#listen you can debate me on this if you want but I firmly believe it doesn't take much convincing to get Yuki to do dumb shit

[natsu-tte-noodle]

“Hey, *objectively bad idea*”

#listen you can debate me on this if you want but I firmly believe it doesn't take much convincing to get Yuki to do dumb shit #tenma will not do bad ideas he's just very easily convinced it's actually a good idea #tetsuro knows its a bad idea but since he can't really get his point across he settles for babysitting #and anyone who tells you the winter troupe is full of competent adults is lying to you they are 3 competent people on a good day #a3! #also if you were wondering the baseline 'objectively bad idea' was breaking and entering

[gofancyninjaworld]

Thinking about Garou

Question: "Compared to the first season, which draws attention to Saitama's exhilarating punches, the second season focuses on story development. Did you have any specific goals while drawing the story?" Murata: "There was one thing that I requested from ONE Sensei before drawing my re-illustrated manga. At first, there were plans to cut out Garou's childhood with the bully in my version, but that scene really left an impression on me. I thought it was a vital part of understanding Garou's position, so I discussed it with ONE Sensei and requested that I be able to leave it in for y version. And it was paced so well in the anime! I believe it ended up being a very high-quality scene." -- From the liner notes of One-Punch Man Season 2.

I'm including this because I feel it's fundamental to really talk about Garou with any depth. Garou without context does not make sense. He is a kind, sensitive, and thoughtful young man who wants to do good in the world. Yet, he caused a horrifying amount of harm, both directly and indirectly, and ultimately undermined his own goals.

I'm glad that ONE listened to Murata about keeping Garou's childhood flashback. Without it, he'd just have been a thug attacking heroes for no reason to us (pretty much as the heroes saw him). Not only that, but ONE has gone a lot further in the manga in showing us the context in which Garou grew up that's been very helpful for understanding who Garou is, what he saw, and making some sense of his powerful yet contradictory desires.

Ultimately Garou is Garou. He's his own person and the buck for his actions firmly stops with him. No matter what, I can't imagine him not being an independent thinker with the determination to put his thoughts into action.

But...

...the tragedy of his thinking becomes clear when we see his thinking of monsters as metaphors for what is misunderstood or unacceptable in ourselves (a popular enough one IRL where monsters aren't real) and compare it with the reality of his world in which monsters have won, successfully restricting humans to one continent, and people like heroes because they are reminders that sometimes, even apparently overwhelming evil can be defeated. Nothing good happens when you deny the reality around you.

You know Garou's rant about uniting the world with fear? It's a standalone rant in the webcomic. The manga gives us a snapshot of the context in which he came to this conclusion. As this is a place that is no stranger to natural disasters -- forget the monsters -- Garou has no doubt experienced at least one big storm, or flood, or earthquake, or volcanic eruption in his life. In those days and weeks that follow, he's no longer an outcast. Nobody cares about where you come from or who you are: people help each other. At least until normalcy is restored. That's something he's directly experienced.

That's just human nature: even in individualistic societies, for every report of looting in the wake of a natural disaster, there are hundreds of people trying to help. And this is a much more collectivist society that has to deal with disasters semi-regularly. That's the sense of looking out for each other in the face of a tragedy bigger than any person he wanted to recreate—only permanently.

Then we get bits of Garou through the people around him. We got nothing about his parents in the webcomic but in the manga, his parents refuse to see him or get him out of custody. They've given up on him. To make it worse, the audience ONE is writing for understands that Garou is a minor until he's 20 (the law recently changed in Japan but it wasn't even up for debate when ONE started writing OPM). So they've done the equivalent of washing their hands of a 16-year-old. That's got to have hit Garou very, very hard, even if he was estranged from them. He'd have liked it if his father cared enough to tell him what to do.

We see how Bang has literally taken on the role of in loco parentis. It's been interesting to see that the reason Bang has chased after Garou so relentlessly is because he sees himself in the young man. However, we also see that he deeply misunderstands Garou too. Bang beat up people because he was an extremely selfish young man who felt he was entitled to everything.

Garou beat up people because he is an extremely thoughtful young man who sees himself as bringing a great good into the world at the expense of some heroes.

It's definitely going to cause trouble but that's okay -- nothing in life is smooth and such differences are inevitable. With love, such struggles are worthwhile.

Garou's an object lesson in why the energy to do things in the world rarely comes with the power to make those changes. His overly simple solutions were disastrous. But one thing we can also say about Garou: he's a fast learner. He's literally rebuilding his life little by little in the webcomic by rebuilding the world around him. In the manga, he's been given the opportunity to sift through his thinking and find what's genuinely good. We'll see how it all shakes out.

#OPM #meta #Garou #manga #webcomic #the road to hell is paved with good intentions has rarely been truer when it comes to Garou #I am glad the manga has drawn out more context for us to understand him better #and also given him more opportunity to confront his way of thinking

[fandomxpreferences]

Drink Up Chapter Three: Jealous

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female!reader

TW: pining, none really

Summary: After weeks of playing cat and mouse, Jake finally makes some progress.

Word Count: 1.3k

It's another two weeks before Jake can elicit another reaction from you. Playing nice wasn't working, so he figured he’d try playing dirty. You try not to shoot daggers at the back of his head as he talks to the woman, but you’re fairly certain he can feel your eyes burning into him.

You are not jealous of the woman with perfectly smooth hair and model good looks and legs that go on for days. You just feel the urge to smash her pristine face into the bartop more and more with every passing second. Nope, not jealous at all.

Despite your best efforts to resist the man, he’s worn down your defenses over the past couple of months. You’ve found yourself looking for him when you see his group walk in and your ears perk when you hear his laugh through all the commotion. 

It's not that you dislike Jake or that you don’t find him attractive, because holy hell he is. You’ve just been scorned by men in uniform one too many times and you don’t want to put yourself through that again. 

But every night, Jake does his best to get your attention. And even though every night you shoot him down, he always returns more persistent than the day before.

You’re starting to believe that he might actually be serious. Regardless, you’re having fun with this little game of cat and mouse and if he wants your number, he’s going to have to work for it.

You watch as she slips a piece of paper into his hand with a smirk before slinking back off into the crowd. You look away quickly when he starts to turn around and try to make yourself look busy. Unfortunately for you, you’re not paying attention to what you're doing and the cup overruns onto the counter. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim to yourself while jerking your hand away from the cold liquid and grabbing a rag. 

Jake laughs at you and your eyes shoot up to send him a glare. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re flustered.” He pokes and you scoff. 

“Well, good thing you know better then.” You bite back and his eyes twinkle. 

“You jealous I got her number, Red?” He asks in a teasing tone and you roll your eyes. Despite you telling him your name he still insists on using your "call sign", as he refers to it.

“Why would I be jealous? I’ve had plenty of opportunity to do the same, but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t want to.” You quip.

You momentarily wish you could take it back when hurt flashes across his face, but as quick as it came it's gone and Jake is back to his usual composed self. 

“Well, some women love an American hero.” He smiles and your eyebrow shoots up. 

“If you’re the hero, that must make me the villain.” You taunt and he nods his head. 

“Mhmm, and a very pretty one at that.” He says while looking you over. “By the way, pull your skirt down. You’re practically flashing the whole bar.” 

You lean on the bartop and make sure to press your boobs together in your low-cut v-neck t-shirt. “The skirt is short on purpose.” You whisper and his eyes darken slightly. 

“You trying to push my buttons, Red?” He asks and you chuckle. 

“Every last one, G.I Joe. Is it working?” You use his nickname that you finally settled on and see his jaw tick.

“Better than I care to admit. Pull it down.” He says firmly and you stand back up straight, suddenly aware of the heat rushing between your legs at the command. 

You try to cover up the fact he got you flustered but he’s tuned into your body language and catches it quicker than you can react. “I get better tips like this.” You brush off his demand and he shakes his head. 

“I don’t care.” He says while pulling out his wallet. He lies down a hundred and stares into your eyes. “That’s more than you’d make in tips. Now pull it down.”

You stare back defiantly for a second and debate standing your ground. But part of you wants to see what happens when you listen for once and you slowly reach down and pull the hem of the skirt to your mid-thigh. 

Within a second, the normal light-hearted Jake is back and he flashes you a bright smile with a tip of his imaginary hat. “Thank you.” 

Your eyes narrow slightly, and you decide to push a little further. “Why do you care anyway? You got that bitch’s number, so why are you bothering me?”

The smirk that comes over his features makes you want to slap him and you immediately regret asking the question. 

“So you are jealous.” He jokes and before you can respond he drops the paper into a nearby glass of water. “There, nothing to worry about. I was just being polite.” He shrugs and your mouth drops open slightly. 

“You know you’re not getting me into bed, right?” You remind him and he gives you a shit-eating grin. 

“Who said it has to be a bed?”

You groan loudly and throw your head back. “Please be quiet. I can’t hear myself losing the will to live.” 

He laughs loudly and you drop your head to look at him again when he speaks. “You know you love it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest and stick your hip out for emphasis. “I will kick your ass.” You try to keep a serious tone but your lips curl up ever so slightly at the banter.

“I don't doubt it. You know you could put us both out of our misery if you would just give me your number.” He suggests and you cackle. 

“If I did that I would just be subjecting myself to this all the time.” You retort and he shakes his head. 

“If you would just go on a date with me, you’d find I'm really much more likable than you think.” He sighs dramatically. 

“Jake,” You utter and he frowns at the use of his actual name. “Jokes aside, at the end of the day you don’t actually want me. You just like the chase.”

“I really wish you would stop telling me what I want.” He says seriously and you notice the air around the two of you become heavier. 

“I’ve been completely entranced by you since I laid eyes on you. I love the playfulness but underneath it, I'm serious about this. I want all of you. You just have to give me the chance to show you that.” He tells you and you feel your heart racing in your chest. 

“You work almost every night. Have you seen me leave with a single woman since you met me?” He asks and you think back. It's actually a valid point. He hasn’t gone home with anyone. In fact aside from tonight, he hasn’t even entertained a woman. 

He studies your face as you ponder his statement and right when he’s about to give up you speak. 

“Fine. I’ll go on a date with you. If you manage to show me you're serious, then you can have my number.” You relent. 

Jake's face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning and you’re pretty sure he’s resisting the urge to jump up and cheer. 

“Really?” He asks skeptically and you nod. 

“Don’t make me regret this, G.I Joe.” You say while pointing a finger at him. 

He smiles when you use his nickname again and nods. “Trust me, I won’t.” He says and you purse your lips. 

“We’ll see.” You grumble and he walks back over to his friends with an extra pep in his step. 

You lay your head on your arm and close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. What have you gotten yourself into?

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @chair-things @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @turningtoclown @phantomxoxo @rosiahills @gspenc @benhardysdrumstick

#jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun imagine

[findingnemosworld]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥

・𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @a-little-bit-rascal

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥.

Y/N was a firm believer of fate, that whatever occurs was predetermined for her - and apparently going through two heartbreaks seemed to be the case, and while it does not seem that big of a deal to some, for her it was; as her heartbreaks were plastered online for everyone to see, Y/N was no ordinary girl, she'd been fortunate to break through the industry as a popular actor and dancer which had garnered her a sizable following, the exact following that saw her break down and come undone only to rise and get straight to work not allowing herself to fully grief the heartbreak until she was in her hometown, and yet somehow, after those heartbreak she was blessed, and it all started the day she had been invited to attend Wimbledon.

She was seated next to a handsome brunette man, around her age dressed in an all black casual yet stylish ensemble, with sunglasses over his eyes, and it wasn't until he removed them that she realized exactly who he was - Chelsea and England's star, Ben Chilwell.

The pair exchanged small talk which quickly formed into a conversation after the event as they exchanged numbers, Ben had even taken the initiative by asking her out on a date, then another and another when time was possible, yet in the midst of those six months nearing seven, they'd never discussed the possibility of becoming anything more than just two adults casually spending time together, while she didn't fault him for not labelling their relationship ( that's if it's a relationship ) she couldn't help but feel lost.

She knew she liked him, quite a lot yet the fear of abandonment, or worse, being dumped for the third time took over, hence why she never brought it up, firmly believing that Ben didn't see them going as far as they can.

Except he did.

You see, while Y/N was stressing over the prospect of them going far in their relationship, Ben was so enamored by her that his England teammates were the unfortunate victims of his affinity for the dancer, particularly James Maddison.

" Mate " James interjects, " I know you're obsessed with her, but for the love of all that is holy, stop! "

It was then that Ben realized that he had been oversharing a bit too much, " Sorry bout that " he murmurs.

" It's fine " James said, " I understand how you feel, I mean I was like that when I first met Kennedy, and here I am, three kids in and happily in love " he grew silent before smiling, " I have an idea, why don't we invite her to come? "

" I don't know mate, she's probably busy " Ben shrugs, as he knew she had a tight schedule of performances and the fact that he didn't want to scare her by making such a big move.

" Listen, Kennedy won't be able to come because she has to watch over the kids, I'll ask her to phone Y/N and see if she can come to Poland instead " James said, then adds with an eye roll, " If she says yes, you will man up, ask her to be your girlfriend and hopefully, get me out of my misery "

____

This is ludicrous, she shouldn't have allowed herself to be persuaded like this yet here she was, at the airport in the small shop looking at something to get for Ben - all the while she was debating if she should just walk out and miss the flight, her thoughts were soon broken by a familiar sound, she looks up to see Aine May in front of her, the girlfriend of Ben's teammate, Conor Gallagher.

" Y/N " Aine May smiles, embracing her before frowning. " You alright? "

Y/N attempted to wave it off with a smile, " Yeah, I just - I was looking for something to get Ben before the flight and I ... " she trails off and swallows the lump in her throat, " Am I making the right choice? I mean, we aren't even serious and here I am acting like a girlfriend " she chuckles.

The blonde girl shakes her head, " Show me your ticket? "

Y/N complies, giving her the ticket; Aine May grins, " we are literally sitting next to one another, come on, I'm getting a new cologne for Conor since he finished his last one "

They spent the next hour roaming through to get what they felt was fitting, and then boarding the flight. Y/N's mind felt messy, yet Aine May assured her that she'll be fine, that Ben would be happy to see her as several of the other WAG's would be there, the only thing she can hope for was that Ben would be happy to see her, otherwise ... this will be a terrible idea.

______________________________________________________________

( I know England flopped in the match but let's pretend they didn't )

The teams were in the tunnel, Ben stood behind James - and while he tried his best to focus, his brain draws back to Y/N and when James turned to him, he sighs. " Mate, relax! " he said, Ben sighs and shakes his head, " I should have asked her to come, I mean ... I miss her a lot, I know I sound like a sap but it's true "

" Yes, you do sound like a sap " James sighs softly, " Now, focus on the game and who knows, maybe she did come, I mean Kennedy didn't say anything but you never know " he shrugs.

They were ushered out onto the pitch, and Ben opted not to dwell on Y/N and instead try his best to pour his focus onto the upcoming match - they'd taken the pictures and were then dispersed onto the pitch in their assigned positions, the first half was definitely intense for England as clearly Ukraine were attempting their best to score early and unfortunately they'd done just that, the goal had definitely placed a damper on them throughout the first half up until the extra minutes when they walked in.

_

Y/N was able to catch the end of the first half and was heartbroken seeing the dejection on Ben as well as the England players as they had hoped not to concede, she took her seat next to Aine May who filled her on what happened earlier, the pair continued to chat until the second half began which seemed to pan out better for England who had thankfully equalized the scoresheet thanks to Kyle Walker's goal.

At around the 58th minute, England were awarded a corner which Ben jogged up to the corner to perform, and right then; he looked up and saw her, his face lights up almost instantly and just then, he turns around executing the corner which thankfully had the ball pushed into the net by Jude Bellingham thus granting England the lead over Ukraine, and provided them with momentum to keep the match in their favor until the very end.

Aine May nudges Y/N to alert her of Ben running over to greet her, what she didn't expect was to be greeted by a warm embrace followed by a soft kiss that radiated a deep sense of longing, " I missed you so much " Ben whispers.

" Yeah? " Y/N beams.

" Thank god you're here " James interrupts them, " He was driving us mad with how much he missed you " he laughs.

" Finally mate " Jude yells with a laugh.

" God knows how long we had to sit and endure him sapping over how much he missed her " Declan joins in.

" Stop it you two " came the voice of their captain and friend Harry Kane, " it's not his fault he's in love " he chuckles.

" But he had us wanting to drive heads up the wall Haz " Jude groans.

" Yeah, plus we couldn't sleep well " Conor said.

Y/N looks at Ben who blushes, " That bad huh? "

" You can't even imagine " Ben chuckles.

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell fanfiction #ben chilwell one shot #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell fluff #ben chilwell fanfic #ben chilwell x reader

[reclusiverisottonero]

Best Friends with Melone HCs, gn!Reader

This is a continuation of an Anon request. You can find the first part here! It takes place in the same 'universe' where Reader is dating Prosciutto in the first post 😁

There is discussions of sexual health and kinks in this post. While I firmly believe discussion of sex ed is not inherently NSFW, the topic of sexual kinks is always NSFW and so this post will have the appropriate banner attached to it.

Other Warnings: Mentions of vomit, alcohol, piss kink in a joking context.

💜 You two are friends long before you ever met Prosciutto. Melone is actually the one that introduced you to him in the first place. He was constantly saying you and Pros would be perfect together, your star charts had some of the highest compatibility he’s ever seen! The rest is history, and Melone loves to tease you two about how you two wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for him. Prosciutto would prefer not to be reminded of that.

🍈 Melone is the friend you can text at like 2am if you’re drunk off your ass and need a ride home from the club (this is assuming he is also not drunk off his ass with you at said club, at least this time around). Granted it will be on his motorcycle and he might tie you to him so you don’t do anything stupid but hey, you’ll still get home! Don’t worry he’ll make sure none of your puke gets in your hair if you get nauseous from the ride.

💜 If you’re comfortable with it he wants to know ALL the details about your sex life (Don’t share about what you do with Prosciutto though no matter how curious Melone is!) and he’ll tell you the same about him. He’s the weird mom friend when it comes to sex and wants to be sure you’re being safe, sane and consensual. Always has condoms and a few lube packets on hand too. Hey don’t look at him like that, they’ve come in handy during missions! Should you not want to talk about those things Melone always stresses that you can go to him for anything without any judgments from him.

🍈 Says dumb gross shit just to see how people react. For example you get up to go to the bathroom and Melone just holds out his hands and says “Do it here queen,” and everyone is groaning but you’re unbothered because you know he’s fucking around with you. You think. Does he actually have a piss kink? You don’t know and he still dodges the question just to annoy you and the rest of La Squadra.

💜 Get back at Melone for being a freak by talking about the one holistic/alt medical practice he absolutely hates: healing crystals. You can just make shit up. Talk about how eating amethyst is great for curing digestion problems or that rose quartz helped improve your eyesight or whatever. Melone KNOWS you’re just fucking with him but it gets to him every time and its so fucking funny. He will practically start frothing at the mouth about how it’s all made up bullshit.

🍈 Melone’s the type to want to solve everyone’s problems so he’ll give lots of advice/feedback when he thinks it’ll be helpful. Whether it's good or not is...debatable. Be clear about when you just need to vent about something and need comfort, not help.

💜 Will text you deep fried cursed memes that only you two would understand. A good chunk of your text chat is nothing but a back and forth of cursed images that are usually sent between the hours of 2 and 5 am that no one is capable of deciphering. Prosciutto made the mistake of picking up your phone once to pass it over to you, and he glanced out of curiosity (he recognized the text alert sound as the one for Mel) and now he just refuses to be anywhere near it.

🍈 Listen to me, it doesn't matter how old you are, sometimes the best thing is just walking up to your bff and saying "Tiddies" and watching them laugh. Melone is shameless about how funny this is to him, with any similar words too. Dumb toilet humor can be cathartic with how stressful life is as a member of LS! He does the same thing to you but he can't get words out without laughing sometimes and then you're both just snickering dweebs.

#melone #melone x reader #melone jojo #melone jjba #jjba melone #ask #anonymous #my writing

[sl-walker]

Devotion, Part 25

Read prior parts here.  Sign up to be tagged when this fic (or any of mine!) updates here.  (Or DM me.)  Read it on AO3 here.  Reblogs go much further than likes; please support your writers and artists and reblog!

Additional note: I’m still struggling with my health, so posting is gonna remain slow.

--

The next morning brought two things, neither wholly expected.

The first was Yaddle.

She all but radiated a quiet sorrow into the Force as she stood there in the waiting room, lit by the sun, and Obi-Wan found he didn't really have the heart to hate her.  That even if she had contributed to his suffering indirectly, she had not orchestrated it.  Nor, did he believe, want it on any level.

That didn’t mean he was happy to see her.

"What do you want?" he asked; he didn't hate her, but he did hate how anxious her mere presence made him.

"Offer an update, I wish to," she replied, hands folded in front of her.  "If hear it you wish to."

Some part of Obi-Wan was all but certain that they were going to slap the wrists of the culprits, and no worse.  But even though the thought made his mouth twist bitterly, he gave a curt nod.

Yaddle nodded back, then spoke frankly, "Expelled from the Order, all five culprits were.  Barred from pursuing them for criminal charges or civil actions, you are not.  Testify on your behalf, I would."

That was a shock, and Obi-Wan felt his mouth drop open without his permission.  That the Order would choose to expel three High Council members and then open itself up to the often fickle civilian courts was-- beyond astonishing.

That they expelled Yoda.

Obi-Wan thought that it would have made Qui-Gon sad, but-- perhaps something could come out of this.

"I won't drag the Order through the mud, but I have conditions," he said, voice quivering briefly as his mind raced, putting together a plan that his master -- the one who loved him, not the one who raised and used him -- would have approved of. "I want a recorded statement by you and at least two other Council members as to what was done to me under your noses."

Yaddle's head tipped to the side, but she was clearly listening.

"Once I have those, I want the Jedi Order to divest itself of its ties to the Senate and the Republic government as a whole," he said, more firmly. "Qui-Gon made mistakes, but he was right about a lot of things.  The Order is a religious community, not a political body.  With the authority of the Republic behind them, the ability of Jedi to-- to hurt people without scrutiny exists and it needs to stop.  And at the same time, with the Republic's leash holding you back, your ability to help people is constrained."

"Much you are asking, young Obi-Wan," Yaddle said, after a long moment.  But-- her tone didn't have any disagreement in it. "Long has this been debated.  But-- right, in some ways, I believe you are.  For more discussion and a vote, I can bring it."

"I'll give you five years."  It was unrealistic to believe such a big change would happen quickly.  But even though some Jedi had hurt him, he had found kindness in that Temple.  Healers unrelated to those who-- who mind-raped him.  The friends he started making.

Qui-Gon Jinn, too.

Obi-Wan didn’t realize he was about to make the last Sith Lord's future plans almost impossible to carry out, but even if he had, he would have thought of the good of the Order he had found, even unwittingly, and not been displeased.

The ones that hurt him were being punished.  And Obi-Wan could well find them again and carry out his revenge.  But this was somehow more satisfying.

"Five years," he repeated, mouth straight. "If the Order is still tangled with the government, then I will come forward and bring forth every resource I have to making the Jedi pay for what was done to me and what it cost my lover."

Yaddle waited for him to finish, then nodded.  He knew it wasn't up to her alone, but he thought that if she was in charge, then maybe it could still work out.

"Anything else, is there?" she asked, at length.

Obi-Wan almost said no, but then the thought occurred: "There's a tea shrub, in Qui-Gon’s and my quarters.  It has a piece of flimsi on the front with interlocking hearts.  It belongs to my lover.  I would like it back."

That seemed to perk Yaddle up; her ears lifted and he felt a little thrill of her happiness through the Force. "Better than that, I can do.  Return your ship, as well."

That sent Obi-Wan to clap his hand over his mouth again, but not before the sound slipped out, some mix of shock and hope and pain.  He didn’t like revealing such a weakness in front of her, but he couldn’t help it.  "You kept it…?"

Yaddle merely nodded, something softer in her eyes. "Yes.  Wish for anything else from your quarters, do you?"

Obi-Wan had a moment where he thought he wanted Qui-Gon’s favorite sapir shrub, another tea plant he had grown to know well.  But then he thought of something better. "A cutting from Qui-Gon’s largest sapir shrub sent in a stasis pod, but-- please give the plant itself to Master Tahl?"

Yaddle nodded instantly to that, both love and sorrow in the Force as she agreed to it.

It made Obi-Wan remember why he had wanted to believe her back then.  Blindness wasn't necessarily the same thing as cruelty.

They didn't part ways as friends, but they also didn’t part ways as enemies.

.

.

.

The second unexpected thing was Maul.

Specifically, him getting to be with Maul.

Obi-Wan still wasn’t sure what outcome he had wanted for that, not because he didn’t desperately want to help his lover, but because he didn’t know if he should have the right to be there.  As if somehow the Jedi might have tainted him such that he would only cause more harm.

But nonetheless, Breha came to him not long after Yaddle had left, when he was still shaking that visit off so far as he could.

"You'll be allowed to go to him and be with him, supervised at first, if you're willing to see a psychologist of your choosing," she said, gently and straightforwardly at once. "You don't have to tell them anything you don't want to, but your getting to be near Maul is contingent on you seeing professional help.  I know it’s a fraught prospect for you, and you can have a patient advocate there with you if that helps, someone whose only job is to protect your best interests and keep you from being exploited, but you would need to go."

Obi-Wan’s first instinct was to snap back at that, but it was one he was quickly able to quell.  It really wasn't unreasonable to ask that of him.  And it was such a small thing to exchange for Maul’s safety.

He had tried to give more than that already.

He shuddered through his shoulders, but then he nodded, swallowing before answering, "All right.  When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning you can start interviewing staff psychologists to see if any of them feels like a good fit for you," Breha said, a more open smile crossing her mouth.  "Today, I figured you'd want to see your lover."

It was amazing how much one single thing could be so filled with love and fear.  Obi-Wan didn’t even try to speak; he only nodded.

.

.

.

It wasn’t until Obi-Wan signed the forms that he was agreeing to mental healthcare that he saw the date and realized it had been four weeks since Theed.  That the blur of days was such that some of them simply didn't exist in his memory at all.  That twenty of them had passed, in all.

It had been almost that long since he’d seen Maul last.

Lit in filtered sunlight from the skylights in a warm, spacious room, Maul looked a far cry better than he had in the bacta tank.  Obi-Wan would have thought he was napping, except Maul only ever slept on his back when Obi-Wan’s head was on his chest; otherwise, he napped on his side or, more rarely, his front. 

But he looked that-- all right.  That put together.  The soft rise and fall of his chest.  No dent in his head, though Obi-Wan could see the spot where that pedicle had been removed, unexpectedly smooth skin replacing it; could see that Maul would sport asymmetrical horns from there on out.  But there was no blood on his skin, no stench of burned internals.

Obi-Wan was almost afraid to go closer, but step by step, he did.

There were still IV lines.  Still remote monitoring tabs to feed information to the holographic monitors.  But it was easy to look past those.

My beautiful boy, Obi-Wan thought, throat aching, sinking slowly into the chair beside the bed.  Taking in the more defined edge of his lover’s jaw.  The more mature curve of his cheek, the still perfect swell of his bottom lip.  The aching familiarity; he knew Maul’s features better than his own and treasured them so much more.

Even now.  Maybe especially now.

He could feel Breha and the orderly behind them, but neither of them said anything or drew attention to themselves, and he was grateful for that quiet.

Where do we go from here? he wondered.

They had ran and clawed and fought and worked for their freedom before.  For their boundaries and their country therein.  It seemed so much more daunting now; the two years stolen from them like a wall forced between them.  Obi-Wan would be lying if he pretended he had not been broken.  He would be lying if he pretended he was not deeply damaged and deeply afraid.  

He knew that they had somehow shattered whatever it was in him that let him plan an escape and steal Maul away with him; whatever courage or fire he'd had then.  It made him wonder what he could possibly offer of himself now.

Obi-Wan didn’t know the answer to that.

But-- maybe he didn't need to right this moment.

He took a steadying breath and slipped his hand under Maul’s, closing his eyes tight, jaw quivering for the familiarity of that hand in his, the way their fingers fit together, and thought of two boys new on Takodana with wary eyes and little more to their names than their determination.

And their faith in each other.

--

@shadowmaat​ -  @doorsclosingslowly​ - @emphasisonthehomo​ - @blackat-greneys​ - @vengeful-nerd​ - @sammelbegriff​ - @kenobispunk​ - @sundavr​ - @mock-ing-bird​ -  @fancandy77​ - @geekling007​ - @nightsibling​ - @btwxsixesandsevens​ -  @whymylife-cordelia - @suborbitalrailgun​ - @judoon-on-da-moon​ - @deathdovesong​ - @bubblyfishbro​

[vegaseatsass]

Just wanted to say that when you said you consider yourself "autism-adjacent" I felt kind of understood. I think I'm always between calling myself allistic or autistic or maybe just ND or something else. I don't know to which extent I mask or to which extent I am just faking autistic experiences, and while I love being in the autistic communities online (and having autistic friends to whom i will never ever breathe a word of my own doubts about my self dx), I do feel like an intruder so I never want to share my experiences or talk above someone else.

Oh anon, I'm so glad to hear that resonated for you even a little bit! This is a post that really helped me: https://vegaseatsass.tumblr.com/post/706935614630772736/tamlin-the-thing-is-you-dont-have-to-have-a so maybe it will help you too.

Like, there are huge issues when people with a mild version of an experience (whether that's like, an experience of oppression, a disability, anything else), or the most "relatable"/palatable-to-the-power-structure version of an identity (like autism), become the spokesperson for the entire group; I firmly believe it's worth staying mindful of that and actively working to center and amplify the most vulnerable and/or norms-challenging members of ANY community one is a part of.

But I think it starts to get really complex beyond that! I don't think sharing experiences is automatically talking above anyone else or taking up space or resources. If there are behaviors or traits, or strategies or accommodations, that fit an autism diagnosis, which it really helps you to identify with or apply to your own life, it is not imo hurting anybody else to incorporate those into your identity and approach to the world.

But I still feel so weird about doing it myself!!! I've been diagnosed with 7 or so different labels over the past 20 years, which leads to me feeling like I'm faking at all of them. My current dx (Non-Verbal Learning Disorder) has helped me the most in terms of strategies and accommodations, but I still feel like a faker because I don't fit all the different criteria, and the parts I do fit mostly feel mild (except for the executive dysfunction, which was so debilitating to me it's taken me decades to get to a place where I can feed myself or work - but this is hardly the only dx w/ executive dysfunction as a symptom!!!). Then even with NLD, there's like debate on if it's even a real??? learning disorder??? or if it's just a non-stigmatized name for a particular kind of autism??? or what, and it's just all incredibly confusing to me LOL.

What I've found the most useful is 1) identifying symptoms, and not worrying about connecting them to an umbrella term. Just focusing on managing the symptoms that are obstacles to the life I want to live, and on embracing/reframing the ones that are authentic/benign parts of who I am that don't need to be managed beyond pressure to seem "normal" 2) letting myself relate to anyone describing experiences that resonate for me, quietly and internally. Not running up to anyone sharing something personal I relate to and acting like we're the same, but just letting my own "I feel that too! I see myself in what you're saying!" response be a way I connect to the world while staying quiet/private about a lot of my own experiences, outside of therapy and a few really close, really safe friendships. Friendships where I know it will be validating to hear that I see myself in what's being described (and/or where we can communicate about the times when it's not) instead of risking invalidating or minimizing somebody else's experience.

I know there has to be a better way for people like you and I to express our authentic experiences without this level of second-guessing, and a way to create spaces where it doesn't feel like getting ourselves "wrong" comes with any risk for a community we care about, but I'm at least not there yet so it's easier for me to like, do more listening than talking for now, and also get really wrapped up in fiction where I can relate to whoever I want to however deeply I want to. Khun Sam 😍

I also strongly feel that the beauty of terms like neurodivergent is that, like "queer", you don't have to be able to lay out every detail about who you are for anyone else. You can have questions or some internal suspicions about who you are and how you work that connect you to a community/a sort of general scope of collective experiences, and figure out the specifics with time and care, including if/as those specifics change.

I HOPE THAT MADE SENSE, I am not the most clearheaded today at all but I really wanted to respond. Thanks for sending me this message and I so hope you start to feel like more of a beloved member of the communities you're in instead of an intruder.

#asks #such clumsy typing tonight sorry #autism #neurodivergence #non-verbal learning disorder #personal personal personal #please @ anyone feel free to take issue w/ anything i said here #i'm not only not at my best but i don't feel super strongly about anything but that we should be kind to each other #and it's ok to not fit inside really clearcut lines and still learn from other people

[andrewisdoing]

Thoughts On God & I and The Christian Community

I’ve been thinking lots about God and my relationship with Christianity lately.

Recently, I took a long drive through Monroe and I couldn’t help but play albums that my mom played when I was a kid. Now, both my parents were/are Christians and while they did listen to secular music, they also played a LOT of Contemporary Christian music. I know it’s hard to believe but, in my opinion, my parents had the BEST taste in this genre. From my favorite, Crystal Lewis to Keith Green, I was raised on artists who were singing jubilantly and honestly about their love of Jesus and their walk with Him. I probably gained more wisdom from these artists then from the Bible. While on this particular drive, I couldn’t contain my joy while singing these songs, all of which brought bittersweet tears to my eyes mostly due to the memories that were attached to them. However, I couldn’t help but recognize the repetitive guilt fluttering around my stomach. The question that will occasionally float above me seems to always be “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know who you are singing about? You say you are a lapsed Christian and yet, here you are singing these Christian songs.” Then the BIG question follows… “Am I even allowed to be singing these songs and feeling joyful since I stopped going to church and giving up hope on being accepted into that community?”

If you’d ask me today where God and I stood, I would probably say that we’ve met, are still in touch but not exactly close anymore. Well, maybe it’s not God I have ended things with but it’s the actual community I estranged myself from. After being baptized during the pandemic, I thought I would’ve acquired a more urgent call to read the Bible, have a community of people who perhaps did accept me as me and be more firm in my standing with my faith. As of this moment, I can firmly declare that the chasm between Christianity and I has widened. Internally, the belief hasn’t been shaken but in terms of being deep in the game of religion, I willingly gave up. There were too many failed attempts. Since I had come out, I tried to seek out God and community and like Paul aka Saul, I feel like I have “fought the good fight” and seen enough to finally realize that my place wasn’t and will probably never be at church. Besides that, I had wanted to explore more philosophical, psychological and sociological ideals. I personally am of the opinion that for some people when they seek out a more traditionally American version of Christianity some stop seeking and asking big picture questions. If they do have questions, it’s not up for debate. It’s only “God created blankety-blank” and “The Bible says blankety-blank” instead of perhaps gaining understanding from other sources. Like Ariel in the Little Mermaid, who longingly looks above the watery surface, my mind was singing “I want moooore.”

Furthermore, 65 percent of the time, my questions weren’t with The Big Man Upstairs. I had more questions for the people surrounding me every Sunday because on the surface, everyone I’d encountered seemed to have their relationship with God figured out. When I was a teenager, I would watch the straight-laced folk, dressed up as hipsters who were “cool” and “down” with G.O.D. I began to suspect that they weren’t as “down” or “with it” as they outwardly proclaimed. They were as tight as the jeans that clung to their asses. My experience would vary person to person but I eventually discovered that the community that I yearned for wasn’t going to be here. I would always seem to come up empty when I would engage in conversations with church folks. These conversations were all spoken with smiles wrapped in shiny cellophane and would be so shallow eventually the wind would pick up, blowing the person away; the hollow conversation along with it. One example I can remember was going to these conferences as a teenager. Feeling quite out of place, as most teenagers, it would take me awhile to find real people to chat with. I remember having one of those breakdown moments I am pretty sure all young gay men have when you wonder if God does, in fact, love you. The encounter I had with one male youth counselor wasn’t as helpful as he may have thought.

“Are you sure you’re gay?” He asked

“Pretty sure. I just need to know if I’m okay and that I’m not going to hell. Am I?” I asked, pleadingly

“Well, lets just pray about it. I am more than certain if you pray, it might give you some clarity.” He said

I left still very gay but so damned confused and I can say a lot of my teens were spent half-heartedly convinced that God did love me but any time my heart got crushed, friendships ended or someone I loved died or hurt me in some way, I figured it was The Big Man Upstairs punishing me for fulfilling my desires.

Granted, I’ve found the hardest part about church is finding a true community of people who actually desire true friendship. Sure, I’ve made a few true friends at church but I do truly mean, FEW. I could count them all on one hand, though. The expectation that I had was these folks really wanted to be my friends if things got bad but that ended up never being the case. I can remember my first real High School youth leaders who had gotten to know me so well and made me feel so welcome that I even invited them to my Graduation, feeling so special. Fast forward a few months later, after getting my first apartment and dealing with my friends conniving fiancé, I felt trapped and alone. My best friends were busy and getting ready for year 2 of college. Who do I call? My youth group leaders for guidance, prayer and brotherhood. Who doesn’t answer? My youth group leaders. Months go by and not one word. I still feel myself wanting to throw something remembering how burned I felt. I should’ve prefaced this by adding that one of the leaders desperately wanted me to a part of his group after telling him my story so I can’t even begin to describe the sting of being dropped without so much as a goodbye.

I could fill more than this page with more stories from church and the people I encountered but I will just keep it short and sweet: Christian Community is complicated, messy and basically like High School but then what community isn’t? I am mostly happy to be out of it but I still am left with that question..am I allowed to rejoice to the music made for Christians and not for heathens like myself?

Here’s what I’m concluding: Yes. Why? I feel like I earned my stripes with Jesus and if he does indeed, see all, know all, like I think he does then he can be the one to give my heart the proper assessment when my time here on earth ends. I’ve also concluded that my relationship with religion will always be muddy and murky. Yes, while Jesus was my introduction to religion, the core of all these religions are drenched in love, which is why I understand why people buy the sugar peddled. While I have many bones to pick with believers, the biggest one the community has yet to answer for is the folks that are so “in it” that they use their bought truths to justify violent means and reason to ostracize peoples choices. THAT will never make sense to me.

Anyway, I’m off to go bump my “Heavenly Shit” playlist with all the messy and murky ex-Jesus Freaks.

#andrewisdoing #writing #essay #thoughts #vents #christianity #lgbt #questions #ex christian #gay #christian music #where I am #God and I #walk with god #high school #friendship #community #christian bible #prayer

[tricia-swritingcorner]

Prologue

This is a prologue to a story I’ve been working on for a while now. It’s an OC x Fenris (Dragon Age II).

Royal Palace, Denerim, Fereldan 09:37

Seven years. Seven years since the first blight in virtually five hundred years. Seven years since the Grey Warden order saved the humans, elves, and dwarves from eradication. Seven years since Queen Elissa Therin’s personal aid was able to have a full night’s sleep. Lucinda Vallen believes that seven years ago the worst thing that she needed to worry about was a Templar capturing her and dragging her off to a Circle Tower. Now, she fears that one day she would be forced to choose between herself and her queen during an expedition…even if she decided that outcome seven years ago.

Thankfully though, today was not one of those days where the thought lingered in her mind. Instead, today was one filled with boring council meetings and little to no real work being done. As she stands off to the side within the war room of King Alistair and Queen Elissa, it is not difficult to listen in on their meeting with Knight Commander Greagoir and Royal Magic Advisor Wynne.

“As I have stated, I cannot interfere with another Knight Commander and their tower. There are protocols in place and the Fereldan circle must be expected to follow them!” The knight’s voice boomed through the small room. For the leader of a prestigious order of glorified jailers, the man certainly could use a lesson on handling his temper around his betters.

“Since you want to maintain decorum so much Greagoir, then maybe you could enlighten me on where it is written that a Templar may take tyrannical hold over a city-state. Viscount Dumar’s premature death last year has left Kirkwall in chaos, but it does not give Knight Commander Meredith the right to assume his role without a vote. Furthermore, I know you have read the same reports as I have. Can you tell me truthfully that they do not worry you?” Ever the voice of reason, Lucinda shuddered at the mention of reports Wynne referred to. While she had seen hostile takeovers in the past, including several in Seheron, nobody has seen the horrible lengths the Knight Commander of Kirkwall has taken before.

The city’s turmoil stemmed from what Lucinda could only describe as a power vacuum, one that stemmed from a single act of kindness. From what reports tell, Viscount Dumar had granted asylum to a group of stranded Qunari and just a few months ago their leader, the Arishok, repaid the man with a swift death. Ever since, much of the city’s upper class looked to the only other leader for guidance, Knight Commander Meredith. Unfortunately, as Lucinda watched on in the Fereldan war room, Meredith has lost control over not only the city but also the circle mages and tensions were growing destructive.

“Wynne, Greagoir enough.” King Alistair spoke firmly, preventing any further debate, or rather arguments, from breaking out. “We have all read the reports and some of us have even heard first-hand testimony from witnesses of Meredith’s actions. However, the Queen and I have a duty to the people of that state as an ally and cannot simply stand aside. As I understand, Kirkwall has a champion who was once one of our own. Have there been any attempts to reach them and devise a solution?” Despite not being known as a great strategist, all he said rang true. Although, from the collective looks of disappointment on all their faces, it was clear nobody could answer him.

Lucinda stepped forward and with her armor clanking in the silent room, everyone’s gazes turned to her. “Unsuccessful, your highness. It would appear that Knight Commander Meredith has halted nearly all correspondence entering and leaving the city. Even attempts to contact our friends in the city have proven difficult.” Stepping back, she could see the negative mood infect all in the room as hopelessness began to set in. However, the only person Lucinda was genuinely concerned about was her Queen.

Noting the tone in the room, Queen Elissa dismissed all from the room, save her husband and Lucinda. To her counselors, she appeared merely contemplative and focused on devising any number of solutions that may be attempted. However, once the doors were shut, the true Queen appeared from behind her façade. Staring at the war room table, Lucinda took a deep breath before dropping her own mental shield as being a statue in the corner for two hours was never easy.

“I have an ally city-state on the brink of civil war, none of my counselors can figure out how to stop the slaughter of innocents in the chaos and the one person who has any power in stopping this conflict is out of reach. Do I have that right?” Smirking at the question, Lucinda could hear the King sigh before nodding his head. While the sarcastic tone was palpable, the Queen was shaking as she gripped the war table. Initially, one may believe that her reaction was out of fear, but for Lucinda and King Alistair it was clear what she was really feeling, rage.

 Placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder, the king waited a minute or two before speaking up. “This will sound sappy, but we can figure this out between the three of us in this room. You have always been the strategist, but you have been gone for a while, and I have been the one receiving constant reports. Furthermore, you have always gone on about Lucinda’s knowledge on obscure military tactics, so why not use it?” Grabbing five pieces around the war table and placing them in a simple group, King Alistair took his wife’s hands into his own and effortlessly soothed her frustrations and anxiety. Not bothering to hide the loving smile he gave her; he grabbed one more piece and held it out for Lucinda. It was the golden crown of Fereldan.

“Lucinda, you once mentioned that your cousin is in the city guard, correct? What have they told of the city’s defenses and Meredith?” Taking the piece from him as she approached the table, Lucinda tried to remember all the many things that her cousin had mentioned in her letters prior to the takeover.

“For one, the city’s harbor is near impregnable. You must sail through the Gallows to enter and that is where the circle lies. This in turn cuts off any naval attempts.” Moving the pieces as she spoke, one was placed upright on the coast, and another lied toppled over atop the Waking Sea. She grabbed two more pieces before continuing. “Furthermore, her Templars have begun patrolling the city outskirts and that robs us of a direct march onto the city.” Placing the pieces down, another one stood tall facing the Vimmark mountains with one more piece laying down. Only two pieces remained, there was seemingly only one more path that could work. “With all this knowledge, a militant assault to wrestle control from Knight Commander Meredith is ill-advised. However, a diplomatic envoy could sail through the harbor and meet with the champion.” Placing down the final pieces, the golden crown was placed atop the city-state and only one of Meredith’s “pieces” was toppled.

“Wonderful, but I believe there is one thing we need to ascertain. Who could we send that Meredith would not be able to turn away?” King Alistair questioned, though it was something that had an easy answer. Met with what could only be understood as a mischievous yet apologetic look, the color drained from his face. “No, me?! Elissa, you cannot be- “Turning to his wife, the king found a near mirrored look in her eye though perhaps one that was more apologetic than Lucinda’s. Heaving a heavy sigh, he simply shrugged his shoulders and begrudgingly accepted his likely role in the oncoming plan.

All that was left to do was devise the safest plan to get him, and possibly another, in and out of the city without rustling Meredith’s feathers too much. Though, Lucinda supposed her cousin Aveline could help on that score and possibly the champion himself. Time would only tell.

Stepping back from the war table, the attention of both Lucinda and the King fell to Queen Elissa once more as she cleared her throat and composed herself. This time, instead of utter rage, her features held a calm yet calculated look before she turned to Lucinda. “Well then, we had better get started.”

Feel free to comment or share, not sure when I’ll post the next chapter. Hopefully you guys like it.

#dragon age #fenris #daii #short story #fenris x oc

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

[qingxin-dream]

A Little Faith

a/n | just a lil something that’s been on my mind lately. thought it would be funny if you didn’t believe venti was the anemo archon. really tho i just like fucking with his head lol. can’t wait for his rerun!!☺️ (art credits: u/MMLYNO_ on reddit)

warnings | slight profanity

genre | fluff

word count | 1.2k

pairing | venti x reader

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩

It had been awhile since your last date with Venti. You were swamped with commissions with the Adventurer’s Guild and by the time you were normally finished the moon was high in the sky. Your boyfriend would no doubt be at Angel’s Share, but often you were much too tired to handle the liveliness of the tavern late in the night.

The distance and lack of communication was driving Venti crazy, until recently when he demanded you take a day off. He suggested meeting at the Statue of the Seven in Windrise to have a lovely afternoon picnic just the two of you. No work. No stress. Only Dandelion Wine and good vibes allowed!

You had hesitantly agreed after determining that Katheryne would be able to help readjust your commission schedule. Venti exclaimed cheerfully, pulling you close to his chest and cupping his hand to your ear. His breath gently grazed down your neck, whispering of a surprise he had for you.

Shaking your head in hidden embarrassment, you had playfully pushed Venti away to dismiss his mischievous antics.

The next day, you spot your boyfriend sitting on the intricately carved stone platform next to the statue, strumming his lyre calmly with his eyes peacefully closed. It was quite adorable, you admitted silently, a small smile forming on your lips.

As you approached, Venti’s big blue eyes opened expectantly and he leaped from his perch to greet you enthusiastically. “Hey, Windblume! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Ven,” you sheepishly smile in return. “I’m glad we could do this. I’m just about starving too!”

“Well, I gathered up only the best apples and wine for you, (Y/N)! Don’t worry, I have some of your favorites too.” Venti proudly announced, motioning to the large woven basket sitting on the ground with pretty wine bottles poking out the top. “But, um, before we do that, there’s… something important I need to tell you.”

Your eager eyes shifted from the food waiting in the basket to a more serious expression as you were met with Venti’s unusually sober side. “Oh, go ahead then. You can tell me anything.”

The immense tree overhead rustled in the quickening winds and you could see the worry so clearly written all over the bard’s face. Whatever he had to say must have been weighing him down for a long time, as he struggled to find the right words on his tongue.

You couldn’t bear to see him so anxious. It disturbed you to see Venti trip and stumble over himself over something so deeply important to him, so your hand reached out to his, squeezing it warmly. “Listen, I’m here for you, Ven. I’m not sure what this is about, but we don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.”

“No!” he nearly yelled, suddenly finding his convictions again. “No, I want to tell you. This is something you should know. We’ve been dating for a long time now, and I trust you.”

Nodding your head, you waited patiently for his announcement.

“Windblume, you must promise not to tell anyone. I mean it,” he warned, holding your shoulders firmly in his grasp. “Not a single soul.”

“My lips are sealed. I promise,” you pledged.

Venti scanned your features carefully, as if he was still internally debating whether or not to divulge his secret. Yet, his lips moved against his will. “I’m the Anemo Archon.”

You hummed, eyebrows furrowing. This was not what you were expecting. Not at all. In fact, the idea of him being an Archon was utterly delusional!

“Um, are you serious, Ven? This isn’t one of your pranks again, is it?” you questioned in disbelief, stepping away from him cautiously. “Because it’s not funny. You really had me worried!”

Venti scoffed in shock, mouth agape. “You have to believe me! I’m very serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, (Y/N).”

So, he was sticking to his story. You were convinced this was some elaborate joke. The Anemo Archon was notorious for slumbering for ages, so much that their people only had vague artistic representations of his likeness. There was no way your boyfriend was an Archon.

Shaking your head again, you responded unamused, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Oh, really? Well, if I’m not the Anemo Archon then how could I do this?” Venti then summons his bow and releases an Anemo arrow that created a strong upcurrent of wind, pulling the surrounding leaves sky-high.

You laugh in his face, pointing to the obvious glowing Anemo vision on his hip. But Venti frantically responds, “What?! No, it’s a fake!”

Your ignorance was beginning to worry him. He wanted you to accept him for who he truly was, but you were making this so much more difficult for him. After a moment of pondering, he motions to the Statue of the Seven that resembled Barbatos, noting how it has the same braids framing its face as himself. “If I’m not the Anemo Archon, then why do I look like this statue of him?”

On the other hand, you’re starting to be put off by Venti’s joke. He’s acting too serious about this to be more than a silly prank. Your boyfriend actually believes he is the Anemo Archon, and it’s starting to freak you out. “Okay, Venti, I get it. You don’t have to keep selling me on the joke. It’s kinda weirding me out.”

“Huh? (Y/N), you… think really I’m just pulling your leg?” His face falls into hopelessness, pushed to the verge of desperation. How else can he spell it out for you? You had to believe him, to trust him. If you couldn’t come to terms with that, well, Venti didn’t want to even think about that scenario. “You can’t be serious, Windblume.”

“No, you can’t be serious right now, Venti!” you shot back in bewilderment, at your wit’s end with his stupid long-running prank. He was taking this way too far. “There’s no way on this earth that you are the God of Freedom. I’m more inclined to believe Kaeya’s a fucking pirate than you being an Archon.”

Despite Venti’s apparent frustration with your response, you notice his countenance darken as a thought crosses his mind. The look on your face when you realize the truth will make up for it a million times over. “Very well then. I have no choice but to show you.”

Beneath the wide canopy of Vanessa’s Tree, Venti took a few steps back from you, tossing his verdant hat and flowing cape aside. His eyes closed as his body began to levitate a few inches off the ground, braids glowing brighter and brighter with the power of Anemo. The winds formed a translucent cocoon around your boyfriend before dispersing instantaneously.

Venti’s eyes opened slowly, irises a piercingly pure turquoise, peering right into you with a playful smirk on his face as his white wings unfurl elegantly with a strong swoosh of air. You were flabbergasted, in absolute awe and admiration at his true form. This is what a god looks like. Perfect, beautiful, graceful, divine.

He… was telling the truth. And you felt like such an idiot. A very tomato-faced, speechless, cute idiot.

“Believe me now?” Venti coyly asked with a teasing laugh ringing from his gorgeous vocal chords, running a lone finger up your neck to your chin before leaning in to whisper, “I am the fucking God of Freedom, darling. Feel weak at the knees yet? Wanna bow to me, my little disciple?”

thanks for reading! reblogs appreciated! my masterlist

#[opulent dreams].✿ #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin venti #genshin barbatos #venti x reader #barbatos x reader

[diavolosthots]

A lot of hcs have the brothers reacting with violence against any demon that hurts mc- how do you think they’d respond if mc was like.. REALLY uncomfortable with that? Either bc mc thinks that the demon should have a chance to learn from their mistake, or bc they’re scared when the bros lash out like that, or whatever reason.

God i love the violent protective headcanons so much because it truly captures their demonic natures and, in my opinion, how demons are with their chosen mates buuuttttttttt..... Yeah i can see how some people are uncomfortable with that

Warning: mentions of violent thoughts/some like... Tight gripping, but no actual, full on violence

THE BROTHERS reacting to MC being hurt by a demon and wanting them to have a second chance/being scared (??? Idk that’s the title I came up with, fight me later if it doesn’t make sense now.)

Lucifer:

His first instinct is always, and will always be, to protect you. In his eyes, you’re still this small, fragile, innocent human being, even if you’re not. Even if you’re his height and bench as much as Beelzebub physically, you’re still not a match for a demon and he hates to think that one could get too close, and then it happens. Obviously, he’s full on demon form and ready to teach someone a lesson, but then you stop him, and he’s confused. “Don’t worry Darling, I will handle them.” What’s that? You don’t want him to handle them? Are you out of your mind? “MC they hurt you and they shall pay the price.” A second chance? Do you know what demons are? Look, now the demon is laughing! But… for your sake, Lucifer is backing down. For now. 

“If they do it again, I won’t hesitate MC; this is for your safety. Demons don’t usually change for the better. No, you can not use me as an example.” 

Mammon:

Here’s the thing: chances are, Mammon would talk way more than he would actually fight, anyway. He’d go on a whole speech about how you’re his and he’s there to protect you and how you will never have to worry about anything with him around. Then that demon would get the same lecture and honestly, he’s probably going to bore the demon to death more than anything so you, realistically, don’t have to worry about him being violent, anyway, UNLESS the demon swings at him first because then it’s okay and sorry MC, but this got a little too personal. Just one punch, okay? And then he’ll literally grab you and run for it because even Mammon knows he won’t last long. 

“Listen this ain’t cuz yer scared or I’m scared. This is cuz I can’t let ya get hurt!.... Again!” (Spoiler: it’s because he won’t last long due to his constant worry about you)

Leviathan:

Hold up. Wait a minute. You’re telling him that, after everything he’s been through, everything he’s done, every rough path he had to take to get you, you’re telling him now that he can’t protect you because this lowlife scum deserves a SECOND CHANCE?! Give him a moment, he needs to calm down. Not only is he jealous because someone else managed to get their hands on you but also, “MC are you stupid?! They hurt you!” Like, he genuinely thinks you’re insane. But then he also immediately feels bad for calling you stupid and he’s having a mental debate on what’s more important: avenging you and being a lowkey hero, or giving into your wish and making you happy…. “Ugh….Fine! Fine… but you’re not going anywhere alone ever again!” And also…. He might’ve, totally, tripped that demon with his tail as he takes you back home. Just enough for them to faceplant. No actual violence. 

“They deserved that much…. What? I didn’t do it…..!” Yes he did.

Satan:

Oof. Anger. Rage. Wrath. Fire. It’s all inside of him and he is, quite literally, fuming. His demon form suddenly feels too tight and he wishes he could emerge into his full form without actually causing you to have a heart attack. You’re practically begging him to calm down, “calm down?!” And he’s having none of it. Someone touched what was his and they hurt you doing that, “S-Satan…” but your voice is scared and laced with fear and although he thinks it’s because of the demon at first, “Don’t worry, this worthless excuse of a life won’t be here much longer,” he soon realizes it’s actually he that is scaring you and it catches him off guard. Why are you scared? He’s protecting you! It hurts his heart, though, to see you be so afraid of them and he’s mentally battling himself. He can’t let them get away with this; it would go against his own personal morals and beliefs, but also…

“Let’s… let’s go home… I’ll make some hot chocolate for you and we can… calm down.” 

Asmodeus:

He tries to avoid conflict as much as possible, half because he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and half because he doesn’t like it. If anyone deserves to be a drama queen, it’s him, not anyone else. So you telling him, as he’s about to fight for the first time in a couple millennia, to please not… kind of sets him at ease. “Are you sure?” but he also needs to make sure that this is exactly what you want. He doesn’t like it, of course, because he does firmly believe people deserve to be held accountable for their actions, but he would hate to see you upset with him when he could just… 

“don’t forget to put facial cleanser on tonight and drink water. Your ugliness needs to be washed off and your soul could use some hydration. Hatred out, flowers in!”

Beelzebub:

Oh he’s ready to not only throw hands, he’s ready to tear someone apart. Angry Beel is a scary Beel and he takes a sense of… pride when people fear him, but only if they SHOULD fear him, you know? Laying hands on you is a BIG no no and he won’t treat it lightly. Whatever your relationship with him may be, he protects the people he cares about and his fist is pulling back way too quickly for you to say stop “Beel!” but you’re scared and he halts because he can hear it in your voice and immediately pauses, turning to look at you. He still has a tight grip on them and he’s still ready to tear them to pieces, but you’re also trembling now and his wings slowly lower, thinking he had done something wrong. “I’m… sorry….” stop? You want him to stop? He doesn’t like that… “What if they hurt you again? I can’t let that happen….” he can’t, in good conscience he can’t….. 

“You’re off the hook for now, but let me catch you near MC again and there’s nothing you will be able to do but tell your little life goodbye.”

Belphegor:

Look, MAYBE he’s being a little hypocritical right now, okay? Yeah he totally kind of did the same thing to you but that’s exactly why he’s doing better now! He realizes how wrong he was and how he should’ve never done that, you know, all that good 180 degree turn around stuff, but also??? How dare someone else do that??? “I’m not letting them go MC. Not until they have paid. And you just have to stand there and watch as Belphegor jokes them with his tail and for a while that may work BUT…. he hates the look you gave him when he turns back toward you. It breaks his heart, although he would only reluctantly admit that, so he drops them to the ground and looks at you a bit ashamed. “Fine… I won’t… not today…” and you’re lucky he’s lazy and that tail-lift already took a lot out of him. “But it can’t happen again. I won’t be this nice next time MC.” ain’t no one allowed to mess with you! 

“Just because I made a mistake doesn’t mean you can. Run before I decide to squash you anyway.” 

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #cheys headcanons #asmodeus obey me #belphegor obey me #mammon obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #mentions of violence

[five-rivers]

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

.

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

.

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

[honeytae]

You’ll always be my favorite person.

okay...here we go...this is my first venture into a mini-series! this will have four or five parts i think...it’s just super fluffy friends to lovers, you know the gig. they’re idiots but...they’ll find their way eventually <3 i hope you all like this, please let me know if i did okay  tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters genre: angst, fluff, IDIOTS TO LOVERS warnings: mentions of cheating, depressive themes (breakup aftermath), namjoon is in denial word count: 3.3k

In which your best friend, Kim Namjoon, helps you get over your asshole ex-boyfriend; perhaps, maybe, he was never the one you loved anyway.

Your eardrums still buzzed from all the shouting. 

Your socked feet repetitively hit the ground, bunching the fabric of your shirt in angst as the aftershocks of the breakup rung through your body. You’d been pacing your living room ever since it happened, a painful lump in your throat threatening to rear it’s head as you debated calling him.

Him. Your best friend, Namjoon. The one you could go to for anything, the only one you wanted to go to. Especially in times like this, when your hands were shaking and your chest felt tight and constricted. 

It was definitely not a good time, only a few hours before his workday began, but you felt as if you were going to drive yourself insane if you went on like this. 

Tapping on Namjoon’s contact, you caved, pressing the phone to your ear to hear the two deep notes before they abruptly stopped.

“Hello?” He rasped, clearing his throat at the gravelly voice he’d just displayed, you staying silent on the other line as guilt seeped through your veins.

“Were you sleeping?” He hears your much too awake voice say through the phone, shaky in a way that had him alert in an instant. 

“No, no,” he lied, sitting up against the headboard as his brows furrowed in worry, “what’s wrong?” he asked immediately, concern taking over his tone as he heard you hesitate, balls of his feet landing on the ground as he clutched the phone tighter at the sound of your sniffle. 

The mere question made tears collect on your water line, lower lip trembling as your face scrunched up in a silent cry that wracked your shoulders. 

Trying your best to regain your composure, you ran a hand through your hair, pushing it away from your face as your stare directed out the window adjacent to you. 

“I don’t even know how it escalated so much but we got into a fight, he left, we broke up.” You blurt out, biting down on your lip to silence the sob coming up your throat and threatening to spill out into the microphone of your device.

There was a heavy moment of silence between the two of you, one that would typically be filled with a joke or poking fun at the other for their awkwardness. But this one was tense, Namjoon’s anger bubbling in his chest echoing in the silence as you stifled your cries.

He’d been there for you for multiple breakups, being the shoulder for you to cry on each time someone broke your heart. It was heartbreaking for him as well, seeing you so shattered over someone who didn’t deserve you. Someone who didn’t deserve your love in the first place. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, pausing for a moment at a loss for words. “Are you okay? That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not.” He answered himself, grabbing his glasses from his bedside table to slide atop his ears. 

“I’m coming over.” He announced, standing from the mattress and stumbling over to his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of sweatpants to hastily slip on as he lifted his shoulder to his ear in order to hold the phone so that he could still hear you.

Immediately, you began to shake your head no, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see you. 

“Joonie, don’t, I’m sorry for calling-“

“Love, I’m coming over. I’m already on my way.” 

When Namjoon arrived, you couldn’t help but collapse into his arms, his strong limbs wrapping you up in a tight hug as he shut the front door behind him. 

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.” He whispered, hand placed on the back of your head as your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs, his own heart breaking at the sound of your choked cries being muffled into his shirt. 

He stood with you in his grip for a few minutes, letting you cry in his arms as he swayed you comfortingly side to side. 

“Can I walk you over to the couch?” He inquired softly, getting a stoic nod from you in response, never lifting you head from his chest as he began shuffling both your bodies over to the living room. 

You blindly followed his lead as he lowered himself down onto the couch, placing you beside him on the cushion and welcoming you closer when you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Rubbing his palm up and down your spine, he watched as you steadily began to breathe slower. 

“What happened?” He murmured, watching with gentle eyes as you lifted your head from his body, pouting as you sat up straight against the back of the sofa, looking down at your lap dejectedly. 

Shoulders heaving in a long sigh, you ran a hand through your hair to push it away from your face, the patience exuding from the figure next to you easing you slightly. 

“I was the one who ended things.” 

Namjoon made a quiet noise of surprise from his spot next to you, eyebrows raised slightly as his eyes widened. 

Out of all the relationships you’d been in during his time of knowing you, you’d always been the one who was broken up with. Your history with dating had left Namjoon angry time and time again at the brutal endings that had come along with it. 

“What’d he do?” He asked firmly, tone protective yet knowing as his eyes implored your sullen figure. Fiddling with your fingers, you blew out a sigh, bra it yourself for the explanation to come. 

“Do you remember Hobi’s party?” You asked, Namjoon cocking his head in confusion at the abrupt question.

“Remember when I stormed off and you had to come find me?” You elaborated, a light bulb sparking in Namjoon’s brain as he slowly nodded. Yes, he did remember that.

He remembered coming back from the restroom and not being able to find you, clueless as to where you’d gone before his friends filled him in that you’d suddenly fled without reason. 

Circling the yard several times without finding you, he walked into Hoseok’s house, poking his head into each room with no luck. 

It was when he glanced out the window of the kitchen that he saw a light outside in the dark; a phone screen lighting up none other than your face, low to the ground making him scrunch his brows in confusion before scrambling to exit the house to make sure you were okay. 

Namjoon, ever the gentle giant, couldn’t walk quietly to save his life, shoes pounding against the pavement with each long stride he took toward your hunched over frame. 

The sound of his footsteps had only jarred you slightly, setting your phone down in your lap with a sigh as he sat down beside you on the curb of his friend’s driveway. 

“How’d you end up here?” He had asked, ready to poke fun at you before he noticed the sad gleam in your eye, a frown suddenly overtaking his face as you merely shrugged in response. 

It was a complete contrast to how you’d been just before he’d left for the bathroom, laughing and singing and having fun with him and his friends. He didn’t know what could’ve possibly happened in that short time he was gone. But you were upset, which automatically made him upset.

He tensed up when he realized you might want to be left alone, opening his mouth to ask if that’s what you wanted but pausing once you scooted toward him to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He remembered the words you whispered after a few moments of heavy silence, Namjoon’s heart pounding in his chest as your hands wrapped around his bicep.

I love you.

Moments like that were the hardest for him. Of course he remembered. 

“Yeah. Well, I stormed out because he was letting this girl sit on his lap, practically making out with her.” You scoffed, picking at a string dangling from the sleeve of your shirt as you frowned at the memory.

Silence absorbing the room, you glanced up at Namjoon, unsurprised by the perturbed look on his face.

Namjoon seemed beyond appalled before the emotions on his face turned into anger, his once gaped mouth tightly shut, clenching his jaw while his eyes shot daggers at the man who was no longer in your life. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He finally spoke, facial expression hardening by the second with the new information. 

“I was embarrassed, Joon. Obviously him going to someone else is a message that I’m not enough. I didn’t want anyone to know that, not even you.” You shrugged, Namjoon’s face scrunching in confusion at your explanation.

“That’s such bullshit. He’s sleazy. That’s why he went to someone else. His actions don’t insinuate anything about you.” He fumed, causing you to shrug tiredly.

“It was fucked up, and he knew it. He apologized, said he was just drunk.” You sighed, playing with your fingers in your lap again as Namjoon listened, glancing at your side profile as you heaved another deep exhale. 

“I bought it then, but I don’t believe a word of it now. She’s been blowing up his phone ever since that night.” You confessed, Namjoon’s eyebrows knitting together at your words.

“Was he,” Namjoon started lowly, not daring to finish the sentence he had began. 

“I don’t know, I can’t prove it, but he was messaging her all the fucking time, Joon. It made me feel really weird.” You sighed, resting your elbow on the back of the couch to place your temple onto your palm, letting your eyes fall shut in exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t feel good about that either. God, what a fucking dick.” He said in disbelief, looking at your tired form with a sympathetic frown before shuffling his body closer to you.

“C’mere.”

You heard the return of his soft voice call for you, reaching his arm out behind your back to welcome you into his chest, wrapping you up in a tight hug as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

“I’ll always be here for you.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair and making you exhale a sigh against him. 

“I know you will. Thank you.” You whispered, clutching onto his soft shirt with a ball of your fist into the fabric. 

“And I’m gonna kick his ass.”

You exhaled a small wheeze at that, burying your face into his shirt, his solid figure providing a comfortable headrest for you. 

“You’re not gonna kick his ass, Joon. You’re too good for that.” You patted his shoulder fondly, sniffling against him as his hand circled your spine. 

Namjoon sighed, knowing you were right. He’d never be able to. But god, if only he was a little tougher. He’d beat any asshole who decided to toss your love away.

Tucking his neck in to look down at you, he recognized the closing of your eyelids, your breathing slowing as you fell into slumber. 

Your eyelashes fanned out onto your cheeks, the skin slightly pink from the salt that had been trailing down from your eyes earlier. Your hair was caught in the dampness, causing Namjoon to gently gather the strands and push it back behind your ears. 

Carefully turning his body around the sofa, he slowly lowered his back to the cushions, you snuggling up on his chest as his hand rested on the crown of your head. 

Staring at the ceiling, he could not fathom the fact that someone would choose anything over this. Over you. He had your love, and he threw it away. It angered Namjoon to no end.

Namjoon, who had been your protector since second grade when he’d helped you get your hair untangled from the swingset. He still remembered the vision when he’d seen it get caught from across the schoolyard, running away from the soccer game him and his friends had been playing in order to help you. 

He could still picture your big eyes staring at him as he untwisted your hair from the chain, explaining to you that he had experience doing this because it’d happened to his younger sister so many times.

You’d been quite shy then, only saying a polite thank you when he was done and taking his slightly sweaty hand to shake it when he offered it to you.

“Namjoon. I’m new.” He explained with a smile, withdrawing his hand to push his glasses up his nose before backing away from you as his friend called out for him.

“I’ll see you later!”

From that day on, you and Namjoon had steadily grown closer, running around with each other at recess and sitting together at lunch. You’d broken out of your shell with him after spending so much time together, your shyness slowly fading as he gained your trust.

As you went into middle school, you two stayed close despite every other friend duo or trio breaking up, the both of you managing to avoid drama all the way through your freshman year. 

That was the year Namjoon got his first girlfriend.

They’d only dated a few months, but he’d been left heartbroken when she wanted to split up. It was you that came to his rescue, stopping at his house with his favorite takeout and rocking him from side to side when he eventually broke down in your arms. 

You had always been there. And his crush had been too, but he’d, through years of suppressing it, gotten to a point where he could act like it wasn’t. 

After all, you were best friends. And that was enough for Namjoon. Having you in his life in any capacity was enough.

•••

You awoke a few hours later to a blinding light in your living room, sun piercing your swollen eyes making you cover them with your palms, a groan slipping past your lips at the heavy weight of your eyelids protesting your consciousness. 

Rubbing them to hopefully soothe the feeling, you pulled your hands away from your face, grasping the blanket on top of you in confusion. 

Dropping your head back down onto the couch, your mind raced with flashbacks from last night. The way he had screamed at you when you’d reached for his phone when it wouldn’t stop ringing because of that fucking girl, how it had turned into a huge argument that ended in you breaking up with him, collapsing in tears as soon as he left. 

You felt dizzy at the memory, the nearly two hour long argument draining you mentally, emotionally, and physically. 

You remembered calling Namjoon, him coming over-

Namjoon. Where was he?

Opening your eyes again, you tried to sit up, scooting your butt back on the couch to straighten your spine. It cracked as you did so, causing you to groan lightly as you turned your neck, sleepily looking around your living room. 

Finding your cell phone on the coffee table, you reached your arm over to retrieve it, looking at the bright screen with squinted eyes. 

Bypassing the rest of your notifications, you read the timestamp, concluding with a sigh that Namjoon had most likely left last night and already departed for work.

Standing up off of the couch, blanket still draped over your shoulders, you shuffled to your bedroom, plopping yourself down on your bed face down with a grunt. 

You couldn’t help the way your mind started spinning with the events of the last few months, the spiral and eventual downfall of your relationship. 

Was he the love of your life? Probably not. But fuck, you’d devoted time and emotion to him, you’d defended him to your family and friends and made yourself look like an ass while doing so over him, and you still weren’t enough. You weren’t enough.

Silent tears began soaking the pillow below you, your sniffles filling the room as you covered your face with the blanket, trapping yourself in the darkness beneath the tent of fabric. 

Finally, the fresh tears stopped falling, your bedroom once again encased in silence as you shut your sore eyes, hoping for some sleep to distract yourself for a bit.

Just as you were about to plunge into sleep, you startled awake at the sudden feeling of a hand on your shoulder before settling at the familiar warmth and size of the palm. Namjoon. Your gentle, goofy, over-sized best friend.

“Hello?” He called to you, tugging at the blanket again to which you released your grip, allowing him to see the wet trails down your reddened cheeks as you pouted up at him.

The devastated look on his face made you feel even worse, never liking to see Namjoon with such a glum expression.

His dimpled smile belonged on his face, the gentle scrunch of his nose when he laughed at something making him look not too far off from when you used to make him laugh in elementary school. 

Seeing Namjoon sad was always a trigger to you, and with your current mental state, it was no exception. You couldn’t hold back the choked sob that came out of your mouth, Namjoon instantly sitting back against the headboard and welcoming you into his side as you crawled to him. 

“Oh, love.” He frowned, hand trailing up and down your spine to coax your cries. 

“It hurts, Joon.” You whimpered, the man soothing your hair back with a frown.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He said softly, not knowing what other words to say. 

Honestly, he was fucking furious at him. Furious for playing with your heart like that. But he needed to be here for you, present to make sure you were coping healthily. 

“I thought you left for work.” You whispered, Namjoon humming softly in response.

“Mm, no, I called out. I just went to go pick up some coffee.” He explained, gesturing over to your bureau where two to-go cups of coffee sat side by side. 

“Why’d you call-”

“Because you need me and I’m not going to leave you. Plus, I woke up late today anyway. There was no time for me to go back home and get dressed then get there.” 

“You didn’t have to call out for me, Joon.”

“Love, I wanted to. I promise.” He said, causing you to sigh against him. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled, not knowing quite what you did to deserve such a selfless person in your life. 

When it came to absolute sweethearts, Namjoon took the cake.

“Plus, now I can spend my day with my favorite person. Who’d give that up?” He squeezed your shoulder, raising his eyebrows when you stirred in your position.

His words caused you to pick your head up off of him, Namjoon ignoring the daggers you sent him while he smoothed your fuzzy bedhead down with his palm. 

“You wanted to spend your day with a crying broken me? Really?” You practically scoffed, Namjoon squeezing your shoulder in response. 

“Hey, crying you is still you. You’ll always be my favorite person.” He defended himself, you shaking your head at him with a small smile. 

Laying back down against him, he latched an arm around your waist, securing you in his hold and making you exhale a bit of the tension in your body. 

“Wanna watch something?” He looked from the blank television back to you snuggled against his side, your nod causing his arm to reach over the bureau to grab the remote. 

“The usual?” He wondered, beginning to type the letters into the search bar when you nodded once again. 

Setting the remote down as the Looney Tunes introduction music played from the speaker, both your and Namjoon’s eyes glued to the screen as you lost yourselves in the nostalgia it provided. 

It brought you back to simpler times, when you were in fifth grade having your after school snack at Namjoon’s house, fruit that his mother had cut up for the two of you. 

It brought you back to simpler times when stupid men hadn’t wormed their way into your heart, only to reject you once they had you. 

Being brought back to earth by the man beside you with his hand trailing through your hair, you closed your eyes, thanking him in your head for always knowing what you needed. 

You knew you’d be okay eventually. Namjoon wouldn’t let you fail.

He never had.

#bts fanfiction #bts member x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts imagines #kim namjoon fanfiction #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon angst #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon imagines #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon imagines #fanfiction #writing #fluff #angst

[archived-kin]

late with lucifer

note from kin: i just realised that the title sounds like a talk show ffs

anyway get ready to get SAPPY (and also get ready for a low-key out of character lucifer)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn! reader, lucifer, satan, beelzebub, belphie

pairing(s): lucifer/reader

warning(s): brief existential dread right at the end but i think it’s relatively light

genre: fluff all the way (with maybe a teensy bit of angst???? i accidentally got kinda deep towards the end)

Deciding to commit yourself to a bona fide workaholic music nerd who would sooner chop his own hand off than skip a single working day for potentially the rest of eternity has been... a choice and a half, to say the least. Yes, he’s a sweetheart most of the time, and you love him more than possibly any being in the known universe (though jury’s still out on cats and the dragon you met a couple of months ago who brings you giant mouthfuls of leaves every weekend), but you’d be lying if he didn’t have qualities that make you want to drop kick some sense into him sometimes. And one of those qualities happens to be his absolute refusal to just take a damn break.

“Just one more hour,” He keeps telling you whenever you ask him if he’s finally finished with his mountain load of paperwork. “One more hour, and then we can spend some time together.”

It has been five hours since Lucifer went to his study to ‘get a bit of work done’. Five hours of attempting to finish the mountain of books Satan has recommended you in the corner of the library, probably irritating the poor guy to no end with your constant restless shifting. You're surprised that he hasn’t up and left to go read in his room in peace - then again, it’d be hypocritical of him to tell you off for moving about. You’d think a bookworm like him would be so absorbed by his beloved books that he wouldn’t be able to move at all, but he fidgets about so much when he’s reading that you’re surprised he hasn’t somehow worn a hole through his favourite armchair yet. At any rate, you’re pretty sure you can see him getting ready to flip himself upside down for the seventh time this evening in the corner of your eye.

You try once again to focus on the lucrative business deal happening in Chapter 52 for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, but your brain just doesn’t seem to be listening to you right now; no matter how hard you try to register what’s going on, the words just don’t want to be processed. Finally, checking the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, you decide that you might as well go bother your busy bee upstairs. It’s been at least a fortnight since you’ve been able to spend a full evening or night with him, and, if you’re honest, it’s beginning to get a little on your nerves.

Satan barely looks up from his book as you hop to your feet and begin making your way out, though he does lift a hand to wave a brief goodbye. Contrary to your prediction, he has not flipped himself upside down, but is now sitting the wrong way around on his armchair instead, facing the seat’s back, with his book carefully balanced on its head. Unconventional, but you’ll give him credit for the creativity.

The House of Lamentation is oddly quiet for a Friday night, but you’d guess that’s because Asmo and Mammon, the two loudest members of the house, have taken it upon themselves to celebrate the arrival of the weekend by going out for the night and probably blowing their savings in the process. Well, Asmo will be blowing his savings - Mammon will most likely find a way to put his spendings on one of his other brother’s tabs, or worse, yours. Then again, you don’t buy things often, so you suppose you can spare a bit of cash. (Knowing Mammon, though, he’ll probably buy enough to put you in debt for the rest of your life.)

On your way through the corridor, you’re struck by a sudden idea. Lucifer’s been shut in his study ever since he got home from the R.A.D., which means he most likely won't have eaten anything. At any rate, you know for a fact he wasn’t there for dinner with everyone else, which means you now have a much better excuse for going to see him other than just wanting to. Lucifer may be a stubborn demon, but he's never been able to resist a mug of tea and some biscuits on long nights when it's you offering them.

Beel is rustling about in the snack cupboard when you slip into the kitchen - no surprises there, but it is a little odd that he’s going for the lighter foods rather than something more filling. You'd comment on why he's down here so late into the night - he should really be in bed - but then again, it's Beel. He'd listen to his stomach over his brain any day of the week.

“Oh, hey,” He greets as he retreats from the cupboard with an armful of what look like several cookie boxes stacked on top of each other. “Did you get hungry as well?”

You shake your head and pull two mugs out of the crockery cabinet. “Nope. Just thought I’d bring Lucifer some tea and biscuits, you know?”

“He’s been in his office for ages,” Beel agrees with an earnest nod. He glances down at the heap of cookies in his arms, then pauses. “Ah… here.”

You look up as you fill the kettle with water to see him holding one of the boxes in his arms out to you.  “...what’s this for?”

“There aren’t any biscuits left in the cupboard,” He says by way of explanation, shaking the box he’s offering to indicate that you should take it. “So you can have these.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Beel!” You gently push the box back towards him and give his arm a fond pat. “I’ll just bring him something else. Go ahead and eat the cookies, okay?”

On any other occasion, Beel would most likely have accepted your offer without hesitation (the day that Beel rejects food will probably never come, but you have a sneaking suspicion that a black hole would rip this reality apart if it does), but it must have been a really good day for him in terms of being fed, because he actually continues to try to give you the box. You’re tempted to coo at the big softie’s uncharacteristic generosity, but you’re not particularly sure how that would go over with him. If being in a relationship with Mr Pridey McPrideface upstairs has taught you anything, it’s that you can never take a reaction for granted.

“No, you have it,” Beel insists, shifting so that he doesn’t drop the rest of his biscuits and stubbornly attempting to shove the box into your hands. “I’ve got plenty right here.”

Your surprise must show on your face, because a moment later he smiles a little sheepishly and adds, “I promise I’m not sick or anything. I’ve still got lots right here. One box won’t make that much of a difference.”

You think it over for a moment as the kettle begins to bubble aggressively behind you. You’re a staunch believer in the fact that one should never deprive Beel of his food, partially because he’s an absolute sweetheart who deserves the food he eats, and partially because something bad could and probably would happen if said food is taken from him. Then again, you’re not taking the food from him, strictly speaking - he’s the one offering it to you. That exempts you, right? At the very least, you have a counter-argument if Belphie tries to persecute you for taking his beloved twin brother’s biscuits. (He probably wouldn’t - the kid adores you - but it’s good to be prepared for possible trials.)

“Ah, fine...” You eventually relent and allow Beel to press the box into your hands. Your compliance is well worth it - the beam on his face and the little pat he gives the box in your hands in satisfaction could probably cure multiple strains of cancer. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

He flushes slightly. “I-it’s not that big of a deal…”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” You tell him firmly over your shoulder, beginning to busy yourself with the teabags and sugar as the kettle hisses to a halt. “Personally, I think I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life.”

You smile to yourself as Beel laughs a little bashfully behind you. “Thanks…”

“No problem, bub,” You reply, pausing in your work to turn around and shoot him a wink. “Hey, chuck me a spoon, would you?”

He nods and does just that - literally. He throws the spoon across the kitchen with such precision that it lands perfectly in your outstretched hand.

You thank him and begin to pour the hot water into Lucifer’s mug. He says that he likes his tea as is, without any bells or whistles or fancy additions, but you’ve been doing this thing for long enough that you know that he actually prefers his tea with a teaspoon of honey and just a splash of lemon. He just refuses to actually say it out loud.

(To be honest, you’re not sure why he does that - does he think tea with honey and lemon is a wimpy drink or something just because you told him it’s often drunk as a remedy for a sore throat in the human world? Knowing the way his mind works, it’s probably something along those lines, but still, it’s a weird conclusion to make.)

You finish preparing Lucifer’s tea quickly - you’ve done this so many times that the movements have become second nature to you at this point - and start making your own. The drinks are finished a minute or so later, and with that you begin setting up your little snack tray.

After a moment’s debate, you decide that today is worth going the extra mile, and start to carefully arrange the biscuits on a pretty plate.  It’s a bit of a hassle to get them into the right formation, but it’ll be well worth it once you get them to their intended receiver - Lucifer always gets the fondest little smile on his face when you bring him his biscuits in patterns, and that man doesn’t smile nearly enough for your taste. Personally, you’d quite like it if he smiled like that all the time, but then again, their rarity is what makes them so precious to you.

Ah - you’re starting to get sappy again. That’s a surefire sign that you haven’t spent enough time with your beloved demon lately. Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to see him now, isn’t it?

The door to Lucifer’s study is still as tightly shut as it was five hours ago when you approach it, but you doubt he’s actually locked it. He’s stopped doing that ever since your visits while he works became a regular thing - he hasn’t said it out loud yet, but you know that it’s his way of showing you that you’re always welcome to come in.

Unlocked as it is, though, you can’t exactly turn the doorknob to let yourself in. You’re a human of many talents, but being able to balance a heavy tray in one hand is not one of them. Lucifer’s tea wouldn’t make into his study - it’d just end up all over the floor.

“Lucifer!” You call softly through the door, mindful that he might be having another one of his work-induced headaches, “I’ve brought you some tea! Open up!”

For a while, the only reply is silence. You know there shouldn’t be any reason for him to be, but you can’t help but worry briefly if Lucifer’s somehow angry at you. Then again, Lucifer’s always liked to play the fashionably late card against you - whether to tease you or to disguise something, you’ll never know.

It turns out that your little worry was unfounded - a few moments later, the door swings open to reveal your favourite demon in all his exhausted-looking glory. Lucifer, who looks like the physical manifestation of work burnout, offers you a tired smile, and stands back to let you enter.

(Here’s a little secret - Lucifer would never tell you this, but he’d perked up like a kid when candy is offered the moment he heard your voice. Still, gotta put up the cool front, right? Even if that means waiting restlessly right next to the door for a minute so that you don’t think he’s over-eager…)

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you bring the tray over to his desk and set it down on one of the few patches of wood that aren’t covered by papers.

You dramatically pretend to swipe sweat from your forehead as if you’ve just finished a ten-mile run and shoot a smile up at him. “All in a day’s work, love.”

He smiles softly and leans in to gently press a kiss to the crown of your head. His pale cheeks have darkened slightly - Lucifer’s always been a softie when it comes to the host of sappy nicknames you’ve given him. One gentle ‘sweetheart’ and he’s melting like an ice cube on a hot day. It’s the sort of thing that people like Mammon and Levi would probably call gross or something, but you honestly couldn’t really care less about that. It’s not harming anyone else and it makes both of you happy, so why shouldn’t you give your lover as many endearing pet names as you can come up with?

“What even is all this?” You ask, peering at the papers scattered across the desk as Lucifer moves over to have a look at the plate of biscuits. You look up just in time to spot the way his eyes light up slightly when he sees the flower you've arranged them into.

“This and that,” He replies vaguely, hovering a single gloved hand uncertainly over the plate, as if trying to decide which biscuit he can take without spoiling the pattern.

“That’s hardly an answer at all,” You complain, plucking three broken quills from among the documents and waving them at him. “Why do you keep using these? A pen would be way more efficient.”

“Official documents should be written in the traditional way,” Lucifer tells you. He takes his time chewing the biscuit he’s finally chosen before continuing. “And Diavolo prefers quill and ink calligraphy to look at.”

“Honestly…” You round the edge of the desk and reach up to brush some powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to do absolutely everything according to him.”

Lucifer blinks down at you, lips parting slightly in half awe and half surprise as you smile at him. “Ah…”

His smile widens slightly, and he gazes at you with so much fondness in his eyes that you almost feel a little weak at the knees at the very sight. Lucifer really is a dangerous demon - in more ways than one.

“Well, c-come on, then,” You prompt him abruptly, not wanting him to realise how much his gaze has affected you, because you just know it’s going to give him an ego boost. He pauses in surprise as you start tugging him over to the big armchair beside the fire - the one that the both of you can fit snugly into together. “Let’s have a drink together.”

“I still have papers to fill out—” He attempts to say, but cuts himself off as you shake your head and stubbornly attempt to push him down into the seat. It doesn’t work - Lucifer’s much stronger than you, after all - but he does at least seem to appreciate the effort.

“You’re taking a break whether you like it or not,” You insist, starting to smack lightly at his arms in an bid to get him to listen to you. “Papers can wait. I’m more important.”

That does get a little chuckle out of him, and he finally relents, sitting down with a subtle sigh. “That goes without saying.”

You laugh, suddenly a little more hot around the collar than you’d have liked. “You said it!”

Pausing to retrieve the tray with the tea and biscuits and set it on the table beside the armchair, you quickly join Lucifer in front of the fire, snuggling in at his side and letting out a blissful sigh as you feel him start to draw circles on your arm with his fingers. It’s a sort of habit that he’s developed over the last few months - you’re not sure if he even realises that he’s doing it.

The two of you stay like that in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lucifer’s tense shoulders relax more and more with each passing moment, and soon enough, he’s sprawled out against you, pressing his cheek lovingly into the crown of your head. 

It’s only at moments like this that you get to see this softer version of him, so you always cherish it when it happens. Lucifer may be a slightly passive-aggressive panther who could kill most beings with a swipe of his hand if he sees fit, but, every now and then, he’s a sleepy panther who’ll roll over and let you scratch behind his ears.

Conversation is usually sparse at times like this - the two of you are content enough in each other’s presence that you don’t really need to make small talk. Today, however, Lucifer seems to have something he wants to vent about.

“Belphie has been missing a lot of his homework again lately,” He murmurs. You make a noise of affirmation to indicate that you’re listening, staring at the mugs of tea sitting on the table and pondering whether the two of you will actually manage to part for long enough to drink them.

“Is it anything important?” You ask after a moment, playing absent-mindedly with his left hand. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you mess about with his slender fingers, so you assume that he doesn’t mind.

“Mostly essays,” He replies, shifting slightly and letting out a quiet sigh. “He’s never liked writing them, but he hasn’t had so many missing before.”

You make a thoughtful sound. Now that you think about it, wasn’t Belphie confiding in you about this the other day?

“It’s just hard to sit down and concentrate sometimes, especially when I’m always so tired,” You remember him saying resignedly over hot chocolate and marshmallows. “It’s not like I don’t want to turn all my homework in on time. Sometimes I just can’t.”

“Well, you shouldn’t force yourself to do them, either,” You’d replied, giving his shoulders a sympathetic pat. “Needs over school of course. If you need to sleep more, then sleep more - if you feel like you can’t write the essay, then don’t write the essay. I’ll talk to Lucifer if he gets mad at you.”

He’d given you a grateful smile then, and turned back to his hot chocolate with a marginally brighter look on his face.

“Belphie’s been having a lot of nightmares lately, so he isn’t getting as much sleep,” You say slowly. “I told him to go ahead and take as many naps as he has to. His needs are more important than schoolwork, after all.”

Lucifer takes a long while to answer, but you don’t mind. It’s only fairly recently that he’s really come to terms with the idea that he doesn’t need to be so hard on his brothers - that it’s okay to put their comfort before whatever image of respectability he’s trying to keep up for Diavolo. The change has been somewhat jarring, according to Satan, but it’s not an unwelcome one, and you’ll gladly take responsibility for it with your constant reminders and careful explanations that Lucifer’s younger brothers have their own problems that he needs to give more leeway for.

“...did he come to talk to you about this?” He asks finally.

“Yeah.” You can’t see his face, but you can practically hear the frown beginning to pinch at his brows. “I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but he does want to make you proud. He’s never wanted to disappoint you.”

He takes a deep breath and releases it with a low hum. “...Belphie has never disappointed me.”

“Seems that he doesn’t realise that sometimes, though,” You sigh, tracing the seams of his glove with your index finger. “He’s a good kid, really.”

Lucifer doesn’t give a verbal reply, but he does hum again. You shift slightly and turn to look up at him; he looks back at you with sleepy, half-lidded crimson eyes. “Take it easy on him, okay?”

He gazes at you in contemplative silence for a long while, blinking slowly like an affectionate cat. Finally, he nods, and you beam proudly, dipping your head to rest on his chest, carefully positioning yourself so that his buttons don’t dig into your cheek.

“I’ll speak to his teachers,” He says quietly. “We should be able to arrange something.”

You smile against the fabric of his waistcoat, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. “That’s progress. I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know full well that he loves it when you say that to him. He didn’t in the early days of your relationship, mostly because he’d thought you were patronising him, but now that the two of you are so much more familiar with each other, he’s learnt to recognise that you don’t mince words; you say what you mean, and you mean what you say. Which is exactly why, as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely loves it when you tell him that you’re proud of him.

Lucifer himself is deep in thought. Struck by a sudden warmth spreading through him, quite independent of the crackling fire before him, he wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your head. It’s at moments like these, when you’re so close to him, that he realises just how fragile humans like you are.

It terrifies him sometimes, knowing that the unforgiving march of time means that you cannot be with him forever. One day you will leave, and you will grow old and fade away without him, because, no matter how much he wishes otherwise, you belong to a different realm. You are not a demon, and he is not a human; your worlds can collide briefly, for a single, beautiful moment, but then they will continue to move in their own orbit - and perhaps they will never meet again.

Some would say that, for this reason, he never should have fallen in love in the first place. Relationships like yours have always had a sort of taboo, even in the Devildom, because all beings are not created equal; humans have such short, meaningless lifespans compared to demons and angels, such little power, always depending on leaders and faith in a deity that they cannot prove the existence of. That is what demons tend to think of humanity, and until he’d met you, Lucifer had felt similarly.

But your life has been anything but meaningless, and the power you hold over him and his brothers is far stronger than any amount of potent magic that any being holds. The seven lords of the Devildom would lay waste to all three realms should anything happen to you. 

Lucifer had never thought that he had the ability to love so deeply and so purely, but then again, he’d also never thought that a human like you could exist. It seems that he’s been wrong about a lot of things, and he can only pray that he will be wrong in his prediction of how this will end.

But you’re with him now, curled up against him with a content smile on your face. For now, you’re here, and while you are, Lucifer doesn’t want to waste time on worries.

Your story is yet to reach its ending, and if Lucifer knows anything, it’s that he will stay by your side until then. As long as your worlds are still connected, he will continue to love you, and he will love you long after your worlds separate again.

He’s sure of it.

#unedited #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #lucifer x reader #swd lucifer #swd satan #swd belphegor #swd beelzebub #fluff #lucifer is one of those characters that you can interpret in SO many ways and i love that for him #he's pretty fun to write as well #existential dread #we love a good big brother lucifer #for those of you reading these tags here is a hint for the next obey me piece #remember the simeon with a himbo bf piece? #we're getting a part two baby #(warning: the part two is likely not going to be anything remotely like what you're thinking of) #;)

[dancing-in-a-yellow-dress]

Trapped Little Angel (part 1)

Welcome to the first part of the first fanfic on this account.

Child!reader x the Avengers

Word count: 2900

Trigger warning: Imprisonment, nightmares, non graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, possible trigger for eating disorders

--

You were a 14-year-old orphan living alone in New York, since your family had died in the explosion that gave you your powers. Your powers were similar to Wanda’s (telekinesis and all that jazz). You got them when you were 7, but for whatever reason they hadn’t been active before that day.

It was a basic September day with all of its rain and fog and clouds. You were walking on the street when suddenly you blacked out and your powers exploded out of you destroying property and hurting people everywhere around you. The Avengers were called to action and they evacuated the block and when you’d cooled off a little they took you into custody and to the Avengers tower.

You had passed out and they didn`t really know what to do with you, so they laid you down on the couch and began a debate about the subject.

Tony believed firmly that you were dangerous to the team and the best thing for everyone would be to lock you up isolated and unstimulated to avoid new outbursts until a better option would be available. Steve backed Tony up to an extent, although he did believe the isolation to be unnecessary. Bruce didn’t really voice his opinion on confinement that much, instead focusing on the medical aspect of the situation.

Clint doesn’t really say much during the argument, before Tony raises the possibility of indefinite imprisonment in isolation. That is what finally gets to him, since you are just a kid and remind him of his own daughter. Wanda argues firmly against any form of forced imprisonment. In her opinion you needed medical attention, after which instead of locking you up the team should be focused on helping you control and develop your powers in a beneficial way.

Natasha is uncharacteristically quiet for the whole debate. Something about you had got to her and she found it hard to think of the situation objectively without a massive bias. Peter was on ‘your side’ for sure. To him you were a troubled kid who just happened to need some help. In a way he saw himself in you.

You start to regain consciousness about halfway through the argument. The Avengers are taken back at first, but when you are very confused and scared, Nat and Clint (who are the most ‘neutral’ participants) tell you what happened. When you have gotten the big picture you ask shakily: “How many people did I hurt? What’s the damage?” The others are hesitant to tell you, but Tony is highly pissed at you, so he takes his tablet and shows you some pics of the place where the accident happened. Wanda shoots him a death glare, but he continues and reads the statistics to you: “At this exact moment there are 9 people dead, 27 in critical condition and 56 with milder injuries. All because of your little stunt.” At this point you have pulled your knees to your chest and are struggling to breathe. Steve and Clint look at Tony like he has lost his mind and Nat tries to calm you down. You are repeating the same things over and over again: “I didn’t mean to- It’s all my fault… I don’t know how- What- I didn’t mean to…” Nat was approaching you, her hand reached out ready to stroke your back and pull you into a hug. She says: “We know. Everything will be alright, it’ll be alright. It wasn’t your fault, we’ll sort this out. It’s okay, you’re okay. We don’t blame you, but right now you need to calm down.” You flinch away from her, panic shining in your eyes: “No! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t control it… I don’t understand- I didn’t mean to…” Suddenly you look desperately at Tony “You have to lock me up. I’m dangerous. I can’t be trusted. I have to be put away. Please”, you beg, surprising all of the other people in the room. Peter is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off.

You stand up and Clint shows you the way to a quite big cell. You step in and he shuts the door behind you. You sit on the floor in the corner and pull your knees to your chest. You just blankly stare at the wall. You noticed that there was a camera in corner of the room near the roof as you stepped inside, but you didn’t care. What did it matter. As you stayed on the floor the team was reheating the discussion whilst keeping an eye on the monitor that showed footage from your cell.

Wanda and Peter were shouting at Tony for locking you up in an isolation cell. Natasha and Clint were a bit calmer, but they were backing Wanda and Peter up. At some point Tony says: “You heard the kid. She wanted to be locked up. Even she thought it would be the best option”. And that sets Natasha off: “Yeah, after you had scared the poor thing on the verge of a panic attack. That wasn’t fair play. You drove her to that decision and you know it.” Then Peter fires: “Besides the whole ‘she decided herself’ excuse is bullshit. She’s a kid. SHE’S 14. I’m 17 and you don’t trust me to do anything yet, so how again is she any different?” That shuts Tony up.

In the end the team comes to the conclusion, that they will be monitoring you strictly and willing people will be allowed to go talk to you. All except Peter (just for the first few days) who is infuriated to no end by the decision.

The first person to come talk to you is Wanda. She comes and talks for a while, but you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying. After a while she leaves shutting the door behind her. Steve also comes to question you, and even though this time you understand what he is saying you can’t find the energy to answer him in you. Clint brings you something to eat and drink, but you don’t move a muscle to acknowledge the act. Time sort of looses its meaning to you as you sit on the floor and stare into nothing, alone with your thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again.

Nevertheless, you know some time has passed when Natasha comes through the door with another tray filled with food. She places it carefully on her untouched bed and sighs deeply before speaking: “You should really start eating on your own. It’s been two whole days and you haven’t taken a bite. I get that its hard, but you’ve got to try. Otherwise we’ll have no choice but to put a feeding tube down your throat and trust me kid, that does not feel good.” She gives you another look, then turns around and walks out. Slowly you straighten your legs on the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed how much your muscles were hurting for being in the same position for so long before someone pointed it out. You stretched your legs first and then stood up slowly. You went through your body, stretching every muscle one at a time and then sat down beside the bed to eat. You weren’t really hungry, but the threat of getting a feeding tube stuffed down your throat was enough to get you eating.

After you were done with the meal you went back to your corner and sat back down, leaving your legs laying on the floor instead of curling up to a tight bundle. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Wanda walked in. She picked the tray up and looked down at you, clearly assessing the situation before finally saying: ”Hey, I was wondering if you needed to use the bathroom.” You didn’t answer her but stood up and stepped timidly few steps forward so that she knew you’d be coming along. She guided you through the hallways and into a bathroom. “There is a towel on the counter and shampoo on a shelf in the shower. