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streetlamp-amber · 3 months ago

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first kicks

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 1.9k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: family fluff, pregnancy NOTES: i wanted to write more batfam fluff this time with jason included. very sorry if jason is ooc, most of my knowledge of him comes from fics lol

Rainy Sunday afternoons at Wayne Manor were usually spent with you and your sons in the living room, occupying the big U-shaped sectional sofa. Sometimes Bruce would join you three, resting his feet on the coffee table as he worked on his laptop. Today was one of those days.

You were helping Dick do some research on the internet for a science school project that was due next week while Jason laid on his stomach on the other side of the couch, reading a Where’s Waldo? book by himself. Your husband sat in the other corner of the couch, doing some research on the latest villain terrorising Gotham. You didn’t mind if the work he was doing was for Batman, as long as he spent some time with the family outside of the cave, you were satisfied. Especially since the Wayne clan was about to expand in a little more than four months. Plus, with your belly growing bigger as the weeks went by, it was becoming harder for you to do some tasks around the house. Tasks that you didn’t want to ask Alfred for help with since it was your husband’s job to be at your beck and call through the pregnancy. Bruce obviously didn’t mind and loved helping you, he just sometimes tended to get lost in his Batman work for long periods of time.

The television was playing in the background, a football game between two teams that you didn’t really care about was taking place but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t work well without some sort of background noise and this was doing the job.

”So Dick, have you chosen which natural disaster to base your research project on?” Bruce asked your eldest while closing his laptop and joining him on his other side, making the twelve year old squished between his parents.

”We’ve narrowed it down to three: the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and Hurricane Katrina,” Dick answered, clicking on different tabs of each of the natural disasters as he named them. “I want to do my research on a popular one so I can easily find all the information I need.”

”Smart, isn’t he?” You smirked at Bruce as you mindlessly threaded your fingers in Dick’s dark hair who continued scrolling on the internet.

“Never thought otherwise,” your husband said, mirroring your grin. “Jay, have you found all the Waldos yet?” He leaned forward to ask Jason.

“I’m almost done,” the six year old easily dismissed Bruce, not even bothering to tear his eyes away from the pages.

“It’s best not to bother him when he’s searching for Waldo,” you informed your husband in a low volume.

Bruce nodded his head in understanding and redirected his attention back on Dick. “So, how are you gonna make your choice, chum? You could write them down on three pieces of paper and do a draw,” he suggested, leaning his arm on the back of the couch behind Dick, his fingers playing with the neck of your tshirt.

“Dad, I don’t need to write it down on some paper,” Dick sighed, a little annoyed. “You can do that on the internet now.”

“You can?” Bruce asked, surprised. Your husband was really tech savvy when it came down to work related to Batman, but silly, random stuff like a drawing roulette was not part of his internet knowledge.

You leaned your head on your left hand that was propped on the back of the couch and soothingly rubbed your round belly with the other. You watched with a soft smile Dick showing Bruce how to generate a random picking wheel to spin on the internet. Moments like these were the ones you cherished the most, domesticity wasn’t always the norm around here when you had two vigilantes living under your roof so you always tried to savour them whenever they happened.

The calmness in you was interrupted when you felt movement under your right hand.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes round like saucers as you looked down at your bump and raised up the hem of your shirt to make sure what you felt was right.

“What?” Bruce immediately turned his attention to you. “What is it? Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

“I think the baby just kicked,”you said, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“The baby just kicked?” He repeated in disbelief.

You shook your head ‘yes’ just as you felt more movement. “The baby kicked again.”

Bruce rapidly stood up to sit by your side while Dick discarded his laptop before placing a hand on your belly and Jason left his book to climb on your husband’s lap to be closer to you. All had a hand on your stomach, staring at it expectantly, waiting for another kick.

“I don’t know if the baby’s gonna kick again,” you told them.

“Well that’s just not fair,” Jason whined.

“We just need to be patient,” Bruce said. “I’m sure the baby will do it again.”

And sure enough he was right.

“Oh my God! I felt it! I felt the baby kick!” Dick exclaimed, though he kept the volume of his voice to a low level as if he would scare the baby away if he screamed.

“I wanna feel it too!” Jason cried.

“Here Jay, put your hand there,” you told your youngest as you gently grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to a different area of your belly, closer to Dick’s hand.

“Maybe if we keep talking, the baby will kick again,” Dick suggested.

“That’s true, babies can hear us from inside the mother’s belly,” Bruce agreed with him.

“They can?” Jason looked at you quizzically.

You chuckled at his confused face as you brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Yeah they can, it’s not completely soundproof in there,” you answered him.

“That’s why Dad is always talking to your belly?” Dick asked.

You fully laughed at this. “Yes, that’s why Dad talks to the belly. You can too if you wanna.”

“We can?” Dick perked up then leaned closer to your bump. “Hi baby, I’m Dick. Your big brother,” he said.

Jason also leaned forward. “And I’m Jason, I’m also gonna be your big brother.”

“Yeah but I’m the big big brother, I’m the oldest,” Dick argued.

“But I’m gonna be a big brother too!”

“Boys,” Bruce intervened. “No arguing around your mother. The baby will hear enough of that when it joins our lives, let it have its peace while it’s in the womb.”

A series of kicks started at that moment, making Dick and Jason gasp in surprise at the movements they felt under their hands. Bruce turned to you and the two of you shared a look full of love.

“That’s our baby,” he said to you, almost in a whisper, while Dick and Jason continued marvelling at the fact they could feel their sibling.

“That's our baby,” you repeated in confirmation. Nothing could've erased the smiles on both of your lips.

“I love you,” Bruce said against your forehead before leaving a soft kiss there and pulling away to share a short peck on the lips with you.

“Ew! Gross!” Jason interrupted your moment. Your sons weren’t the biggest fans of you and Bruce’s displays of affection for each other.

You giggled at the boys’ antics but still took a second to say “I love you” back to your husband.

“Someone should get Alfred so we can share this moment with him,” you suggested to the kids.

“Not it!”

