#he's totally valid in everything he thinks and does

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 16: Beren, Luthien, and the fourth wall,

through which Pengolodh needs to be punched a little. Or at least frightened.

So… This chapter is a lot.

First we get a remainder that we are in a narrative frame: there are many stories but this one is the best. So I, Pengolodh, will make sure it sounds proper.

Also, why is the Lay of Leithian… I thought "Leithian" was some variant of Luthien, but it's "Release from Bondage". What. Why. I guess it's that one scene where she takes Sauron's island?

Before I proceed: I wanted to say that writing a love story dedicated to your wife and overloading it with meanings is an absolutely valid thing to do. And beautiful.

Yes, this is an opinion I will stick with. No, it doesn't mean that I think everything in B&L is coherent or well-written. Most is, but there are places that stick out.

So we start with Beren. He lives with his fatherr and a band of outlaws and… they worship a (lake? river? translation unclear.) because Melian had hallowed it.

They are so competent that Morgoth tells Sauron (his 2nd in command) to kill them all.

Again we have a character with unprocessed grief (nor surprising, as he doesn't know whether his wife is alive or dead) and it is the entry point for the forces of evil. So, Gorlim. Sauron pulls the Dune-like thing on him. I wonder which was first. Jirt didn't like Dune, but had read it.

Beren sees Gorlim's ghost, in the (hallowed?) water, which is an interesting place for a ghost to appear. good for him I guess?

What is the thing with hands? Beren attacks the orcs and grabs his dead father's hand with the ring of Barahir. Unclear which hand was that. Also, he becomes vegan.

Beren is so competent that he gets a "wanted" poster Morgoth offers a prize for his head. As high as for Fingon. OK, so Morgoth gives money for killing important people? Or at least offers money? We aren't told if he ever actually paid anyone. But the orcs still prefer to run away, so he sends Sauron + a whole army and his werewolves.

How competent can one guy be?

Also, we get an explanation of what werewolves are. Terrible ghosts imprisoned in wolves' bodies and posessing them. This chapter has more on werewolves then the whole rest of the book.

So, Beren has to evacuate through Spider-land. Which he manages to do. (Seriously, how many Fate Points does this guy have?)

Luthien is so beautiful that he falls in love instantly. I would be more comfortable if Tolkien didn't show falling in love as simultanously a) totally uncontroleable result of beauty, and b) impossible to not turn into action. But Beren is a good guy so he is polite, he just admires her and stuff.

Also, she's got the exact same poetic colors of hair and eyes as Elrond, which makes sense. Or, more precisely, Elrond as her.

Fate this, fate that, I get the point but don't like the language.

Beren gets kind of sick, because he has to gain more Fate Points pays for the great destiny he is going to get.

I am not going to repeat that part I complained about already. Let's just say there's a lot of "she/they were the most X of everyone in all times" and this sounds, well, poetic but not factual. (Also, they are "the most happy anyone has ever been". )

Daeron snitches on Luthien (part 1). Thingol is sad and confused and asks questions. Beren says "I found what I didn't seek, but as I found it I will never give it up" and that is a really good line.

Thingol, of all people, complains of having made a hasty oath. :D

Beren would take death before dishonor. Also shows Finrod's ring and Thingol isn't very impressed. (I think this may be used as a counterargument to "Finrod should have written to Thingol" — Beren has already shown the credentials he could get from Finrod. What additional things could Finrod tell Thingol?)

We get a description of the ring of Barahir.

Melian tries to calm het husband down, but he is upset and resentful at Beren. And he says that he desires the Silmaril (does he? Did he desire it before he said that? Unclear)

At least Thingol says that with the Silmaril he will give Luthien to Beren if she will want to, which is very proper of him. Also he mentions the "fate of Ards is tied to the Silmarils" thing. Everyone realizes that he just wants Beren dead (so I guess it is a fact?)

Beren is very chill. He says "bye" to Luthien, bows. And then he moves the guards and just walks away ignoring them which is an awesome way of leaving.

Melian is worried, Thingol says that Beren will not return, and if he (thingol) believed that there is any chance of success for him, he would kill Beren, promise or not.

We have a lot of "Lay of Laithian says" so I guess this is suposed to be a later edition... I should do a reread (well, first read tbh) on the Lay one day. But it's hard to read with focus.

Beren goes to Nargothrond, and (so that the guards don't shoot him) yells often that he is Barahir's son. Which must have looked quite funny.

Also, Turgon isn't the only one with "shoot the intruders" policy, but Finrod's one seems less strict.

Finrod talks with Beren behind closed doors (I think it's because C&C. Finrod isn't naive, he's just… idk. Anyway this is a smart move.) Also he is surprised and sad and heavy-hearted because he realizes he's going to have to die. At leats he doesn't try to weasel out of his fate.

Also, Finrod says a lot of interesting / strange things:

the Oath is on again. So, we are in the "oath is an active thing" situation. Probably.

there is a "curse of hatered" on the Silmarils. (Huh??? Who cursed them? I don't remember Fefe cursing the jewels, he cursed many other things…)

who speaks their name with greed, awakens poweerful forces (WHAT? So… Thingol is greedy about the jewel? And it triggers the Oath? Or what? that's… a whole new conceptual area to explore)

the Feanorians would rather destroy all lands then let anyone else have a Silmaril (I'm not sure how true this is but him saying this tells us something about C&C)

the Oath "rules over the princes of Noldor" (What. Finrod, my guy, you are a Noldorin prince too. Also, what. What about their free will?)

C&C are a problem but Finrod won't break his word to Barahir, so we all are deep in trouble

Finrod makes a speech, expects support from his people. It's not said what kind of support. He doesn't say he is going to attack Angband directly.

Celegorm takes out his sword and quotes the Oath. That's pretty metal, but also definitely not good. Curufin is apparently more polite now (iirc he was brash some chapters earlier, I guess he learned. Or it was Celegorm too?). Citizens of Nargothrond are scared of war, they get sneaky, start using poison and generally turn Nor Great from this time on. Huh.

The Doom of Mandos awakes in C&C's hearts and gives them evil thoughts. This is a very close paraphrase. Excuse me, what? Pengolodh, what have you been drinking? something made by Namo (or one of his Maiar, which I find more likely, but anyway) makes them think evil things? Go home and check your phrasing, seriously. This sounds so off. Unless it's the translation again?

Finrod appeals to pity and gets ten guys to follow him. I agree that this speech of him doesn't sound great and … I think he just feels sad and abandoned and does some emotional blackmailing here. and Finrod is awesome but not so awesome to never do anything wrong. It's not terrible, but, yes, I think he would be better without it.

[Which implies that if it was just him and Beren, Sauron would not try to kill Beren earlier. Which… makes some sense. When you have 12 prisoners, killing one as an example isn't a lot. when you have just two, you need to use subtler means of persuasion. (sorry for a bit of Sauron PoV ;) )]

Still, Edrahil is pretty cool here. I like him. Yes, those two opinions can coexist and it is an important point.

The song duel. Finrod picks "Of secrets kept," as his starting line, which makes sense in the context (keeping their disguise) but also, considering what kind of secret had Finrod been keeping (mostly from Thingol, who is btw associated with this quest) for many, many years, I would say it does have a weak point.

So it leads to "In Valinor, the red blood flowing" and we're out.

Luthien feels that things are bad and asks mom and mom tells her that Beren is captured by Sauron. Which she knows. Because she's a Maia, probably? But still, to see into Sauron's dungeons is quite an achievement. Maybe fate was a factor too.

Huan! The dog that is under the Doom of the Noldor! It seems as if this was the reason he later dies at all, that without the Doom thing Huan would be immortal. What even is he. [A lesser Maia. I don't care it's no longer canon, it makes the most sense.]

Also, he never sleeps, his sight and smell can't be deceived and he is invulnerable to magic.

C&C capture Luthien and we have their reasoning explained. So, C&C's logic as told by the narrative:

Finrod and Beren are as good as dead now

so let's let Finrod die

also let's force Thingol to let Tyelko marry Luthien

we will be the most powerful princes of the Noldor

the Silmarils, yea, so let's wait. first we will rule all the Elven kingdoms and then we can work on reclaiming the Silmarils.

No, it doesn't mean that someone else may take them!

Yes, it is explicitely about political power. (But also, Luthien pretty and Celegorm is into her.)

Also, Huan (like Celegorm) understands all creatures.

Finrod dies. Pengolodh edits it heavily. Seriously, I hereby accept this fic as my canon for what finrod said, because the book is lying. Oh wait, no. It is the translation. In the Polish version Finrod literally says "it will be many ages before the Noldor see me" and he says it without "probably" or anything, he says it like a foresight. And we know it is not true, because he got reembodied very quickly.

The original is not that bad. Anyway, it is lacking. It reads like something Celegorm would say in the situation (no offense to Celegorm who had actually been in this situation in early drafts).

[HC time: I imagine Pengolodh as very much the kind of guy to get offended by and cut out anything that looks too strange and … I don't know how to call it. Difficult? He's not terrible, but very insecure after returning from the Exile. He really doesn't want to offend the Valar again and isn't taking the best approach to it.]

And, speaking of Pengolodh and his additions, "so died Finrod, the most beloved descendant of Finwe". Beloved by whom? Certainly not by Finwe. Maybe by the people, but it does depend on which people exactly. Most beloved on the average? Most beloved by Pengolodh?

Pengolodh, my guy, I actually agree with you that Finrod is the loveliest Finwean, but please, could you refrain from using "loved / beloved" and comparisions?

Anyway, song-rescue. This is something even Pengolodh can't mess up describing. Also, Valacirca (Sickle of the Valar, that is: the Big Dipper) mentioned, and … it's a sign of Morgoth's fall? I thought this one was a threat to him. (Yes, let me remind you: there is not one, but two different seven(ish)-star constellations that Varda put in the sky specifically as a threat to Melkor. Also, of all the weapons, a sickle.)

Sauron seems to have a thing with "standing on a high place and smiling/laughing just before he gets wrecked". (Later he does it as Numenor is falling). I hereby HC that just before he noticed the Ring being in the Crack of doom, he also stood high atop his tower and laughted (because Aragorn's army was losing).

I'm tired. I'll cut B&L reread into two parts.

[spottedmischief]

Shenzi: *tells him the truth about Scar*

Cheezi: Okay, I think we made a mistake.

Shenzi: *asks him to join her clan so they can be safe*

Cheezi: how dare.

[snekdood]

Im p sure my sister made a fake acct on instagram, larping as the people she said were doing all of these Horrible Illuminati type things to her and i guess. Shes trying to convince me its real too? Bitch. Your dumbass is so far behind. I know your entire game and im so tired and bored of you. Like. All you have in your life rn is being able to be creepy online to people you formally knew, consuming conspiracy qanon shit, yelling at your family members for not pampering you bc you decided you deserve special treatment and Arent actually ashkenazi bc that would fuck up your entire worldview, like, girl, you're so boring and readable. You dont know secret shit about the world no one else knows about, otherwise you wouldnt be so easily and readily able to find that conspiracy bs anyways. I dont know why you keep trying short of being bored and needing attention.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

As a follow up to you post about mentors, just to make things fair, what are examples of Tikki being a bad mentor to Marinette?

Post in question for context.

Tikki often acts as the voice of the author. She's there to explain why Marinette is in the wrong. Since Miraculous has some wacky morals, that means we get a mix of good advice and wacky nonsense advice.

Two examples of bad advice that come to mind are Gamer and Strikeback. Gamer is the episode where Marinette stumbles upon an Ultimate Mecha Strike tournament, realizes that Adrien is taking part, and decides to compete so they can be on a team together. Marinette wins a spot through her own hard won skills and then this happens:

Tikki: All you wanted to do is spend time with Adrien, there are other ways to do that! Marinette: What are you getting at? Tikki: You know how much Max wanted to be in that tournament. Kim said he'd been training for it all year. Marinette: You're right. All I could think about was Adrien. 

This is how tournaments work, right? They're not tests of skill, but tests of who put in the most work or who wants to compete the most! That's why we had that scene with Marinette writing out her training schedule and motivations for evaluation, but she lied and that was wrong and...

Okay, I was the one lying here. There was no written evaluation because that's not how tournaments work. All anyone cares about is your skills. They don't care if you're doing this for personal glory or to get closer to a boy or whatever Adrien's motivation was because - notably - his motivation didn't matter in this episode about needing pure motives to be allowed to do things.

What if he didn't care about the competition and only did it to get closer to his classmates? That's not even a random guess. It's a valid read because Adrien ultimately gives his spot to Max while claiming that Max is the better player even though Adrien very clearly beat Max at the start of the episode. Ignoring that weird nonsense dialogue, why was it fine for Adrien to compete when he didn't care but wrong for Marinette to do the same? And Max wanting to compete to show off his skills is also a totally selfish motivation, so why does it matter that he wanted it more? Everything about this episode was nonsense and uncomfortably sexist. If Max wants to compete, then he needs to get better at the game. That's how competitions work.

Strikeback is the second part of the season four final and it starts with Marinette mourning the fact that "Adrien" has left Paris, leading to this:

Marinette: (crestfallen) It's all over, Tikki. Tikki: He'll be back, Marinette. He's just going on a voyage!

Which would be lovely advice if Adrien was a normal boy, but he's Chat Noir and Tikki knows that. She should be freaking out and trying to find a way to get him back to Paris, but then Tikki would have to support Marinette's actions and we can't have that, so instead Tikki gives this nonsense advice because she has to be against whatever "wrong" thing Marinette is doing today.

I could come up with a few more examples, but I think those two paint a pretty good picture of issue one re Tikki. However, when it comes to Tikki, my main issue with her is less a wealth of bad advice - unlike Plagg*, I think she's right more often than not - and more a lack of support. It feels like she's just here to judge Marinette and point out when she's doing something wrong, but a good mentor should be so much more than that.

Kuro Neko is a great example of this. When Chat Noir quits, Tikki just sits back and does nothing while her young charge is freaking out. She doesn't even try to defend Marinette when Plagg is going off about Chat Noir's "ill treatment". For all Plagg's faults in that episode, at least he's doing something about the situation. Meanwhile Tikki literally has two lines in the entire episode! A similar thing happens in Kwami's Choice where Plagg is the one driving them to act while Tikki just wrings her hands in despair.

Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do? Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must… free them of us.

These are not the actions of a mentor. Mentors aren't supposed to just offer judgement about things that their mentee has already done or is considering doing. They're supposed to be a source of support and guidance in hard times, but we never really see Tikki stepping in to give Marinette that kind of advice. If memory serves, she never offers solutions or acts as a sounding board. That role is mainly filled by Alya and I love Alya! It's good for Marinette to have support from a friend, but Alya is also a teenager while Tikki is an ancient being who has seen many Ladybugs go through the kind of struggles that Marinette is going through. I expect her to use that knowledge to help her charge, but she never does. This exchange from Passion perfectly highlights this problem:

Tikki: Don't worry, Plagg... my holder has decided to run away from her real feelings to pursue an impossible love with Cat Noir instead. Plagg: Uh, just to be sure, sugarcube, you do know that Cat Noir and my holder are one and the same person, right? Tikki: I do, but my holder doesn't. Plagg: If she declares her love to Cat Noir, something tells me she'll find out soon enough. Tikki: You have nothing to fear. When my holder is in love, she never gets anywhere. She'll just knit hats and make very complicated plans that will never come to fruition. Plagg: Hmm... ah, then everything's fine.

Tikki, I love you, but by the gods! With a mentor like you, Marinette doesn't need enemies to be miserable! Do you care about her at all??? What kind of mentor delights at their mentee's suffering? Not a good one, that's for sure.

*Quick note: I think that Plagg and Tikki are probably neck and neck for who has given the most bad advice, Plagg just feels like the bigger problem because we don't see him as much as we see Tikki. Since she's tied to the main character, Tikki gives advice in almost every episode and most episodes have decent morals.

Adrien's need for good advice can also feel more glaring because he's so isolated and passive. That makes Plagg's lack of good advice feel more harmful, but Marinette is just as isolated from real advice. Her mentor figures - Su Han, Fu, and Tikki - mostly give orders and judgement instead of support and guidance. It's just harder to spot that fact because Marinette is actively trying to do the right thing, meaning that she's more likely to make mistakes, and it's easy to see why she comes across as a lot less pathetic and a lot easier to judge.

[rowenablade]

Okay. I’m going to wait to do a second watch before I articulate most of my other feelings here, but I want to address one thing.

I’m seeing a lot of posts like, “I related to Izzy because I am also queer and older/disabled/depressed. By killing him off, the writers are saying that I deserve to die.”

Guys.

I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid. I totally understand grieving a character that you relate to. But speaking as a writer, I just want to point out that trying to write with the shadow of “what is the absolute worst and most harmful way a reader can interpret this” will smother your ability to create. Twisting yourself in knots, trying to think up the worst-faith takes possible and scotch-guarding all your writing decisions against them is exhausting to the point of making you just not want to write anymore.

And we’ve seen the writers deliberately choose not to do this in Season 1. Remember all those terrible “Izzy is racist” takes that the writers and cast seemed completely blindsided by? That happened because the writers and directors and actors weren’t going over every scene with a fine tooth comb, ferreting out every shot or line of dialogue or micro expression that could possibly be interpreted as racist, and scrubbing it off. Because there comes a point where your story is what it needs to be, and you have to accept that some people will interpret it in ways you didn’t intend them to. And if you can’t accept that, you’ll never find the courage to put your work out there.

The point of diverse casts and writing teams isn’t to achieve a state of, “Nothing bad ever happens to a character from a marginalized demographic ever again.” It’s to achieve a status quo of these types of characters just being people in the world of the story. Not symbols, not representation boxes to tick, not tokens that you can point to so that you can say, “Here, we acknowledged this type of person exists, now where’s our woke points?”

OFMD is full of characters of color, queer characters, older characters, characters of differing body types. And in stories, things happen to characters. Some fall in love. Some make the same mistakes over and over. Some turn into birds. Some die.

Izzy’s character represents a lot of things, but he does not represent every older, disabled fan or fan who has struggled with suicide, any more than Jim represents all genderqueer fans, or Olu represents all black fans. That’s not how the writers were handling him. They were handling him like a character, because that’s what you have to do.

Again, I understand being sad. I am so, so fucking sad. But this idea of, “Any time something bad happens to a character I relate to means that the writer thinks I deserve these bad things to happen to me,” will poison everything you engage with eventually. Because stories are full of things happening to characters, and they won’t all be good things. And the more representation we get, the more often bad things will happen to characters we relate to.

But good things will happen too.

Queer couples get married. Disabled women run off with their favorite husbands. Middle-aged characters change careers. A multiracial polycule finds a home at sea. A fat man covered in tattoos stars in a drag show and all his friends cheer. All these things happened in the same show as Izzy’s death. This is what this world is.

Anyway. I know emotions are running high and I’ll probably get blocked or unfollowed by a few people for this. But I’m just trying to find my peace where I can, and if anyone else finds this useful, cheers.

[drunkkenobi]

Hi bb, ty for the prompt to write my thoughts!

So I can't get on tumblr at work anymore unless I go outside to get good signal on my phone so I have only been privy to what's going on here today from friends on discord. So maybe I'm missing some nuance or the what my mutuals think and I apologize in advance for that but I'm going to speak plainly.

This is the only way Watcher is going to survive.

The view counts have been steady through Mystery Files season 2 but they aren't, like, astronomical. A video with a million views nets a channel between $10,000 - $30,000. Guys. That's nothing for Watcher. They have to pay each of their 25+ employees a salary with insurance and benefits and for everything else their channel requires. Steven said in the video today that a season of Ghost Files costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. I don't think everyone is hearing that part and understanding how much money that is, especially compared to many other YouTubers they watch. I'm not an expert on other YouTubers but I look at the Sims people I watch. They are successful with views in the hundred k range because they are a company of one. Themselves and maybe paying a freelancer to help edit their videos. For one person, the stakes are lower and the potential for profit is higher! Especially for gamers that are filming in their homes. YouTubers like this, making niche content on the cheap, are who is going to make it in YouTube now.

Watcher is none of those things. They have, from day one, wanted to make high quality unscripted content. All of their shows are shows. They aren't just "Ryan and Shane do [thing]" or "Steven eats [whatever]". They are shows, like ones you see on cable TV or any streamer. And shows are not cheap. Unscripted is cheaper, sure, than scripted. But that doesn't mean cheap. Especially not with the sheer production value we've seen on all their shows, in particular Ghost Files (hundreds of thousands of dollars). That is how much something like Ghost Adventures costs, which is on Travel Channel, an actual TV network that puts up all those costs.

So. That's why Watcher has to pivot to survive.

I think it's a great idea, personally. And yes, I am in a position where I can financially afford it no problem, which I know is a privilege! I am very lucky in that regard. And I understand that many people are upset they won't see the boys as easily on YouTube anymore. That is valid! But they have openly said they are totally fine with password sharing and I think that's a great way to cut down on costs for some folks. Also right now there's a great deal on the yearly sub for early subscribers. $40 for a year is cheaper than any streaming service and it doesn't go to anyone other than Watcher.

I understand that people feel hurt and blindsided, but I think Watcher is also feeling this too. They have been so excited about this and being able to make whatever they want without having to worry about sponsors and now they're mostly seeing anger directed their way. Especially at Steven. Steven is not rich. You know who's rich? David Zaslav, a man who is single-handedly ruining Warner Brothers and making himself a billionaire while he's at it. THAT is the kind of person we should be directing our anger at streaming prices and quality of the media landscape at. Not one small business that is just trying to survive so they can continue paying their employees.

And one more thing. I've seen folks saying they'd rather watch more ads than pay and while I get that, that's not going to help Watcher make what they want. YouTube famously demonetizes videos with swears which is why I can't watch a video with DRAG QUEENS without every other line being bleeped and Watcher has been so good about not bleeping their content because they know we would hate it. And YouTube does this because of advertisers. Advertisers only want to appeal to the most broad of audiences so that means not supporting anything slightly left of center. Having to deal with ads sucks from the creator perspective and does not help them in the long run.

Anyway, this is all a bit rambling, but these are my thoughts on WatcherTV. I'm extremely excited to subscribe and make them make more Weird Wonderful World. I hope to see you all there.

[karasuno-planet]

Haikyuu boys coming home after practice ♡

Includes: Kageyama, Oikawa, Hinata

genre: soooo fluffy, sfw

Post time-skip players coming home to their s/o!

a/n: just cutesy stuff tn for you all! requests are wide open and screaming to be filled so shoot me anything! <333

Kageyama Tobio

Kageyama gives it his all during every practice, meaning he comes home completely exhausted every night. And awfully hungry.

On days where he had already showered he just came in the door, said hello, took off his shirt and hopped straight in bed. Face-down.

It takes him a little while to re-gain his energy, so he just lays there for a good fifteen or twenty minutes until he usually stirred upon smelling whatever you were preparing for dinner.

You usually took care of dinner after his long practices, because you had the extra time and it was one thing that always made Tobio happy. To repay you, he usually made breakfast for you in the morning after he went on a run.

He would get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, and approach you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and peering at what you were doing over your head.

"Mm.." he hummed, still waking up, "I love you.."

You chuckled in response, "Do you love me or the food I'm making?"

"Definitely both..."

Be the time you were able to sit down and eat Tobio was fully awake. It might just be his ravenous appetite, but on thing you always loved about Tobio at dinner is that he would listen a lot more than he spoke. He just seemed to like hearing about everything you had gotten up to while he was away.

After dinner he opted to spend more time with you, watching TV usually, but he was up for whatever you suggested. You typically fell asleep before him, and sometimes he would get so excited just to be around you that he would unwind and set a volleyball to himself in bed next to you until he was tired enough to fall asleep.

Oikawa Tooru

He is definitely the kind of guy to sneak up behind you, cover your eyes and say something random. However, over time he switched to wrapping his arms around you and you felt like the things he would say to greet you became less cringey, but maybe you had just fallen even harder for him.

He always felt slightly energized after practice, something about the validation of hitting a perfect serve or receiving a compliment from his teammates gave him a boost. Even on days where he didn't have the best practice, he always put on a smile for you.

He would insist on being the one to cook or take you out, and it was his favorite thing when you decided to come sit on the counter and talk to him while he made dinner.

When he gave updates on the team and his day, he often kept it kind of vague. If you inquired about another player his smile would drop to kind of a stand-offish expression and he would dismiss it, simply saying something like, "Oh yeah, he's fine."

After all, he only wanted you to be thinking about him.

He would change into comfier clothes after dinner and naturally start to get more tired, the endorphin rush from practice having worn off, and the exhaustion setting in. But he would totally pretend he wasn't falling asleep to you. Even gaslighting you that you're definitely the tired one. This would result in a lot of laughter, and you eventually being swept up and carried to bed.

Hinata Shoyo:

He comes home an absolutely energetic freak! You can't mistake his arrival as he struggles to turn the key in the door as quickly as possible, usually resulting in him having to start all over again.

When he does eventually get in the house, he beelines it right towards you and engulfs you in a hug.

"I missed you!"

You struggle to respond, muffled in the hug, "I missed you too Shoyo."

"Practice was great.."

"Tell me all about it."

He's always all over you upon returning home, with a million stories to tell. If you asked about his day, rest assured you would hear about nearly every detail. His tendency to share even the smallest details is something he used to be a little shy about, but you always listened so attentively that over time he had completely gotten over that insecurity.

Neither of you wanted to leave each others' side long enough to cook a good meal, so you usually ended up ordering in. It was quite the struggle just to get Shoyo off you to get the food sometimes though, but when he did get it, he would practically inhale his meal and then finish whatever you didn't eat as well. It was sorta nice having a human garburator around, after all.

You and Shoyo would often fall asleep at the same time, sometimes still in a conversation together. Either you would wake up and drag him off the couch and to bed, or he would practically shake you up and take you there.

One of the best things about living with Hinata was how appreciated you felt from the moment he stepped in the door. He wanted everything to do with you all the time, and that feeling of devoted love was next to nothing.

[masterlist]

[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[pearlessance]

Locked Doors - Idle Threats [ii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — You leave your front door unlocked. The devil invites himself in.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt

SERIES MASTERLIST

[crossposted to AO3]

In truth, Joel is glad to be rid of you.

Not because he didn’t enjoy himself, but because he’d enjoyed the night with you too much. The two of you had fallen into an easy, respectful energy for the remainder of your watch. 

Joel discovers you’re quite funny when he isn’t the butt of all your jokes. And he knows you’re beautiful, painfully so—but when you smile at him, truly smile, it lights up your whole face and ignites a warmth inside him he can’t explain, that he doesn’t even want to think about. 

So, yeah, it’s a bit of a relief when the next two watchmen take over and you go your separate ways. Joel sleeps real heavy that night, more relaxed than he’s been since he set foot in Jackson.

Until Tommy knocks on his door that afternoon, that is. The moment Joel opens it his brother asks, “What the hell did you do to her last night?”

Joel feels his anxiety spike. Tommy knows him better than anyone else, and he’s not sure why he thought your tryst in the tree blind would ever be kept secret. And he knows he shouldn’t lie, but he’s too embarrassed, too afraid of his brother’s judgment. So he shrugs and says, “We…had a conversation.”

“Conversation?” Tommy laughs and shakes his head, pushing into Joel's house. He sits at the kitchen table beside Ellie, who’s shoveling a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Nah. Nah, I don’t believe that.”

Hesitantly, Joel asks, “Why not?”

“That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.” 

You listened to him real well last night. Joel resists the smirk that tugs on his lips.

Tommy continues. “So, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she comes knockin’ this morning asking Maria if she can take the rest of Mike’s shifts. After she threw a big tantrum about having to cover one of them.”

No. No. Joel’s mouth goes dry. 

He can’t spend another night with you. He can’t. He’s not strong enough.

Ellie’s brows furrow together as she looks between the two brothers. “Who?”

“Strawberry scone,” Joel supplies with a casual wave of his hand.

“Oh, my future wife,” Ellie corrects. Then she turns to Tommy with a scowl. “Be nice when you talk about her.”

“She ain’t nice,” he counters. 

Joel remembers how nice you’d been, begging him for mercy, begging for his hands, his mouth, his cock. How nice it sounded when you apologized to him, using that warm, wet tongue of yours as a weapon. He swallows. “We just talked. That’s all.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t push the subject and Joel’s grateful for it. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well—maybe y'all can have a conversation about her giving Maria a break. She’s been back from that run for a month and she still won’t even talk to her. Maria’s tried, but she pretends she can’t hear or see her. Like she’s invisible.”

Ellie chuckles but quiets herself with another bite of eggs when Joel turns and scowls at her.

It’s a valid concern, Joel thinks. Maria and Tommy have been good to the people of Jackson, have been good to you. Given you a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, the protection of monitored walls. All in exchange for a little physical labor. 

Joel doesn’t know what happened on that run for Maria’s barbecue flavored chips, but he understands being angry. Complete and total silent treatment is a bit harsh, however. And for weeks at a time? It’s childish, absurd—bratty. He gives his brother a reassuring nod. “I’ll…see what I can do.”

Tommy thanks him, steals a forkful of Ellie’s eggs, and bolts out of the door as she yells after him. 

Once he’s gone and the noise has quieted, the panic begins to set in. 

He can’t be in there with you for another night. Joel knows he has to do something, find someone to cover his watch. Maybe Bonnie will be willing to switch him for a day or two. Just until Mike returns, until Joel can control his errant desires.

“I’ve got some stuff to get done today,” he tells Ellie. 

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, just…don’t go far,” he says, evading her question. “And don’t go alone, either. Stay with Dina.”

He half expects her to make some witty remark, but she must see something in him that stops her. Ellie nods slowly and asks, “Everything okay?”

No, it wasn’t. Not even close. But there’s no subtle way to explain his turmoil, no words to make her understand that Joel was currently at odds with himself and his morals. That perhaps he’d damned himself, damned you, all for a single night of perfect bliss. So he shrugs and says, “Fine.”

Bonnie’s house is a short walk from his. And when she opens the door, Joel can see her son lying on the couch in the living room. His cheeks are red and he’s got his thumb in his mouth, staring off into space. He can’t be older than four, and Joel begins to feel guilty before he can even say a word. “Joel? Everything alright?”

God, what was with people and that question today? Joel looks away from the little boy on the couch and instead at his mother, who has the same blonde curls. 

He has to ask, doesn’t he? He has to. This is about more than just his peace of mind. It’s about your safety. Safety from him. And you deserve that, after all. Being a brat doesn’t mean you deserve to be preyed upon by an older man. 

So, Joel swallows and forces the words out. “Hey, Bonnie. I was just wondering if maybe you could switch with me tonight. I’ll take your watch today if you’ll take the night shift.”

Please say yes. Please say yes. 

Her green eyes soften, and Joel knows the answer before she speaks. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, Joel. It’s just that Sammy is sick, and…and I feel bad enough being gone all afternoon, you know? And I don’t want to leave him during the night. You can understand, right?”

He nods quickly, not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has. “No, yeah, of course. Completely. I’m sorry I asked.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bonnie suggests that he ask Greg instead. 

But that thought unnerves him even more than being alone with you himself. 

Greg is older than Joel by almost ten years, pushing sixty-five. And he doesn’t think he’s that type of guy—but Joel didn’t think he was that type of guy until he’d been left alone with you, either. 

Maybe he’s wrong, though. Maybe Greg has more morality. Maybe he’s not as bad a man as Joel. Maybe he has more resistance to the forbidden fruit.

Maybe you’re safer with him.

It’s because of that particular thought Joel winds up on Greg’s porch.

And Greg gives him that same sympathetic look Bonnie did, and Joel’s back to square one. “I’ll ask around, though,” Greg says. “See if anyone else is willing.”

Joel thanks him, and busies himself in the stables, in the armory, in anything that keeps his hands busy and his thoughts far from you. He sends a prayer to whatever god may exist, hoping Greg will find him and let him know someone is interested in his shift. Not that Joel would be deserving of forgiveness nor a favor— especially from anyone worth praying to—but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

Nightfall comes too soon and eventually, he decides that maybe it’s better to seek out the source of the problem. To tear out the rot by the roots.

You answer the door after the second knock. You’re leaning against the frame, wearing those jeans again—that dark wash denim that’s skin tight, a gentle stitch of gold down the seam of the pockets.

Joel wonders where you found them, wonders how it’s possible that he’s been reduced to finding so much sex appeal in a pair of jeans, for Christ’s sake. Your black t-shirt is cut into a low V shape, and your breasts are pushed up because of your bra, providing him with a view so tempting it hurts.

“I hear you’re trying to get rid of me,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you didn’t like me, the least you could do is say so. Kinda shitty I had to find out from Greg, of all people.” You turn away from him and walk inside, leaving the door wide open. 

It’s an invitation. But Joel hesitates, because he knows, he knows what happens when he’s alone with you. Knows just how far he’ll go, how much he wants it. He’s not sure if it’s desire or shame or excitement that coils around his spine, gripping tight.

But it’s rude, isn’t it, to refuse? It’s not like you’re doing anything to tempt him apart from existing. Joel can handle that, can’t he? He’ll just explain himself. Have a quick five minute conversation about why he needs to avoid you at all costs, why you cannot—cannot—be on watch duty with him for another day.

And then he’ll leave. Wipe his hands clean of the guilt, the sin, of you. 

Joel walks inside and closes the door behind him. “You need to tell Maria you can’t be on watch tonight,” he says. 

Your house is small but cozy, more personalized than the other homes in Jackson. Cluttered with things you no doubt picked up on some of your runs—framed photos of landscapes, whimsically shaped, half-burned candles, a crinkled and slightly water damaged band poster that reads The Bravery. The kitchen on his left is quaint, the counters occupied by stacks of old, worn books. There’s an old vase with a faded picture of a cat sitting on the stove, filled with mismatched utensils. A small, square table sits in the corner with two upholstered chairs and in front of one of them, a leather-bound journal sits with a pen beside it.

Joel suddenly, more than anything else, wants to know what’s in that journal. Thinks about sneaking in late at night to flip through it. It’s well loved, and he knows even from several feet away that inside of it is you. The parts you don’t share with others, the parts he desperately wants to unearth. 

“And why would I do that?” You follow his gaze and casually move to close the journal. You wrap the leather cord around it twice, pick up the pen, and toss both into an inconspicuous drawer.

“Because I said so,” Joel says sharply. He’s standing by the front door still, and his skin prickles as you close the distance. And for good measure, he adds, “Because you’re not feeling well. You’re sick.”

You’re standing so close now he can feel the heat of your skin, beckoning to him, pulling him in. You’re so magnetic that he doesn’t pull away when you grab his hand and place his palm against the side of your neck. “Does it feel like I have a fever?”

Feverish? No. Warm, soft, addictive? Yes. Joel can feel your pulse beneath his hand, strong and steady. He can feel himself losing the battle already. He pulls his hand away and closes it into a fist behind his back. “Stop,” he says. “We can’t do this.”

You snort but turn away to give him some much needed space. “You can’t, you mean.”

He steps forward on instinct and freezes. He can’t bring himself to retreat, but he has the strength still to keep from going to you, from seeking you out just to feel you in his hands. That has to be enough. Joel knows he needs to say what he has to say and leave, before his resistance withers into nothing. “People are already starting to talk.”

“People,” you mock. “You mean your brother?” When he doesn’t deny it, you continue. “Let me guess—he said something this morning, asking about what we did all because I said I would pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

Joel doesn’t mention the other things Tommy said, about you being a pain in his ass. Joel can relate to it. “He also said you’ve been blatantly ignoring Maria.”

“No fucking shit I’ve been ignoring her,” you snap. But your eyes widen as Joel’s whole body tightens, seeing the mistake. 

But he isn’t here for that. He’s not. If you’re going to be a foul-mouthed brat, so be it. It’s not his place to discipline you. It can’t be. “You need to give her a break. Maria’s done right by all of us.” 

“Why? Because you said so?” You laugh, and it’s a sick, maniacal sound that grates against his nerves. So different than the soft airy giggles he’d heard last night. “Cut the shit and be honest with yourself, Joel. You want me to be nice to Maria so you don’t have to hear Tommy bitch about me anymore and you want me off watch duty with you because you’re afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of a little girl?” Joel thinks you're joking at first. But you’re not laughing anymore, and when he realizes you’re serious he lets out a long sigh of frustration. It releases the tension in his shoulders just enough to keep him from losing it. “You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“Well I’m not wrong,” you say, brows raised. 

It’s the attitude that gets to him, the contempt. Joel can’t stand it. He wants to take you by the throat and force you up against the wall. But he doesn’t, using the last of his patience to keep his feet planted firmly on the welcome mat.

“It was so good,” you say, the cadence of your voice lowering to a near whisper. There’s a warmth in your eyes that makes his chest ache. “I know you felt it too. You can’t tell me you didn’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. I don’t believe you, Joel.”

The sound of his name in your mouth is nearly his undoing. It’s so pretty, you’re so pretty. Joel swallows hard, suddenly aware that for all he defiled yesterday, he’s never kissed you. Not truly. 

He’s kissed your forehead, your cheek, has tasted your skin and the wetness between your thighs. But he’s never once tasted the inside of your mouth or felt your tongue against his.

Joel clenches his teeth. 

He can’t. He shouldn’t.

But he has to. Good fucking God, he has to.

Joel reaches you in two strides. Your eyes widen in fear, but the moment he places his hands on either side of your face you’re melting, becoming pliable material for him to manipulate. Joel tilts your head up and leans down, crushing his mouth to yours.

You’re gripping his brown leather jacket, trying to keep your balance. But he’s crowding you, forcing himself into your space, into your mouth, pressing himself against you as if every inch of separation pains him.

Joel thinks you taste like bad decisions, like pomegranate seeds and glowing apple slices, like poisonous peach pits, like something so tempting it’s forbidden for good reason. He bites in anyway, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan at the deviation from heaven, and he grabs a fistful of your ass and drags you impossibly closer as a low growl leaves his throat. 

He knows you can feel his cock through his jeans, pressing hard against your belly, but Joel does his very best to ignore it as he licks every soft part of you. He wants to remember this, to savor it, because he promises himself it’ll be the last time he ever takes advantage of you.

When he pulls away, Joel’s gasping for air like he’s never been kissed before. Like this is his first time, like you’re his first. It’s certainly the only time it’s ever been like this, heavy and weighted, hot and desperate and sacrilegious.

Your eyes are glassy and beautiful as you look up at him, fingers still clutched in his jacket. “You’re afraid of me, Joel,” you repeat, snaking a hand between you and rubbing his cock, squeezing softly over the denim. “You’re afraid of how good this feels because you’ve never been able to hold onto anything good in your entire life.”

And, distracted by the soft feel of your mouth, by your hand, he’s able to listen. To rid himself of guilt, of shame, truly hearing you. Joel silently wonders if you’ve been the conductor of this mess all along, if you’ve somehow seen behind the scenes, if you are, impossibly, the one who’s manipulated him. Because how else would you be able to rip those razor-sharp truths out of him? Truths he’s never faced, truths he’s never planned to. 

“It slips through your fingers every time, like smoke,” you say. 

Joel can’t pull himself away, can’t reestablish that distance he so carelessly erased. You feel too good, touching him, sighing softly between words as if he were the one touching you.

“And so you’ll push me away, so far that you can forget whatever it is you feel for me. And it’ll work. For a little while, anyway.” You rise to your tiptoes, swollen lips a breath away from his ear. “But one day you’ll be laying in bed with some lovely, soft spoken, age-appropriate woman, and you’ll look over at her and you’ll imagine me in her place. And I think you’ll miss bossing me around, and teaching me how to behave for you, and how good it feels to be inside of me.” His cock throbs in his jeans, and he feels you smile against his skin. “I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller.”

The picture you paint is a dreary one, and it leaves Joel cold. Even colder when you finally step back and he can’t feel the warmth of your skin anymore, the heat of your breath. But he doesn’t say that, because this feels like a goodbye—the goodbye he came here for. Joel steels himself, pushing that God-forsaken image far from his brain. “Tell Maria you’re sick,” he orders. 

And then he’s leaving, and it hurts to slam the door behind him, but he does it.

For the first time in days, Joel feels a drop of redemption trickle back into his bloodstream. 

Thankfully, you don’t show up to the tree blind to relieve Greg and Bonnie. But no one else does either, and Joel knows that you never even attempted to speak to Maria. A last-ditch effort at defiance. 

When they ask about you, he lies easily and says, “She’s running a little behind. Go on home, you’ll probably pass her on the way.” 

And they do as he suggests, leaving Joel in the tree blind alone with his thoughts. 

It’s almost as dangerous as being alone with you, because your words echo in his brain. I think you’ll miss me real bad, Joel Miller. 

He will. He does. Already, he misses the way your body feels against his. He misses the taste of your soft tongue. He misses your sweet laughter and carefree demeanor. He misses the innocence in your eyes when you look up at him like he has all the answers. Joel wants to give them to you, wants to take care of you. Wants to make you feel good, to protect you, to keep you safe. 

But you’re right. Goddamnit, you’re right. He is afraid of you. Terrified, in fact—because it could so easily turn into more than just physical need, more than just sinful desire. That one day you spoke into existence could come and he’d miss more than how it feels to be inside you, he’ll just miss you.

Joel knows how dangerous that is. It’s bad enough he’s gotta worry about Tommy and Ellie. Why would he want to add another name to that list? Another person he’d die for, another person he’d kill for.

It’s no good. He’s no good. 

Joel feels the ghost of your mouth against his and can’t resist pressing his knuckles to his lips, hoping to cement your DNA there so he can keep the lingering taste of you forever. 

But if not him, who else will take care of you? It’s dangerous outside these walls.

It’s only then he remembers his conversation with Tommy and Maria, who wouldn’t let Joel be on watch alone. Yet they let you go on runs alone, and often. 

The realization has his blood boiling.

Because if not him, then who? Some other, older man? Someone capable of enduring your fury, your foolishness, of knowing when to have a heavy hand and when to touch you softly? No. 

Fuck no. 

By the time his shift is over and the next two patrolmen come to relieve him, Joel knows right where he’s headed. They ask him where you went, if you ever showed up—and he covers for you. Saying, “I cut her loose early so she could get some sleep.” 

At first, he’s not sure why there’s an innate desire within him to lie for you, to keep you safe from ridicule or consequence. 

But as he’s walking to that white house on the corner of the street, Joel realizes that it’s because he doesn’t want anyone else to punish you—ever.

That’s his job.

And, Christ, does he have plans for you. 

Joel freezes a second before he bangs his fist against the door. The night is quiet and cold. The air is still. And, through the thin walls, he can hear you.

Can hear those sweet, soft moans. It’s faint, but it’s there. And Joel knows because those cute little sounds are forever embedded in his memory. 

All the blood in his brain rushes south at the image his mind produces. He can almost see you; sprawled out on your bed, legs parted with your hand between your thighs. He wonders what you’re thinking about and selfishly hopes it’s him. 

His hand shakes as he lowers it and reaches for the doorknob. You wouldn’t be so stupid, would you? 

The question is quickly answered when he twists the handle and encounters no resistance. Joel suddenly thinks of a quote his old, southern pastor once told him when he was a kid. Fittingly enough, he’d used it in a sermon about abstinence. 

Temptation is the devil looking through the keyhole. Yielding is opening the door and inviting him in.

But what is Joel to do when the devil leaves the door unlocked and wide open with a bratty little girl on the other side of it? How is he supposed to resist the forbidden fruit knowing just how sweet it tastes? 

He just can’t help himself. 

Joel eases his way inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket and flannel, laying it over the back of the worn leather couch as if he belongs here. Your house is dark, but he’s able to follow the sound of your whimpering down the hallway. He pushes your bedroom door open as silently as he can—and what he finds is somehow a million times better than what he’d imagined.

You’re sitting in the center of your bed, straddling a pillow that’s folded in half between your legs. You’re facing the doorway, head tilted back and eyes closed in euphoria. Joel can see everything from here. The curtain over the window is open, the moonlight casting a purplish hue over your soft skin. 

His whole body tenses up as he watches you, eyes stuck on the wet spot between your legs. Joel almost doesn’t believe you’re real, nearly convinces himself you’re some sort of backlit, demonic little thing. Sent to him by the devil himself to ensure his damnation. As if it somehow wasn’t already a guaranteed thing, because Joel doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, watching you desperately try to get yourself off.

You tilt your hips back and forth, moaning at the friction. The sounds you make are so beautiful, and Joel is thankful at this moment that you have little consideration for others. Because you’re moaning and whimpering loud enough that you don’t hear the wooden floor creak beneath his feet as he closes the space. 

In a sick, sinister way, Joel enjoys the fact that he’s watching you, so close he could reach out and touch you, and you have no idea. Pretty, stupid little girl. Joel is a bad man, you know. Real bad. And he could do whatever he wanted to you right now. Could cover your mouth with his hand so you can’t scream, could force you to your knees and have his way with you.

You let out a sweet sounding gasp, and Joel knows you’re close, nearly there. He would bet your clit is throbbing against your pillow, pussy just aching to be filled.

More than anything, more than teaching you how dangerous it is to leave your doors unlocked in the dead of night, Joel wants to help you. Wants to make you feel good. Wants to show you that yeah, one day he may be lying next to another woman thinking of you, but he will be the only man to ever satisfy your sadistic cravings. No one will ever be able to touch you again and make you feel as good as he does. 

He wraps his hand around your ankle and squeezes, anticipating the terrified cry you make in response. Joel holds tight, wrapping the other hand around your calf and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

But not before you reach behind, pulling a serrated sawback knife from beneath the sheets. It’s clutched tight between your fingers as you hold it towards him. Your frightened eyes soften as recognition comes. He can hear your breathing settle, but your chest is still heaving. He doesn’t think you notice as his hands begin to slide up your legs, over the softness of your thighs. “Joel? What are you doing? Did you break into my house?”

There isn’t a single trace of alarm in your voice anymore, even though you’re still pointing that knife at him. “Didn’t have to,” he says, completely unfocused on the point of the weapon. Joel leans forward, running his hands over the swell of your hips, your ribs. He takes both breasts in his hands, unable to hold back the groan at the heavy feel of them. 

“I thought,” you swallow hard, inhaling a ragged breath. “I thought…you said—”

“I know what I said.” Joel takes the knife from your hand with ease and lays it on the battered nightstand. And the second he’s no longer under threat, he forces your back against the mattress and crawls between your legs, pulling them up over his hips. 

He pushes his hard cock against you, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare, sensitive skin. He watches the way you immediately soak the fabric, evidence of your near-release. You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows knitted together, the cutest little pout on your lips. “Wait,” you say, and he does. “I just…I don’t understand.”

Joel sees the concern etched on your face and thinks you’ve never looked so vulnerable in front of him as your eyes search for an explanation. He doesn’t have one that makes sense, that justifies his being here, justifies his hands as they roam freely over your skin. He pushes his hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. “You don’t have anyone to take care of you,” he mutters. “I’m gonna keep you safe, baby. Real safe.” 

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you argue. “I can keep myself safe just fine.” He twists his hand in your hair, pulling lightly. His free hand comes between you, and Joel forces you to watch as he runs his thumb through your folds, spreading you open.

He doesn’t reply to your proclamation because he doesn’t believe it and he doesn’t think you do, either. He speaks as he circles your clit with the pad of his thumb softly. “But I gotta keep you safe from me, too, sweetheart. Can’t let an old man touch you like this. You’re just a little girl.”

Your back arches, pushing against his hand. You’re grinding against his cock over his jeans, and Joel can feel himself leaking at the warmth of you. You breathe his name, begging for more, begging for him like he knew you would.

Joel slides his thumb down further, smirking at the groan you let out as he pushes it inside you. “Precious little thing,” he whispers to himself. He switches his thumb for his middle finger, turning his hand palm up so he can press hard on that sweet spot inside of you. Your legs immediately start to tremble around him, and Joel smiles to himself knowing he’s barely touched you and already he’s accomplished what he set out to do. “I know, baby,” he says. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Not that pillow, not your hands, no other man but me.”

He releases his hold on your hair, letting you relax against the mattress. Your spine is still arched at the base, allowing him easy access to where you want him most. When he slips another thick finger inside of you, your hands clutch the sheets and your pleading gets a whole lot more convincing. “Joel, please—please just… mmm, Oh, God—”

Even though they burn his throat, Joel forces the words out before he loses the courage. “This is the last time, pretty girl. The last time I’ll ever touch you, okay? I promise. Gotta keep you safe…startin’ tomorrow.”

He almost wonders if you heard him, so lost in your satisfaction as he fucks you with his fingers. But then you lean forward, pulling eagerly at his leather belt, and he hears you say, “Liar.”

Joel knows you don’t believe him, but it’s true. He just needs to get it out of his system—to be inside of you knowing it’s the last time so he can savor it properly. To memorize it so he never forgets. He watches, enraptured, as you unbuckle his belt. Your hands are so much smaller than his, trembling lightly as you pull his cock out. He chuckles darkly as you lick your lips and hurry to line him up at your entrance. His middle and index fingers are still buried deep inside of you, hooked upwards right where you need him. “You want it now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you say so quickly he laughs. “Please, Joel, please.”

With his free hand, he knocks yours away and presses his tip into you between his fingers. “Right now, huh? So fuckin’ needy, can’t wait one more minute. Just wanna be so full’a me you’re beggin’ for it, s’that it?”

He inches in further, leaving his fingers inside of you, watching the glorious stretch it makes, relishing in the whine you let out in response. 

“Wait,” you say, fear laced in your voice as you realize his intent. Joel does—giving you the option to deny him, to say no. But you don’t. Of course you don’t. Instead, when your pretty eyes meet his dark gaze, something heated and curious appears on your face. 

Joel sinks into you further, even as you toss your head back and force the air from your lungs in a ragged exhale. He knows it must feel so full —because he can feel every inch of you, squeezing him like a vice. 

“It hurts,” you hiss, wincing. “Joel, I can’t—!”

“Yeah you can, baby,” he encourages. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Joel pulls back out slowly, cock glistening with your slick. “You say it hurts but this pretty pussy is just cryin’ for me, little girl.” When he pushes in again, stretching you slowly, he lets out a low groan at the feeling and doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in.

“Oh my God,” you whine, hooking your legs around his back. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” Joel mocks, rocking his hips slowly. He can feel your body react immediately—walls fluttering around him with every movement. You’re a trembling, moaning mess, making an even bigger one all over the dark hair above his cock.

A single tear falls from the corner of your eye, and Joel leans forward to kiss it away. He presses his lips to your forehead and gently strokes the side of your face with his free hand. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I…it’s just,” you pause to let out an elated sigh as he thrusts in deep. “If this is the last time you—ohh, God, Joel—please, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know, little girl, I know,” he says. Joel thrusts his hips forward hard—once, twice, until your legs are shaking so bad he knows you’re one stroke away from combustion. And then he pulls his cock out of you, lips curling into a smirk at the whine you give in protest. “S’okay, baby, don't cry,” he promises, dropping to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Wanna taste it, sweetheart.”

His mouth is bliss when he puts it on you, licking long, gentle strokes through your heat with his soft tongue. He uses both hands to spread your legs wide, holding you still even as you squirm, and his chest rumbles in satisfaction as he drinks you in. Joel wraps his lips around your clit and focuses his efforts there. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he groans against you as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding against his face as if you can’t get enough. 

Joel understands. He really, really does. Because even when your body pulls tight and you moan his name over and over, soaking his facial hair, his chin, his mouth—it’s not enough. He wants more, wants you impossibly closer, wants to hear nothing but your moans for the rest of his life. 

He doesn’t stop until your muscles begin to relax and your breathing slows. He releases your clit from between his lips and you shudder as he licks through your folds, devouring any trace of your orgasm left behind. The urge to praise your behavior rises in him, wanting to tell you how good you’re being, how perfect. 

But this—tonight—is about Joel. It’s a selfish act, his taking you. It’s for his memory, for his satisfaction. Which is why, when he crawls back over you, Joel rests his calloused hand against your neck and crushes his mouth to yours. You open up immediately, giving him an all access pass to your tongue, moaning at his reverence. You taste so fucking sweet, and Joel knows just how easy it would be to find obsession in kissing you.

With his free hand, he reaches down and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, the metal belt buckle clanging to the floor. He pulls away for only a second to grip the back of his shirt collar and pull it over his head, discarding it quickly. 

And then he’s turning you over, grabbing your hips, and forcing them up. The sight of you with your face against the mattress and your arms braced in front of you, the enticing slope of your spine, your glistening, needy pussy—it’s almost too much. Joel’s cock throbs painfully, desperate to be inside of you. He runs his hands over the perfect globes of your ass, spreading you open. “You’re so pretty, baby. The cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your whimpering in response to his compliments is so cute it warms his heart.

You arch back for him, and Joel can’t resist his grin. You’re just so eager.

He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip between your cheeks, watching it slide down your pussy until it reaches your clit. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes back into you, can’t resist leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to your spine. He won’t last long—not like this, buried so deep inside you there’s no end of you or beginning of him.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. Joel’s thrusts are punishing and relentless. He slams into you, holding you down against the mattress with one hand and using the other to paw at your ass, pulling you back onto him every time he retreats. “This what you wanted? Hm? Wanted to be bent over and fucked like a whore, huh?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “It feels so good, Joel—fuck—”

His hips still. He fists his hand in your hair and pulls you up, back against his chest. His mouth is at your temple as he asks, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry—don't stop, don’t stop, please,” you beg. The words are desolate and frantic, but there’s a knowing, arrogant smirk on your face. 

You’re playing him, Joel suddenly realizes. Playing into his games to get what you want—you clever, bratty little girl. His palms twitch with the urge to force you into true submission instead of whatever this forgery of it is.

But he can’t do that in a single night. And so Joel decides to give you exactly what you want instead.

He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he presses your head to his shoulder. He uses the other to reach down and stroke your clit in soft circles, thrusting up into you all the while. “Aw, baby,” he tuts. “Look at you. You’re so fuckin’ easy. Doin’ whatever I want you to. Lettin’ me fuck you however I want.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—Joel I’m gonna—!”

Joel thrusts harder, circles your clit faster. Arousal pools low in his belly at the delicious way you say his name. “Give it to me, baby. Yeah, there you go. Mmhm, thaaaat’s it.” You squeeze him hard, and Joel has to close his eyes to hold himself back. 

Your moans are music to his ears, pretty little sounds that urge him on. His hand doesn’t stop, his hips don’t slow, and his mouth never quiets, filthy words sending you to immeasurable heights.

“Pussy was fuckin’ made for me. It’s soakin’ me so good. This what you like? Hm? Like to be fucked real rough, treated like a fuckin’ slut. That’s what makes it all wet, baby? Don’t you worry. I’ll give you everything you need, exactly what you’re beggin’ me for.” Joel feels your muscles go slack, but his hand on your neck only tightens, holding you upright. He doesn’t stop even as your hands fly to his between your legs, pulling at his wrist, needing reprieve.

“Joel, oh my God, please—I’m finished, I’m finished—!”

He presses your clit harder, fucks you deeper. “Ain’t this what you wanted? Didn’t want me to stop. Real sensitive, isn’t it?” His tone is so mocking, so mean. “Gonna fuck you till it hurts, pretty girl.”

You’re writhing in his hands, the cutest little tremors rocking through you. “It does, it does, Joel, please, it hurts so bad,” you cry. He kisses your tears away, savoring the taste of saltwater on his tongue. 

“Tell me who’s pussy this is,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me baby, who’s pretty pussy is it? Huh?”

No answer comes right away. You’re too fucked out, fucked stupid, thoughts emptying out of your head. But Joel is there, right at the precipice, and he has to hear it before he follows you.

“C’mon little girl, use your words. Tell me,” he gently urges.

“Yours! It’s yours, I swear, Joel, fuck, fuck—!”

He pulls out of you just in time to spill his come onto your back, his cock sliding against your ass. Joel feels satisfaction down to his bones, knows that it’ll be easier to resist you now that he’s succumbed to his indulgences.

But as the euphoria fades, the guilt slowly starts to seep in. Joel lays you gently against the mattress, chest heaving.

“Don’t move,” he says. And then he’s leaving your room, picking up his flannel from the back of the couch. When he returns, he wipes away the mess he made, cleans up the lingering wetness between your legs.

While you climb up the bed and slide your shaky limbs beneath the thick comforter, Joel starts to pull his clothes back on. When he’s dressed in his boxers and t-shirt you ask, “Joel? Can you…can you stay? Just for a little bit?”

Your voice is so timid, so mousy, as if you’re embarrassed to even ask. He’s never heard you like this before. It tugs on his heartstrings, makes him feel the beginnings of exactly what he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 

That feeling chokes him, makes him feel covered in sin. Because you’re so young. So young that Joel should know better. He does know better. He’s just really, really bad at resisting temptation. Astronomically bad, in fact. And he doesn’t want to hurt you—truly, he doesn’t. Despite all he’s done and all he’s said, Joel has your best interest in mind. And he has no place there.

But, fuck, he wishes he did. 

Words don’t come easily to him. They never have. Especially when he has so much to say. “‘Course,” is all he manages.

Joel climbs in bed next to you, shoulders relaxing for what feels like the first time in a very long time as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, rests his cheek against the top of your head. He’s so warm, like a big cocoon of heat and safety. 

The silence stretches on. And he thinks you may have fallen asleep already. But before you do, he says into the dark, “I didn’t mean it, you know. All the…the stuff I said. I don’t think you’re…”

You lift your head, turning those spellbinding eyes on him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t for you to give him an award-winning smile and say, “Good to know Joel Miller doesn’t think I’m an actual whore. If he did, whatever would I do?”

He doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm right away. And you must see something on his face that’s real amusing—because you burst into a fit of girlish giggles and Joel can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“I’m kidding,” you say. And then you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Goodnight, Joel. You can let yourself out when you’re ready.” 

He waits until you fall asleep, until your breathing evens out and you turn away from him on your side. Joel gathers his things quietly and leaves through the front door. 

This time, he locks it up tight.

[part one] [part three]

[rocketbirdie]

YOU. You are correct about Cloud Strife. Everything you say about him is CORRECT

Hi I'm going to use your ask as an opportunity to go on an unhinged tangent about him below the cut.

I believe that EVERYTHING about Cloud Strife as a character makes total sense once you realize: it's autism.

Here's a character whose entire arc revolves around the erosion of his identity and his desperate attempts to adhere to an ideal image, at the expense of his own wellbeing; and how self acceptance is the thing that brings him back from the edge of despair.

Youtube theorycrafters waste hours of their lives trying to piece together Cloud's psyche, when the answer is just... autism. It really is that simple. I will die on this goddamn hill.

In Trace of Two Pasts, we learn that even as a toddler, Cloud really was just... like that. Unemotive and awkward. And the entire lifestream sequence in the OG shows us a young Cloud who behaves in baffling ways. Tifa and her friends invited Cloud into their group, but he rejected their friendship while simultaneously harboring a seething jealousy. How the heck does that work, huh?

Viewing this through the Autism Lens™️, his approach make way more sense. Fearing his own inability to read and reciprocate their intentions, he pushes them away, and the resulting loneliness crushes him. He mistakes that loneliness for anger. He turns that anger outwards and gets into fights. Because the other kids don't understand him, Cloud sees them as stupid and immature. It's the perfect recipe for disastrous distrust. The tragic result is that, when Tifa gets into her accident, Cloud is immediately blamed by kids AND adults. He's seen as inherently dangerous and unpredictable, even though he did nothing wrong. It's like they were already looking for the perfect excuse to hate him.

The worst part is, because he struggles to articulate his own thoughts and feelings, he starts to just... accept what other people say about him. He's a pain in the ass. He's a selfish brat. He could try being a bit nicer. Any attempt that he makes to argue, backfires and proves their points even more. He's being childish. He needs to get his shit together. Nothing's ever good enough for him. He stops fighting it and lets people drag him around and violate his boundaries, because no matter how loud he yells or how intelligently he argues, nothing he says ever reaches their ears. He trims away more and more of himself to try and appease others and nurse the constant emotional pain. (And that's not even addressing the entire traumatic *waves hands* everything that he's gone through by the time he reaches Midgar! That would have to be its own tangent lol.)

It's hard to watch as a player; the secondhand embarrassment of Cloud's social blunders is immense. Some people don't like Cloud as a video game protagonist, which is perfectly valid. But a lot of times, they justify their opinion by perpetuating the same damaging language. He's an asshole, he's a weirdo, he hates people. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating. I know Cloud is just a fictional character, he doesn't need to be defended from harsh criticisms. But I can't help but wonder what these players think about the "weird people-hating assholes" that they meet in real life.

It also makes me wonder if they were even paying attention. I think the games make it pretty damn obvious what's going on. He's an asshole because other characters treat him like one before they even get to know him. He hates people because he doesn't understand them, and they don't even try to understand him. He's a weirdo because he has a strange way of showing how deeply he loves and cares, and he's afraid that his love will be misinterpreted like every other emotion he's ever dared to show.

The autism is everywhere. It permeates his entire being. It's in his silly responses when he takes things too literally. It's in his painfully practical way with words. It's in the stiff expressionless look and the flat tone of voice. It's in him constantly adjusting his gloves, shifting his weight, looking down at his feet. It's in his questionable idea of what you're supposed to do with your body at a yoga session. It's in the half a dozen flustered high fives, it's in the motion sickness. It's in the contagious eagerness with his special interests in SOLDIER and materia and chocobos.

It's in the moments where the facade crumbles and we get to see the real Cloud, the one that Aerith knew was in there— the one that Tifa finds in the lifestream— the one that Zack gave his life for— the Cloud that cherishes the whole world. He's got so much of everything inside of his heart, and he doesn't know how to get it out. You'd be a weird asshole about it, too.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Thank you so much for writing for Invincible!!!!!! There's hardly anything especially with a male reader

So like yandere Mark, am i right? If he were to be yandere i could totally imagine him using his powers to intimidate his lover and get rid of anyone who he doesn't like and he would act like it's your fault if you're sad when he kills someone, he got it from his dad

Mark Grayson Yandere Alphabet

I found this yandere alphabet, so I decided to fill it out for Mark :3c This is post season 2 mark, or something around that, which is why Mark is different to what Nolan would be like. Let me know if you guys wanna see more alphabets like this.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

I think after everything that’s happened, Mark would be a very clingy guy. He would hug, hold, and kiss his darling any chance he gets. It can get pretty intense, like, mark holding you so hard bones would break if you try to wiggle free or if he’s feeling extra emotional, be it positive of negative. In the beginning hed be too shy to kiss you, but when he crosses that bridge, he never stops.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

After everything with his dad and with Angstrom, it would be much easier for Mark to get violent and bloody, especially if he thinks someone is trying to harm you, in his opinion. And to him, anybody trying to rescue you from him is a threat.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I don’t see Mark as someone who would mock his darling. Instead, he would try to pamper you and make you love him back, to make you accept that this is your new life now and its for the best. He would be overly affectionate, to the point where its extremely overbearing. His horrible self-worth also makes you seek a lot of validation. So, all in all, he’s very draining to be around.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Mark would hug you, cuddle you and kiss you against your will. Hed go as far as to force you to take care of yourself if you don’t, either by him doing it for you, or watching you like a hawk as you do it. hed never force himself on his darling though, since he still sees himself as a hero.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He would expose his heart to you from the very beginning, since he feels so guilty about kidnapping you. Mark would just word-vomit everything he feels and how this is what he needs to do, because he loves you so much and can’t lose you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Mark would be so sad, but he understands why his darling fights back in the beginning, at least some part of him does. But he would grow frustrated if they kept fighting back for a longer period of time, since he thinks hes doing the right thing. Why cant his darling just SEE that?

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Its in no way a game for Mark, this is almost life and death for him. He hates seeing you trying to escape too, since he knows its just proof that you don’t love him back or understand his version of the truth.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably the fact that there is a high possibility that Mark has killed his darling’s family and loved ones, since if he killed them, there’s no reason for you to leave right? You have no one else, just him, and that’s all you need. Hes also broken many bones, sometimes without meaning too, and sometimes on purpose.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He fantasizes about an almost movie like future, with a happy spouse who loves him back just as much as he loves them, where you’ll greet him at the door and embrace him so happy he’s home. It wouldn’t be too out of this world for Mark to imagine his darling as still living in solitude in what he deemed the safest place.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Mark gets so jealous, since his mental state is already very broken. The very thought of his darling loving someone else or wanting to leave him for someone else? Its almost enough to get him spiraling, and it either leads to him having a horrible breakdown, or growing extra violent when he fights crime.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Disgustingly doting and clingy. Hes always right behind you or touching you in some way. He absolutely craves your attention and validation, and will have a panic attack if you ignore him. But he also uses a lot of guilt tripping when he isn’t getting his way, or his darling it acting out.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

I imagine your relationship was actually pretty normal in the beginning, with you replacing Amber. As normal as a relationship dating a superhero is at least. So mark was kind of clumsy but so sweet and genuine. But then everything with angstrom happened, and he just kinda breaks.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes. Mark acts cooler and a lot more down to earth around people, suppressing the worse parts of himself. He wants to come across as a hero that everyone can look up too, which also means very few people know of your existence after you disappear.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Mark doesn’t like to hurt his darling physically, but he isn’t above breaking bones. He will sob the entire time though, crying and yelling at you that this is your fault and hes only doing it because you gave him no other choice. But he prefers emotional punishment instead, like isolating you for long periods of time.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He would try to keep as many rights for his darling as possible, not wanting to damage their way of life too much. But you would have no connection to the outside world, and you defiantly wouldn’t be able to leave wherever he keeps you. If you act up too much though, then he would have to start taking privileges away, and chaining you to the bed can also be one of those privileges.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He tries to be patient. Mark knows it’s a big change for you, so of course you’re gonna act out and you’re gonna scream at him and try to fight back. But it also wears on him, making his frayed edges get worse, until he just can’t take it anymore and breaks down, which only adds onto all the guilt he’s been piling on you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No way. If his darling dies, then Mark would spiral completely out of control. He would either isolate himself completely, or snap to the point where nolans acts look like a field trip. This depends on if his darling’s death was caused by someone else though. If you leave or escape, you bet your ass Mark is coming for you again. And the GDA would most likely help him, since they know the easiest way to control Mark is to let him keep you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Mark would feel incredibly guilty and selfish for kidnapping you, but since he thinks it’s the right thing to do, then he would learn to cope with it. There is a chance you can get him to leave you go though, if you catch him at the right time when he’s most vulnerable, and if he thinks you truly love him in return. But this would be rare, and him coming back for you would be very likely.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

All the loss and chaos he’s experienced since gaining his powers. The stuff Mark has experienced is enough to break the strongest of men, and with his mental state already being so fractured, the thought of losing you would be the last push he needed.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Mark would feel so horrible about seeing his darling cry or scream, since he already feels guilty about kidnapping you. This is also why it would take him months or even longer to tell you he killed your entire family and all your loved ones, since he doesn’t want to see you cry more.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Theres so many flavours of yandere, that Marks acts would fit some type of yandere, so probably not. Maybe the fact that there is a small chance he would willingly let his darling go? Or the fact that he resorts to using his own guilt and tears to manipulate you.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Honestly just play along with his delusions, that yes Mark, this was the right idea and the world id dangerous. You love him too, and of course you’ll hold him and tell him he’s doing the right thing and being such a good hero. It wouldn’t be too hard to twist him around your finger, since he’s so starved for you and your attention. Escape would be pretty fucking hard though, since even the GDA wouldn’t help you.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Most of Mark hurting you would be accidental, if hes under a lot of stress or very wound up. But it isn’t above him to hurt you on purpose if he thinks there’s no other choice, like you trying to escape too much, or trying to attack him.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Mark would worship the very ground you walked on and would see you as the center of his universe. This is also why the GDA wouldn’t do anything, since Mark sees you as his everything, and you are human and live on earth, then he wouldn’t turn against humanity. Mark would also bend over backwards to gain his darlings affection, whatever it takes, as long as it isn’t letting you free or anything like that.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If you replaced Amber, then you two would have been dating for a while before he snaps, so he would have pined for around that time.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

I don’t think he would do it on purpose, but it would come as a byproduct of his darling being isolated for so long that they just kinda break on their own. Or might be more his darling being slowly shaped into the same kind of stuff that Mark is made out of than outright breaking, since Mark still loves you for who you are. This is where he’s different from his dad.

[now-you-sound-like-a-jedi]

thinking about this scene again

Cause I've seen a lot of different people's takes on this floating around on my dash recently, so I thought I'd add mine to the mix.

You could easily interpret this as a shameless attempt at a guilt trip and Bo-Katan being a hypocrite, etc etc. and that's a totally valid interpretation, but it's always seemed a little easy/one-dimensional to me, and I do think there's another perspective that's actually more interesting:

Bo-Katan herself is bound to be conscious of the fact that she doesn't really have a leg to stand on here. She knows she played a part in creating this situation, and that snipping at Obi-Wan for not caring enough about Satine is very much throwing stones from a glass house.

But when you consider her internal conflict, of fundamentally disagreeing with what Satine stood for versus memories of a time when they weren't enemies versus her own guilt over her perceived failure to save Satine versus the fact that, after everything, she was still her sister, it's easy to imagine all of this combining to leave her feeling like "am I allowed to grieve? Am I allowed to be sad?"

But, of course, this is Bo-Katan, so she's hardly about to work through this constructively. Instead, she channels it all into hunting down Maul, and whether it's justice or revenge or simply a destructive way of handling grief/guilt doesn't really matter to her.

And then she meets Obi-Wan, who should want the same thing, who (in her mind) has infinitely more of a right to these feelings of grief and loss than she does, because he was there for Satine when she wasn't, because he cared about Satine while Bo-Katan behaved as though she hated her, so his grief would at least seem rational...

... and yet outwardly Obi-Wan is Mr Perfectly Fine. If he feels anything like what she does, he doesn't show it.

So it could be a guilt trip, it could be hypocrisy, or it could be a genuine reflection of what this looks like to her, a frustrated questioning of "why am I, the one who hurt and betrayed and failed her, still so hurt and angry about her death while you, the one who was supposed to love her, aren't?"

[the-moon-ate-my-stardust]

Okay literally no one asked but as a former Hobbit movie hater who has since experienced character growth, I feel compelled to share my thoughts on the movies on my gay little blog.

Listen. There are legit reasons to be critical of these movies. They were made on a rushed timeline, at time where CGI overuse was the thing and there are definitely unnecessary moments. But despite those issues, these movies still have a lot of heart and character and some really wonderful acting! To compare them to LOTR, is unfair I think because LOTR was such an unimaginable success and I truly believe no other movie franchise can do what those movies did. To expect the Hobbit movies to be the same caliber considering the behind the scenes drama and massive difference in timeline is just not it.

Truly I think that the Hobbit could have been much more than it was and it’s sad to see the amazing moments and realize that we could have had movies that were maybe closer to the level of LOTR, but that doesn’t take away from all of the great things that the movies gave us! Despite what he may be like irl, Martin Freeman was a great young Bilbo, Richard Armitage was insanely good as Thorin (despite the change in age) and the other dwarf actors brought a great sense of loyalty, brotherhood and shared loss to their roles. The music is still dope as hell and there are some beautiful shots despite all the CGI.

This is way too long and I’ve not said anything that hasn’t been said before but honestly, I’m so glad that I stopped hating on these movies and have seen the special things about them. Nothing will ever compare to LOTR, but that doesn’t make these movies bad. They’re fun, they’re emotional, they have great characterization and it’s super valid to enjoy them.

Final gay thoughts because I’m obligated, but I struggle with people who argue against Bagginshield with the whole “why does everyone have to make everything gay?” thing. Because Hollywood is so deeply homophobic that we see so little genuine queer representation, so forgive us for enjoying the chemistry we find and making it our own since our society gives us breadcrumbs. If you’re not into Bagginshield, totally legit and fine, but don’t hate on other people (especially queer people) trying to find some romantic love in media that we enjoy. Also no one can convince me that Richard Armitage wasn’t at least somewhat intentionally putting his queer energy into this role, I will die on this hill.

Anyway, TL;DR there’s no shame in liking or loving the Hobbit movies despite their faults and there are lots of things to appreciate and enjoy and I for one, am glad to leave my LOTR purist hater days behind me

[emphistic]

"Buttface"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I THINK IVE FINALLY GOTTEN THE HANG OF TUMBLR (hip hip hooray!), i plan on having yuuji being sukuna's baby brother, however, yuuji hasnt been born yet

Prologue: Ever since Sukuna moved in next door, you two have grown closer. Like, impossibly close. One might even call you two "friends;" albeit Sukuna would always shut that idea down. But one thing Sukuna wouldn't shut down? — is that he loves to see you smile. And he would do anything to hear your laugh, over and over again.

A/N: this is in the same universe as "I'm Lactose Intolerant", and while the ages of sukuna and reader dont really matter here, i wrote this with the idea of sukuna being 14 years old and reader is 13 years old (feel free to change that to whatever you desire), brownie points to whoever recognizes the movie that sukuna and reader are watching

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

"This movie is stupid."

"You think everything is stupid, Stupid." You quip back, flicking Sukuna's forehead.

"Touché." He scoffs, and crosses his arms over his chest before leaning further back into the couch. You put your legs on his lap.

You grin to yourself, wondering if he really didn't notice that you called him by the name "Stupid". Then you think, he's probably just in a good mood, and go back to watching the comedy playing on the screen.

"I mean, how can it take you so long to figure out that someone who looks exactly like you is actually your long lost twin sister?" Sukuna moves his hand around to somehow make his point seem more valid.

"Besides, isn't this supposed to be a comedy? Where's the humor in this? This isn't funny, at all," Sukuna drones on — until you decide that you've finally had enough.

"This isn't funny? Well . . . it's not like you're funny, either." You stick your tongue out at Sukuna, in a teasing manner — to which he does the same.

"That's just what you think. I bet you didn't even know that all your friends come to me during break just to listen to me talk. In fact, most of the time, I'm not even trying to joke around, I'm just that naturally funny," Sukuna wore a smug look on his face.

"Sure, 'Kuna. They're just laughing because you have such a funny face. Sometimes I even get you mixed up with a chihuahua, you know."

"Oh really?" Sukuna glares at you, and gets closer to your face.

You copy him, "Yes — really."

At this point, the tips of your guys' noses were just centimeters away from touching. You could practically feel his warm breath on your face.

Woah.

Now you could hear your own breathing quicken.

Since when were Sukuna's eyes so red?

Your cheeks felt warm.

Why are his eyes so, so—?

"Buttface." Sukuna interrupts the silence.

You get pulled back to reality. "What did you just call me!?"

"What, you deaf now? I called you 'buttface,' Dumbass."

"Seriously, someone needs to control your vocabulary."

"Pft, I don't need any controlling."

You laughed, "Sure, Sukuna. Sure."

The movie ended, and the credits rolled. Sukuna grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, before getting off the couch.

"Want something to drink?" He peered over his shoulder at you, raising a brow.

"Ah, sure. Lemonade."

"Too bad, I ain't getting it for you," Sukuna stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and walked off — to the kitchen, you assumed.

You grumbled, and threw a pillow at his back. It just bounced off, though, and you sighed.

He returned minutes later, with a glass of lemonade in his hand. Which was a clear sign he was trying to aggravate you, because he's expressed multiple times his strong detesting of the refreshing drink. (You completely disagree with him, by the way.)

"Dude, seriously?" You frowned.

"Totally serious. I mean, I couldn't resist. This glass of lemonade was just calling my name." He took a sip.

"It is so good."

Another sip.

"Shame you don't have a glass yourself."

And another sip.

You were practically ripping out your hair at this point. "C'mon, 'Kuna. If you won't get me a glass, can I just have a tiny sip of yours?" You entreated him with all your might.

Sukuna rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to think about his decision. Finally, he said, "What's with that name you keep calling me? And — what's the magic word?"

You huffed, "Please?"

He gestured for you to go on.

You clasped your hands together in a desperate, beggar-like manner. "Pretty please, Sukuna? Just a teensy weensy sip? For poor ol' me."

"Hmm, let me think. How about . . . no."

You gawked at the pink haired boy.

"WHAT."

"You heard me."

"Aghhh!" You jumped on Sukuna, trying to grab the glass of lemonade yourself. If he wasn't going to share, you just had to take matters into your own hands — literally.

Your attempts were fruitless, however; Sukuna just kept on raising the glass higher and higher above his head, to the point you couldn't even reach his wrist. Damn him and his stupid growth spurt.

His hand starts to shake as you try to climb him like a tree. Next thing you know, your wish is answered. You got your lemonade. Except, not in the way you had hoped. The lemonade was everywhere. On your clothes, Sukuna's clothes, the couch, everywhere.

"Oh shit." This time, you didn't correct Sukuna's obscene language.

The room became so silent that you would be able to hear a pin drop.

"Sukuna!" You whisper-shout. (You had no idea why you were whispering.)

"Don't look at me, this was your fault!" His hand still held the now empty glass.

"Me? This was all you," you retorted, jabbing a finger into the older boy's chest.

"Sureee, Y/N. Let's just forget about the fact that you were practically climbing my body."

You blushed.

"You could've just gotten your own cup of lemonade, but no, you just had to spill mine."

You scoffed, "Well, you could've shared, but you didn't — because your shellfish."

Sukuna looked at you funny, "Do you mean 'selfish'?"

"Same thing, you know I make mistakes with pronunciation."

He shrugged. Then, a great idea popped into your head.

"Your mess," you exclaim, before pushing off of Sukuna and darting away, only to be pulled back by your hood.

"Hey!" You shout, falling back onto Sukuna's chest.

"This is your mess. You caused this, remember?"

You groaned, turned around, and tackled Sukuna. You guys ended up rolling off the couch altogether. Pillows were thrown, and the lemonade spread onto the carpet.

"Let go of my foot, you big oaf!" You yelled, shoving at Sukuna's face.

"Not until you admit this was all your fault." He continued to wrestle with you on the ground.

"In. your. dreams."

You guys continued to fight, which made the mess even bigger. It felt like hours had passed. Hours where you still didn't get even a sip of lemonade. Then, you heard the sound of keys, and next thing you know; your parents walked in.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest.

Your mom and dad took one good look at the two of you on the floor, and your mom said, "Knock it off, you two. And clean up the couch. I don't want my living room smelling like lemonade for the rest of the year." They walked into the kitchen.

You turned back to look at Sukuna, just to find him already staring at you. You guys continued to stare at each other before bursting out into laughter. Tears were basically streaming down the both of your guys' faces at this point.

Your mom yelled from the kitchen, "Ah, young love these days. So different from us — right, honey?" Your dad responded with a loud chuckle.

Looking down, you realized the position you were in. Sukuna lying on his back beneath you, while you were sitting on top of him. The expression on your face immediately soured.

You and Sukuna pulled away from each other in record timing, both of your expressions clearly, visibly flustered.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pulse 💗

Summary: Bucky can hear your heartbeat through the wall, and he can tell everything isn’t alright.

Pairing: Bucky x gn!Reader

Words: 600 (exactly 600, holy moly)

Warnings: None really, just mentions of anxiety and adhd. Wrote this within an hour, sorry if its bad

A/N: Self indulgent fic alert! This goes out to all my peeps who struggle with ADHD/anxiety. It sucks, but hang in there!

Divider credit: @saradika

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up from the papers on your desk.

A brief second passed, and the door creaked open. A cautious Bucky peeked his head in.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked.

You suddenly became aware of your leg bouncing 70 miles an hour, and forced yourself to stop. 

“Yes, why?” You replied, ignoring the urge to get up and walk around.

“Well, I—” he hesitated, and brought his hand to rub the back of his neck, “I was passing by and I heard your heartbeat going really fast—super hearing and all that,” he awkwardly chuckled.

“120,” you stated, glancing at your watch.

“What?”

“My heart rate is 120 right now.”

“That’s pretty high for just sitting,” he responded, having a hard time hiding his concern.

“Well, y’know, anxiety,” you breathily laughed, but it wasn’t that funny.

“What are you anxious about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nothing.” You sighed, lowering your pen and facing him. At this point he was now in your room, perched in front of your door.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Seriously, I’m kinda freaking out over nothing right now.”

“C’mon, you’re always telling me I’m valid for having concerns, you are too.”

“No, I mean there is literally no singular thing I’m anxious about right now—it’s just physical anxiety, the general feeling that I’m going crazy, or dying, I don’t know, both I guess. That sounds so dramatic. I really am fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I am, yeah?” You rambled on and on, and cursed yourself when you noticed your leg had started bouncing again.

“I don’t think you’re okay, do you want me to bring you to Dr. Cho?”

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t think there’s much she can do. The worst of this should pass in thirty minutes anyway, it’s just my meds.”

“Oh.” 

You could tell Bucky wanted to ask more, but wasn’t sure if it was polite.

“I have ADD. ADHD, whatever you want to call it. So I take medicine so I can focus on certain tasks, like these reports. And it does help me focus, but it’s also a stimulant, so it also gives me a lot of anxiety, which is totally awesome!” You scoffed.

“Why do you keep stopping your leg from bouncing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to annoy you.”

“If bouncing your leg makes you feel better, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I feel like I’m embarrassing myself,” you whined. 

Beep.

You looked at your watch.

“Oh, look at that, 126!”

“Do you—would…would a hug be something that would help you? Calm you down?” He offered, casually putting his arms out for emphasis.

“Sure, Bucky,” you smiled, and stood up to meet him halfway. You knew it wouldn’t fix it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Bucky wrapped you in a big embrace, and you were shocked by how warm and teddy-like it was. You gave a small sigh, and rested your face in his neck, knowing you weren’t going to be the first to let go.

He held onto you for longer than you expected, just calmly swaying together in your room. 

To your dismay, he eventually let go of you. You were about to thank him and return to your work, but he gently grabbed your wrist and brought your watch to his sight. 

“107. Good, but I think we can do better than that,” he sweetly smiled, and wrapped you back up into his arms. 

“It might take a while.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“As long as it takes.” He cooed.

A/N: Should be either A) studying for a history exam I have tmw, or B) writing my stupid essay that the rough draft is due tmw, but I wrote this instead bc I’m procrastinating  HELP ME

[givemefevrr]

Enhypen as Subs (OT6 only)

Pairings: sub!members x fem!reader

═════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════

Heeseung

We all know he has a praise kink, it’s cannon at this point. This boy would just melt if you told him he was doing a good job.

His moans would be so pretty, because we all know, being able to sing means he definitely has a good voice. He wouldn’t be loud though, he would be on the quieter side, like the polite boy he is, but he for sure does loose control every now and then.

He would love having his nipples played with–he'd be such a sensitive little thing, begging you to keep going and that he feels so good.

He would call you mommy on accident, muffled by pillows or your skin, and not even remember when you bring it up later, feeling humiliated about it.

Heeseung would be the type of sub who just wants to be taken care of and showered with love. He would beg you to peg him and he’d whine into the pillows as you do so. And when he's sub!topping, he would want you to ride him while he nuzzles into your neck or chest, holding onto every part of you he can.

He would want to make you feel good so badly, but he can’t do two things at once. He probably gets overstimulated very easily. He’s legit a pillow princess when both topping or bottoming (which I guess lives up to his nickname, Princess). But he’d make up for it afterwards if you didn’t cum and would eat you out just the way you like it because he just wants to be the good boy he knows he is. He’s just so sweet honestly.

Jake

Don’t even get me started on this man. It could go one of two ways, Jake could either be the brattiest sub or the sweetest sub ever. But one thing's for sure, he is needy as hell which overrules pretty much everything.

He may start off with slow and soft kisses, wanting to savor every moment, but he can't help but rut against you like a desperate little puppy. His sex drive is endless and he can cum over and over again, but still beg for more.

Bro would not be subtle whatsoever. He’d be LOUD loud, letting out whiny moans left and right, basically screaming curses, and he wouldn’t give a shit. In fact, he might even enjoy the idea of being heard by others.

Now, when he's feeling bratty, he becomes a total menace. Not in a teasing, tempting way, but more like borderline annoying. He'll push all your buttons and run you ragged until you're begging him to let you touch him. It's all just a game to him, and at that point, he's just messing with you for his own amusement.

He’ll ask to take things slow but he’ll end up humping anything he can come in contact with until he gets his cock in you. Sure, he might be up for getting pegged every now and then, but let's be real, he loves pussy too much to pass it up.

Let's not forget his insane oral fixation— this man would give the best head you've ever had. It's like a mind-blowing, life-changing experience. He loves to look up at you while he's doing it, hoping for some hair pulling or praise because he craves your validation, even though he knows he's doing an amazing job.

Sunghoon

Okay despite my first post, I think Sunghoon could actually be a really good sub. He's just such a sweet and considerate guy, and that quality would definitely translate into bed.

He's the type to shower you with affection and want nothing more than to please you beyond measure. Unlike Heeseung and Jake, Sunghoon would beg for you to use him for your own pleasure. He loves the feeling of being at your mercy and would eagerly give control over to you.

This possibly shifts over into more service!top territory, but the sub is definitely still there. He enjoys giving up control and letting his partner take charge. He'll never make demands or ask for something, but instead he'll wait for you to tell him what to do. He likes the feeling of not being in control of himself for once.

He would love to finger you with those pretty hands of his because you love it. He loves anything you love. If you love the weirdest shit ever, so would he, just because it makes you happy. He’s not even the most into pegging, but if you wanted to make him fall apart on your fingers, he’d let you.

Sunghoon would likely be more on the quiet and calm side, but not because he's shy like Heeseung. Instead, he's focused on paying attention to your needs and reactions. He loves seeing you feel good and it brings him joy to be the source of that pleasure.

Jay

I'll be honest, I have a hard time picturing Jay as a sub. But if he were, I imagine he would also be head over heels for you and would do anything to make you happy.

He would constantly crave physical contact and would be the clingy type who wants to be pressed against you all night long. He would even whine if you try to separate from him.

Contrast to Sunghoon, he wouldn’t wait for you to tell him what to do every time—he’s more desperate and beggy than Sunghoon is. If he wants to touch you, he’ll beg for it. If he wants to eat you out, he’ll beg for it. He’ll take initiative for himself and beg you to ride his face.

He would be more reserved than Sunghoon too. He may not be as open to letting you try new things on him, but when it comes to trying new things on you, he'll do you want him to.

He would be open to being tied down though, and quite likes it when he gets the chance to be. He would be quieter too generally, and not make much noise—but that depends on the situation. When he’s tied down and has no control over what happens, his inhibitions die and the moans flow right out.

He would want to see your face at all times, always needing to make sure you’re okay and happy. Again, just another sweet guy.

Sunoo

While Jake may seem like one of the only bratty ones, but Sunoo would take it to a whole new level. He would be the brattiest brat ever and tbh, it's great. It’s not annoying, and he would do it in a way that, unlike Jake, would be tempting and teasing.

He would initiate it with small touches and when you eventually react, he would act all innocent. He loves it when you take control and would like things a little rougher too. And we all know he would be loud asf, as his singing voice is no joke. So, you can expect him to let the whole building know how good you're making him feel.

He’s definitely more of the sub that just wants to be taken care of. Another pillow princess indeed. His thought process is that you wouldn't do anything to him that you wouldn't enjoy yourself. And let's be real, he's probably right. And with that reasoning doesn’t think he’ll have to do much work in return.

The whole the brat persona would hold up throughout the whole experience. He would tease and push your buttons, knowing just how to turn you on—like whining phrases he knows you like or pushing you away because it’s “too much”— but then giggles soon after upon seeing how worked up it gets you. He would be able to suppress his reactions when certain things he’s into (maybe if you degrade him a little) affect him, but you can see through him, with the slight falter in his expression and a gulp of his Adams Apple as he tries to ground himself.

Afterwards, Sunoo would beg for aftercare cuddles and snuggles. He would be so sweet, endearing and needy for love and kisses.

Jungwon

With his hardworking and dedicated nature, I can see Jungwon being a service!top sometimes. But I think with him being so hardworking and dedicated, he would find it hard for him to wind down normally, so subbing would probably be his way to be able to do so.

Jungwon would probably be a bit similar to Heeseung in the way that he would turn into a full on sub—like just lay there and whine while you bounce on his cock type of stuff. He would be the type of person to fall into a subspace really easily, as he’s stressed out so much all the time.

He would just want you to take care of him and hold him and give him whatever you’re willing to give. He would be quiet for you too, only able to make out small punctuated moans on every beat.

He’s the type to crawl into bed with you and immediately lock onto your lips, clinging to you, looking halfway to falling asleep and halfway to falling under into a subspace, begging you to make him feel good and to make him forget about his day.

He would also likely have some sort of kink for praise or affirmation, as it would make him feel all comfortable and giddy inside knowing that all of his work and effort is being seen and appreciated.

Jungwon would be a whore for sleepy sex, he would beg you to do it in the morning, if not to just let him slip into a subspace and eat you out to mentally prepare himself for another hard day.

On times where he’s not in a subspace, he would be so eager to please you, he would go to above and beyond to make sure you love every second with him, whether it be sucking extra hard on your clit or fucking into you faster, he’ll do it with out you even asking, waiting for you’re words of approval soon after he does so.

═════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════