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docdudo · 23 days ago

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Vampire 141 - Fledgling!Reader

This was hell.

Actually, you truly believed hell must be kinder than whatever the hell was happening to your body these past few days.

Should you call the support line after all?

And to think it was all your boss’s fault. If that jerk hadn’t made you work overtime and close the stupid convenience store without any warning, maybe you could have found a way to get home safely.

But nooooo...

Now thanks to that, you were attacked on your way home after work.

Attacked in the middle of the night, on a week day, too far from any houses for anyone to hear the commotion.

And it had been a vampire.

You didn’t know much about vampires. Their species was way too mysterious and reserved with outsiders. That’s not to say they didn’t interact with humans—because they did, especially with the wealthy—but it was one of those situations where someone like you would never get the chance to speak with one.

They were high society. Big families that controlled entire cities and states. Like the Mafia or some shit, living in the rich part of town that you had never even set foot in before.

Although, you had heard of vampires appearing here and there sometimes, walking around through the city quietly and discreetly when problems needed to be solved.

Problems like feral vampires.

Loners cast aside from their Covens for one reason or another, now crazed and out of control, following their bloodlust blindly. They killed as easily as any vampire did, even if their only focus was to drink their victims' blood.

Dangerous creatures...

They were rare—incredibly so—since it was the responsibility of the high covens to protect the normal folk from ferals. They rarely appeared in other vampires' territory, fearing the powerful presence of their own kind.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, a new one would appear from far away, starved and crazed like most of them were by that point. And usually they managed to kill one victim before the covens hunted them down to kill them for good.

So it was very important to call the right number to report feral vampires in the area.

Should you have done that? Yes, you should have. You really should have. But you were so. freaking. tired.

You were a college student working part-time at a convenience store. After waking up from your near-death experience, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. In fact, for a good while after waking up, you even thought you had hallucinated everything. You went home like it was just another night, your mind drifting, more absent than present.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out.

But, when you looked at yourself in the mirror the next morning...

You were supposed to be dead. Someone would find your body—drained and wounded—and call the feral hotline. Vampires would show up, deal with the feral with minimal effort, and make sure the area was secured again. That’s just how it goes.

EXCEPT!

You are fucking alive!!

You didn’t even know that was possible—a feral giving up on its prey after pinning it down instead of just killing it for the blood.

It was talking, too—mumbling nonsense by your ear, like it was actually trying to communicate with you.

It bit you, injecting its venom.

Your skin was horribly marked now. The wounds that had once been there had all turned into thin layers of scar tissue. Not the usual kind, but one formed by the venom injected into your bloodstream. The red and black layers against your otherwise normal skin tone made it look like the weirdest tattoo you’d ever seen—like you were a broken porcelain doll with satan himself trying to break free from inside out.

It started at your neck, on your left shoulder, blooming into an ugly, messy bite that was definitely the most obvious problem there.

It went down your left arm and chest, streaks that looked like veins, or cracks.

The artwork was completed by ending on the wounds you’d gotten on your lower body while fighting off the vampire on top of you—scrapes around your hips and legs.

At least you actually searched a bit about vampires after that, panicking hard over the weird markings on your skin. The only and most important thing you needed to know was whether ferals could transform humans or not.

Which, unsurprisingly, they could.

At least, in theory.

They still have their venom, but when they go feral, they usually just want to drink blood from their victims blindly, and the venom is mostly forgotten. There was never a case of a feral actually turning someone into a vampire!

Maybe that feral wasn’t as far gone as the others...

But now, this was somehow your problem! You barely knew anything about vampires', or how they worked in the first place!

What do they even do after transforming someone?

Are you really a vampire now??

Why did you have the ugliest markings all over your body after being bitten, when you’d never heard of vampires leaving markings like this???

And why the hell was your boss still making you go to work after you told him you were attacked late at night last week, the asshole?!?!

Maybe you should’ve specified it was a vampire who attacked you, but you were scared to face what had happened. What had been done to you, and what you might now become. Do you need to speak to vampires now? Are you actually one? You don't even have any fangs or anything different besides the markings...

You had so much to do—so many projects left unfinished for school. You never missed class, not even when you were sick. But now that you’ve become a completely different species…

"Dearie, what happened to you??"

You were startled by the worried voice of an old lady close to you, making you look up from the chip bags you had been staring at for a solid five minutes in the middle of the aisle.

You glanced back at her for a few seconds before turning your gaze to your own body, looking down at your neck and collarbone where the giant marking started, barely hidden by the collar of your work shirt.

"Oh, it's... dunno, a birthmark." You mumble, tired, not really caring much for a better excuse.

You were so tired lately... what the hell even happened? You always had that healthy college student tiredness from working and studying, but it never made your body feel this heavy.

If you were any more weak-minded, you might have just stayed in bed forever.

But then again, college student.

"It doesn't look like one…." The woman squinted, analyzing your neck like it was her fucking business.

Okay, maybe you were also a bit more irritaded than normal.

"Ma'am, it's nothing. Can I help you with something?" You force a smile, though it’s more cynical than polite, as you weren’t really in the mood to be that polite to people who couldn’t mind their own business.

She stared at you for a few more long seconds in complete silence, her eyes squinting as she made that slow, long hum that old people make when they're being casually judgmental.

"That's a vampire thing, isn't it?" A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, his eyes also drifting to your neck as he tilted his head to the side. "It looks like a vampire bite on your neck..."

This guy you actually know—Thomas, from the real estate office nearby—who always comes to buy a snack around this time of day.

"How did you even get to that conclusion...?" You mumble, frowning slightly in annoyance.

"For one, I can see two teeth marks on your neck, clearly. Second, have you not seen the news? There's a feral mosquito zooming around our area. He was spotted last week and still hasn't been caught."

The old lady gasped in shock, eyes wide as she turned back to you.

"Have you been attacked, dear?!"

Well, fuck. So much for ignoring the problem until it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

"I guess..." You shrug, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up your left shoulder from the action.

"You guess?? You should’ve called the hotline if you were attacked!" Thomas frowned, just as confused as he was indignant.

"You don’t get it, I have so much going on right now..." You groan tiredly, already slipping into a depressive mood as you remember all the work you still had to do for your classes.

"What does that even have to do wit—?!"

"Hey, what's with the commotion?!"

You sighed heavily at your boss’s loud voice booming through the store, the balding man approaching with a huffy expression, slightly controlled thanks to the two clients standing with you in the aisle.

"Didn't know you were at the store today, mr. Miller...." You mumble softly, trying to dodge the last subject.

"I wasn’t supposed to be! But we all received a notification—there’s a Coven coming here to deal with the fucking feral!" He grunts, clearly annoyed. "I came to close the store; apparently, those snobby suckers want all businesses closed to make their work easier."

"Oh no, don’t tell me that…" Thomas sighs, suffering, pulling his phone from his pocket immediately to start a call with what you can only assume is his manager, turning away from the group.

"Does that mean I can go?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you point hesitantly at the glass door.

"Oh, you have to let her go, she needs to go to the hospital...!" The old lady quickly agrees, nodding with the most pitiful look on her face.

"Hey, hey, wait a sec, who said anything about a hospital—?"

"You still haven’t checked the fucking mark consuming your neck? Are you trying to kill yourself, girly??" Mr. Miller interrupts, glaring at you like this situation isn’t part of his fault.

"What the hell? You didn’t give me any days off??" You sputter, indignant.

"I have only you and that stoned kid right now, I can't afford to give any days off! You should go when you have time, like everyone else who works!"

You’re ready to probably yell back at his face when Thomas quickly runs back to the group, a bit desperate as he fumbles with his bags and cellphone.

"They're already here...! I have to go back too!"

"Yeah, I should be going too! Hit me up when you're uptaded, Mr. Miller! Thanks so much, bye-bye!" You say quickly, running out the door after Thomas, your backpack already over your shoulder.

You couldn't even focus on your boss' loud ass voice as you hurried down the street, your head pounding relentlessly. Ever since you got bitten, this had been your reality—splitting headaches, aching muscles, no appetite, itchy gums, and, above all, a bone-deep exhaustion.

To be fair, some of the symptoms were still pretty mild. But deep down, a gnawing fear told you something was off. You could barely wrap your head around the fact that you were actually turning (had already turned?) into a vampire. But feeling like absolute crap made you wonder… what if something was going wrong?

You should call the hotline. You should go to the hospital. Just get it over with—at least get some help. But wouldn’t that change everything? Wouldn’t it make things even more complicated? And what would the all-powerful vampires do with you then?

God, you can’t graduate if you miss too many assignments in a row!

Don’t you have that group project due in two weeks—the one no one in your group has even said a peep about?

A small noise from the other side of the otherwise silent street caught your attention, your head snapping up in alert. The street was empty—of both cars and people, as usual—except for the two men standing by the closed pet store.

And goddamn, these were NOT normal men.

They were dressed strangely, a mix of military style and high-end fashion. Clearly rich. Heavy black clothes with small pops of color, loaded with pockets and belts. Their boots—thick, heavy, the kind that could break your bones with a single kick.

But that wasn’t the weird part...

No, the weird part was how much of their faces they were covering. One of the men wore a heavy jacket, with a hood and beanie pulled up to hide his jet-black hair. A black surgical mask—like the kind you'd see in a hospital—covered his face, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

The other… good lord, he had to be around three meters tall. Sure, vampires were naturally bigger than humans, but still… what the hell? This guy was wearing a full veil over his head, black, with suspicious red streaks running down it, and his heavy clothes hid the rest of his body just as much.

They... they had to be vampires, right...?

You flinched when the man wearing sunglasses suddenly snapped his head in your direction. His face was completely hidden, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze. The other man too turned in your direction slowly, now both of them facing you, completely still.

It truly seemed as if time had stopped for a few moments. No one moved or made a sound. You weren’t sure what to do. The ugly markings on your skin—too high on your neck to be hidden by your snug polo work shirt—seemed to burn under their stares.

You can't take this anymore.

Without thinking, you immediately turned around and tried to make your way back to the convenience store, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But you didn’t even manage to take a single step forward.

"What is this?" the man wearing sunglasses asked, his voice rough and quiet.

You jumped in place, a small hiccup escaping your lips in surprise as you felt heavy hands settle on your shoulders, keeping you still.

How did they get to you so fast?? You were on the other side of the street!

"Fledgling." The other man spoke even more gruffly, tilting his head down to see you properly. His veil was falling forward just enough for you to almost see his face beneath it.

You could distinctly see a red glow beneath it.

"W-Wha—"

Your stuttered words were interrupted by the veiled man's big, heavy hand tilting your head up gently, while his partner unbuttoned your polo shirt, pulling the cloth aside to reveal more of the damaged area.

"Abused by their Sire." The veiled man growled lowly in anger, his voice still mostly quiet as he analyzed the markings. You could clearly hear a distinctive German accent in his words. "Who? It's just our Coven here."

"There were visiting Covens not that long ago." The other one also spoke with an accent—something Asian, it seemed—but you couldn't quite place it.

"Too fresh. This is a just-turned."

"E-Excuse me—"

"This is a grievous sin against nature itself." The Asian man growled, making every hair on your body stand on end. The sound of his growl sent a shiver through you, paralyzing you slightly. "She didn't even complete the transformation."

"Fledgling, who is your Sire?" the German muttered slowly, forcing your head slightly higher so you had to look up at him.

Now they quieted down, letting you speak. Though you didn't really want to right now—not when you didn't understand what the hell they were saying.

"M-My... my what...?" You mumble anxiously, looking up in between both of their covered faces.

...

"Scheißdreck!" The veiled man cursed gruffly, his hands immediately going under your armpits to lift you up as if you weighed nothing, making you yelp in surprise.

"I did think the tribunal was too quiet recently," the Asian guy grunted, his arms crossed firmly as he watched you squirm slightly in panic in the bigger man's arms. "They're gonna love to hear about this."

"And the feral?" the German asked quietly, gently immobilizing you against him, tapping your back in small motions to calm you down.

"The others are here. No matter how smart a feral, they are easy targets. We have more important matters to attend to now. Isn't that right, Fledgling?"

You whimpered slightly in fear and confusion, your head pressed against the taller vampire's shoulder.

"How are we going to deal with this...?" The German sounded slightly calmer now, less aggressive with you in his arms. "This is serious, Horangi, a crime of this caliber..."

"I know, König. The tribunal will deal with that. For now, we keep her close. How about her teeth?"

You felt your body being slightly adjusted to lay more against the big guy's body, his giant hand coming up to your mouth to push his fingers inside it.

"No way!" you hissed defensively, trying to turn your head from side to side to avoid him.

"Shh, Fledgling. You're okay, stay calm. Open up." You let out a grunt in surprise and indignation as Horangi stepped forward, forcing his fingers into your mouth while König held your head in place. "Ha, it's what we thought. A fresh fledgling. Her teeth haven't even fallen out yet." He laughed without humor, shaking his head slightly as he let go.

"F-Fall out?? W-Wait, t-this is...! O-Oh, God..."

You whimpered, getting overwhelmed. This was precisely why you didn’t want to deal with the attack and transformation matter. And a tribunal?? You were so busy, living alone, and you couldn’t miss work—much less miss your classes.

"You are tired, Liebchen. Your body is taking a toll after the bad transformation. Settle, we'll take care of things." He patted your back gently a few times.

"She has a ton of venom in her bloodstream, and she's still awake. Rock her a bit, and she should fall back asleep quickly. I'm calling Laswell."

God Fucking Dammit!!

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alinathinkstoomuch · 7 days ago

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WILL YOU BE MY FAKE FIANCÉ?

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you find yourself in a sticky situation - you need a fiancé asap and the stern looking man at the bar seems to suffice. warnings: um reader thinks hotch is serial killer at one point, reader is actually really funny (LOL i was giggling so bad writing her dialogue), readers friends suck, the usual banter and chem word count: 3.8k

✧ masterlist | second part can be found here

lemme know if y'all would want this as a mini series?? pls say yes because i had too much fun writing this!!!

It was silly, really. Actually, it was downright stupid. You had imagined a hundred different ways this conversation could go, each one more cringe-inducing than the last. And yet, here you were, en route to dinner with a group of women you still, for some inexplicable reason, referred to as your ‘friends.’

Except they weren’t friends. Not really. More like a collection of high school mean girls who had swapped lockers for brunch reservations, but still thrived on competition and thinly veiled judgment. Why you had continued to entertain their company remained one of life’s greatest mysteries. Maybe it was because some tiny, stubborn part of you still felt the need to prove yourself to them.

Old habits die hard.

Which was absurd, considering you had everything you’d ever wanted. A career you were proud of, a gorgeous apartment and a dog so beautiful he could model for Ralph Lauren. And yet, none of it mattered because you were missing one thing.

