters me, a trans crt tv loving autistic woman can enjoy

Also happy pride!🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈💕

I've talked about this a bit before, but the short version is that yes, there are neurodivergent characters all over the game. Melody obviously has some sort of anxiety disorder and who knows what else. Allison definitely has ADHD. The list goes on and on.

The thing about whether or not any of the characters are autistic is that many of my characters, the Novas in particular, draw pretty heavily from aspects of my life experiences and my personality. And I don't actually know if I'm autistic. I go back and forth on it a lot. These days I lean towards thinking that I probably am, because I look at my autistic friends describing their experiences and think that it sounds just like me. But then other peoples' experiences and descriptions of autism don't sound anything like what I deal with, so I'll doubt myself. But I guess that's why it's a spectrum. The problem is I never got any sort of diagnosis growing up. I was just assumed to be a shy nerd who was a picky eater. And now as an adult, with everything going on in the world and the demonization of autism and RFK talking about making an autism registry and whatnot, I frankly just don't want an official diagnosis on record. So I may never truly know. But also I'm a socially anxious weirdo with food issues who runs a Sonic the Hedgehog lore blog, so, y'know. I'm not oblivious to the high likelihood that I'm probably on the spectrum.

Anyway, to bring it back around to the actual question: because so many of the characters have so much of me in them, and because I may or may not be autistic, it's incredibly easy to make the case that many of my characters are autistic. It just naturally comes out in my writing. I thought about this with the Novas, who I think all kind of come off as autistic in one aspect or another, though it also came up in ways I didn't expect. A while back someone specifically asked me if Zinnia was supposed to be autistic, which hadn't even occurred to me when I was writing her, but I definitely see it.

Though at the end of the day, regardless of which characters I have or haven't officially diagnosed, if their stories speak to your experience then that's what really matters.

#anon #ask #slarpg asks

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paracosmicka · 6 months ago

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i've contemplated sending u an ask here for like 2 days regarding ur sonadow art and oufhgh i have to say it is so,, so gentle like the intimacy and softness of it all/pos i hardly see artists that explore the intimate cuddly drawings without the sexual coding so finding your art is so nice?? like refreshing nice as an aroace person bc in my perfect world, many little guys are just cat coded and it's so so cool to me to have found ur art out in the wild also for the mpreg stuff youre literally one of the most normal ppl i've seen draw/bring it up lol, i'm aware so many ppl like to meme on it or make it a fetish which tbh is pretty transphobic, so i'm just really glad you steered it away from that direction and displayed it as something normal and gentle given the context of the au/lh

first off thank you this is such a nice message and i love that people also feel the vibes of soft and intimate from my sonadow art that’s my only ever goal whenever i drew them 😭😭

second off FELLOW AROACE PERSON ACQUIRED 🫵‼️like omg you get it i love thinking about ships in a cat coding way if that makes sense but especially sonadow bc they’re animals so i just love thinking about them as little guys i can put in my pocket just like my cat

like idk if this is an aroace thing bc i don’t hear it described in a way that i relate to exactly so this might just be me but basically: i’ve always loved romance and ships in fiction but as i got older i slowly realized that i don’t think i can feel it for myself. which kinda made me sad at first because the idea of having a partner always seemed so nice, that was the main reason i didn’t think i was aroace at first because i thought i had always wanted to be in a relationship. i did some research and looked into different identities on the aroace spectrum, and thought that cupioromantic was probably the most accurate to what i was feeling, but later didn’t feel like it applied to me because i think the “enjoys the idea of being in a relationship” doesn’t fit right? ig?? idk how to describe it other than i like the idea of relationships, but it took me awhile to realize that i didn’t really want to apply myself in one if that makes sense.

most likely there’s a thing or word out there that already exists to describe that and i just haven’t been looking up the right terms, but basically this is just a very very long way of saying that i feel like whenever i get into a ship it sorta..…attaches?? to my very identity or something?? like i know people can be like “this is my OTP i love them forever and think about them literally all the time” and it’s like YES that’s me but also feels like an understatement, like all of my past hyperfixations on ships are literally ingrained into my soul even i’m not that into them anymore. and i know people compare hyperfixations to relationships and tbh that’s probably the most accurate description but again, that feels like an understatement.

okay honestly idk where i’m going with this i think what i’m TRYING to say is that i feel like because i can’t feel romance for myself my appreciation for ships feels so much more…emphasized, and sonadow is like the longest consistent hyperfixation i’ve ever had on a ship and at that point usually when something has been a “hyperfixation” for 2+ plus years i put it on the special interest display case in my brain except that display case has only ever had like hobbies and fandoms themselves, never an actual fictional relationship that i’m obsessed with but here we are. it might be the development of brain has synched up with this specific hyperfixation but sonadow is the first ship that makes me feel genuinely happy to this degree. it doesn’t make me sad to think about them and also go “aw i’m sad because i’ve never felt that way about another person and probably won’t experience that ever” in the exact same way you would go “aw i’m going to be dead someday” when you think about the fact that you’re alive right now and conscious and exist and have a mini existential crisis of the week. like sonadow doesn’t do that to me, i really just love those stupid fucking gay hedgehogs so much they’ve actually changed the entire layout of my brain and all the neurons and shit they’re everything to me.

ANYWAY JESUS CHRIST sorry for the ramble uhhhh lemme know if you or any other aroace people know what the fuck i was trying to say there hope you’re doing well and also happy new year!!!

#asks #cool person i met on the internet #who is also aroace!!#sonadow #sonadow appreciation #para being fucking insane over gay hedgehogs for 20 minutes while typing this out #para is also aroace if this was not obvious i realize i don’t talk about it a lot probably lol #aroace #aroace experience

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yourlocalravendork · 3 months ago

Text

✭Garcia and Morgan's matchmaking service✭

Spencer x Fem!reader

AN: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins undercover challenge. It is also another story in the accidental date series (this is the only one with a Fem! Reader, the rest are gn) however can be read as a one shot and is loosely inspired by the episode Snake Eyes because gambler Reid, need I say more? I definitely got a bit carried away writing so it's a long one.

Part 1 2 3

CW: mentions of gambling, heavy themes of religion, cannon typical violence, autistic coded Spencer (because I headcanon him as on the spectrum)

Promt: “I’m just acting.” / “Oh? So you can make your heart race on command?”

It started as an isolated incident, as all killings did. A call girl and a gambler dead in a hotel over in Palm Springs, California. The girl was laid out on the bed, blankets as makeshift wings and arms crossed over her front. The gambler? A bloody pile of limbs with the words 'Temptation' scored into his arm. Then again, only in a different hotel. And again. And by the fourth victim, the BAU was called in.

"Here's the rundown my crime fighting cuties," Penelope said, bringing up the photos of the latest victims, "Henry Heart and Vanessa Anderson were found dead in Henry's hotel room in Palm Springs." With a press of a button, the screen changed. Gone were the victim's smiling faces, replaced with the gory scene of the crime. This was the usual for you. Gory scenes and the darkest corners of the human psyche. "And the cherry on this disgusting cake is the fact that this has happened to six other people, all in the same set up. A call girl and a gambler. The girls all laid to rest, the men with 'Temptation' carved in their arm. All kinds of yuck," Penelope said with a small shiver. "The women being laid to rest could be a sign of remorse," Derek offered. Spencer went to open his mouth to talk but you were one step ahead of him. "The blankets almost look like angel wings, that could be symbolic of the unsub thinking they were pure, hence the men being labeled as temptations." Spencer couldn't help but smile like a lovesick fool as you spoke. Of course, he always appreciated your inputs, but after the past few months, he found himself appreciating them more, watching the way your lips moved to form words. "But they weren't exactly pure," Emily countered, "They were call girls. I don't know about you, but that profession isn't exactly the most pure out there." "We could be looking at a woman unsub. Seeing the women as victims of circumstance and blaming the men for them being in that position," JJ shrugged. "Whatever it is, we need to get to California. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, dismissing the room.

Spencer was hobbling back to his desk, still on crutches from his gunshot injury. His physio therapist said he was getting on well. So well that he was allowed back on the jet. Sure, he wasn't involved in any of the take downs, but at least he could work in the local PD. "Hey, Spence," you smiled, catching up to him, "You need a hand with your to go bag?" What the two of you had, Spencer wasn't entirely sure what it was. You'd been on two dates, well one official and one accidental, yet neither of you had really talked about the feelings that were there for each other. "Uh, yeah, that would help… That would help a lot," Spencer said, trying not to stutter and stumble over his words. Another soft smile directed to Spencer from you. One more and Spencer was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest. "It's just under my desk," Spencer pointed with his crutch. As you bent down to grab it, Spencer awkwardly averted his gaze. He didn't say it so he could see that. Truthfully, if he was thinking it through, he would've insisted that he could've done it. But it was that damn smile of yours. You grabbed it and sprung back up with a smile. "Ready to go?" you asked, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Y… Yeah," he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Casinos, huh, pretty boy will be right at home then," Derek teased once they were in the air. This was inevitable. It seemed every case that involved gambling, casinos or Vegas, Spencer would be subjected to the teasings of his coworkers. He'd grow accustomed to it now. "Very funny, Morgan," Spencer rolled his eyes. Before Derek had a chance to reply, Hotch's usual authoritve tone cut across the jet cabin. "Reid might prove to be a valuable asset in this case." "Right my fine feathered friends," Garcia's voice filled the speakers, "I have sent everything I have found on your victims to your tablets. We have our Henry and Vanessa. Henry was divorced and decided to spend his prenup on a little gambling trip and Vanessa had been working as a call girl for three years and lived alone. Then we had Oscar and Ella. Oscar was on his bachelor trip and was supposed to get married last week and Ella, similar story to Vanessa, living alone and working as a call girl for three years. In fact, it's the same story for all the call girls. Then the other two victims were James and Michael. James was married and his wife didn't even know that he was in Palm Springs and Michael was halfway through a rather messy divorce." The team mulled over the information. There was a connection between all the male victims, marriage. That was definitely something to take into consideration. "It's not just me who sees the whole marriage connection?" Emily said, looking up from her tablet. There was a mumble of agreement from the rest of the team. "That does seem to be the only real connection these victims have. I think it would be wise to follow that lead. Derek and Emily will go and speak to Henry's ex wife, JJ, Rossi and I will go to the latest crime scene, and you two can start working on the geographic profile." Hotch dished out roles and you couldn't help but smile at Spencer. Just the two of you in the local PD, pouring over maps. You'd be lying if you said you weren't happy with that.