Jason and Dick quickly shouted, the former being the fastest to say it.

Dick groaned before he stood up from the couch and jogged out of the living room. The faster he would find Alfred, the faster he would be back next to you. “Alfred! The baby is kicking for the first time!” Dick called through the manor for your butler.

“He knows he doesn’t need to scream, right?” Bruce asked you. “Alfred can hear the boys break something all the way from the other side of the house.”

“Oh, let him be. He’s just very excited about the baby kicking,” you lightly reprimanded him with the corner of your mouth pulling up in a smirk.

You detached your gaze from your husband down to Jason who now had both of his small hands on your belly, his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ and his eyes round with wonder in them.

“This is so cool,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Looks like you’re gonna have some competition Jay, that baby sure is kicking a lot,” Bruce jokingly commented as the kicking didn’t stop.

You chuckled as you remembered all the times you’d stop by the gym room to find Jason relentlessly kicking at Bruce’s punching bag. For a six year old, he already had so much anger pent up inside his little body and it worried you sometimes. But ever since Bruce brought him back to the Manor, Jay had been getting better. The amount of vases thrown at the wall had drastically decreased since then, both to yours and Alfred’s reliefs, and he instead would run to the gym room and let out his anger on the punching bag when needed.

“I can’t wait to play fight with you,” Jason whispered loudly to your belly with a smile.

“No,” you immediately said.

“Best you stick to play fighting with Dick for a couple more years, buddy,” Bruce told your son.

Jason pouted. “But he's always pulling some acrobatic shit–”

“Language!” You scolded him.

“But Ma! Dad and Dick say it all the time!” Jason cried out defensively. “That’s not fair,” he retracted his hands from your belly to cross his arms over his chest.

“Well Dad and Dick, and you too apparently, will not be saying words like that around the baby,” you warned. “Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Jason mumbled.

“Capiche?” You repeated, now glaring at your husband.

“Hey, I’ve really been refraining on the bad words ever since Dick joined us,” Bruce argued but you raised your eyebrows in a way that said this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Capiche,” Bruce sighed out, knowing he wasn't going to win this fight.

“Master Dick, slow down a little. There’s no need for running,” you heard Alfred’s voice approaching down the hall.

“But Alfred, the baby is kicking!” Dick reiterated.

Your oldest ran in the living room, his hand firmly holding Alfred’s who tried to keep up behind him.

“I heard you the first ten times, Master Dick, the baby will still be there no matter how fast we get there,” Alfred argued.

“Yeah but it might stop kicking,” Dick said and the two sat on the couch to your unoccupied left.

“Don’t worry chum, the baby’s still kicking,” Bruce told him while looking fondly at your belly.

“Please Alfred, feel the baby,” you said to your butler with an inviting smile, grabbing his hand that rested on his knee and gently squeezing it. “We want you to be part of this moment too.”

Alfred’s hand joined the others on your bump and the old man smiled at you and Bruce as he felt the tiny bumps moving around under your skin. “This is sensational.”

“Isn’t it?” You smiled back at him, content to have everyone you wanted to share your baby’s first kicks with.

Your little family of five (soon-to-be six) remained on the couch until the baby grew tired and stopped kicking, much to Dick and Jason’s dismay. Alfred went back to his tasks, the boys to their laptop and book, and Bruce wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you cuddled next to him, watching over your children and just enjoying the normalcy of this Sunday afternoon.

Domesticity used to be rare at the Wayne Manor, but not anymore. And you, for one, were very happy about it.

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mychapel-004 · 2 months ago

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a note on "fordtramine"

just a thought while im working on a comprehensive history of bill.

by now i'm sure it's common knowledge that stanford's favourite colour is "fordtramarine", a colour only him and bill are able to see due to bill rewiring his optic nerve as a gift, but something i find very interesting is this page from thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

specifically, that note at the bottom on the "beautiful" paintings ford submitted to (unsuccessfully) demonstrate the colour. most of them are normal, including a self portrait in gouache until you get to "(E) A muse, oil on canvas".

not only that, but in the abstract ford writes that "specific two dimensional entities may act in the same way as a prism, refracting light.... new perceptions"

something something devoting a painting to your muse in the colour that they let you name, that they gifted you with the ability to see. something something bill acting as a prism, like the crystals ford keeps all over his house, that ford can look through, like a doorway into a world entirely made of the weird and wonderful that you connect so deeply with. a world that you can never show anyone else, your canvases are always blank and no-one else has the eyes that you do, your study is rejected and no-one will hear you out.

do you think bill felt that way? growing up, able to see what others couldn't, "its not your fault you have that strange eye", "the doctor says three sips a day will make the visions go away", able to see an entirely different dimension to his own parents, always too different and too strange and too weird.

CODES: "THEY'LL SEE" "THEY'LL ALL SEE" "THE EUCLYDIAN DEPT OF VISION SUPERVISION"

growing up in a world where it seems that seeing beyond the norm is heavily punished, it's kind of telling that bill's gifts to ford are often relating to seeing or knowing things that ford would never experience without bill (new colours, new directions for his research, his mindscape, the portal). the gift of vision from a god who grew up being blinded. bill really is his all-seeing eye, in a lot of ways.

in the same way, fiddleford's gifts to ford almost always revolve around very human comfort (gloves to fit his hands specifically, a pet to keep him company, a snowglobe reminder of the time they spent together) comfort that he was too distracted to devote to his wife and child, only ever to ford who broke or threw them away.

fiddleford accepted ford for who he was, and he showed that through his gifts. all of ford's strangeness and brilliance, gloves made specifically to protect and warm six fingers, a pet that looked like him for him to ramble to when fidd is gone. bill's gifts were brilliant and tailored just for ford, but they were isolating. experiences he could only have with bill, things that made him stranger, more alone, pulled him further into the weirdness, the grey area. all in preparation for the day bill would take things too far, and pray ford, so alike to him, would join him.

#eden rambles #gravity falls #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #billford #fiddauthor #bill cipher #stanford pines #gravity falls meta

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writerunnamed · 2 months ago

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note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that.

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together.

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess.

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child.

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it.

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls.

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy.

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on.

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him.

To you, it was pathetic.

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this.

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman.

It was shameful to imagine yourself.

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt.

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full.

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not.

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained.

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left.

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult.

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach.

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again.

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember.

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now.

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out.

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence.

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races.

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it.

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut.

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche.

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you.

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression.

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye.

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street.

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry.

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house.

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him.

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly.

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean.

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face.

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body.

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real.

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again.

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.”

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it.

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting.

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper.

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t.

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell.

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame.

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl.

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind.

You doubled down on avoiding him after that.

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you.

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person.

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time.

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation.

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job.

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home.

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny.

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid.

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy.

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you.

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open.

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content.

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth.

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again.

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time.

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open.

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought.

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet.

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement.

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough.

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out.

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly.

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes.

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip.

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy.

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting.

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his.

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard.

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass.

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze.

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver.

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs.

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word, should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren.

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly.

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates.

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin.

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him.

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper.

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it.

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision.

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him.

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast.

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now.

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress.

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die.

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy.

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you.

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him.

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years.

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world.

The wrong thing wins.

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear.

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm.

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him.

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan.

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria.

What have I done? What have you made me do?

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #pedro pascal #tw stepdad #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #unseemly #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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makemycitybreak · 2 years ago

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Tw suicide (and v long background info for short vent hahah)(if anything just read the tags they're like almost the same length as the post)

So like last week (??) I was talking to my dad cause my student council was like putting smth on instagram about international men's day which you know kinda funny sorry and then I had this lil friendly conversation with my dad about men's mental health and we talked about how the statistics for suicide are kinda misleading when talking about mental health (bc women are more likely to attempt suicide, and the argument is often that men have it "worse" than women bc they are more likely to commit suicide and actually succeed with it) and then my dad was like "oh but like sometimes suicide is meant to actually kill you and sometimes it's more of a cry for help etc" and I was like "yeah but I think lots of people who OD actually mean to kill themselves" and my dad agreed but then he said that like if you really want to do it there are other ways and yeah sorry this conversation was kinda long back and forth but he ended up saying that an easy and accessible way to do it is to hang yourself in the woods. And like. It just stuck with me. It would be so easy. It would be so easy to like actually do it. There isn't even a lot stopping me. If I really wanted to I could. It doesn't have to be the woods either. It ciuld be somewhere more private. Although I wouldn't want anyone to actually find me, cause that's obviously traumatic. I wouldn't want them to go through that because of me. Especially not if one of my parents would find me alone. Oh shit this is making me cry. But also, you know what do I care - I'm gonna be fucking dead!? You know. I don't know.

#also about the mens mental health yes thats important ofc that was a side note my actual point is that there are better indicators that #men's mental health sucks that those specific statistics #and statistics are for sweden source SCB #and my dad is a nurse so he knows shit #idk how many suicide patients he actually has though probably just train track people #oh shit that's another fucking way to kill yourself. fuck thats even better than the other one #im not stable enough for this #🐴#haha stable you get it no??#also quick note I'm putting now after posting is that trans men are *a lot* more common than trans women in Sweden #and I think that could be one of the reasons why mens suicidiality is so much higher too #bc a lot of trans women live as men not knowing why they feel different and unable to explore gender bc of social norms and transphobia #and trans people are already overrepresented in suicides so if the statistics count all those trans women as men or the other way around #the trans women as men then men would have higher suicide rstes from that #actually scratch everything I said just believe me I promise I'm right vote for the left yeah you get it

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winged-self-indulgence · 11 months ago

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Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed!#yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #binary star hero #favor vn

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byunpum · 11 months ago

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Mama's Boy| part 2

Pair: Jake x neytiri x human reader (trio couple) x sully children's

Warning: kinda sad, crybaby lo'ak, Sweet family moment.

Note: Since the last post about this oneshot was so well received, I wanted to make another part. A little more sad, but with a good ending. More about lo'ak's relationship with his human mom and Y/N's relationship with neytiri and jake. If you want there could be a part 3, but that's up to you.

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6(final)

"Payakan how I wish you knew my mother" speaks lo'ak to his friend. The boy had escaped for a while from the metkayina clan. His new home. He went to spend some time with his friend tulkun, he needed to distract himself. He had been feeling so sad the last week, his birthday was coming up and the most important person in his life was not with him. "She would love you so much…she is beautiful and kind and…she is everything" says lo'ak lying on the creature's back. As he looks up at the stars, pointing to one. " my mom also come from that star, just like my dad…but compared to my dad, she is a human" lo'ak looks at tulkun, who made a noise of curiosity. Payakan asked himself the same question everyone asked when lo'ak said his mama was a human.

"Mama says that eywa blessed her with me…that I am a miracle. That I am her miracle." Lo'ak continues to stare at the star, as his eyes begin to glaze over with homesickness. "That's why I have my hands like this…as well as my feet. And my facial features are a little different…I look like my mom" Lo'ak laughs a little, trying to control the tears that were starting to come out. Payakan asks him if he misses her, making lo'ak keep a long silence. "Of course I do… she's the only person who understands me" lo'ak turns and hugs payakan. Payakan can feel lo'ak's tears fall on his skin. It breaks his heart, feeling his friend this sad. "I wish mama was here," lo'ak says, whimpering even more.

You had to leave your family, when Jake had to leave the clan. Jake thought it best for you to stay with norm, until he could find a safe place. Where you could be with the family. The omaticaya clan accepted you because you had grown up there, but in other clans humans were not welcome. So Jake would eventually try to get them to accept you, this was temporary. But it was still painful for the whole family. Neytiri's tears were running down her cheeks, and she didn't want to let go of your hand, as she walked up to the ikran with tuk. The little tuk was crying, as she asked you to join them. "My darling…mommy will be with you soon" you comfort the little one, neytiri did not let go of your hand. "Promise me you'll be okay" says neytiri, watching you nod your head. You were doing everything you could to control yourself. You didn't want them to see you destroyed, especially since lo'ak was watching you. The other children in the family were sad, and wiping their tears. But lo'ak was serious, looking straight ahead. He was upset with you, he thought you might go and it was you who didn't want to go with them.