A love life.

Or rather, you had the start of one – an engagement, even. But much like a designer bag left too close to a lit candle, it went up in flames almost immediately.

And because self-preservation was clearly not your strong suit, you had told your ‘friends’ about the engagement… conveniently omitting the part where it had ended as quickly as it began.

No love lost there. He was a dick anyway.

Which brought you to now – marching toward an intimate jazz bar, running through all the ways you could break the news.

“Hey, ladies! So fun fact I am actually not engaged! But you were all right, turns out I’m just a walking red flag with great hair. Cheers!”

Yeah. That would go over well.

You pushed open the door to the jazz bar, smoothing your dress down and forcing your most dazzling, I totally have my life together smile. The inside was dimly lit, the hum of conversation mixing with the smooth sound of a saxophone in the background.

“Hi! There should be a reservation for under Veronica?” you told the hostess, who checked the list before glancing up apologetically.

“There’s no one here from your party yet, but I can show you to your table?”

Perfect. Just perfect. You nodded, following her to a sleek little table near the bar. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through texts until one popped up.

Veronica: Can’t wait to meet the fiancé! We’re running late. Be there soon! Xo.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your stomach did a dramatic, Oscar-worthy drop as panic set in. Your palms went clammy. Your perfectly planned exit strategies all disintegrated like cheap mascara in the rain.

You needed a fiancé. Now.

Your eyes darted wildly around the room, scanning the clientele for anyone remotely stupid – or kind – enough to rope into your plan. But instead, your gaze landed on someone who definitely didn’t look stupid. He looked serious, almost too serious. But he was alone, and that was good enough.

You shot up from your seat, heels clacking as you made a beeline toward him with the determination of a woman with everything on the line.

“Hi, hello,” you blurted out, earning a slow, assessing glance from deep brown eyes. “I need a favour. A huge, ridiculous, I-will-owe-you-my-soul kind of favour.”

“Sorry?”

“I just – I know this is insane, but I need you to pretend to be my fiancé for like, one hour. Maybe two. It’s a long story, and there is an actual pack of wolves arriving here any second, and if they smell fear, I am done for.” You clasped your hands together. “Please, please, please. I will do anything.”

He stared at you like he was debating calling security. Or possibly the nearest psychiatric facility.

“Everything alright?” Another voice joined. An older man, dressed impeccably clapped your very reluctant target on the back.

“I just need to borrow your friend, pretty please?” you said, turning to the newcomer with the kind of desperate charm that had gotten you out of speeding tickets before. “I promise I will buy you the most expensive bottle of scotch this bar serves. You drink scotch, right?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, I love her,” he announced, before turning to his friend. “Take him. I was just leaving.”

Your supposed fiancé-to-be let out a slow breath, clearly reconsidering every choice that led him to this moment.

You beamed. “See? It’s fate.”

“This is – I –”

The man looked genuinely at a loss for words, which based on the suit he was wearing, was not a common occurrence.

“Come on, Hotch,” the older man grinned, clapping him on the back again. “Help the lady out. And I cannot wait to hear all about it on Monday.” He turned to you, extending a hand. “David Rossi.”

You shook his hand, relieved that at least one of them was enjoying this. “Nice to meet you, David. And I am really sorry for ruining your evening with your friend.”

“Oh, sweetheart, are you kidding? This is better than my evening. This is entertainment.” He winked at you before tossing a final smirk at Hotch. “Be good to your fiancée.”

With that, he strolled off, leaving you alone with the man you had just kidnapped into romance fraud.

You turned back to him. “So,” you said brightly. “Fiancé.”

He stared at you, face unreadable. “This is insane.”

“Yes, well, so is spending two-thousand dollars on a handbag, and I do that regularly. Now, come on.” You reached for his wrist and pulled him toward the table. “So Hotch is your name? Kind of… odd, don’t you think? Or is it a nickname? I don’t really have many nicknames – well, aside from what my ex-fiancé used to call me, but I’ll save you the details.”

Hotch exhaled through his nose, looking like he was already regretting this. “Do you do this often?”

“Fake engagements? No, not really. Actual engagements? Also no, considering how the last one went.” You sighed dramatically. “But you’d think after everything, I’d have at least one decent dating story. Instead, I have an ex who took our wedding fund and bought a motorcycle. A motorcycle, Hotch. Like, what exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“He took your money?”

“And my sanity, which gives me the right to act this way in public.”

Before he could respond, a chorus of excited squeals erupted from the entrance.

“Oh my God! There she is!”

You moved to stand in front of Hotch. “I will do whatever you want me to. If you need me to kill someone and hide the body, I will literally be your girl – just please go with this.” You tugged at his tie, smoothing it down in a rush. “I’ll take the lead, you just look pretty.”

“That’s not usually how this works –”

“Well, Hotch, welcome to the world of desperate women. Now smile like you love me.”

He didn’t have the chance to argue as Veronica and her entourage descended upon you like a pack of well-dressed hyenas, eyes dancing with curiosity and suspicion.

“Finally! We were starting to think you made him up,” Veronica teased, her eyes scanning Hotch with an intensity that made even you nervous. “So? Introduce us!”

You plastered on your most graciously fake smile and looped an arm through Hotch’s, feeling the tension in his muscles as he clearly contemplated whether this was his personal hell. “Alright here he is! Meet H–”

“Aaron,” he cut you off smoothly, extending a hand toward Veronica.

She barely glanced at it before swatting it away. She then took a step forward, pulling him into a hug which he stiffly endured like someone who had never been voluntarily embraced in his life.

“Oh, honey, we don’t do handshakes here,” she purred, clinging for a second too long before releasing him. “You’re so handsome.”

You jumped in before Veronica could try something ridiculous like feeling his biceps.

“Right?” you grinned, linking your arm through his again. “Total catch. It’s why I snatched him up so fast.”

“And how did that happen?” one of the other girls asked as the group drifted toward the table.

Hotch, mercifully, was quick on the uptake. “She quite literally crashed into me – spilled her coffee all over my suit.”

“Oh my God, that’s so her,” another girl gasped, and you nodded rapidly.

“It was tragic,” you added, dramatically placing a hand on his arm. “The suit did not make it.”

As you neared the table, you reached for the seat, but before you could pull it out, Hotch’s hand brushed yours, stopping you. Instead, he pulled the chair out for you before you could protest.

Was he… really committing to the bit? Or was this just ingrained in his perfect gentleman DNA?

Before you could process it, the table erupted into ooohs and ahhhs like a live studio audience.

Thankfully, you caught a reprieve as the girls turned their attention to the wine list, debating the merits of a bold red versus a crisp white. Taking advantage of the moment, you lifted your own menu to shield your face and glanced at Hotch through the gap.

“I am so sorry,” you mouthed.

“You should be,” he murmured back, just low enough for only you to hear. But there was no bite to his words – if anything, you swore you caught the ghost of a smirk.

“So, don’t keep us waiting in suspense,” Veronica chirped. “Tell us about the engagement! How did it happen? All we got was a text saying you were engaged and a picture of your ring –” She paused, eyes narrowing as they moved to your hand. You followed her line of sight instinctively, cursing internally when you realised the problem.

Your fingers were adorned with rings – statement pieces, dainty bands – but notably none of them were an engagement ring.

Hotch, of course, noticed immediately. He exhaled lightly through his nose, like he was already preparing to clean up your mess.

“Oh,” you laughed, waving a dismissive hand, “I took it off to get it resized, you know how it is.”

Veronica’s brow lifted. “Resized?”

“Yeah, it was a little loose,” you rushed out, the lie forming faster than you could think it through. “Didn’t want to risk it falling down the sink or –”

“It wasn’t loose,” Hotch interjected once more and you froze.

Every pair of eyes at the table snapped to him.

“It wasn’t?” you echoed, unsure if he was about to throw you under the bus or save you from getting flattened by it.

Hotch leaned back, one arm casually draping over the back of your chair as if this was just another Friday night for him. “No,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “She just can’t stand the feeling of something on her finger when she sleeps. She takes it off every night, leaves it on the nightstand.”

Oh.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Not only had he just handed you an ironclad excuse, but he had done it so effortlessly that even you almost believed it.

The table collectively melted.

“That is so sweet,” one of the girls sighed.

“That makes sense,” Veronica finally conceded, though her eyes lingered on Hotch. She didn’t seem completely sold yet. “So, how did you propose? Give us all the details.”

Another reprieve – just as the waitress arrived to take your drink and appetizer orders. You had never been so grateful for a poorly timed interruption, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the question would be forgotten by the time she walked away.

It wasn’t.

The second the waitress disappeared, Veronica’s eyes flicked right back to you and Hotch, expectant.

“You tell it better, sweetheart,” he encouraged, that same miniscule smirk making an appearance.

Oh, he was enjoying this too much.

“Well,” you started, buying yourself a second. “It was…unexpected.”

Hotch nodded solemnly, as if recalling a life-changing event. “Completely.”

You shot him a look before continuing. “We were on a trip –”

“A weekend getaway,” Hotch supplied easily.

“Right, exactly,” you said, catching on. “And it was… romantic?”

“Cold,” he corrected. “Snow everywhere.”

You blinked at him. Snow? Was this man just winging it?

“It was freezing,” you emphasized, rolling with it. “And I remember thinking, God, this would be the worst time to propose, because my fingers are so cold, I might drop the ring.”

The table giggled in delight, completely enthralled, hanging onto every word.

Hotch exhaled through his nose like this was all very serious business. “Which you nearly did.”

Your brows shot up. “Right! Yes, because I was so shocked.”

“You cried,” Hotch added.

You nearly choked. “I – what?”

He turned to you, gaze softening ever so slightly, voice dipping just enough to sell the sincerity. “You cried.”

And just like that, the table melted again.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispered, clutching her chest.

“Like, happy tears?” another asked, eyes wide with wonder.

Hotch’s lips quirked at the corner, and damn it, you had never wanted to throw your drink at someone so badly. “Of course.”

You forced a dreamy sigh, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot under the table. “I mean… obviously.”

Veronica tapped a manicured nail against her glass, eyes narrowing. “And what did he say?”

Hotch turned to you, expression a mystery, before casually resting his hand over yours. The move was so smooth, so convincing, that it had the exact opposite effect – it made your heeled foot find his shoe under the table, pressing down with just enough force to say don’t even think about it.

“I think I said something along the lines of…” He paused, eyes fixed on you. “If you need me to kill anyone and bury the body, I’m your man. Marry me, sweetheart.’”

You stiffened, your foot pressing down harder, while the table erupted in delighted gasps and squeals.

“Oh my God,” Veronica practically screamed.

“That is so romantic,” one of the girls swooned, gripping the arm of the woman next to her.

“I cannot with you two,” another giggled, fanning herself like this was the greatest love story ever told.

Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to commit an actual murder.

You ripped your hand free from his grasp and covered your mouth with it, forcing what looked like a lovesick reaction but was actually a barely contained threat.

“What the hell?” you whispered between your teeth, smiling like the perfect doting fiancée.

Hotch, infuriatingly unbothered, leaned in. “You said to go with it.”

Your foot pressed down again. “I meant like a normal person, not a psychopath,” you hissed.

“Ugh,” Veronica sighed dreamily. “This is disgustingly adorable.”

You turned back to the group, still smiling, but if looks could kill, your fiancé wouldn’t have made it out of this dinner alive.

For the rest of the evening, you definitely had too much wine, and as the night stretched on, the conversation finally drifted away from you.

Instead, your so-called friends delved into their usual habits – gossiping about people they hadn’t seen since college, subtly competing over whose husband had the most prestigious job and complaining about their high-maintenance lives.

You nodded, smiled, threw in a well-timed oh, totally where necessary, but mostly, you just kept drinking. Hotch, meanwhile, remained the picture of polite disinterest, responding when needed as he sipped his bourbon. If he was suffering, he didn’t show it – except for the occasional glance in your direction, as if silently asking are you sure these are your friends?

By the time dessert rolled around, you were exhausted from the performance. Thankfully, your friends were equally buzzed, giggling and snapping selfies before finally, finally deciding it was time to call it a night.

Outside the restaurant, the group exchanged dramatic goodbyes, air-kissing and promising to “do this again soon” (lies, all of them), before disappearing into cabs and sleek black cars.

And just like that, you and Hotch were alone.

“You know,” you sighed, rifling through your purse in search of your phone. “I would apologize again for this, but I think if anyone owes an apology, it’s you.”

Hotch, standing beside you, hands in his pockets, merely raised a brow. “Me?”

You looked up at him with a glare. “Yes, you. You didn’t make this awful evening any easier. Snow? Really? I hate the snow.”

“I might be way out of line saying this, but you seem too good to consider that group of women your friends. Especially ones you feel you have to impress.”

“Impress them? That’s not what I was doing. I just –” You huffed, crossing your arms. “I grew up with them, and they’ve managed to make my life –” You stopped yourself, pressing your lips together before shaking your head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, like he was picking apart every little detail. “I think it matters more than you’re willing to admit.”

You forced a laugh, throwing a hand in the air. “Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to care about it. You’re free. No more fake engagement, no more ridiculous stories, no more Marry me, sweetheart nonsense.”

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tilted his head toward the street. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

You didn’t protest, abandoning the search for your phone and following your former fake fiancé back to his car.

Once inside, you rattled off your address as Hotch pulled it up on the satnav. Settling into the seat, you flipped down the visor mirror, swiping at the smudged mascara under your eyes.

“Do you have any tissues?” you asked, glancing over as Hotch reversed out of the parking lot.

“Check the glovebox.”

You reached over, popping it open and immediately froze. Because nestled between some paperwork and an actual box of tissues, sat a gun.

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly dislocated your shoulder. “Uh. What the hell, Hotch?”

He barely spared you a glance. “Relax.”

“Relax?” you repeated, voice pitching higher. “There’s a gun in your glovebox! Oh my God. Are you – are you a criminal? Did I just spend an entire evening pretending to be engaged to a mobster? Jesus Christ, I really know how to pick them – I mean, you’re making my actual ex-fiancé look like a saint!”

“Check under the gun,” Hotch instructed, voice impossibly calm.

“Oh no, no, no, mister.” You flailed a hand in his direction. “You are not fooling me into touching your murder weapon so you can get my fingerprints on it and frame me for whatever crime you have committed using it! Please stop the car before I jump out of it. I swear to God, I will tuck and roll.”

Hotch exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was deeply reconsidering his life choices. Then, with no ceremony, he flicked on the turn signal and pulled over to the curb.

Your heart plummeted. “Oh my God,” you whispered, pressing yourself back against the seat. “You are a criminal. You’re going to kill me. This is how I die.”

Hotch shot you a look, utterly unimpressed. Then, without a word, he leaned over –

You squeaked, pressing yourself further into the seat. “Oh my God – please don’t kill me –I haven’t been to Paris yet, and I still haven’t figured out how to fold a fitted sheet –”

His hand bypassed you completely, reaching into the glove box. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something from beneath the gun and held it up to your face.

An FBI badge.

You stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the badge.

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, this is awkward.”

Hotch dropped the badge into your lap, but you immediately picked it up, flipping it over, holding it up to the light, just in case it was fake. There had to be fakes out there. You had gotten a police outfit that came with a badge for Halloween once.

Hotch watched your scrutiny with the patience of a saint. “Are you done?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “Okay, so in my defence, you could’ve led with that instead of just telling me to dig under a loaded firearm.”

“I assumed you were capable of following basic instructions.”

“That was your first mistake,” you muttered, still recovering from the emotional rollercoaster that was the last five minutes. You inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest. “Well. This has been a night.”

Hotch shook his head, pulling back onto the road as you snapped closed his badge and placed it back in the glovebox, avoiding the gun like poison.

“So, FBI, huh?” you finally said, breaking the quiet.

“That’s what the badge says.”

You couldn’t help it – you laughed. A real, actual laugh for the first time this entire ridiculous, chaotic evening. And once you started, you couldn’t stop. It bubbled out of you, unrestrained, until you were clutching your stomach, gasping for breath, sure your mascara was completely smudged from the tears streaking down your face.

“Are you alright?”

You wheezed, waving a hand in his direction. “No! No, I am not! Because I just spent an entire evening fake-engaged to an FBI agent, and the first thing I said to you was – and I quote – ‘If you ever need to kill someone and bury the body, I’m your girl.’”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of proposition in my entire career.”

You snorted, barely containing another wave of laughter. “That’s comforting. Truly.”

He smirked, eyes still on the road. “Though, I’ll admit—it’s one of the more memorable introductions I’ve had.”

“Oh, great. So I’m going to be a story you tell people?”

“Most definitely.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Fantastic. Just what I needed, to be the punchline of an FBI dinner party.”

“Don’t worry,” Hotch said dryly. “I’ll leave out the part where you almost jumped out of a moving vehicle.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Gee, thanks.”

A silence settled over the car and eventually Hotch slowed to a stop in front of your building shifting into park. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel before he glanced at you.

“Well… this has been… a very unique experience.” Your hand found the door handle, but you didn’t move. You weren’t quite ready to step back into reality just yet.

Hotch nodded. “It has.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep up the act? I think Veronica was in love with you.”

“Do you want to keep up the act? Ten minutes ago, you were convinced I was a serial killer.”

“Well, technically, I thought you were a mobster. There’s a difference.”

Hotch tilted his head. “And now?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back against the seat. “Now? I think you might actually be worse.”

“Worse?”

You turned toward him, deadpan. “You’re FBI. Which means you probably know every loophole in the legal system. You could absolutely commit crimes and get away with it.”

Hotch let out a laugh, shaking his head. “And yet here I am, still just giving you a ride home.”

You placed a hand over your heart. “I appreciate that. Really.”

He smiled, his fingers still drumming lightly against the steering wheel. Another moment of silence passed before he nodded toward your building. “You should go before your neighbours start wondering why you’re sitting in a car with a strange man.”

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest. “How dare you? We’re engaged, remember?”

Hotch chuckled. “Not anymore.”

You clicked your tongue, reaching for the door handle again. “Shame. I was really looking forward to planning the wedding.”

“We’d have to agree on a season first. You hate the snow.”

You groaned. “I knew that was going to come back to haunt me.” Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out, turning back one last time before shutting it. “Well, Aaron Hotchner, thank you for entertaining my craziness.”

“Anytime.”

You gave him a small wave before shutting the door and making your way toward your apartment building. At the top of the steps, you hesitated, glancing back just in time to see his taillights disappearing down the street. And in that moment, you weren’t sure what you felt.

Was he someone you’d spend the rest of your life hoping never to run into again?

Or someone you’d regret not giving your number to?

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #Spotify

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seokgyuu · 10 months ago

Text

Coming back home for the summer hasn’t been fun in ages. Thankfully, that is just about to change when you lay eyes on Matthew who, according to Taerae, isn’t into older girls. Never backing down from a challenge you decide to approach him anyways - making yourself younger than you actually are and calling Matthew “oppa” more times than probably necessary.

Pairing: Seok Matthew x Fem!Reader

Genre: Comedy, Smut

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Reader is actively lying to Matthew to get into his pants, loads and loads of usage of the word “oppa”, alcohol drinking (idk in what country this universe is, they call each other with honorifics but they kind of are in the states because i made the drinking age 21…. just don’t pay it any mind ok, it’s porn disguised as a funny story) , this work contains adult content! MDNI! Smut warnings under the cut!

Playlist: Hot in Herre - Nelly (you’ll get it), Yeah - Usher, Murder on the Dancefloor - Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Break Your Heart - Taio Cruz, Durch den Monsun - Tokio Hotel

A/N: thank you sm @xscoupsx for the perfect header & divider!!! absolute masterpiece i am still staring at it. finally got this worm out of my brain!!! take this with a grain of salt, it's all fun and giggles. Tags: @cheolism, @the-boy-meets-evil

When you get home that day it’s his number on your phone (that he saved as ‘matthew oppa’ of course) that pops up asking if you made it home safely. It’s Taerae’s number that pops up to let you know he’s blocking you. Giggling, you fall down onto your bed, your slippers hanging off your feet threatening to fall off any second, but instead of caring, you open up instagram. You find him quick and easy, Seok Matthew followed by Gyuvin and Taerae and Hanbin and basically everyone you know in this small town. How come you’ve never seen him before?

Smut warnings: oppa kink, sexting, masturbation (f&m), unprotected sex (booo!), blowjob, cumming in mouth, lmk if i missed anything!

“Forget it. He’s not into older girls.”

Taerae is sipping on his milkshake watching you watch his former classmate and friend Matthew. You’re in the mall in Taerae’s hometown which also happens to be your hometown. You’ve left for college around a year and a half ago and coming back here never truly excites you anymore. Or at least it didn’t use to. Now, looking at the young man outside of Mikey’s Milkshakes handing out flyers with sweat dripping down his temples, you think that just about changed.

“He doesn’t know that I’m older,” you shoot back, sucking on your own straw and enjoying the taste of peanut butter on your tongue.

“You look older, noona.”

A napkin hits Taerae’s forehead. It was you. You threw the napkin. He just chuckles and shakes his head

“No, you don’t get it. Matthew is… weird. Like he has this whole thing where he hates when people call him cute. He gets all upset and tells them he isn’t cute, he’s Woohyun oppa.”

While you do cringe, you also find it quite interesting. You’ve heard of this before - younger guys who didn’t like to be younger. He was Taerae’s age, so freshly 21 and attending the local college with Tae, which meant if anything he would have to go for girls 18 or 19 and, come on, they surely couldn’t please him like you!

“How convenient,” you smile in a way that makes Taerae shiver in something close to fear, “I’ve always wanted to try calling a younger guy oppa.”

“You’re horrible,” Tae comments, shoving his milkshake away from him, “horrible and crazy. He is never going to fall for you being younger.”

“Really? Want to make this interesting then?” The evil grin on your face certainly means nothing but trouble. But it’s summer and this town is boring as hell with nothing ever happening. So, why not? Taerae shakes your hand, betting against you that you, in fact, will not succeed to bed Matthew. It’s not just pride that’s on the line but also free milkshakes for the rest of the summer.

You somehow convince your friend Gyuvin to act like you’re his same age cousin from a different town. As it turns out he also knows Matthew. How does everyone know this guy but you? And why has no one ever mentioned to you how they have an extremely attractive friend who just so happens to have an oppa kink?

It’s honestly a mystery to you how Taerae didn’t think you’d be able to pull off being a 04’ liner. You can pretend to be way younger than you are! You don’t look like you’re twenty-three! Matthew is eating out of your hand by lunch. He listens to you attentively and everytime you call him “oppa” he seems to melt into his chair.

His profile isn’t private which means you didn’t have to follow him to stalk his 103 posts, but you still do. It saddens you that you can’t comment things like “you look so good, oppa” or “woah, that color looks so perfect on you, oppa”, but you digress. Sucking on a popsicle from the freezer, you scroll through his feed, seeing that he definitely hasn’t been this hot for a long time. There is a ringing in your ear and you try to lose it by scratching it. What the hell? Back to Matthew, please! Just last year he looked like a teenager freshly hitting puberty and now? He’s buff and handsome and just thinking about what might be under that shirt makes your thighs press together. Perhaps you have a serious problem because when you spot the highlight saying “gym” with the flexing arm emoji, you are already halfway down with your hand to touch yourself.

His gym pics are a goldmine for your dirty fantasies and thoughts about the man you’re planning to seduce. There is one where he flexes his arm and grinning while winking into the mirror he’s taking the pic in. Then there is the one where he is sitting on the bench press, leaned forward with a half smirk, his tight tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. The shorts he’s wearing make you feel dizzy and as you imagine what his cock would look like and what he would feel like inside of you, you begin to circle your clit with your thumb, throwing your head back as you continue your fantasy. Matthew and you on that bench press, his strong arms holding you down as he fucks into you mercilessly.

A ‘ping’ disrupts your session and you open your eyes, looking down to see he had texted you again. It’s almost comical - you thinking about him fucking you and touching yourself to that thought and him texting you a “it was so nice to meet you” message as if you weren’t thinking about him fucking your brains out.

Sighing, you pull your hand out of your panties, wiping them off on your shorts and decide to text him back.

matthew oppa: it was so nice to meet you

you: you too, oppa <3

matthew oppa: hehe

matthew oppa: so, what are your plans this week?

you: hmm, not much… why?

matthew oppa: oh well, i was wondering if maybe you’d wanna go to a drive in with me?

you: ohh, like watching a movie in a car?

matthew oppa: yeah, exactly!

Now, this is where your current horniness decides to take over. Licking over your lips you sink deeper into your pillows, your slippers completely fallen off now, your legs spreading slightly as you stare at the screen, thinking about how you can make this guy jerk off to you right now without sounding too experienced.

you: well… i would love to see you again, oppa, but…

matthew oppa: but…?

you: my friends… they told me some things about drive ins you know

matthew oppa: huh? what things?

you: uhm… like that when you go to a drive in with a boy… well you know 🙈

matthew oppa: oh

matthew oppa: y/n you don’t have to worry

matthew oppa: i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, oppa promises

you: that’s nice of you to say, oppa💕

you: but… what if i want something you’re not comfortable with?

matthew oppa: what do you mean?

you: it’s embarrassing 🥺

matthew oppa: you don’t have to be embarrassed with oppa, yn

you: ok if you say so…

you: it’s just that i know we only met today but

you: i just can’t stop thinking about you

matthew oppa: that’s cute

matthew oppa: oppa can’t stop thinking about you too, if that makes you feel better baby

Baby. You bite down on your lip. As much as it makes you cringe it makes your pussy wet, the way he speaks and reacts, how he addresses himself as ‘oppa’. You wonder if maybe your need to get laid is taking over the intelligence you usually inhabit.

you: really? 🥺

matthew oppa: yeah

you: are you also… thinking naughty thoughts, oppa?

matthew oppa: oh

matthew oppa: are you thinking naughty thoughts, baby?

you: idk… 🥺

matthew oppa: you can be honest with oppa, baby, i would never judge you

you: i am thinking naughty thoughts

matthew oppa: like what?

you: saw oppa’s instagram… your gym highlight

matthew oppa: you liked it?

you: a lot 🙈

matthew oppa: how much did you like it, baby?

you: so much that i got all wet… down there

You want to die and at the same time you don’t think you’ve been this wet (down there) in ages. Not the dude from the semester end party who had fucked you in the smallest bathroom known to mankind and most certainly not Jiwoong last summer. You wonder if anyone has ever made you this wet without even physically being present.

matthew oppa: fuck

matthew oppa: you got wet just from my pictures? you like oppa that much?

you: i do… it’s so embarrassing

you: stared at you the whole day today… now i want you to do bad things to me, oppa

matthew oppa: yeah? what do you want me to do?

you: wanna get on my knees for you and have oppa fuck my mouth 🙈

matthew oppa: shit… got my cock so hard from just reading that, baby.

you: does oppa wanna fuck my mouth?

matthew oppa: fuck yeah. your mouth and your wet pussy baby

you: i’m so wet oppa, so wet for you 🥺

matthew oppa: can i call you?

He ends up calling you before you can respond his raspy voice on the other side of the line already telling you he’s getting off. What follows is just the two of you simultaneously masturbating while telling the other dirty things you wanna do to each other. He tells you how he wants to fuck you (his main fantasy seems to be you on all fours and him behind you drilling into you like a sledgehammer) and how you need him to fill you inexperienced pussy.

Obviously you don’t say that, you just hint at it. Matthew wants to be an oppa, he wants someone younger who looks up to him - especially in a sexual way. So, of course you’re gonna lie to him and tell him you’ve only had sex like twice and both times had been five minutes tops and you also had never had a guy make you cum or cum inside of you. All of these are lies. Your body count has gotten to a point of you not even remembering anymore and the amount of plan bs you had taken should probably be illegal. You’re not responsible when it comes to fucking and you are well aware. Matthew, though, doesn’t need to know this.

When he cums with your name on his lips and you cum begging for him to fill you up, you call it a night.

The drive in idea doesn’t come up again. You worry for a day that he might have lost interest. Then, you hear from Gyuvin that the drive in had to close because there was a fire and Matthew has just been swamped with work. You deem that as a good enough reason for him to leave you on read for approximately two seconds before it starts to piss you off. Thankfully, summers in your hometown promise extreme ragers every weekend to which you are sure Matthew will come too. At least you hope he does.

Out of all people, Jiwoong is the one to throw the first big rager of the summer and even knowing that Jiwoong could very easily blow your cover, you decide to go. With your sluttiest little dress and some skimpy underwear on, Taerae only sighs when you get into his car.

“You will give the man a damn heart attack,” he comments as he turns out of your parents driveway. You chuckle.

“Let’s hope that happens after I win that bet against you, Taetae.”

“You truly are a horrible person. Lying to get into someone’s pants? Shouldn’t that be below you?”

“Dramaqueen.” You roll your eyes and pull down the visor to open the small mirror and check your make-up.

“I’m just saying,” Taerae continues as he stops at a traffic light, “watch out. If he finds out you’re lying chances are he’s gonna be mad.”

“Come on. I’ve lived in this town my whole fucking life. If anything it’s kind of his fault for not knowing me.”