After initial introductions, you and Spencer were getting settled, finding maps and colour coding certain areas. "The hotels are all in a comfortable distance," you observed, noting the proximity of the crime scenes. "However the unsub definitely has a vehicle. That's just too far to walk and still have the energy to kill someone," Spencer pointed out. You hummed in agreement. "It's rather funny that I'm working the geographic profile with you, considering my dislike for geography," You said with a soft laugh, placing a pushpin in the map, marking a potential next dumpsite, "I've always been more partial to history." With that, Spencer perked up. History? He loved history. "What's your favourite era?" he asked before being interrupted by a local police officer. There went a potential bonding experience.

The case was dragging on. It was late, far too late and the team was surviving on shitty coffee and fast food. Henry's ex wife wasn't much help. She didn't want anything to do with him so that was a dead end. It wasn't like they could follow up with Vanessa either. Hence why the team was sat, half asleep at the table, wishing for a lead. "Get some sleep everyone," Hotch said, a tired tone in his voice, "You two can go to the casino tomorrow, see if anyone saw them leaving." Hotch pointed to Spencer and you. That would be nice.

The next morning, the two of you were heading down to the SUV, a spring in your step. There was no reason for it, but something just felt right today. The two of you climbed in and you made sure that Spencer was alright with his knee brace. "You're not going to get us kicked out, are you?" you teased, poking fun at the fact he was banned from all of the casinos in Las Vegas. "You're just as bad as Morgan, you know," Spencer quipped back with a soft laugh. "Come on, Spence, you can't expect us to work a case in a casino and us not poke fun at the fact you're a Vegas boy." That earned a weak eyeroll from him. You could see he didn't really mind.

As you were driving, you could see Spencer subtly grabbing at the handle above the door. You weren't that bad at driving but Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Mentally, he was doing all the stopping distance calculations, seeing if you guys would be safe. You had to admit, it was endearing. Reaching over, you patted his thigh, "Relax, genius, I'm not going to get us killed." Your laugh echoed through the car but all Spencer could focus on was the section of this thigh that felt like it was on fire. He hadn't expected that. Your hand, his thigh. He was a grown man for Christ's sake, he shouldn't be getting this flustered.

Spencer hobbled in after you, the familiar sounds of slot machines and the eyesore of a carpet overstimulated the young genius, yet he prevailed. "Lookie, lookie, you two feeling lucky? Wanna expand your fortune?" a voice asked, emerging from the rows of flashing machines. "We're FBI," You said, pulling out your badges, "We wanted to ask if we could have a look at your security footage from a few nights ago." "Well, she's got you on a tight leash, has to she?" the man said, only paying attention to Spencer, "Or are you one of those lads that like being bossed around?" You could feel your blood boiling at the disrespect. You'd never liked casinos, this owner was only giving you a further reason to hate them. Trying to get a word in, the owner held a hand to your lips, "Let the wounded puppy talk," he said, a sarcastically sweet smile on his lips. The audacity of this man. It was clear he wasn't going to speak with you. "I'm Dr Spencer Reid, like my partner said, we're with the FBI. There was a couple that was killed in the hotel across the road and we just wanted to look through your security footage to see if we could gather any information," Spencer explained, trying not to stutter. It was clear he was far from impressed with this man's attitude. "Yeah, I heard about that. Real shame really. She was pretty too, brought in quite a few regulars even," the owner said with a shake of his head, "This way then, agents."

There was something off with the casino owner. He was just slimy. Openly sexist, dodgy dealing and so condescending. Spencer had an almost instantaneous disliking towards him. The office where they kept their security footage was small and dingy. It was awful. Spencer could barely fit with his crutches. But you two squeezed in together. Spencer tried to ignore how close you were to him, how your arm was brushing against his, how the desk chairs were so close together you might as well sat on his lap. God he felt like a schoolboy with a crush all over again. After sifting through hours of footage, you couldn't exactly see anything. It was a busy night and most people were focusing solely on their winnings. You let out a small groan after the footage ended. Yet another dead end.