You walk towards jake, he kneels down and gives you a soft kiss on the lips (the reader is wearing the oxygen mask I explained in this post "click here") "I'll come for you…I promise" says jake, hugging you as tight as he can. "Please tell him how much I love him…yes?" you pull away from him a little, to look at lo'ak. Your boy doesn't even want to say goodbye to you. "I will…don't worry he will understand" jake says goodbye for the last time and gets on his ikran. Everyone leaves, lo'ak takes one last look at you, watching your figure grow smaller the further away they go. And there right there his eyes begin to fill with tears. ++ +++ It was only 1 day before his birthday, and lo'ak couldn't feel more sad. Usually you two had a habit. Normally you were always with everyone in the family, you were always with your other children. But lo'ak's birthday was special, just for the two of you. You used to walk through the jungle, make jewelry for him. It was your time together, and now he was sitting on the sand. Watching the waves crash, while trying to arrange various pieces of snail shell. He had spent the whole day, searching for the materials he needed, getting away from everyone.

Tsireya together with rotxo and ao'nung went to ask what was wrong, well tsireya wanted to know. Lo'ak had been distant from the group of friends. "Hey…you" shouts ao'nung getting lo'ak's attention as the group of friends approached him. "H-hello" speaks lo'ak glancing at them quickly, but turning his full attention back to his work. "What are you doing?" asks tsireya, kneeling down to be closer to see what lo'ak is doing. "I'm collecting material to make some bracelets with my mom, for when she gets here," says lo'ak. This gets the boys' attention, looking at each other curiously. "When she comes? Your mom is here" roxto speaks while pointing to the sully's marui.

Lo'ak looks at him, and laughs a little. "No…my other mom…my birth mom. She will be coming very soon," lo'ak says. "You have another mom? That sounds amazing" says tsireya cuirious at what lo'ak said. "Yes, my mom stayed in the jungle, so she would be safe. She is a person from the sky" says lo'ak, realizing what he said. "Ahh mmm" lo'ak tries to fix what he said. "Your mom is a demon? How is that possible?" ao'nung starts to laugh, but rotxo pushes him away. "Is that true?" asks tsireya, watching lo'ak get flustered. Taking everything from the sand, and starting to walk towards his marui. Leaving the group of confused boys with more questions. "That was very rude of you," rotxo says to ao'nung. The boy lifts his shoulders and rolls his eyes.

Lo'ak arrives at the marui, lucky for him only his parents were there. Jake was helping neytiri with the food, they both saw how lo'ak quickly entered and went to the balcony behind the marui. He was holding some things in his hands and by his face they could see that he was crying. Jake looked quickly at neytiri, she stops him. "I'll go," says Neytiri. Getting up to see what was going on, he found lo'ak sitting down. He had some shells in his hands, together with other materials. As he cried inconsolably. "Lo'ak…everything okay honey?" asks neytiri wrapping lo'ak in her arms.

"I miss mom…she's supposed to be here. Everything is fine…why isn't she here?" cries lo'ak, tears were falling non-stop on his arms. Neytiri didn't know what to tell him, she missed you too. She needed you too, everyone in the family did. "Lo'ak I know you miss her…but you must wait a little longer," Neytiri says. Lo'ak looks at her, his look was one of upset. He looked like a lost little boy. "dad said she would be here….and tomorrow is my birthday and she's not here!!!! I miss my mom!!!" lo'ak cries harder, while neytiri hugs him. Cuddling him on her chest, she decides not to say anything and just comfort her son.

After a while, neytiri manages to calm lo'ak down. The boy stays on the balcony preparing his materials. While neytiri enters the marui, seeing that jake was waiting for her. "So?" asks jake. Neytiri sits up and looks at jake. Her eyes were soaking wet. "Jake… Y/N I miss her so much" neytiri wipes her tears, jake walks over and hugs her. "I miss her too" jake comforts neytiri. "Isn't there some way she…" neytiri looks at jake. Jake knew what neytiri meant, but it was a difficult situation. It had been a few months since the altercation with the RDA, and barely everyone had made it out alive. Neteyam had been badly hurt, lo'ak and the others had almost died. And spider had to return to the Omaticaya clan. Ronal didn't want humans in the clan, so it was very difficult for jake to bring you in. "Neytiri you know I can't do anything" jake tries to explain to her, but she gets up annoyed. But before leaving the marui she looks at jake. "For some things you move heaven and earth…but to bring our partner you look for a thousand excuses. She wouldn't look for excuses to be with us" says neytiri, angry.

Jake was between a rock and a hard place. They saw him as the bad guy, but he didn't want to put you in danger. Jake knew that something bad could happen to you, this was a dangerous place. But seeing his family suffer like this broke his heart. He missed you too. You were also his partner…he needed you. You were an important pillar in the Sully family, Jake felt that little by little everything was falling apart without your presence. He felt that he was falling apart without you.

That night was very slow, everyone had gone to bed earlier than usual. And lo'ak didn't even want to eat. He stayed in bed all afternoon. He would be lying if he said he hadn't cried a few times. He fell asleep, wishing his wish would come true that eywa would listen to him. It was the only thing he asked for.

In the morning, lo'ak began to open his eyes carefully, watching as the sun's rays began to enter through the entrance of marui, but he continued to lie down. He closed his eyes more, not wanting the day to begin. It was his birthday and he already knew it was going to suck…but out of nowhere he felt someone give him a warm kiss on the cheek. Ignoring the affection, he settled in more. "mama let go of me" lo'ak moaned, thinking neytiri was waking him up. But he felt someone kiss him again and heard that distinct smile. "Are you sure about that my love?" you speak, you were on the edge of lo'ak's hammock. Lo'ak's eyes snap open, looking back. Seeing the figure of his mother there, he couldn't believe it. "Ma-mama is that you?" asks lo'k, her voice was already getting shorter as he felt the tears building up in his eyes. "Mmm yes my love…I'm here" you caress lo'ak's face. The boy turns and hugs you with all his heart. Starting to cry out loud, he was so happy. "Mama…my mama is here" lo'ak doesn't let go of you at any moment.

This wakes up the whole family, who are left in speechless shock when they see you there. In the middle of the marui, hugging lo'ak. The first to jump out of the hammock is neytiri, running towards you. To join lo'ak's hug. "Ma Y/N, for my eywa" neytiri also begins to cry from happiness. The other children also run to greet you. "Mama!!!" neteyam nuzzles into your shoulder while tuk and kiri do the same. "How are you here?" neytiri pulls away to look at you, lo'ak hasn't let go of you at any time. Sometimes he forgets that he is twice your size. "Well someone went looking for me" you speak as you see jake, this one was at the entrance of the marui watching the whole scene. Jake approaches his family. "Well…now we have to figure out how to fix this whole 'demon' being here thing" jokes Jake, stroking your cheek with his thumb. But nothing matters at this point, because everyone was excited enough to think about anything else.

After a long welcome, all the children in the family decided to go get you something for a special breakfast, leaving Jake, Neytiri and you alone for a moment. Jake and Neytiri were watching you from a corner as you settled your things. "Did something happen?" you ask laughing a little, watching your partners look at you so lovingly. Neytiri was still teary-eyed. "Come here," says Jake, shaking his hand for you to join them. You walk over taking jake's hand, you were now in the middle of the two of them. You watch as neytiri moves closer to you, taking your face in her hands. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was enough to let you know that she missed you. You hug her neck, feeling her face in your neck. "I love you so much," says Neytiri. "What about me?" says Jake, still holding your hand. You two laugh, and you pull Jake close to kiss him as well. Feeling jake pull you into his lap, giving you kisses on your cheeks. While neytiri sat right in front of you, very close. Taking your hands, caressing them. Checking if you had no wounds. This was a very intimate moment, a moment you had not experienced for a long time.

"Ney I'm fine" you laugh, while neytiri keeps checking every part of your body. Lifting your legs and arms. "Are you sure? Nothing happened?" neytiri asks and jake just watches with a cute smile on his face. "Yes…the ones I'm worried about are you guys. And more you" you look up to see jake, he still had some bruises on his face and some cuts that were still healing. "Oh no baby…I'm fine, don't worry" jake says, feeling you touching some wounds on his arm. "He's very stubborn…I've been asking ronal to take care of him for weeks" says neytiri. You look at neytiri curiously. "Ronal?" you ask. "Oh..ronal is the Tsahìk of this clan, and speaking of her. Let her know you're here," says jake. Neytiri looks at jake with surprise and punches him in the arm. "Don't tell me no one knows Y/N is here?" neytiri looks at jake, who just laughs nervously. "Jake!!!" you start to fuss, but watch as jake laughs and takes neytiri's arm so that now she was on his lap too. Snuggling both of you in his arms. "I'll worry about that later…now I want to enjoy my ladies' company" jake jokes, giving them both kisses. You guys complain, but you don't complain about enjoying the moment.

Part 3?

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hiddenreamers · 1 month ago

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F1 Drivers x foreign!reader

SUMMARY: When they know social norms and the local language, sometimes it might be hard to spot a foreigner. Even then, there are details to their daily life that might give away their heritage. Whether they're strange, funny or heartwarming, it doesn't really matter. Your boyfriend wouldn't have it any other way.

Featuring: Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Daniel Ricciardo (it's my delulu I set the rules), Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz Jr, Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Oscar Piastri

Note: I'm a Polish gal, so the examples I've used are quite specific and probably not universal

Lando Norris

You're unsure if his terrible pronunciation is genuine or just a ploy to make you laugh. As time goes on, you're leaning towards the latter. The comedic timing of throwing out mispronounced random phrases and words is almost too perfect to be accidental. Considering the cultural differences, you have your quirks and superstitions that are largely funny and meaningless to him. Despite his lack of understanding, he adheres to them like the letter of the law (except speed limits, of course). While it might seem pointless to him that you have to knock on "something unpainted" after talking about misfortune, Lando will never make fun of you for it. He might laugh, yes, but he just finds those little rituals endearing. Secretly learns to say "I love you" in your first language but this time, he wants his pronunciation to be impeccable. He really means it, after all.

Lewis Hamilton

He's been showing genuine curiosity from the very beginning. While he wants to get to know you better as a person, he also wants to know more about your home. Consequently, Lewis jumps at any opportunity to travel with you to your native country. When you're pointing out different buildings as well as memories associated with them, he feels like he's getting a better understanding of who you are and why. Like Lando, he's mindful of the cultural quirks and sticks to them but doesn't find them as funny. While he's well aware you don't expect him to follow them, Lewis still refuses to kiss you over the threshold once you tell him it's said to bring bad luck. He's not going to risk it, is he?

Daniel Ricciardo

The ever-charming man is interested only in learning swear words and pick-up lines in your native language. Not very surprising. Even less surprising is the fact that you might have (on at least one occasion) taught him nonsense or a silly phrase while claiming it's something sexy or romantic. He is yet to be corrected that a certain phrase is not a heartfelt confession but a simple question of "Where is my sauerkraut?". There's something impossibly attractive about you speaking your mother tongue, according to Daniel. You could read aloud a random Wikipedia entry and he's down bad by the second verse.

Max Verstappen

Practical as always, Max has learnt to read your first language just to occasionally help. You're busy and someone is texting you? Maybe you forgot the next ingredient or step for the recipe but your hands are dirty? Max is there to help. Despite not much practice, his pronunciation is really good. He does, however, have a secret. All the random things he's been reading for you? They got him familiar with the language, at least the basics. Still, Max pretends that he doesn't understand 99% of what he's reading for you because he doesn't want to miss out on all the ego-stroking "Max is wonderful!!" messages you receive from friends and family. The king of keeping a straight face. He's so used to hearing you refer to him by pet names in another language that when he hears it in a movie you're watching, he instinctively looks towards you.

Carlos Sainz Jr

Similarly to Max, Carlos has picked up some of your mother tongue. Pretends he doesn't because he's living for the gossip you exchange with your friends. Most of all, he HAS to know what you're talking about after hearing you say his name. Are you happy with him? Does he fulfil your needs? Although each time you're gushing over him, he can't help his curiosity. Carlos might or might not have overheard you talking to your friends about a sexual fantasy and later on used that knowledge to his advantage. But if anyone asks, he doesn't know more than a "hello" in your first language.

Charles Leclerc

Like many multilingual people, you have a habit of directly translating sayings and idioms or just getting confused about which ones work in what language. Funnily enough, Charles unknowingly picked up some of the phrases you use. He realises only when someone gives him a strange look for saying "happy as a whistle". On another occasion he says somebody "stuck to him like thistle to a dog's tail", which sparked a landslide of memes. Charles insists on you calling him pet names in your first language exclusively. He claims they sound more loving when you say them in your mother tongue but maybe he's suffering from the same ailment as Daniel Ricciardo...

George Russell

As adorable as they are, George's random questions can get slightly annoying. He might be working you up on purpose, not that he'd ever admit. This man has a curious tendency to suddenly point to a random object and ask you what's it called in your native language. When you tell him, he exposes you to possibly the worst attempt at repeating the word. George is trying his best, okay? He might not be able to pronounce or write it but when you say it, he quickly learns to recognize the word. This has lead to seemingly strange situations when you can't remember the English expression and say it in your mother tongue, while George without a problem gives you the answer or passes you the item. Some of the other drivers are now convinced he knows your first language and George somehow can't find the right occasion to correct them. After secretly practising, he says "I love you" in your mother tongue and despite the rather awful pronunciation, it's the best thing you've ever heard. It's not flawless but it's perfect.

Oscar Piastri

Similarly to Lewis, he's genuinly curious about your homecountry. The difference is, Oscar is more leaning towards the literature and pop-culture side of things. He has a list of books, poems, movies and plays that are considered important to your homeland. If there are English translations, he'll at least try to read them (on a few occasions he's settled for the cheat sheets and summaries). Multiple times Oscar has talked you into reading the original to him and afterwards claimed that despite understanding nothing, that's his favourite version. Movies, however, he wants to watch with you. It's a cozy date, yes. But! It is also an opportunity to learn more as you have a tendency to pause the film and explain jokes, give broader context or share a fun fact about something on the screen. Through all of that, he learns certain unspoken social rules and superstitions. You tell him he really doesn't have to follow them for your sake when you notice he refuses to put your bag on the floor or switches seats with you if you sit at the corner of the table.

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 3 months ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚈𝚘𝚞 | Chan|Minho

Chan x Gn!Reader, established relationship , (mother used in context of parental structure norms) Minho x Gn!Reader, established relationship

Anon Request: Thanks for the wonderful request sunshine, enjoy <3.

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive, Slight Cursing *Minho*

Word Count: 3.6k

~X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X ~

𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯

Agree or not, I see Chan as being the member most likely to take things slow. He tends to look down on himself a lot, finds himself underserving of love, and puts others before himself constantly. But I feel like he has enough emotional maturity to realize this; and realize that having a sense of inherient inferiority can be a hinderance in any romantic pursual or commitment. So if he truly loved someone, he would take things slow- extremely slow. While he is the member who feeds most into the playful side of romance, being flirtatious and having the tendency to indulge in delusions I feel like in a serious situation of romance he would be afraid of navigating those waters due to the majority of his life being spent focusing on his career. So him being his perfectionist self would probably internally feel extremely romantic and lovey-dovey but his rational side would look at the execution love as something that could be handled more logically; and would take practical steps in trying his best to make the relationship last. So in terms of something like kissing- while I feel like he would have the urge to do it early on he'd let his doubts control and wait. But when he finally has the courage to act on that impulse when he feels the relationship is firmly founded he would kick himself for not indulging sooner because my God is he in love with the feel of his s/o's lips on his.

It was a cool evening, and you and Chan were taking a leisurely stroll along the riverbank. It was one of those rare times that Chan had time on his hands. But it was common that when he did have this precious time it would be spent solely with you.

The sun had just set, casting a beautiful array of colors across the sky, and the city lights were beginning to reflect off the water. The oranges yellows and pinks were a masterpiece, and your mind wandered slightly to Hyunjin, thinking he would enjoy the natural masterpiece displayed in above you.

As Chris held the role of the father of the group, you had easily become the supposed "mother" role of the of the group in the sense that Chan disciplined, you nurtured - even Minho quickly falling into the habit of referring to you in the likeness that you heard from Jeongin and Felix. You liked gifting them things as if they really were your children and made a mental note to ask your boyfriend if there was any supplies he figured Hyunjin would appreciate at the moment.

You walked hand in hand, enjoying the serene atmosphere and each other's company in a silence that was in no way awkward. And when you guys did talk, the conversation came easily, filled with laughter and shared stories, in a flow that mirrored that of a couple who had been together decades rather than just over eleven weeks.

Six weeks had felt like an eternity to you. But in a good way.

You and Chan decided to take things slow. And so far...it had been going extremely slow. Going into the relationship you had known the nature of Christopher's job. You knew he was busy and for the first few weeks of you being official it hadn't felt all that different from your friendship other than you went to more places alone, without the guys tagging along.

By the fourth week things had started to progress. You understood that Chan was scared. He admitted that to you upfront. He was assured of his attraction to you. Of his love even- although he didn't pressure you to respond to that immediately- but he had been so career focused the majority of his life that he was afraid to put work before you. He was tentative of what you guys were becoming, while fully being excited and anticipatory for it.

And you understood. You promised him you understood.

To anyone else they'd be surprised that you guys hadn't done anything more than hold hands and hug. With the occasional cuddle- usually when you were his company on the late nights at the studio. Any normal person would look at you and just assume you were very close friends.

But you knew the reasoning behind the way your relationship worked and knew the depths of his affection so you weren't worried. You weren't in a rush; you were content to take things as slowly as possible as long as it made Chris feel comfortable and loved.

As you walked, you couldn't help but steal glances at Chan, taking in his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. The light haloed him and brought out an unreal beauty you wished he could see at his lowest moments of insecurity. He was handsome. Beautiful. He looked peaceful, and yet there seemed to be a hint of something deeper in his eyes, as if he was lost in thought. You squeezed his hand gently, bringing him back to the present. He smiled at you, and your heart fluttered.

"Is everything okay?" You asked softly.

"Let's sit for a bit," Chan suggested, leading you to a nearby bench that overlooked the river. You both sat down, still holding hands, and took in the beautiful view. The sound of the water lapping against the shore was calming, and for a moment, you both sat in comfortable silence. Your mind was for the most part still, but you were always worried for Chris. And you hoped he was okay.

Chan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the shimmering lights. "You know, I've really enjoyed tonight," he said softly. "Being with you like this… it means a lot to me. These past three months have been indescribable really." He brought his other hand to the one he was holding and traced yours softly while looking at them.

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. "I've enjoyed it too," you replied, your voice equally soft. "It's been perfect."

"Do you mean it?" He mumbles. "I feel like I'm a coward. And undeserving of you. I feel like I've never been happier yet...I feel like...like you're not getting anything out of this relationship. I feel like I'm...not...like maybe you're...I..." He struggled to look for the right words.

"Love," You murmured pulling your hand away from his and guiding his face to yours. You brought his eyes right to yours.

There was a brief pause as you both looked at each other, the air between you filled with an unspoken understanding.

"I'm happy. Truly. Don't doubt that."

Chan's gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before he quickly looked away, almost shyly. He chewed on his cheek for a minute. He had a slight hunger in his eyes. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it made your heart ache with affection.

"Can I… can I kiss you?" Chan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His usual confidence was replaced with a hint of vulnerability, and it made the moment even more precious. As if he was scared that you'd say no.

Does this man know who he is? How many people would kill to be sitting in front of him as he stared at their lips asking if they could capture them in his own?

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, unable to find your voice. Chan's face lit up with a small smile and he swallowed, his adams apple moving up and down slowly. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to back out if you wanted. But you didn't. You wanted this just as much as he did, you eyes closing in anticipation.

As his lips met yours, you felt a spark of electricity shoot through your body. What Chris meant to be a quick peck quickly turned into something much deeper. The kiss was gentle at first, but as the seconds passed, it became more passionate. Chan's hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. He had told himself just a peck. Take things slow. But the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment; and filling Chris with a fulfillment and satiation that he hadn't know he needed.

You could feel the love and adoration pouring from Chan as he kissed you. It was as if he was trying to convey all his feelings through that single kiss. As if there was some chemical in your lips that seemed to cause a reaction in your body. As if he desperately needed this. The intensity of it took your breath away, and you found yourself leaning into him, wanting more. Just as he did.

Chan's other hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt his tongue gently brush against your lips, seeking permission hesitantly. You parted your lips with an urgent willingness, allowing him in, and the kiss became even more intense. It was a dance of passion and tenderness, a perfect blend of everything you felt for each other.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Chan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. "Wow," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. "That was… amazing."

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe how you felt. Instead, you leaned in and gave him another quick peck, savoring the way his lips felt against yours. Chan chuckled softly, his eyes opening to look at you with pure adoration.

You watched his throat work. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice still a bit breathless. "I was scared. I'm glad I finally did it. Although...I'm kinda pissed." He said with a chuckle. "If I wasn't so scared then I could have been doing that for much longer...damn you past Chris." He teasingly cursed.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad we waited," you said softly. "In a sense I feel like it made our first kiss even more special to me. I know you love me enough to have patience to make sure that this becomes forever." You said holding your hands up. "So again, don't ever doubt us."

Chan pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you both sat there, basking in the aftermath of the kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you and the tension in the air. It was a moment you would cherish forever, a memory that would always bring a smile to your face when you thought of it. And if this is what it felt like to take things slow; then as long as you were with Chris you'd be content with waiting forever.

~X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X ~

𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰

The way I see Minho's love is like a perfectly aged whiskey. At first glance, it might seem subtle and reserved, with a smooth and understated presence. It’s not flashy or overtly romantic, but its depth and warmth become apparent the more it ages, and the more you indulge in it. Just like a fine whiskey that reveals complex flavors and a rich character over time, Minho's love is something that gradually unfolds, showing its true depth in moments of quiet intimacy and unspoken understanding. It’s not about grand gestures or constant declarations; it’s about the steady, comforting assurance of his presence, the way he makes his s/o feel cherished in the smallest, most meaningful ways. Whiskey is something that is basic and foundational. Something simple that can be paired with many different things and different pairing bring out different levels of flavor; just how the context of the situations will bring out different levels of his character. Whiskey is something familiar- and something that becomes known deeply just with familiarity- just like Minho. The longer him and his s/o are together, the more his s/o appreciates the nuanced, understated beauty of his love, which, much like the whiskey, grows richer and more profound with time. But whiskey can also be something that brings waves of warmth and intoxication - especially to someone who is new to drinking. And with intoxication comes impulse. If he's the whiskey, his s/o is the compound that brings his inebriation; and in those warm, euphoric flashes he'll be passionate and impulsive- and when he kisses his s/o it's something just as in the moment as drunken mistakes- except he wouldn't akin it to a mistake.

The evening had been planned for a romantic date out, but an unexpected delivery expectance threw a wrench into your plans.

Minho had to dash back to his house to pick up a package that had arrived at the last minute and needed to be signed. It had slipped his parent's mind that it would be coming that day, and they had travelled out of town for the week, and asked Minho to grant them this favor.

It was a minor inconvenience, Minho was slightly irritable about having to move reservations around, but you decided to be optimistic, since you could finally meet his number one pride and joy.

You were rather excited to meet Minho's cats for the first time. You had heard so much from him about them, and while you knew he had wished to introduce you to them when you had become official (the crazy thing is he wanted to introduce you to his cats before his parents) the opportunity hadn't come in the past few weeks you had been a couple due to the nature of his work, and your commute to your own job.

You had become official only a week before Minho left on a PR tour, going to numerous fashion shows, interviews and collaborating with international artists. This was the first official date you guys were going on, although you meshed so well that your relationship was progressing even when you were temporarily long distance.

As you settled into Lee Know’s cozy living room, the cats immediately took an interest in you. Dori was sniffing at you suspiciously. You sat and let each of them come to you, trying your best not to make sudden movements and frighten them.

You weren't expecting any of them to take an immediate liking to you. But Soonie jumped up to where you were sitting and started kneading your thigh. You couldn’t help but giggle as you petted Soonie- Doongie joining next and Dori rubbing up against your foot; feeling completely at ease in the warm, cat-filled environment. Lee Know's house was filled with the comforting smell of home— the one smell that was particular to every house- a smell you couldn't describe, a hint of catnip and fur, bleach, and some lingering air freshener.

You nibbled on a snack you had brought along, savoring the moment of relaxation before Minho returned. As you were enjoying your snack, your boyfriend finally walked through the door, his arms full of packages. He looked a bit irritated, but relieved to be back.

"Sorry for the delay," he said, setting the packages down. "I hope the cats haven’t been too much trouble."

You laughed, shaking your head. "They’ve been great. Actually, they’ve been keeping me very entertained." Minho’s eyes widened slightly then softened as he looked at you, his attention momentarily captured by the sight of you surrounded by his furry friends. He took a deep breath, clearly relieved to be seeing you so comfortable.

It awakened a desire that needed to be dealt within him.

With a playful glint in his eye, he walked over to you, still holding one of the packages. He placed it on a nearby table and then leaned in close, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

His muscles were flexing in a plain black dress shirt that due to a laundering mistake shrunk slightly, but you like it. His toned arms were noticeable with the fabric taught over them.

"Mind if I join, kitten?" he said, his voice low and teasing; the new pet name rolling off his tongue as if it was something he had called you before. His lips tilted up in a seductive smirk. Before you could respond, Minho leaned in and, without warning, licked your cheek.

His tongue was warm and slightly damp, and he pulled back with shit faced grin.

"Ew, Minho!" you exclaimed, wiping your cheek with a laugh. Your eyes wide in shock. He still caged you to the couch, subtly leaning closer, his muscles straining slightly to keep his body hovering just inches above your own. "What was that for?"

The cheshire like grin on his face widened as he playfully shrugged. "You’re saying 'ew' as if this tongue isn’t ever going to touch your own, kitten." You blinked, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. A little shocked at his sudden confidence. The sound of your new nickname doing something to your stomach.

His boldness and playful attitude were part of what made him so endearing. But you had only seen it in small doses. He leaned in even closer if possible, his gaze intense and affectionate; hungry.

"Seriously though," he said softly, the teasing tone leaving his voice. "I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day." Without waiting for a response, he leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet intense kiss. It was gentle at first, filled with warmth and tenderness. You felt your heart flutter as you responded, wrapping your arms around his neck. The second your fingertips made contact with the hair at the nape of his neck, the kiss quickly grew deeper and more heated, with Minho's hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer, nearly straddling you as his tongue found his way to yours.

His cats, curious and a bit envious of the attention you were getting from their favorite person started to crawl over you as Minho straddled you on the couch. Soonie even tried to nudge between you and Lee Know, swatting playfully at him as if to remind him that you they were his favorites not you.

Although times were changing.

Minho’s kisses were filled with a tense heat yet laced in a playful energy, each pull back for breath accompanied by a soft chuckle or a gentle murmur or moan. His kisses were sloppy and fervent. The nature of them giving away the impulsiveness behind to action.

The cats seemed to add a touch of chaos to the moment, their paws occasionally brushing against your legs or curling up beside you. You couldn’t help but laugh as one of the cats tried to join in on the action, its tiny paws batting at Lee Know’s arm.

Despite the interruptions, the kisses remained connected and tender; your tongues moving in a sultry and erotic rhythm, and full of emotion, each touch and caress conveying the depth of Minho’s feelings for you.

Conveying just how much desire was hidden in under his calm demeanor.

Eventually, you both pulled back, breathless and smiling, looking slightly deranged and messy.

Your boyfriend's eyes were fogged with affection and desire and a hint of mischief. Rather than discussing what had just happened, his thumb trailed across your mouth to gently and he changed the directory of any conversation that you could have brought up.

"I guess I’m not the only one who’s crazy about you," he said, glancing at the cats who were now lounging contentedly around you, giving up on their owner. Doongie and Dori looked down their noses as Minho while resting their paws on you; as if they were trying to communicate a sense of betrayal in a petty fashion. You laughed, running your fingers through the fur of the cat who had claimed your lap once Minho had hopped off of it to adjust himself.

"I guess not. But I think I’m okay with that."

Minho smiled leaning in to steal another quick kiss before reaching to grab his car keys.

"Good, because I plan on making you realize just how crazy I am about you everyday from now on. Im sure my babies will do the same." The cats continued to snuggle around you, their purring creating a soothing background to the warmth Minho's presence. It was a perfect, chaotic moment of affection—a first kiss that was uniquely Minho, playful, tender, unexpected and filled with the joyful presence of his feline friends.

"We need to get going, I have a schedule for us, and we're running a bit behind." He said. "I wonder why."

You got up and adjusted yourself, giving a few last pets to the cats, Dori and Doongie releasing soft mews in unison.

You were about to walk out the door when Minho stopped you again.

"You got something on your face, kitten." He said, swiping his thumb once across your cheek, wiping away some saliva with a wink.

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