It is odd. How he has apparently been in Taerae’s class all this time and neither of you knew each other. But then again, how were you supposed to know everyone? You don’t see Taerae looking at you with the biggest side eye. And even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have cared.

Jiwoongs house is huge. His parents are both lawyers or whatever and you remember vividly how one of Jiwoong’s friends wanted to hit on you, some small unremarkable guy you had already forgotten the name of, and how Jiwoong saved you from him, getting your pussy as a thank you. In his parent’s room. You wonder if they ever found out.

There is already loud music playing when you get to the house, Tae parking his car in the last available spot on the street. Getting out, you try your best not to flash the people walking past you and Tae chuckles when you land on your heels a little shaky. You decide to ignore him and just start walking towards the door, him right behind you. Right at the entrance you already spot Gyuvin with Ricky and Gunwook and you raise your brows when you spot a red cup on the latter’s hand.

“It’s coke, noona, I swear!” He says the second you reach him, showing off the contents of his cup by tilting it slightly. Clicking your tongue you nod in approval, moving on to the other two.

“Technically,” Gyuvin says, his own cup suspiciously close to his chest and far away from your glaring eyes, “you are the same age as us tonight, so…,” he seriously tries to talk him out of this. You put your hands on your hips and look at him, Ricky, his cup, Ricky’s cup. The two share a gaze before sighing and finally handing the cups to you. You smile triumphantly.

“Very good. Thank you, boys.”

“Aaaand these are for me, thank you very much,” a voice startles you, taking the two cups from your hands. Your look to your right and see Taerae grinning widely.

“What? If they are underage, so are you, bestie.”

Waving with his occupied hands, Tae goes inside humming along to the music. You groan and roll your eyes, knowing full well you did this to yourself but also hating Taerae because this was obviously all his fault.

“Now, now. We can all have a wonderful time without alcohol!” Gunwook smiles widely and if he wasn’t so adorable you might have punched him in the stomach. Instead, you just sigh once more and walk into the house, leaving the three boys behind.

Inside, there is a big crowd of people gathered in the spacey living room and your eyes are already scanning your surroundings for Matthew. While you really want him to fuck you (like so much you literally thought about not wearing any panties just for him. Then you put on your dress and realized there was no way in hell), you also need to stay in character. You are innocent, shy, a young girl who needs her oppa to show her the ropes. Perhaps, you are even a little insecure because he left you on read for two days, who knows?

It doesn’t take long to spot him. And when you do, you are suddenly thankful Tae took the cups away from you because you for sure would have dropped them. It’s almost comical that Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”starts playing right this second.

Matthew has his hair styled up, a few strands falling into his forehead, his face so perfectly on display you want to place kisses all over it. And as if that wasn’t enough, there is a white sleeveless shirt on his muscular body that lets everyone know he is buff and proud of it.

Fuck. You need him. Like, right now.

No one has ever looked that fucking delicious, you decide. He is the yummiest person on this planet and you’re gonna have him.

For a few moments, you only watch him. Watch how he talks to someone you don’t know, how he nips at his cup, how he laughs at a joke. It’s a miracle you haven’t started drooling. People keep on walking around you and only when one nearly runs you over, you decide to move closer to Matthew. So far, he hasn’t seen you.

Biting down on your lip, you wonder how you could best catch his attention without going right over to him. The solution presents itself in the form of Hanbin standing leaned against the wall with a cup in one and his phone in the other hand.

Showtime. You grin to yourself. Then, you get into character.

“Hanbin oppa!” You squeal, loud enough for Matthew and the girl he is talking to hear. And when Matthew sees you, sees the way you beam at Hanbin, he feels a sting in his pride. His eyes burn into you, making you feel hot all over.

Hanbin, on the other hand, is more than confused. Mainly because you’re older than him and just called him oppa.

“Uh, what?”

“Play along, or you’re dead,” you say with the same enthusiastic beam as before, your voice lowered for only Hanbin to hear. He clears his throat and nods. He knows not to mess with you and your antics.

“S-sure, uhm, whats up?”

“Trying to make Matthew think I wanna fuck you instead of him,” you laugh loudly, as if he had said something funny, your left hand slightly hitting his shoulder, while the other twirls a strand of hair around your finger. Hanbin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Right, Tae mentioned you were doing that.” He shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and watches you with his brows still raised.

“Don’t judge me, Sung Hanbin. I remember very well how you tried to get with Katie last summer and literally told her your dad invented fucking Microsoft.”

“Is it my fault she didn’t know Bill Gates?” Hanbin defends himself right away and you chuckle.

“No. Is it my fault Matthew’s into younger girls?”

Hanbin stays silent for a beat, the song now changing to Usher’s “Yeah” and you wonder what decade you’re in.

“Fair point. But then again I’m just confused becau-,”

“Y/N!”

An arm is wrapped around your waist the next second, an arm you’ve been fantasizing over for days now.

“Oppa, hi,” your eyes are basically hearts staring up at him. Hanbin thinks he’s very likely stuck in a simulation.

“Hyung,” Matthew smiles at Hanbin, but even someone blind could have figured out it wasn’t an actual smile, “I think Hao hyung is looking for you. Better go check on him, yeah?”

Hao hyung definitely isn’t looking for him. Hao hyung is upstairs with a cute boy and a cute girl and Hanbin is well aware. Taking this as his leave, he nods at both of you and leaves you to your idiotic game.

“Hey,” Matthew now looks at you, eyes softening only slightly.

“Hi,” you repeat yourself, biting down on your lip.

“I was hoping to see you here.”

He moves closer to you, your back hitting the wall and his other hand tugging a loose hair behind your ear.

“Did you? I thought maybe you weren’t interested anymore after we, you know….” You truly deserve an Oscar for the performance you’re giving. Matthew licks over his lips.

“After you came so good for me on the phone, you mean?” His eyes bore into yours and your panties are seemingly swimming away.

“I- I, yes, after that.”

“Of course oppa is still interested, baby. Oppa just had a lot of work, oppa is sorry.”

He leans closer to you, both hands now on your waist and you can feel the growing tension.

“Oppa..,” you whimper when he is right there, so close to kiss you.

“Oppa has been thinking about you and your tight pussy all week, will you let Oppa fuck her?”

You moan when his hands creep around and squeeze your ass.

“W-We didn’t even r-really talk!” You cry after, but Matthew just chuckles, his lips hovering over your own.

“We can still talk after, doll. Now I desperately need to sink my cock into you, ‘am already so fucking hard.”

And then he kisses you. Kisses you hard and so full of lust and desperation your knees give in. He pulls you closer against him and you can feel he didn’t lie. He is hard. You decide not to give it too much thought as of why.

Instead, you part from him, breathlessly and grab his hand to take him to the one room you know for sure won’t be occupied.

Matthew’s hands are all over you. Groping your boobs one second, then they are back on your ass, all while Murder On the Dancefloor blasts through the house. Desperation radiates off of him and you bathe in it. Bathe in the way he drags your dress up and touches every second of skin he frees. His lips chase yours in haste and you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him push you towards the large bed in the center of the room.

“Shit, you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips and you suck his tongue into your mouth as a response. You know he’s already hard. Can feel it when you press your hand against his crotch. He moans and kisses you harder, tongue continuously slapping against yours like he needs to prove a point.

Your back hits the bed seconds later, his thigh pressed between yours against your clothed cunt that’s already throbbing with want.

“Want you so bad, oppa,” you cry out, hands fumbling with that god forsaken muscle shirt that has got your pussy wet the second you spotted him in it. He rips off his body the next second and you sigh in absolute bliss. Immediately, you move to touch his toned torso, his defined abs, his perfect shoulders. Fuck, he is incredibly hot.

“Yeah? Want oppa to fuck you, hm?” His voice is deep and raspy against your ear and you nod rapidly, moving your hips against his thigh. Matthew chuckles, hands back to squeeze your tits, causing you to arch your back against him. His touch feels intoxicating, already got you addicted. It’s the way he is still oh so desperate for you. His kisses are sloppy and his cock is hard against you, his hips moving for any kind of friction. A part of you wants to take your sweet time with him, put him in your mouth, have him come undone on your tongue. Work him so long until he can fuck you for real. But there is a party downstairs and people will eventually notice you’re gone.

“Put it in me, oppa, please, please, please.”

He groans at your begging, his head nodding as if in trance, quickly ridding you of your panties and himself of his pants. You watch with a heaving chest how he doesn’t even fully shove his jeans and briefs down his legs, how they pool there at his ankles as he gets on his knees and flips you over. You gasp in surprise, another enormous wave of lust overcoming you when he pulls you up, your ass in the air, the perfect position for him to fuck you like he wanted to.

Matthew is surprised he isn’t foaming at the mouth with you in front of him like this. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy, his cock hard against his stomach. Grabbing his cock, he jerks himself off a few times before guiding himself to your entrance - only to stop just before he breaches you.

“Shit, I don’t have a condom,” he curses. You look back at him.

“Just pull out, Matthew, please.”

In your impatience you forgot to call him “oppa”. For a second you’re worried but he is too distracted by you wanting him to fuck you raw he doesn’t even notice the missing honorific.

Without any more hesitation, he finally sinks into you, his thick head stretching you out just the way you hoped it would. Your fingers grab the bedsheets, eyes falling shut as you get used to the way he feels, inch by inch. And, shit, does he feel good.

Matthew is scared he’ll come right away when he bottoms out. His cock has never felt more comfortable inside anyone before. Almost as if he was made to fuck you and only you. Thankfully, he doesn’t immediately shoot his load and instead begins to move. And really, he tried to start slow and steady, he really did. But he’s just a horny dude, in the end. His thrusts are rapid and hard and you feel like you’re high. Your thoughts are empty, there is only him and the way he fucks you like an animal. All you feel is your rising orgasm, your pussy squeezing him over and over, your moans getting louder and louder. Matthew isn’t quiet either - both of you seem like you’re harmonising as he fucks you from behind with gluttal moans escaping him every few seconds. His eyes are rolled back and his hands are around your waist, holding you so hard you’re sure there will be marks later on. You are more than ready to welcome them.

“You- You take oppa’s cock so fucking well, fuck,” Matthew is so close to finishing, you can feel it.

“Oppa fucks me so good! Don’t stop!” You push your hips against him and he gifts you another one of his melodic moans that have you gushing over his cock. He curses under his breath.

“Yeah, I can feel how much you like oppa fucking you, such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” His nails dig into your skin and you cry out, his dirty words doing exactly what they are supposed to: bring you close to the edge.

“Ngh- Oppa! Gonna c-cum!” Your mouth hangs open, drool landing on Jiwoong’s parent’s bed. Matthew’s head is spinning and he does his best to keep fucking you exactly like this. He wants you to cum before he does, wants you to cum on his cock, wants to feel you squeeze and clench around him. Wants your release to be the finishing touches for his.

And when he leans slightly forward, his arm creeping around you to press his thumb to your clit, you can feel the knot tighten and finally explode.

You’re cumming hard around his cock, vibrating around him with nothing but utter pleasure. You keep calling for him, tell him to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm and he manages to pull out of you just when you deem yourself satisfied. Quickly, he jerks himself off, ready to finish on your ass, when suddenly you are right there, your mouth around his tip, catching his spurts of cum that shoot out the second he feels your lips around him.

“O-oh, f-fuck! Yeah, t-take all of oppas cum! Fuuuuck!” He pushes you further down his cock, nose in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, more and more strings of his cum gushing down your throat. You swallow every last bit, even lick him clean when he pulls you back, his eyes meeting yours.

“That was insane,” he says, helping you sit up fully. You grin and pull him down into a kiss he is more than happy to return.

With your clothes back where they belong, the two of you walk out of Jiwoong’s parents room only to run into… Jiwoong. A mad Jiwoong. Who has a girl with him. A girl who looks more spooked than she should considering she came up here with Jiwoong for probably the same reason as you and Matthew did.

“Oh, hey!” You chirp and Jiwoong looks from you to Matthew and back.

“”Oh, hey”? Are you fucking with me?”

“Pretty sure I was just fucking with him, oppa,” you counter, thumb pointing over your shoulder and at Matthew who awkwardly lifts his hand in a wave. Jiwoong groans.

“Would you give us a second?” He says to the girl and the girl rolls her eyes but finally nods, making her way down the hallway and back downstairs, where Taio Cruz’s Break You Heart is most definitely making the people lose their shit on the dancefloor.

“Yo, hyung, sorry, I know this is your parents room and all, but-,”

Jiwoong raises his hand and Matthew stops speaking.

“Frankly, I don’t give a fuck, thank you very much. I am more interested in what the fuck this is.”

He points between you and Matthew and the two of you share a look.

“What- what do you mean?” You ask, continuing to play innocent.

Jiwoong blinks.

“Are you- are you for real?”

With being so focused on not understanding what the fuck Jiwoong is on about, you fail to see Matthew using his hands to gesture to Jiwoong to stop talking!

“Jiwoong oppa, what is your problem?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“My- what my problem is? Jesus, Y/N, just last summer you turned Matty down and instead went to fuck me and now this?”

“What are you talking about, what Matty, wha-,”

Matty. Matt…y… Matt….hew. Oh.

You remember. Remember the friend that had hit on you, the small unremarkable guy that you couldn’t even remember the name of when you tried. You hadn’t been mean to him, just politely said no and while he did take it as an answer, he still tried to make conversation. Matty.

Slowly, you turn to Matthew, your mouth hanging slightly open. He is red as a beet and one of his hands is rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“You- you are Matty?” You ask. After another beat of silence (not really silence considering there was still a party going on) he nods.

“Yes, that would be me.”

You are dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. In shock. Your arm flies to Jiwoong’s shoulder to hold yourself steady.

“But you are- you are so-,”

“You told me you saw the gym pics, didn’t you?”

Oh yeah, you did.

“You know I am not younger than you?”

“Younger than him, wha-,” Jiwoong chimes in, but neither you nor Matthew pay him any mind.

“Yup.” He pops the “p” at the end and you feel like you’re about to faint.

“So… everyone knows…. you know?”

“Yup,” he repeats.

They are playing fucking Tokio Hotel downstairs now.

“Right. Right, sure. That- uh, my bad.” You stand up straight again, letting your hands run over your dress.

“Noona-,” Matthew starts, but you hold up your hand.

“Let’s not. I need to let this sink in.”

You walk down the stairs and of course Taerae is leaning against the frame of the big arch, grinning from ear to ear. There is no way of knowing how he even fucking knows what just happened, but he does. When you finally get your hands on your first drink of the night, you are sure the bet was all part of the plan you were so kindly left out of.

Later, when you spot Matthew with Hanbin and Gyuvin and your eyes meet, you tip your cup at him. Well played.

“If it makes you feel better, he probably would have had you call him oppa during sex anyways,” Ricky says from next to you and you close your eyes.

This is going to be a long summer.

#zb1 fanfiction #kvanity #zb1 smut #seok matthew smut #ksmutsociety #matthew smut #matthew x reader #zb1 x reader #seok matthew x reader #matthew fanfiction #seok matthew fanfiction #matthew au #seok matthew au #zb1 au #zb1 imagine #seok matthew imagine #matthew imagine

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coraniaid · 2 months ago

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I'm not saying this would necessarily have been a good tonal fit for the show's last season or that I believe it to be true in-universe. But given the following facts:

how desperately hard Season 7 tries to build up the First Evil as the ultimate super-mega Biggest Bad (describing it as "the root of all evil", as "unlike anything we've faced before", or as somehow justifying Buffy's bizarre declaration that although she wouldn't have given up on Dawn to save the world from Glory she would give up on Dawn to stop the First, because the First is ... uh, going to end the world in a more serious and special way, I guess?)

how there explicitly isn't actually any real in-universe evidence for any of this beyond "the First Evil said it was true": Buffy and co initially struggle to find anything in their attempts to research the First, and Giles claims this is because "predates any written history" (and the Council records on it are all conveniently destroyed)

the First's actual powers seem to be limited to "not being able to touch anything" and "making suicidal, depressed teenage girls feel worse about their lives and encouraging them to lose confidence in Buffy Summers"

it is canon to Buffy the Vampire Slayer -- and had been well before the show ever talked about a "First Evil" -- that ghosts exist and they are the spirits of people who died violent deaths with unfinished business

... well, given all of that, I think it would be very, very fun if there was a late-season twist reveal that, whoops, no, sorry, the First Evil isn't actually what she/it claims to be [pronouns aren't clear, but between Jenny in Season 3's Amends and then Buffy, Cassie and Eve in Season 7 I think the First spends a lot more time in the form of a woman than anything else, so let's roll with that].

Imagine if it turned out that the First was massively over-exaggerating her age and resources and abilities and, despite the fact there were no external records to back her up, everybody was just really credulous and believed her. If she really is just some random mean ghost with a grudge against Buffy in particular and the Watchers / the concept of the "Slayer Line" in general. If her handful of appearances on the show were actually canonically everything she'd ever done; if she hadn't even existed at the start of Season 1.

And, more than that ... well, how many evil women in the show do we know who love to lie and bluff and emotionally manipulate young girls? How many dead women are there who know about the Council and have reason to want them destroyed? Or who have knowledge of the supernatural and the occult and use it for their own evil purposes? Who might have a reason to resent Buffy -- because Buffy had been the one to kill her, perhaps? -- and who is conveniently dead before the first appearance of the First Evil back in Season 3? What dead person's form does the First noticeably never take, even if it would make sense in-universe to do so?

What if Buffy and Faith ended the season having tracked the First Evil down to its lair, and Buffy launched into another big speech about finally defeating the very root of evil in the world, only for the First to roll her eyes and a familiar voice to say "girls, a word of advice..."?

#btvs #I think some things in S7 or even in Amends do rule this out but it would objectively be very very funny

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sk3tch404 · 11 months ago

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Late Night Hanma Blurb

A/n: Thought abt this during an itty-bitty road trip today. Smoker Hanma does smth to the chemicals in my brain. Forgive me for any lengthy bad writing. I've had a long day and I just wanna yip yap about one of my fav crazies 🙇

CW: Hanma can give two shits about your lung health but chooses not to when he feels like it, intimidation, threats of forced drug usage, sometimes forced participation in violent activities, thoughts of lovers suicide/murder(?), and whatever other yappin I put in here.

Hanma who smokes a fuck ton and doesn't mind giving you the good ol' second-hand effects of it, but absolutely detests you doing it on your own.

He snatches the stick from your mouth and holds it up and away from you with a small grit in his teeth. Hanma glares down in some curiosity but clearly squints in irritation.

"The hell is this? Don't tell me I'm being a bad influence on you now. If I catch you with one of these again, I won't let you off the hook so easily. You got it, Y/n?"

When you retort, telling him it's no different from when he does it and it is your own choice whether he likes it or not, he merely scoffs with a tilt of his narrow head. Throwing down the cigarette, the sound of his sneaker stomping and scraping it out against the pavement echos through the air with an annoying presence. Shuji demands the rest of your stash with a looming stare that can only put you into a state of sinking discimfort.

"Come on, don't be stubborn. Ya know, if you wanna do it so bad, why don't you try the whole pack? Mine too since it's a shitload better than that cheap stuff."

Reluctant on suffocation and early lung cancer, you begrudgingly hand over your smokes to him. Hanma smacks down on the box with an evidently loud shot of noise and slides it out of your palm--- pocketing it. He stretches out narrow smile as he leans down towards you.

"See, now it ain't so hard to listen."

He's still ticked off by the fact you think you can do whatever to your body without his permission, but since Shuji is so generous, he'll let you learn from your mistakes. See, he can be nice.

Don't test him though. Next time you're caught defying his selfish wishes, he's beating you down with degrading language and probably also beating whoever was involved. The convenience store employee that sold you the cigs, vape, or maybe even chewing tobacco? Yeah he's taking out his held back frustration on them. Bro is jumping over the counter and tearing their shit up.

Avoiding him because of his brutal and honest-to-God psychopathic personality? Now that's just cruel. Shuji is dragging your ass by the back of your shirt and pushes you to his motorcycle. The leopard print on the back of the bike makes you wanna barf every time you see it, but you got to keep it down if you wanna have enough energy to deal with him. He'll take you out no matter where you are at in that point of time and make you remember who he is; who you think you're messing with.

"Y/n, how many times do I have to tell you? Aim for the nose. That's easy for amateurs like you. Actually, lemme show you how to really deliver a jaw breaker-"

Yeah, he'll show you just how bad it can get with some random thugs on the street. You should be grateful with how gentle he's treating you. Instead of ending up with facial fractures, you have nice dates and thoughtful gifts. He's even teaching you a few tricks. How lucky can you get?

"I'm all done. Shit, I'm starved. Let's go grab a bite to eat, kay?"

Hanma thinks the only way you'll ever keep paying attention to him is if he keeps you and your actions in line. If you go off doing your own thing, his usually unmoving heart can't just stand there and watch you slowly leave him. Despite the negativity be brings into your life, he actually gets really fuckin anxious when he doesn't know or understand what you're doing. It's so troublesome how you make him feel. Yeah, being bored as shit is bad, but seeing you, the only thing that could ever bring him down to his knees unwillingly, slip away with nothing but disdain for him? Fuck no. He won't accept it. Shuji would rather kill you and then himself than have to bear the strange feeling of pain, or what other people call heartbreak, by his lonesome self.

Should he ever say he loves you, that would be the point of no return for the both of you. His hands have you tight in his clutches. No way out, no way back in for anyone else.

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impatient-traveler · 24 days ago

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The Aera problem

Thought I'd write up a post about this, mainly because I want to put this information out there but I don't want it to be in a reply where it'd come off like I'm descending on any specific person.

To clarify ahead of time: You're perfectly free to accept whatever parts of official XV-related content you want! You can enjoy them and be excited about them and I'm happy for you. I just also think there's a lot of context that some people might be missing on this that they might want to know.

So, Terada. For those who don't know, Terada took over game director duties as Tabata was forced to focus on the next project (Agni/Forspoken, at the time it was still closer to Agni). That was about when EpP was being developed, though that was mid transition and not fully him. Which is why you start to notice contradictions around that point.

Terada is a fucking sexist, there's no putting it mildly. He's done such delightful things as: arrive at a fan gathering, notice it was mostly women, and open his panel with "wow that's a lot of females". Another time he talked about how it's guys that play video games, don't you know? Women don't do that. And said that there's no point in the game having more costume options for the characters because "nobody wants to dress up men".

He's also a liar, loves to take credit for other people's accomplishments, and everything he makes is just really badly written, but those are kind of tangential to what I'm trying to say here.

The main issue is that then, after no previous mention of Ardyn ever having had a love interest or family, we suddenly are told "actually, ALL of his motivation was about a dead woman". We had been already given plenty of reasons for the way he was: He'd been in the process of healing the Scourge, he was accused and "ostracized and daemonized" in his own words. We know he was imprisoned for some time, (again: I am treating pre-Terada stuff as canon here, so it wasn't necessarily all the time up to when he entered the Niflheim political scene) and we know he's unable to die! That's plenty!! That's a great reason to be upset!!!

And suddenly Aera gets introduced and none of what I just said is given *any* more attention. In fact it's actively stated (by him being perfectly docile at the start of EpA) that none of that mattered! He's fine! Totally not broken by betrayal and imprisonment!! Instead we're given a new character that has no reason to be there and no agency at all. She's just an accessory for Ardyn to be sad about.

Time to bring up another anectode about Terada. They did a livestream when the EpA anime dropped. They did a Q&A there. It wasn't live questions. These had been gathered, vetted, and pre-approved. He had EVERY OPPORTUNITY to prepare for it. He gets asked something along the lines (paraphrasing but I remember it very well): "I'm very interested in Aera! What can you tell us about her? What is she like?" What followed was a solid minute of the guy going "uhhh... ummm... well... uuuhhhhh.... she likes.... uhhh.... tea.... and uhhh... a-archaeology?" You know, like she has a shot in the anime where she's drinking tea, and another where her and Ardyn are in some old ruins for 5 seconds.

Alright, long enough post already. One last thing is many of you might point out that there's little difference betweeen Aera and Luna. And that's a valid point, but I have to disagree. Luna has many problems as a character, I won't deny that. She's criminally underutilized. But she has infinitely more agency than Aera, she's at least mentioned/acknowledged infinitely more, and the game actually properly explores and develops Noctis's OTHER reasons for doing what he's doing, so she's not solely a convenient piece of motivation for him.

#ffxv #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #Aera #Aera Mirus Fleuret #Final Fantasy XV #ITmade

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velvetvexations · 3 months ago

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Still hung up on that “culturally appropriating transfems” nonsense but since im in a bitter mood let’s talk about “”””appropriating”””” niche in-group signifiers. Let’s talk about the prevalence of “girlthing” as a new transfem-exclusive self description, about the “all trans girls have a secret other gender they only reveal to other trans girls” thing, about the “binary trans woman is a dogwhistle bc no transfem is truly binary” posts. Let’s talk abt all those paired with these people’s absolute disdain for ever associating themselves with nonbinary people. Nonbinary people just describing ourselves are obviously doing so to make transfems seem ‘less cool’ bc our genders couldn’t possibly be about US, but then they turn around and make post after post about how nobody outside their little group has ever known the depths and nuances of gender. But don’t you dare insinuate they’re not 100% fully woman nothing else. They’re only nonbinary when convenient to shut us up but never when they have to support us. And you can tell how performative it is bc any transfems who dare to describe their not-fully-woman gender in a way that doesn’t adhere to the pre-approved little memes gets immediately excluded or misgendered bc “girlthing” is basically just girl but “male woman” is hatecrimeing them by proxy. It’s so fucking blatant that only one group here treats gender identity and presentation outside the binary as purely aesthetic virtue signalling and it’s not the ‘TME genderfucks’ lmao.

(Same anon who sent the ask about the hypocrisy of so many of these blogs loving nonbinary memes when it suits them but being wildly exorsexist and hostile to any notion of solidarity with non-transfem nonbinary people, wanted to emphasise that this isn’t a transfem-specific issue, just a really obnoxious pattern with a lot of these TME/TMA people and that I don’t believe this is “”””culturally appropriating”””” nonbinary people or anything. I would actually agree that the line between binary and nonbinary trans identities is blurry for many of us! Hence why the double standards going around frustrate me so much! Sorry for the rambling I hope this made sense)

I'm torn because I don't think it's great to do what they do and insinuate their non-binary identity is superficial or fake in some way but it does really gall me how they rake me personally over the coals for calling myself a male woman while doing this shit. Ultimately they are non-binary if they say they are and we shouldn't be trying to prove they're the ones doing non-binaryism wrong, but the way they treat others is startlingly hypocritical, not because they're more fake but because none of their beliefs about "TME genderfucks" stems from any real viewpoints on being non-binary to begin with. It's all just purely a combination of bigotry and insecurity, and statements like "no trans woman is binary" make that extra clear when it's mostly people who do not in fact identify as non-binary that are having these tantrums.

#exor sexism #discourse

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valentoru · 8 months ago

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|| Limitless ||

[PROLOGUE.]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PROLOGUE : MASTERLIST : NEXT

If you were being honest, you had been in the fence about this whole band thing to begin with. Not because you didn’t like music, or couldn’t play any instruments—you definitely could. In fact, music was your thing—but rather you didn’t want to do it because of the press. They always said any press is good press, but is it really? Their opinions mattered to you, no matter what anyone said, putting yourself of a pedestal was rather daunting.

The idea of being at the forefront of media all the time shook you to your very core, yet when you’re friends came to you, with the “brilliant” idea of starting a band you, found yourself slapping on an far too fake grin and agreeing.

But that same night it had all hit you like a 16 wheeler, you would be put in the spotlight, every move would be deeply analysed yet now you had no choice, and backing out wasn’t in the question. Luckily for you though things hadn’t really taken off.

Well, that was until a few years down the line, you had had one big hit and that was it, everything did a tenfold from there.

But it all seemed to feel a bit better, understandable, after The Night.

The Night when you met The Guy.

The Guy who’s name you never actually got.

The Guy who—as you haphazardly stumbled through foggy eyes into an, or what you thought was, empty room—quickly asked you, “out of curiosity, is there a reason why you’re in this office?”

You squeaked. You tried you best to make out who it was, but you couldn’t really tell. The dark lighting of the room made his hair appear blonde, maybe even sandy-brown and he was tall. He was really tall. And his voice was deep, strong, dreamy. And that’s it. That’s all you could tell.

“Is this not a bathroom?”

“Nope.” It was precise, the way the “p” popped out of his mouth, perfectly.

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Fairly, since when I came in here there was no indication it was, and since being in here I doubt they’ve installed a toilet and plumbing.” Well, the man had a point.

“Oh I’m sorry you—you were probably doing something.” You gestured vaguely to where the desk was, or where you thought it was at least.

“Yes, I was, are you okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“The fact you came into this office crying looking rather frantic.”

This man really had to stop talking like he was Gojo Satoru himself. After all, this was Gojos house you were in, yet you were sure this man can’t have been Gojo, though you wouldn’t know, you only had pictures to go off, besides you and Gojo had never met before which is why when the whole band was invited to this party you were positively baffled.

“Not crying, actually,” a lie. “they’re just tears, not sad tears. You know?” Another lie. A contractor had just told you, you and your band would never make it. And while, you knew he wasn’t right, and you wanted to believe he wasn’t right you still found your eyes prickling with tears. The tears that threated to fall down your face, sloppy and messy, felt like small little rocks, or gravel had been lodged into your eye lids. That was probably thanks to the slightly expired contacts you were sporting tonight.

“I do not.”

You sighed, slumping back against the door. “It’s my contacts, they expired a little bit ago. There weren’t ever that good to begin with, and I did take them out for a while but, I need them to see.”

“Expired? You put in expired contacts.” His voice seemed to go up just an octave as though he was personally offended by that statement.

“Yeah, the stinging will go away soon.”

“Oh so you’ve done this before?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have they been expired.”

“I dunno, a couple years?”

“A couple years? They expired longer than a year ago?”

“Expiration dates are for the weak.” You heard a small laugh, though was it really small? The man was massive. Any sound he made was loud, rumbling deep in his chest.

“Why didn’t you get new?”

“Contacts are expensive.”

“So are eyes.”

Once again, he had a point.

The breath he let out was shaky, as though he was trying his best to compose himself.

“Have we met?” You quickly asked, filling the awkward silence which seemed to attempt to throw itself over you.

“No.”

“Oh. Were you at the last contractor party?”

“Nah. Not really my scene.”

“Oh? But the free food?”

“Yeah, wasn’t worth the mingling.”

Oh you had him placed easily. He must be one of those, the ones who got everything handed to him on a silver spoon. No one, who seemed to be like you—an upcoming musician— would turn down free food. After all, it’s not like it pays a good penny to be unknown. Though that was all changing recently, after the band had a big hitting single release.

“Oh, so you must be pretty popular then?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well why turn down free food.”

“I guess you have a point.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek closing your eyes tightly again to dull the pain. It would be useful if you could see the man in front of you.

“How long have you been in the business?” The question was very hit and miss. Some people took deep offence to questions like this, you still had no idea why. You sucked in a quick breath.

“Seven years, give or take.”

“Oh.” You exhaled all too quickly.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just curious, really.”

“Ah, okay.”

That awkward silence began to creep back into the room. Wedging between you and The Guy.

“So,” this time he was the first to break it, “why do you want to be a musician?”

A dumbfounded “Huh?” Was all you could say, and judging by the stifled laugh that threatened to pass his lips, your facial expression couldn’t have been any better.

The question wasn’t hard to answer. You’d answered it lots of times with ease, but for whatever reason this time, it felt loaded. Loaded and heavy. Like this one question alone was rivalling your whole entire existence.

“Well?” He pried.

To be honest, you answer to this question had always been a light hearted “because it’s cool.” Or “because I want to be rich.” and then it be done, moving swiftly past the question, but as you’d quickly realised, this wasn’t like that. No, this question had so much weight to it, it felt like a sucker punch to the face.

“I guess, I always found myself—” you took a deep breath—were you really going to be honest with a guy you’d only just met?— seems like it. “Well, that’s probably not the way to phrase it, what I mean is I always promised my mom I would make something of myself, and I’m going to do that I guess it’s just a bonus I get to do that with my friends.”

“Oh so you’re in a Band?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

For whatever reason you felt your face warming at this. When did you ever seek validation off of strangers?

The silence he was giving you almost felt like ridicule of some sort and you couldn’t help but prod at the answer you had already given. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that being in the eye is something to take lightly. I really don’t. It’s just that, well, I guess influential people these days aren’t trust worthy, almost like they do it on purpose getting people, kids, to believe in them then do something problematic. It’s dream shattering, you know? I just want to be someone people can actually depend on.” You let out a shaky breath, nodding your head. Fully satisfied with your own answer.

Yet, he still remained silent.

You couldn’t help but prod again, quickly opening your mouth. “Do you—”

“Really? And you’re sure you can remain credible?”

Did it suddenly get hot in here or what?

His interrogation had your gripping, fighting, begging for the cracks of insecurity to not show through, for the flood gates to not break.

“Yes. I do. It’s something I needed as a kid, now, I’m older and wiser to know, no kid should grow up without an idol, someone who shapes them so meticulously, so carefully, who genuinely is a good person.” You retorted maybe all too quickly. Your answer genuine under his penalising gaze, which you still couldn’t see, but could only feel. “What do you think thats not a good reason to be in this industry?”

“No, it’s a perfect one.”

TAGLIST(14/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @shuuji71 @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec

#⤷limitless #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smau #gojo x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smau #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #nobara kugisaki #megumi fushiguro #maki zenin

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nickel156 · 6 months ago

Text

IS RHYSAND MORALLY GREY?

OK, let’s get into it, because this idea that Rhysand is sooo morally grey? Yeah, not buying it. Let’s be real—he’s not a morally grey character, he’s just framed in a way that gives him a pass for a lot of his questionable actions. When you actually break it down, Rhysand is pretty black and white, but the narrative does a fantastic job of dressing him up as “complex” to make readers feel like his actions are more nuanced than they really are. Spoiler: they’re not.

His Actions Are Consistently Justified by “Good Intentions”

One of the biggest indicators that Rhysand isn’t actually morally grey is how everything he does, no matter how manipulative or controlling, is framed as being for the greater good. His decisions, whether it’s drugging Feyre or making her wear revealing outfits under the mountain, are always given this neat little justification. “He was protecting her,” “He had no choice,” “He was trying to outwit Amarantha.” A morally grey character wrestles with the consequences of their actions—Rhysand doesn’t. We’re told, over and over again, that what he did was necessary, and that alone is supposed to excuse him from criticism. That’s not moral ambiguity—that’s convenient narrative framing.

He’s Always Positioned as the Hero:

Let’s not pretend like Rhysand is ever in real moral conflict. His choices are presented as tough but necessary, and we’re rarely, if ever, given a moment where he actually grapples with the darker sides of those choices. Even when he makes questionable decisions, we’re spoon-fed reasons to believe he’s ultimately in the right. That’s not grey. That’s just a hero with a darker aesthetic. Compare him to actual morally grey characters who sit in their discomfort, who make selfish choices or hurt people without always having noble intentions behind it. Rhysand? Nah, he’s just the guy who always ends up looking like the hero, even when his actions should be called out.

His Morality Never Comes Into Question:

A true morally grey character is someone whose actions challenge not only the other characters in the story, but the readers too. We should be asking ourselves, “Is this person really doing the right thing? Should I be supporting this?” But with Rhysand? There’s never any real doubt. Even when he manipulates or controls others, we’re reassured that it’s all part of some grand, noble plan. His friends back him, Feyre forgives him, and the narrative never holds him accountable in a meaningful way. There’s no real complexity here, just a character who gets away with being controlling because the plot tells us to forgive him.

Everything Bad He Does Is Framed as a Sacrifice:

Rhysand is never portrayed as doing bad things because he wants to, or because he’s selfish, or because he’s flawed in a way. It’s always framed as him making a sacrifice for the greater good. He does bad things, sure—but the narrative works overtime to show us that he had to do them. When you’re constantly being told that a character’s questionable choices are out of necessity, you’re not being shown a morally grey character—you’re being shown a hero who occasionally has to get his hands dirty. Big difference.

He Doesn’t Struggle With His Decisions:

What makes a morally grey character truly compelling is when they struggle with their own decisions, when they recognize that they’ve hurt people or crossed a line, and they aren’t sure how to feel about it. But Rhysand? He’s remarkably comfortable with all of his decisions. He doesn’t dwell on whether or not what he did under the mountain was wrong; in fact, he hardly ever reflects on it at all. It’s presented as a burden, sure, but it’s a burden that’s neatly tied up with a bow: he did what he had to, end of story. He’s too comfortable in his righteousness to ever really be morally grey.

He’s Too Perfectly Framed as a Savior:

Let’s be real, Rhysand’s character arc is too neat and too perfectly framed as “Feyre’s savior” for him to be truly morally ambiguous. Every time he’s at risk of being seen as a villain, the narrative bends over backwards to remind us that he’s actually the one who saved Feyre, saved Prythian, saved everyone, really. A morally grey character wouldn’t be positioned so neatly as the savior figure. They’d be somewhere in between—someone whose actions could be seen as selfish or harmful, even if they had noble intentions. Rhysand, on the other hand, is always one step away from being a full-on white knight, cloaked in black and purple.

The Lack of Consequences

A true morally grey character faces the consequences of their actions, both externally and internally. But Rhysand? He rarely, if ever, suffers real consequences for the morally dubious things he’s done. Everyone either forgives him, rationalizes his behavior, or never holds him accountable in the first place. Where’s the moral ambiguity if there’s no fallout? If the narrative is bending over backward to redeem or justify every action, then there’s no real grey area—it’s just a hero getting away with questionable behavior.

In conclusion, Rhysand isn’t morally grey—he’s a hero painted with darker shades, but still a hero through and through. The narrative bends over backwards to excuse his actions, frame him as the savior, and justify all the harm he’s done as “necessary sacrifices.” There’s nothing morally grey about that; it’s just a case of good PR for a character whose dark side is polished up so much that it doesn’t even feel like a flaw anymore. If you want morally grey, look elsewhere—Rhysand is just a dressed-up hero, no matter how much the fandom wants to pretend otherwise.

#i'm not delusional. you're delusional #anti rhysand #anti rhys #anti feysand #morally questionable

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cottonlemonade · 1 year ago

Text

Not Enough

word count: 2537 || avg. reading time: 11 mins.

pairing: Oikawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, hurt, lots of pining

warnings: Oikawa is not kind to himself - at all!, mentions of sports injury (reader), self doubt (Oikawa), like… one suggestive line

> Oikawa met you when you became a part time coach for Takeru‘s volleyball club a few months ago

> originally you just wanted this job over the summer before starting university in Tohoku to make some extra cash but… now…

> your friends often asked why a 90min train ride each way for one somewhat low paying job was so important that you couldn‘t look for something else closer to university or ask for an extra shift at the café you worked at

> but besides the fact that you really grew to love the kids over the summer you also, foolishly, wanted to see this one guy who always came to cheer on his little nephew

> you knew it was simply going to stay a secret crush

> he didn’t really seem like the type of guy who would go for a chubby girl like you, but that was okay

> so once a week you would take the train from Tohoku to Sendai, using the commute to catch up on readings and going through your notes - heart racing, cheeks flushed and quite frankly, mind a little too fuzzy to concentrate on any kind of academics

> „y/n-senpai!“, the kids greeted you enthusiastically when you walked through the doors of the gym, swarming you immediately like the excited puppies they reminded you of

> after ruffling some hair here and giving a high five there, you looked around, eyes searching

> you always found it a bit sad how little their parents seemed to care because none of them ever stayed long before or after training - at least when you compared it to him

> he stood in the corner of the hall, absentmindedly rolling a ball in one hand while he made sure Takeru‘s jacket was neatly folded on his bag with the other

> Oikawa really notices you the first time when he is looking through his latest pictures of Takeru

> you are in a lot of them, somewhere in the background, encouraging your pupils, laughing when one of them randomly cartwheeled or clapping when they improved on a technique

> he doesn’t think much about you outside of those two hours each week when he sees you and it takes him a few tries to remember your name if he was honest

> but Takeru never shuts up about you so without noticing, you also sneak into his mind more often

> whenever they go to the convenience store before training to get some water, Takeru insists on getting a milk mochi for you (your favorite treat)

> this happened so often now that at this point Oikawa already grabs one without thinking

> and so he found himself one night looking at the newest snapshot of his ever growing photo roll

> during the last training session Takeru had served a perfect ace and Oikawa had almost lost his voice from cheering so loudly

> his nephew had insisted on taking a photo with the trainer who made it all possible and so there you were, smiling into the camera, imitating Takeru‘s little peace sign

> you were pretty cute when he thought about it

> the next few times he actually starts talking to you about something other than Takeru and finds he really enjoys making you flustered

> the blush on your full cheeks, the way you avoid his eyes and laugh softly is just about the cutest thing he has ever seen

> in no time he suggests to Takeru to arrive a little earlier than usual, the nephew eyeing him suspiciously

> “If you’re going to be creepy to y/n-senpai, I won’t help you.” (cue Oikawa’s dot eyes)

> in the middle of October you suddenly stop coming to the trainings though and instead the kids are greeted by a grumpy elderly man

> „Where is y/n-senpai?“, the kids whine

> „How should I know?“, the man just gruffly replies

> with each following week Oikawa‘s disappointment about not seeing you is only matched by Takeru

> Christmas was approaching and you decide to head back to Miyagi to hang out with some old school mates and spend the holiday with Saeko, her being one of your closest friends

> the winter break also meant that a training camp was coming up

> Karasuno, Nekoma, Furukodani and Aoba Johsei were on the menu

> the official camp activities were over for the day but a few people decided to continue training matches 3 on 3

> the captain of the Karasuno team kept checking his phone, Oikawa figured it was probably to monitor if they could make it in time for dinner in the cafeteria

> Daichi then suddenly grins and Oikawa overhears him telling his teammates he has a surprise for them

> Tanaka, Nishinoya and Hinata are immediately intrigued and wonder what it could be - food being the most prominent theory

> then the door opens and a loud voice calls „Ryuu-chaaaan!“

> “Ugh, you call my sister a surprise?“, Tanaka grumbles

> Oikawa was ready to set the ball for Iwaizumi when he notices a second girl appear, waving happily

> “Y/N-SAN!“ Nishinoya calls and runs towards the girl

> Oikawa does a double take

> it‘s you, how can you be here???

> Iwaizumi notices his gaze and follows it

> you and Saeko had been at a birthday party for a friend and you were the designated driver while Saeko is quite drunk hanging off of you

> you spend a few minutes catching up with the Karasunos (apparently you were a third year yourself last year and were the manager of the volleyball club because the girl‘s club didn‘t have enough members so you ended up playing with them after training)

> now it seems you are on the university team

> „How is your back?“, Daichi asked and you waved it off with a smile

> „It‘s there.“, you said vaguely, „But! I no longer walk like a Disney witch, so that‘s something.“

> the Karasuno third and second years laugh and Daichi put a hand on your shoulder, which for some reason had Oikawa tense his jaw

> when your eyes finally land on him, a rush of adrenaline surges through his body

> you smile and give a little wave

> Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi‘s eyes on him but ignores it

> the Karasunos meanwhile ask if you can come by again tomorrow and play with them

> „Uhm, I don’t know about playing but I'll definitely come watch, if you want. How is that?“, you offer diplomatically, the smile never leaving your face

> Saeko, by now half asleep, mumbles something about wanting to go to bed and you bow and say you should get her home

> with some last joyful goodbyes the boys return to their game

> „If I could die between her thighs, I would die a happy man.“, one of the Furukodanis says and Oikawa spikes the ball „accidentally“ against the back of his head even though he agrees with him

> the next day, as promised, you drop by to watch them play

> Oikawa grins to himself, very pleased indeed, when he hears a small gasp from the bleachers whenever he makes a particularly skilled move

> once practice is over for the day, the boys rush to get to dinner

> Oikawa hangs back in the changing room, deciding to get some more serves in before the others would return

> outside the gym though he is met with Daichi, Sugawara, Tobio and Hinata

> apparently the two third years trying to persuade the over-eager first years that sustenance was just as important as volleyball

> when Oikawa slips past them back to the gym, the door is still open a bit and the soft thuds of a volleyball can be heard

> Ugh, he was hoping to be alone for his training

> „You know, when I said „Let’s go get dinner, everyone.“ I really did mean „everyone“, Shittykawa.“

> „Come on, Iwa-chan, a few reps won‘t kill me.“, Oikawa gives his friend a cheeky grin and heads for the door

> he checks to see who is inside and spots you in a back corner trying to toss a ball against the wall but you visibly wince whenever you lift your left arm

> he recognizes this wince - immediately

> in frustration you spike the ball away with your right and bury your face in your hands

> after a few shaky breaths you straighten again, bending down to pick up another ball

> „Huh, what‘s y/n-san doing?“, Hinata pokes his head through the door and makes Oikawa jump a little

> the other dinner stragglers have now also come to watch

> „That looks painful.“, Tobio muttered

> Oikawa kicks off his shoes and begins to march over to you, but Iwaizumi grabs his arm

> Oikawa just shrugs him off

> „Someone should stop her, before she hurts herself.“, he says quietly, and jogs to you

> „y/n-chan…“, he says softly when he hears your little sobs

> he can clearly see you freeze for a moment, then a motion of you wiping your eyes before turning around, plastering a smile on your face but your eyes are red and puffy

> you look at him for a few heartbeats, before your smile slowly begins to fade „How likely is it, you‘ll believe me when I say it‘s allergies?“

> „Not likely.“

> you just nod and a new wave of tears is coming over you

> then you spot the handful of people gawking at the door and you give a quick bow to Oikawa before hurrying past him

> he sees you mumbling something to their others, only slipping into your shoes before leaving

> “Shouldn’t we go after her?”, he hears Hinata asking when he rejoins the group

> „Not all at once, that might overwhelm her.“, Suga says thoughtfully

> the next moment, the grey haired third year gives Daichi a little push

> „Why me?”, the Karasuno captain asks

> „Because we’re not the ones desperately in love with her.”, Suga declares matter of factly

> Iwaizumi gives his friend another one of his patented sidelong glances

> meanwhile Oikawa watches Daichi go after you

> and then turns to head back inside to train

> the hot shower does wonders for his exerted muscles, but little for his mind

> Oikawa rolls his shoulders, trying to relax but he can’t get the image of you crying out of his head

> and what happened when Daichi had gone after you?

> at least when he was practising he could pretend to focus on volleyball when really all he thought about was you and a possible confession slipping from the Karasuno captain‘s lips

> he turns the water off, steam enveloping him

> when had his crush turned into … this? Whatever this was.

> rubbing a towel aggressively through his wet hair he makes his way to his bag

> “You know I don‘t care about your love life.“

> the screech of horror coming from Oikawa echoes in the tiled washroom

> Iwaizumi stands, arms crossed in the doorway, glaring at his friend

> „Iwa-chan, you gave me a heart attack.“

> „Don‘t be dramatic.“

> “Then stop lurking around the showers.”, the setter says, back in his usual sing-song voice

> Iwaizumi closes his eyes in exasperation, a constant occurrence between them really

> Oikawa is rummaging in his bag for clean clothes

> “As I said, I don’t care about your love life. But… it would be nice for once to see you going after a sweet girl you actually like, instead of a random one that only wants you for your popularity.”

> the rummaging stops, Oikawa doesn’t look at him

> when he doesn’t reply, Iwaizumi sighs again, considering to throw hands before simply turning on his heel

> “Stupid idiot. Suit yourself, Trashykawa.”

> Oikawa straightens when the door falls shut, looking down at shirt in his hand

> his eyes wander to his phone

> a few weeks ago he had changed his lockscreen to a picture of Takeru, one where you were very clearly visible in the background, showing a little girl how to hold her fingers for a toss

> the picture appears inconspicuous to others, his nephew being the obvious main focus

> for Oikawa it was an easy way to look at your smile when his mind got cloudy

> he lets his head fall back and closes his eyes for a moment

> it would be selfish to confess to you

> you aren’t the kind of girl he could date for a few months and forget about when you inevitably dump him

> you deserve his full attention

> you deserve 110% of effort in a relationship

> and he knows he can’t give that to you

> he isn’t good enough to even suggest being your boyfriend

> plus, you only know his bright side

> the confident, witty, charming side he shows to everyone

> only very few people had ever seen him crack

> what if he snaps at you and you end up hating him for it?

> when his ugly - his true - self would rear its head and chase you away

> no, you deserve someone like Daichi, stable, reliable… good.

> he gets dressed, shoulders his bag and leaves the showers

> the sky is clear

> plenty of stars dotting the night

> his breath forms little clouds in front of him and he takes a deep breath of winter air

> then he spots you

> you are standing alone up by the club room, leaning on the railing, looking up at the stars

> without thinking he is already on his way up the stairs, his steps slowing the closer he gets to you

> he sets down his bag and shrugs off his jacket, gently laying it over your shoulders, you’re only wearing a sweater after all

> Oikawa turns and leans with his back against the railing, arms crossed, staring at his shoes

> “What happened?”, he asks, not quite sure which event he is exactly referring to - your injury or your alone time with Daichi

> after a small pause you tell him

> “It was in the first varsity tournament. I ran after a failed receive and couldn’t stop in time before … before hitting the wall.”

> Oikawa doesn’t say anything, he continues to stare at his shoes

> “I didn’t want to miss the game, I didn’t tell the trainer how bad it actually was… I was greedy and selfish. I wanted to play so badly. So… I lied and went back on the field, only making it worse.”

> you take a deep breath, steadying your voice again, before going on, “The doctor said it would take 6 to 8 weeks to heal. It’s been 10 weeks since then and I’m still in pain - too much pain to ignore.”

> when he hears your breath hitch again he looks up and sees new tears rolling down your cheeks

> and he pulls you into a hug, careful not to put pressure on your left side but hugging you closely on the right

> your face is pressed against his shoulder and he almost curls around you when he feels you returning his hug

> you fit so perfectly into him

> he still doesn‘t say anything, he just lets you cry, not planning to let go any time soon

> Oikawa doesn’t know how long he has been holding you when a phone starts buzzing

> you shift in his arms and very very reluctantly he lets go

> “It’s Saeko-san. I should really get going.”

> you pull his jacket off and hand it back to him

> “Thank you.”, and he watches you leave

#haikyuu x chubby reader #oikawa x chubby reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader

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9w1ft · 10 months ago

Note

i wanna be LSK but… //

I’m so sorry anon, but I personally find it really funny when people hear the songs where taylor is working through her feelings of being betrayed by Scott B and attribute them to karlie instead.

It’s like finding a man holding a gun standing over a dead body and saying, hang on a minute… what if the real murderer is the victim’s gf… because two of her friends liked a gossipy tweet written by a known shit-stirrer!

that is to say, we know for a fact that taylor felt deeply betrayed by scott b, seeing as he’s verifiably the actual person who sold her masters to scooter, after treating taylor like family since she was very young. it’s pretty self-evident he deserves the level of vitriol in the smallest man who ever lived (besides the other descriptive details that link him to tsmwel, mtr etc).

as for taylor and karlie suddenly never being seen together again (seemingly drifting apart a whole year before the heist even happened, remember?), well she hasn’t spoken on that, so naturally we read between the lines in the songs to find out. some people have taken the masters heist songs to be about karlie, and ran with that. but others see karlie and taylor’s retreat into privacy reflected in songs under the ‘love blackout’ theme (especially around here, you’re on a longtime kaylor blog 🙈)

love blackout = the hints taylor has put out again and again that she intentionally distanced her public image from karlie’s because it was too dangerous to carry on as openly as they had at first. 2016 election sadness themes, secret love themes, all consistent over the years. all while writing new love songs that use callbacks to the rep muse, to yail even 🥺. as if taylor’s been using all the confusion and her masterful quill of misdirection to achieve her priority of protecting karlie. not protecting karlie’s public image and clout with swifties, which she doesn’t need to maintain her success because she was always successful in her own right! no, it’s all for Karlie The Person in their secret bubble of reality. all this showmanship, you know. the great war, hello!!!! too many songs to name where the kaylor chandelier is safely out of sight, but you can still see flickers through the boarded up windows ❣️

so forgive me for having a chuckle. to any anons who sincerely🛸want to believe, I’m just throwing it out there that there are plenty of us that never found the karlie-betrayer theory convincing at all. if you take a closer look at everything, the timeline of events and all the songs since, does it really make sense? (especially when there are so many shitty men in the mix who are more obviously to blame lol)

~ if you post, thank you for facilitating this rant 9wing, I’ll get off my soapbox now xxx

yup yup

i think a lot of people are predisposed to blaming karlie and so everything becomes a sort of confirmation bias.. which partially, i would argue, was by design.. so in a sense i do not fault gaylors or others for falling into this hole. but i do sometimes feel like faulting them a tiny bit for those who never climb out of it. there’s plenty of information and clues needed to figure it out and climb out of it.

one thing i don’t like about the whole “let’s not talk about muses” discourse is while the spirit of it is supposed to be “let’s study why these songs sound gay instead of commenting taylor lyrics on these people’s instagram pages,” in practice the phrasing almost is like giving yourself permission to pass judgement on the people in taylor’s story and then never reevaluate them. people often say ~lets not talk muses that’s invasive and gross~ and conveniently refuse to adjust their perception of karlie (for example) based on what taylor is putting out there, while making convenient exceptions for any interpretation they find that works to reinforce their already negative perception of her. and then after bitching about her they’ll cover their timeline in lisa frank dolphins because apparently that’s what paradise is. i dunno. it all feels dystopian to me atp 😆

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forgottenfourr · 2 years ago

Text

i saw you in a dream - university smau

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chapter twenty two - and you are?

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a/n: ITS HERE!!!! you guys really didn't think i was going to hold it off any more, did you? HEHEHEHEHE

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yn’s pov:

you're running late to meet with chan, as usual, so here you are finding yourself sprinting to the studio at 12:59pm. at this point, you know chan is wholly used to your late arrivals. but you still feel awful about it nonetheless. you tried your best to look presentable today, at least more presentable than you have looked the past week or so. but you're pretty sure by the time you get there, all previous efforts to look nice will be completely out the window.

you didn't need to look nice for chan, but at least put together. he doesn't need to see how awful you've been doing since you ran out on him at the cafe. you are hoping that the nice outfit would distract him from the cavernous dark circles that have formed under your eyes.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you get to the building and don't see a sign of anyone around, giving you time to readjust your hair and smooth out your outfit.

the studio you and chan usually work in's door is wide open which is normally a sign that chan is in there waiting for you.

you stop for a moment a bit away from the room and take a deep breath. you haven't seen chan since you guys talked at the cafe and you've kept texting to a minimum. you're sure he's going to have questions and honestly, you weren't sure how you were going to answer them without making another person think you're insane. and this time it isn't even one of your best friends.

sure you and chan have become friends, but nothing of the sorts where you can just tell him about your recent burdens and what has been making you lose your mind more and more every day for the past 7 months until you finally snapped.

but maybe he won't ask because of that reason. you guys are just friends for convenience. that's it. and maybe he knows where the line lies and that asking anything thing more than "are you okay?" is crossing a boundary that no one has actually previously set.

it's fine. even if he does ask you'll just explain that you were... what would you say? shit. fucking shit.

"it's whatever! it's nothing!" you say to yourself and you continue to walk towards the studio.

you're silently hitting yourself in the face as you walk into the room. gaze drawn down to your hands as you step in the threshold.

"hey chan sorry i'm late," you begin speaking before moving your eyes from your hands. too embarrassed at the fact that he definitely just heard you talking to yourself.

you look up for only a second to realize that it was not in fact chan sitting in the room but someone else.

you're quick to throw your head back down and spin around before even processing anything that you have seen. sputtering out apologies.

"omg! i'm so sorry! normally my friend and i meet in this room and we were supposed to meet here today an-" you can't seem to shut the hell up.

before you can embarrass yourself any further you quickly begin walking running out the door.

you make it just past the studio next to the one you were just in before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

by instinct, you whip around, mostly expecting to meet chan's face.

but instead of chan you were met with an all too familiar set of star-filled eyes and heartwarming smile. along with the white blonde hair you grew ever so fond of.

before you can say anything, the man seems to realize what he has done and quickly let go of your wrist and take a couple steps back.

you never thought you were going to see him again.

"do you-" the boy clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck.

in this moment, you can't help but let a few tears well in your eyes as you stand there staring at him with the biggest smile on your face. it was him. really him. and from the looks of it, he knows who you are too.

he looks more amazing in person than he did in your dreams, which you thought was practically impossible.

"you have them too?" you ask, hoping that asking the question would relieve some of the nerves he seems to be choking down.

you didn't think his eyes could shine any brighter, but at your words, they did.

"oh my god. it's you." he says breathlessly, almost as if he seems to think you're just an apparition that formed itself in front of him.

sudden realization seems to hit him as he is taking everything in.

"wait, are you yn?" he asks

you feel your cheeks warm as he asks that. unsure of how he knows your name and slightly terrified of what he knows about you.

you clear your throat, "would it be bad if i said yes?"

he practically jolts at your question. "oh my god no no no no no! it's fine, perfect even!"

you laugh at his state of panic. mentally taking note of how cute he looks when flustered.

"and you are?" you ask, not knowing that his response is about to probably, most definitely be one you would've never expected.

"yang jeongin"

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xoxo, four <3

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thewebcomicsreview · 8 months ago

Text

Oh hey, Hamsteak 2. Looks like Vriska's...back in Alternia? In a dreambubble?

they sent the thief here in search of power; the power to escape the containment i so painstakingly set up for them

Al confirmed as the Candy narrator. Also confirmed that the black hole is "containment" for the dreambubbles and non-canon worlds, and that all the ghosts falling in wasn't an accident of fighting Lord English.

the black hole could only ever shelter them for so long, and in their haste to shrug off my protection they have opened the door to something far, far hungrier.

This panel is a callback to Karkat about to open the door to the New Universe. Where there were interrupted by Jack Noir. Vriska is interrupted by-

Yoo! It's Davepeta! Who feel into the black hole and has been conspicuously absent ever since. They're the only Ultimate who is not connected to Dirk, and in some ways the only "true" Ultimate. Interesting that Al considers them such a threat, when Davepeta has never been anything but benevolent.

Looks like it's all the sprites, in fact. Why...are there two Nannasprites? Oh god, I'm being pushed to the endless limits of my ability to remember Homestuck Lore. Is one of them pre-retcon? I do not remember.

ERISOLSPRITE: wwe'vve been here for liike a miilliion fuckiin 2wweep2. DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < actually we just got here DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < this place didnt even exist until she popped in ERISOLSPRITE: gue22 ii'll fuck my2elf.

It didn't exist until a character arrived, at which point it retroactively existed the whole time, like how a planet works.

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < does that not sound insane to you fefeta? FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 383

What? How are Davepeta and Fefeta coexisting? That definitely doesn't make sense.

Well, logic be damned, it's apparently time for a Vriska training arc.

Gah! Talksprites! Also, Vriska enters "Hell" on page 666 of Homestuck 2, which is I think the first time this comic has aimed at any kind of Meaningful Number.

God, we are full on visual novel here. I didn't know Ren'Py could export to web, but I guess it shouldn't surprise me. I presume/hope the save option is default and won't be needed here, it's 1:30am.

Tavros is here and, much more oddly, alive. I suddenly understand jack shit.

I have no memory of Tavros ever forgiving Vriska for anything...or, for that matter, Vriska even being aware she did anything that needed to be forgiven. I presume she's just lying here, though.

This line combined with this pose is the essence of Vriska

So, Vriska's being forced to "grow as a person" and her big idea to finish her character arc is to atone for her sins by getting Tavros to take revenge on her. Vriska thinks that the secret to gaining power is getting Tavros to kill her.

I wonder where she got that idea.

But that time she refused to mind control Tavros into killing her, she wanted him to grow from it, too. Now we're past that.

I felt smart for remembering the K8LL ME bit but we're being really obvious about it now so I guess they just assumed everyone would and I'm not special :(

Oh shit. Erisol wasn't kidding.

Davepeta roleplaying being a cat who dies horribly is kind of the perfect synthesis of Dave and Nepeta. What is this music. It's very toot-y.

Oh hey a text log. How convenient. So we're trapped in a time loop, then, explicitly recreating Groundhog Day. I guess that explains the infinity hourglass on the Plot Point machine.

Vriska's having a bad couple of years.

Davepeta is "countless" cool dudes and kitty girls, which I think is the first explicit confirmation they're an Ultimate Self, though that was pretty strongly implied at least. The only Ultimate to do so without Dirk's involvement.

Stop letting me intuit things and then immediately making them clear! I don't care if it's good writing, it's making my liveblog bad!

It's so weird to compare this Davepeta to the one in Homestuck OG. There Davepeta was presented as this wise sage mentor figure who'd achieved enlightenment, and here they're much more of "Dave + Nepeta's combined silliness as one character". It's a subtle difference, but go back and read Davepeta giving this same kind of talk to Jade back in Homestuck 1. I guess that's the difficulty of a character with so little screentime in the original, they're either very limited or they feel slightly off.

Oh my fucking god, a to-be-continued select screen. Shit, that takes me back in an unexpected way.

Also, from the associated news update, "the big flash" is apparently several months away (10/25?), and I have to say they might want to be careful about overhyping it, if they have small flashes and now Ren'Py novels that are just preludes. If it's anything less than a Cascade after months and months of hype it could fall flat where a surprise [S] Enter would've popped the fanbase hard.

#Homestuck #Homestuck 2 #Homestuck 2 Liveblog

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twstunes · 1 year ago

Text

okay this isn't a tierlist it's more of a groupings list

BORING DRESS SHOES CONTAINMENT ZONE

[ Trey, Deuce, Jack, Azul, Jade, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Trein ]

There's not much to say about most of these except that I don't like them. Yes yes they're functional and fit the personalities of those wearing them. I'll still die on the hill that plain dress shoes are more boring than they are classy >:/

Trey, Deuce, Jack, and Silver all have on penny loafers, which are about as casual as you can get while still counting as formalwear-appropriate. Azul and Jade appear to both have on plain-toe oxfords, which I'm sure they coordinated on. Malleus and Trein also seem to have some variety of oxfords, though Trein might be wearing derbies?

Sebek's in here bc I'm not quite sure what's going on with his shoes. Considering that rectangular portion on the interior sides & the fact he's in Equestrian Club, I wouldn't be surprised if they were jodhpurs? They accomplish the same visual effect as basic dress shoes, though, so in the containment zone he stays.

ZESTY DRESS SHOES

[ Riddle, Floyd, Lilia, Crowley, Crewel, Sam ]

Floyd, Lilia, and Sam make up the milder end of the zest spectrum. Floyd made his own shoes and thus gets a cool-by-default technicality. Lilia's shoes are fairly basic loafers, but the bat engraving and large golden heels are enough to nudge them under the "interesting" umbrella. Sam's shoes aren't really visible under his spats, but he remembered the crucial aesthetic detail of matching his spats w/ his gloves, so he gets a pass.

Riddle's shoes have heart-shaped cap toes and heels so chunky they might as well be wedges; both of these details perfectly fit his heart-themed and undersized ass. Crowley appears to have on derbies w/ extensive lace-patterned embellishments, which feels in-line with his love of fancy little baubles. I'd assumed Crewel was wearing saddle shoes at first glance, but now that I'm looking at them…those are full brogues, I'm pretty sure? (Good walking shoes, thus a good pick for a dog owner.)

BOOT CORNER

[ Rook, Epel ]

Rook is a hunter, and hunters need sturdy shoes that can hold up to long treks through the wilderness (or across campus). These are literally boots you could pick up at any given Tractor Supply. I personally believe Vil hates these shoes but cannot do anything to stop Rook from wearing them. He balances them out with his fancy hat, though, so maybe that's enough to placate Vil?

Epel grew up in Harveston, where I don't think it's possible to wear anything less than boots without getting frostbite most months of the year. Epel's probably been stomping around in these bad boys for A While; the tartan pattern is just unique enough to make it feel more like a hand-me-down than something Vil would buy for him.

ACTUAL SENSIBLE SHOES

[ Cater, Ace, Ruggie, Jamil, Idia, Vargas ]

Cater goes with some stylish slip-ons. They're comfy, they're convenient, and they go with most outfits. This dude would definitely wear the checkered Vans if he could.

I fully believe Ace picked out his shoes based entirely on how they looked. It worked out well in the end tho, bc they're perfect for how active he is. He and Idia are the only ones who don't change into different shoes for PE.

Ruggie, Jamil, and Vargas all have on practical, comfy sneakers, which makes sense considering they're some of the most active people on campus—Ruggie and Jamil are constantly running errands, and Vargas teaches PE all day. I like that Jamil's actually seem a little faded from use, though chances are that's just how they're supposed to look.

Idia, despite being a shut-in, at least has the good sense to put on what appear to be velcro shoes when he goes out. (Choosing velcro over laces is also maybe a safety thing? Easy to get on and off, no laces to come undone and trip over. Very important in a dorm with a lot of expensive tech!)

OUTLIERS

[ Leona, Kalim, Vil, Ortho ]

Leona is well-aware of the standard level of chaos that happens every day at NRC, but that isn't going to stop him from wearing sandals instead of something more protective. Dude wants to be comfy above all else, and frankly, I respect it. Either Crewel hasn't noticed Leona's lack of lab-safe footwear or he's given up on getting the guy to wear closed-toe shoes.

Kalim has on juttis w/ the classic curled/pointed tips. Iirc, curled, pointed tips are startlingly good at reducing the amount of sand that gets into shoes! Seeing as both his home and dorm are in desert environments, these make perfect sense for Kalim's go-to footwear.

Someone at this school full of prettyboys had to put on the heels, and Vil is the only baddie committed to fashion enough to follow through. This pair is undoubtedly custom-made—not just because that's the kind of person Vil is, but because they specifically feature Pomefiore's dorm colors.

Ortho doesn't wear shoes. That's just his body. He also doesn't walk in these bc, according to Idia, "walking is for normies." This foot design is present in all of Ortho's bodies except for his athletic gear, seeing as his athletic gear is the only one meant for walking instead of floating. (Since they're shaped kinda like pincers, I wonder if he can use them for picking things up?)

#if i don't make little charts and lists occasionally i'll die. thank u for your understanding #rip to ppl that reblogged the original version of the post fghjgf i forgot to mention the bats on lilia's shoes.....#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted rambling

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stephofromcabin12 · 8 months ago

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Any art tips for artists just starting out? I’m struggling big time to find my style 😀

Sure.

It got kinda long. Bc when have I ever been a person of few words?

There is no trick to finding your style other than drawing a lot, and setting a, more or less, loose goal. When I was young it was old school Disney and Don Bluth. That was my holy grail, ideal style. But it evolved to be something else, because that's how style works. You'll put your own twist on things, in time. But first focus on practicing and don't narrow yourself down to just one thing. You'll also probably develop multiple styles out of convenience. Sometimes I prefer the cartoony, simpified stuff. Sometimes I'm more into fully rendered pieces.

Experiment. Make bad art a lot. The more you expose yourself to the inherent let-down of sucking at something, the less it stings. The key is asking yourself why something didn't turn out right.

You can't get good at All Art at once. Start with something you're most interested in learning. Maybe it's anatomy, or gestures, or expressions, or colors. Start with that one thing and practice is with a specific goal in mind. Fx: "I want to get better at drawing faces and expressions, so I'm going to do an expression sheet of a character once a week, and do a little practice every day if I can" – That sorta thing. Everyone is different, though. My old music teacher used to say 30 minutes a day. If we couldn't do 30; 15 mins. So on. As long as you do a lil doodling every day that's still progress.

Learning art is sometimes frustratingly non-linear. Somedays I still 'forget' how to draw a certain thing I've had down since I was 14. Other days I bang out something I've always struggled with on the first try, then fail the next day. It's not a linear progression, it's a damn roller coaster. Best you can do is throw your hands up and try to enjoy the ride. The pipe line for me is usually: First attempt (sucks ass but I've learned to laugh at this stage, just throw ideas at the wall) -> getting comfortable (this is where you think to yourself you have a concept down but you really don't) -> Getting good (you start to draw with more ease, you're not having to 'remember' how you wanted something to look, it's just muscle memory by now) -> Actually having it down (and still having more growth to go. But this is where you get to look back on the comfortable phase and go: 'wow I really had a long way to go')

In fact, having fun is by far the thing that's made me progress. More than tutorials, more than fancy equipment. If I'm not having fun, I have no motivation to keep going. If it's not fun, try and make it so.

Get into the habit of stepping back (whether physically or more metaphorically) and really looking at your art often while you draw. When you add a line, or color, or background element etc. Ask yourself "Does this work?" And adjust accordingly. It seems like a lot of work at first, but eventually it becomes a natural part of the process. I don't really realise I'm doing it but most of the patreon screen recordings I have show the way I zoom in and out of the canvas constantly lol.

Make the things you want to make. Even the most self-indulgent stuff. We have a million artists already doing their thing, but we don't have you yet. Show us what you got! There's room for everything.

Get used to people expressing mild envy/annoyance when you're drawing near them. I've gotten the 'wow I wish I could draw, I can't even do a stick figure!' comment from waitresses, cabin crews, classmates I'd previously never spoken to, teachers, strangers on trainstations, etc etc etc. But! Learn to say 'Thank you' when people compliment your art.

Don't ask for critique if you don't really want it. Don't let people critique you if you didn't ask for it.

You! Don't! Need! Fancy! Equipment! Save your money and get the version of a medium that's affordable and comfortable for you. Look at Stardew Valley's creator's old setup. It's really not about how the tools are set up or the price of them. It's how you make use of them. Didn't FNAF's creator build the models in a moving car on a laptop?

Art takes time. There is no short cut to make it take less time. But the more fun you have the more it'll feel like it's faster. If you're miserable the time will drag on and on and on.

Look at a lot of art. Take in and analyse. I wish I could go back a few years and tell myself to analyse paintings I liked, rather than just going "Oh I like that! Nice!" and then moving on. Why is it good? Why does it move you? What captured your attention? Be the person at a museum leaning forwards to see the paintstrokes, you learn more that way.

Don't feel ashamed if you want to take inspiration from others. Everyone takes inspiration from somewhere. If you see something cool another artist is doing with their rendering or lighting or whatever, try and do a drawing or two emulating it! Maybe you'll discover a new favorite technique, or you'll not really jam with it. Either is good. Both teach you something.

You'll go through more eras than Taylor Swift. Sometimes you gotta do a lil Eras Tour of your own and go back through the catalogue. I'm currently working on reviving several projects I made when I was 13-14. Keep everything. Don't delete; archive.

Get good storage. Like, seriously, wish for a harddrive your next birthday or christmas or whatever. If you're working traditionally wish for some good ringbinders and the good plastic sleeves. Much nicer than running out of storage and having to delete things. Never delete!

You are already an artist. You became one the second you picked up a pen and put it to paper, and then decided to keep going with that. So don't compare yourself. When you find yourself jealous of someone, it's because they have something you want. Figure out what it is, and make it for yourself.

Deadass? Tracing helps so much with learning forms. But it's only helpful when you also practice drawing the same things freehand.

The trick to coloring is just that everything looks good shaded with purple set to multiply, and that if you're ever in doubt go in an L shape on color wheel. Down in brightness, inwards in saturation.

People who say you can never use white or black in drawings are jerks and you should not listen to them. You can do literally everything you want. Sure, experiment with other ways of using white and black. But art advice is just that: It's an option, not gospel. As a wise prophet of our time, Justin Bieber, once said: Never say never.

People will say you should be your own biggest critic. But fuck that. Be your own biggest cheerleader. Love what you make, even when you hate it, find something that works. That stepping back I mentioned in point 6? Sometimes that's zooming out and saying "Damn! That looks really good!" – People will often make art out to be something that should be suffering and painstaking. It's not though. In my honest experience, I've made just as much good art when I was happy and content, as I did when I had severe depression and anxiety and burnout. You're not an artist because you suffer. You're an artist because you can't just sit in that suffering all the time. You know there's beauty besides your pain, and so you'll remind yourself in the act of creation that there is always something more.

Once you realise you have the power to draw truly anything, you'll start having a lot more fun. "Oh but I've never done it before" or "Oh I tried and it just didn't work" Okay. So?

In case of frustration to the point of throwing your art supplies out the window: Take a breath. Go for a walk. Sometimes it's just not your day. Sometimes the rollercoaster gets stuck in the middle of a loop or right at the top of a hill. Wait it out. Try again.

You have absolutely got this. Let me know if there's anything else I can help with.

#asks and answers #art advice #ames rambles

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