When you explained it to Hotch, he was just as frustrated as the two of you. This killer was good, that much was clear. It was yet another night of shitty coffee and fast food when Emily suggested an idea. "How about we go undercover at some nearby casinos. I mean, Reid has figured out an area of comfort, him and I could go to one and Derek could go with you to another," Emily suggested. Hotch seemed to be debating on that idea. Undercover. It wasn't something they usually did, but if it would help draw out the unsub then they had to play their cards right. "How about I go with Emily?" Derek suggested, his usual tomcat smirk appearing. Spencer knew what he was doing. Setting him up to go off with you. Spencer wasn't sure if he wanted to throttle or thank Derek. Having you dress as a call girl, draping over him like a blanket most of the night. It was a dream come true. If it wasn't for work. Instead it would just be a nightmare. "I can't go into the field, I'm on crutches," Spencer protested. "You can have a cane. Looking like one of those really high class gamblers," JJ suggested. That earned a murmur of agreement from the team. You were one of the few that were quite. You too weren't sure if you wanted to throttle or thank Derek, although you were leaning more on the throttle side. "Then it's settled then," Hotch nodded, "Morgan and Prentiss, you take this casino, you two take the other," he added, pointing to the map. You and Spencer had the more high end casino, meaning the both of you would be dressed to the nines.

"Do I have to wear this?" you complained from the bathroom stall, pulling up the dress Garcia had sent over to you. Of course, the local PD didn't exactly have a proper changing room, therefore you and Emily were getting ready in the bathroom of the precinct. Not exactly glamorous, but you had to work with what you had. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad," JJ chuckled with a soft shake of her head. Opening the bathroom door, you stood there, a slightly disgruntled look on your face. The dress you were wearing was stunning. Tight with a slit at the leg and it was strapless. Something that would definitely turn heads. The attention you would draw to yourself was something you were already dreading. "I feel stupid," you huffed, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Emily came out of her stall, not complaining at all. She seemed to be getting into this role effortlessly. "You look stunning," Emily pointed out, heading over to the mirror to do her makeup.

Spencer felt so out of place changing into his suit. It was too tailored for his liking. He'd much prefer the comfort of his cardigans. "Are suits always this itchy?" Spencer complained to Derek. That earned him a laugh, which, in turn, earnt an eyeroll from Spencer. "I'm being serious. It's like a sensory overload in this thing." "Kid, relax," Derek said with a soft chuckle. He walked over and fixed the lapels on Spencer's suit. At the proximity, Derek could see the worry and stress in Spencer's eyes. Telling him to relax just wasn't going to work. "How can I relax? The label of my shirt is itching the back of my neck and I'm going undercover. I shouldn't even be in the field," Spencer began to ramble. Derek put his hands on Spencer's shoulders to stop him from getting to much into his own head. "Hey, pretty boy, this isn't all about the suit, is it?" Derek asked, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean, partly it is because have you felt how uncomfortable this suit jacket is? It's like I can feel every fiber personally annoying every skin cell," Spencer continued to press. "It's because you're paired up with-" Before Derek could finish the sentence, Spencer cut him off. "Where would you… No… You're making things up," Spencer stuttered, his voice raising a few octaves. That only confirmed Derek's theory. "Why do you think I offered you and them up?" Derek chuckled. So Spencer was right. This was Derek's plan all along. "I'm going to kill you," Spencer mumbled. "Oh you can, pretty boy," Derek smirked, "After we catch this unsub."

Spencer was still fiddling with his suit, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. His crutch was replaced by a rather expensive looking cane and his suit looked far too expensive than normal. He was not ready for how stunning you looked. It was like his breath was taken from his lungs. "I don't like it," you mumbled and your voice snapped Spencer out of his trance. "What?" Spencer asked, trying to hide the disbelief in his voice. Spencer definitely liked it. It was far from your usual style, but you still looked beautiful. "It's too…" You pause for a second, trying to find the right word, "Flashy." You kept pulling at the dress, trying to make it more modest. That was mission impossible. "Damn, mama," Derek smirked, clearly amused at how out of your element you were. "Can it, Morgan," you retorted, "Lets just get this over and done with."

The casino was filled with bright lights and loud noises. Pair that with the suit he was wearing, Spencer felt like he was in his own personal hell. Sure, he'd grown up in Vegas, sure, he'd been banned from every casino there, but this? This was horrendous. He could physically feel the pressure mounting on him. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to stay on alert.

He took a seat at one of the poker tables. You were on the other side of the casino, draping over some random man. Spencer had to quell the jealousy in his stomach when he saw you acting so seductive so effortlessly, but with someone else. You were just doing your job. Spencer, predictably, was winning hand after hand. Straights, flushes, all because of the card counting. Of course, he had to throw a few games. Make it seem more believable. But other than that, it was fun for him. Just doing math and winning. He made sure to make a few jokes about the divorce mentioned in his cover story, loud enough for the potential unsub to hear.

"Hey honey," you mumbled loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, "You're on quite the hot streak." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, effortlessly leaning into him. You looked every bit the call girl. Spencer could feel his heart beat spike. This wasn't the same as your shy touches. No, this was more intense. "You alright?" you whispered into Spencer's ear. "Yeah, I'm just acting," Spencer whispered back. It was good. It was really selling the gambling and call girl facade. "Oh, so you can make your heart race on command?" you teased with a natural playful smirk. This was far from the usual anxious version of you. This was a side Spencer had never seen before.

After a few hours, you'd realised you were being watched. The unsub wasn't moving though. If you were to draw him out, the two of you had to move. "Spence, win this round then we'll make it look like we're going to the hotel across the street. We're being watched," You whispered, watching his cards in his hand. You weren't superstitious, but you couldn't help but feel sick at the sight of the ace of spades. The dead man's card. Your arm remained draped around Spencer as he excused himself from the table. As you two made your way out to the front of the casino, the unsub began to follow the two of you.

In the hotel room, that's where you'd decided to catch the unsub. So the two of you were pacing, waiting for the unsub. A knock on the door stopped you in your tracks. "Room service," a man's voice called out. Spencer and you shared a look. You walked over to Spencer, ruffling his hair and clothes, before doing the same to yourself and smearing your lipstick so it looked like the unsub had caught you two in a heated moment. Then, taking a deep breath, you opened the door. There stood a man. He had a crazed look in his eyes and within an instant you clocked him as the man watching the two of you in the casino. "You poor angel," he started, no introductions, just straight up caressing your face, "Look what these men do to you. They taint you. You are pure, you know you are. It is the filth that is the problem. Don't you worry, oh don't you worry you sweet angel, God will welcome you back with open arms." You were immediately uncomfortable with how much he was touching you. Brushing hair out of your face, treating you like a doll. Spencer felt a pang of jealousy but was forced to ignore it. The two of you were in potential danger. "Hotch, we need back up," Spencer mumbled into his earpiece, quiet enough so the unsub didn't hear him. "As for him," the unsub pointed a finger over at Spencer, "He was sinned. He will pay. The good Lord will turn him away from the pearly gates and he will suffer for the sins he has committed. He is temptation, leading good women like you away from the path of God. First getting a divorce, separating a holy union as if it was nothing, and now this. Tempting you like the snake tempted Eve." He grabbed you and started leading you over to the bed. After he'd sat you down there, he pulled out a carrier bag, no doubt planning on suffocating you, giving you the less gruesome death. Spencer wasted no time drawing his gun. "Put the bag down and step away." There was a sense of authority in his voice which was rare. You were just counting down the minutes until backup showed up. "What? Are you going to add murder to your list of sins too?" the unsub taunted. At that brief distraction, you swung one of your legs to sweep the unsub's and watched him crumble to the floor. You rested a heeled foot on him, stiletto pressing down just enough to feel discomfort. The unsub reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife then proceeded to attempt to slash at your leg. "You harlot! You're just as bad as he is," the unsub taunted. "FBI, drop the weapon." The familiar sound of Hotch's voice was a relief. The unsub froze, almost as if unsure what to do. With this newfound opening, you kicked the knife out of his hands and away from him. Hotch walked over and pulled the unsub off the ground, putting cuffs on him as the unsub cried out threats and warnings. "The good Lord will make you pay. You will all pay for your sins when you are burning in hell."

On the plane ride home, you were quiet. Everyone else was asleep, aside from Hotch. Naturally he was doing paperwork. You stared out of the jet window, a contemplative look on your face. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn't even notice that Spencer had taken a seat opposite you. "You looked nice this mission," Spencer mumbled, as if unsure to actually say it. There it was, the endearing awkwardness you'd fallen for. "Thank you. Although I'm sure it was all a set up on Penelope and Derek's side," You said with a soft laugh. "How so?" Spencer asked, cocking his head. "Well, Derek practically insisted that I was to be partnered with you and Penelope sent in a dress she said I would look stunning in, despite there being plenty of shops nearby to buy my own dress. It's like they were trying to set us up." It was clear now to Spencer that was the plan. God, he was going to kill Derek. However, he had to respect how smart the plan was. So maybe he'd have to begrudgingly thank him. You let out a small yawn and Spencer was snapped out of his haze. "You tired?" Spencer asked, his voice taking on a softer tone. "A little," You nodded. With that, Spencer got up and walked over to sit next to you. He wasn't sure where this bout of confidence came from but he was about to cash in on it. "Then sleep," Spencer offered. It didn't take you too long to rest your head on his shoulder and drop off to sleep. As Spencer looked down at you, he smiled softly. Inside, he was freaking out. You were asleep on his shoulder. It felt like the best day ever. From across the jet cabin, Derek just watched with a proud smile on his face, already planning on debriefing Penelope on how well their plan went.

#mentioningmargins #criminal minds #spencer reid #i love spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #david rossi

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so-i-did-this-thing · 11 days ago

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Asking you because though youre not formal formalwear, youre the only one i can think of who might know:

Im new to mens formal wear and my cousins wedding has a dress code of "comfy cocktail" and despite asking relatives and googling, no one really has a cohesive idea that is easy for me to replicate with my budget (very small). Any recommendations?

Also as a side note, ive been following you for a little while now and its a pleasure every time i see you on my dash. Its nice to see what my future can look like

Cocktail hour has always been vague wrt dress code, and is a spectrum between old school business attire and black tie. So, "comfy cocktail" would be a step up from business casual, but not as formal as a suit.

Stay away from brown for your garments (brown is a very casual color for most events). You want navy blue or dark grey to be your anchor color.

I would suggest a navy blue blazer (your investment piece, very useful to have in the modern closet) paired with putty, tan, or light grey trousers that are as neat as you can get. If you have only chinos/khakis, just iron them nicely.

Shirt is a dress shirt, a print or light color will dress it down to be more casual and is where you can show your own style. Go for a crisp dress shirt - try to find one with a dress collar, which means no buttons on the points. (You could also get away with a high-end looking polo, imo.)

I would strongly suggest a tie, but feel free to remove if the vibe is even more casual.

Shoes absolutely should be dressy shoes/boots. At the very least, no sneakers. And because this is a more casual cocktail hour, shoes and accessories can be brown or black.

Tldr; I read the dress code as a step above business casual. Anchor your outfit with a navy blue blazer and neutral trousers, freeing you up to be more expressive with the shirt and tie. The real trick is to look as crisp and polished as much as possible, and grooming can help a lot if your wardrobe can only go so far within a budget. Good luck!

#men's fashion #having a blazer at a wedding is convenient anyway for carrying any program/favor #as well as pocketing as much leftover food as you can #also thank you ❤️

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epsilonblack · 1 month ago

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Identity Crisis Club

Regulus stood in front of the fireplace, buttoning his vest with calculated fury. “I swear,” he muttered, tugging the fabric taut across his chest, “if one more person calls me miss, I’m hexing their eyebrows off.”

Sirius didn’t even flinch. He was upside down on the couch, long legs flung over the backrest, hair spilling toward the floor like spilled ink. His crop top shimmered under the candlelight, lipstick smudged from biting his grin. “Honestly,” he said, “if I had eyebrows every time someone misunderstood me, I’d have two sets.”

From beneath a shapeless blanket on the floor came a disembodied groan. Evan Rosier, the least enthusiastic ghost of them all, peeked one eye out. “Do I have to attend this meeting?” he asked. “I’m not in a crisis. I just hate everyone equally.”

“I came for the snacks and trauma bonding,” Barty drawled from his post, flung sideways across the armchair like a painting of Victorian ennui. “No one told me gender was part of the dress code.”

“It’s not,” Sirius said, finally flipping himself upright and flashing a grin. “Just highly encouraged. Like dramatic exits and glitter.”

Regulus huffed but couldn’t resist smoothing down his cravat. “I do look amazing in a cravat, though.”

“You do,” Evan admitted begrudgingly. “I’m wearing three layers of gray, and no one’s yelling at me to express myself.”

“You’re expressing nihilism,” Barty replied. “It counts.”

Sirius clapped his hands. “New club name, The Disaster Spectrum.”

“Too broad,” Evan muttered from under the blanket again. “Sounds like a weather event.”

Regulus arched a brow. “We are a weather event.”

Barty snapped his fingers. “Speaking of, can we please vote on whether Sirius is allowed to wear heels that high on stairs again?”

“They make my legs look divine,” Sirius said smugly, “and the risk is worth it.”

A beat of silence.

Evan poked his head fully out from the blanket. “Is this why we have a rotating injury chart?”

“Allegedly,” Regulus said.

“Statistically,” Barty added.

“Fashionably,” Sirius finished, with a wink.

#identity crisis club #marauders #sirius black #regulus black #barty crouch junior #evan rosier #remus lupin x sirius black #james x regulus #barty x evan #slytherin skittles #dead gay wizards from the 70s #dead gay wizards #trans regulus #gender fluid sirius #asexual evan rosier

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sapphic-bats · 1 year ago

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Rosie & Alastor Headcanons because they’re so WLW/Ace-Bestie-Coded

✰ Rosie constantly makes asexual jokes, but Al doesn’t get it at all. He assumes that she’s referring to currency.

✰ They have tea thrice a week. Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.

✰ Oh, they shit-talk people. All of the time.

✰ Romance is Rosie’s “specialty”, so she goes on dates every once in a while. She gives Alastor all of the details.

✰ Rosie herself is on the asexual spectrum, and hence popularized the term. Alastor has no clue.

✰ Alastor and Rosie met at a cooking club that they joined on a whim. It occurred on Monday nights, but disbanded after the host died.

✰ Rosie is an incredible gambler, simply naturally.

✰ Alastor and Rosie bonded over their love of food, and dance.

✰ Rosie keeps a radio on in the parlor at all times, on the station that Alastor primarily uses. Sometimes she’ll knock on the radio twice, and suggest a song.

✰ Alastor sends his shadow to check up on the Emporium every so often. He never uses it for anything other than letting it be separately-sentient company to Rosie. If anyone ever gets unruly, she easily dissipates the threat, without any help. They’ve never had to fight alongside each other.

✰ Rosie is well-loved. She doesn’t bother anyone, and no one bothers her.

✰ Alastor refers to his “barber” every so often. It’s Rosie. She cuts his hair and her hair on the same days, and will clear her whole schedule when those days occur.

✰ It was Alastor who got them both into painting their nails, he was curious.

✰ If someone’s ever slightly wronged Alastor, she’ll give them purposefully bad advice.

✰ And ditto, as Alastor will make trick deals with people who wrong Rosie, and screw them over.

✰ Rosie doesn’t like television either, but has written before. She writes short stories, and will sometimes give them to Al to read. He was the one who started asking to read them, first.

✰ They get the same songs stuck in their heads at the same times.

✰ Rosie likes red wine, Alastor likes bourbon.

#i love them #alastor #rosie #alastor hazbin hotel #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin rosie #hazbin alastor #headcanons #hazbin headcanons #rosie and alastor #alastor and rosie #wlw/ace solidarity #just two highly intelligent laid-back overlord asexuals being best friends #vivziepop #vivzieverse #vivienne medrano #not ship

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mitski-solos · 2 months ago

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gay rep in gaming and in kcd2: A Rant

Ok, I'll try to make this as cohesive as possible, but remember that this is a rant after all, so excuse any possible mistakes or typos.

The gay representation in KCD2 is genuinely the most well-done, realistic representation that I've seen in gaming so far. There are multiple types of representation that I see in games, so let's break down what they are, why they do or don't suck and how exactly the KCD2 Hansry romance is superior.

Type N1) forced mechanical bisexuality.

In most RPGs, or really any games where you choose your own romantic interest, there is no gender-based limit on who can romance who, to allow a fully immersive experiance, tho I feel inclined to point out that this mechanic was introduces to gaming quite accidentally during the early era of gaming, when everything was still pixilated to all hell, they js didn't think to add a code prohibiting same-sex relationships cz developers didn't take their existanse into accaount at all, but then some players discovered it was a possibility and that's how mechanical-bisexuality became an almost industry standard, scince it opens up a wider market for the game without feeling "threatning" to the true consumers which everything was marketed towards(str8 white men).

Now, why do I call it "mechanical" bisexuality, u may ask? Well, bc it truly is just that. Mechanical. No character in that game i truly bi, it's solely a mechanic that's easier for developers and more convenient for gamers.

A good example of that would be Stardew Valley. I don't remember which bachelorette it is exactly, but as you romance them, you meet their ex, and the sex of the ex is the same as that of the player. So if you're male, the ex will also be male, if ur female, the ex will also be female. So no bisexuality for you. But ig you could still count it as "gay" rep, even tho for me even that feels very technical and mechanical, as none of it feels actually gay, there is no discussion or reference to sexuality and the weight of being in a gay reletionship is never brought up even if the setting of the game is on earth and not some fantasy world where being gay is considered totally ok and gay ppl arent treated any differently from str8s.

And well, since I brought up fantasy worlds, let's talk abt type N2) gay rep in fantasy.

This can be very well done or absolutely terrible, depending on the writing and premise, and I feel like we can use Dragon Age as the perfect example for both ends of the spectrum.

So I actually haven't played Dragon Age, so my wording or explanations may not be perfect, but bear with me.

So from what I've heard and know abt the game, the gay rep in old games is great and the way they treat gender is very tasteful and generally well done, at least I've never heard anybody complain. Tho is the newest game, it's... well, let's just say it's not the best. You get this nonbinary character and they spend a lot of time bitching and moaning abt coming out to their mom even tho nothing up to that point has made them feel like their mom wouldn't support them or anything. and look, you may call this good rep cuz oh hey its a real life struggle that they are going thru right? But NO! bc it's the very fantasy setting where being gay is totes cool and ok that i mentioned a second ago and it's not treated the same way as on earth, so taking this character from a utopian fantasy world where even the lable "nonbinary" shouldn't exist bc there is no binary in the first place and projecting this earthly struggle onto them as a sorry excuse for representation feels forced and increadibly boring. Also, some other conversations in the game abt gender were incredibly cringe and also felt very forced, but maybe they were out of context or smth idk but whatever the case may be, it's a separate issue, so let's move on.

type N3) canon gays

So, most of the time, I love all the canon gays in gaming and any media in general.

In gaming, canon gays r mostly in big story games. Like, the first most obvious ones coming to mind would be Ellie and Dina from The Last of Us, or Mileena and Tanya in MK1. Tho those are the only straight up gay gay all up in ur face gay couples that I can think of from AAA games that I've played, so there isn't enough of this type of rep out there. Tho I feel it is the best and most "true" rep in gaming that is the most enjoyable for players AND could be more eye-opening and redeeming for any homophobes playing the game.

So now that all of that is out of the way, you may say, well, aren't Henry and Hans just another case of the so-called mechanical bisexuality? And to that I'll say a very confident no.

Let's tackle Henry's sexuality first. In both the first and second game, he can get with various women, not even mentioning all the trips to bathhouses, and the only men Henry can get with are Black Bartosch and Hans. The sole existence of the Black Bartosch option is, I feel like, an argument enough to Henry's true bisexuality, but if you choose to turn him down, you need to choose an option saying "I prefer women", so some may argue that there! He said it himself! But there is a second piece of evidence in the game that confirms his sexuality to be canonically bi. When you get to Kutttenberg, one of the first side quests you can do is "A Good Scrub" in which you help the new bathhouse owner Betty safely transport her bathhouse wenches from some inn to the bathhouse. While on the road, you can talk to them and at some point they'll ask you if you prefer tits or ass(game of the year type convos am i right?) and u could either staight up answer ass or tits or you could try to evade answering the question, and if you choose the last option, the girl will joking ask henry "are you sure your don't prefer boys?" and that gets Henry INCREADIBLY flustered, he starts stuttering and can't fully deny it and just mutters a quiet, frustrated "fuck" at the end. Yall that's not a reaction of a str8 person, it's a reaction of a queer man that's just been clocked. Don't even try to deny it.

Now onto Hans. We do see terribly little of him and his interactions with other ppl, but there is still very strong evidence for his bisexuality, which is a book that you find under his bed in the Devil's Den, titled "A Collection of Somewhat Bawdy Poems". It's literally just a book with a bunch of homoerotic poems in it, I'm not ever kidding. Here are all of em so you get the full picture:

"My love for you is heartfelt.

You can tell from my unbuckled belt.

My mind is troubled badly

by one question above all:

When will my lover fondly

caress my left ball?

"Love thy neighbour", saith Our Lord.

And I took it to heart.

I started to fulfil His word,

at least in their southern part.

My heart is mourning dejectedly.

Even my hand rejected me!

By day and night I think of you,

I shall love you always.

My heart is faithful, loyal and true,

Though my body sometimes strays.

A knight in battle attire

got into bed with his squire.

Instead of conquering forts,

They played with each other's swords."

That last part I highlighted is literally them ARE YOU SERIOUSSSSS. Now I did see someone on Reddit saying that the book appears in the room before Hans ever moves in, but let's be so honest for a second, in a game as detailed as KCD2, that book being specifically under HANS'S bed is no coincidence, even if it appeared earlier than Hans himself. The devs knew what they were doing. and that book is still there whether you romance Hans or not, so call me delusional if you want, but for me, that's evidence enough.

Now, onto the most important part: why is Hansry so good?

In my purely subjective opinion, I think that if KCD2 was a story game instead of an RPG, it would be a type N3 representation, and Hansry would be the canon couple. Henry undeniably has the most connection and chemistry with Hans. He doesn't interact with Katherine much and it does feel like they're more good friends-at-arms than anything, and at the end of the game, Henry himself jokes that she's too old for him, and ugh don't even get me started on Rosa. Henry literally barely interacts with her, her romance option is so weird to me fr.

I also think that Hansry was planned, or at least thought of and acknowledged by the devs from the very beginning of the franchise. The way they interact in the first game can VERY easily be interpreted as flirting and they're literally your textbook example of the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe. So with the foundation that the first game gives us, their eventual romance is very believable and realistic, it doesn't feel like one of those gay relationships that was never meant to be but was basically "pushed" into canon by fans, ykwim?

So for me what makes their couple such great rep is how even without the gay relationship, they remain queer men, their sexuality isn't purely mechanical. Their relationship doesn't feel flat or forced, like it often happens with optional gay romances. And even without ever acknowledging the weight of their relationship, it feels natural and not like the devs didn't wanna discuss gay stuff yk? Like in early game Henry can literally fuck some girl (i dont remember her name srry:3) out in the open - in a forest, but he specifically locks the door before kissing Hans. After the kiss, Hans looks worried and scared and apologises bc he knows that he, as a man, literally just kissed his dear friend, another man, and he doesn't know how Henry will react to it, and that's why he's so worried. And through these little details, the game acknowledges the weight of their relationship without them ever having to sit down and talk abt it, or the game having to address it, and that's what good writing is! It's refreshingly realistic.

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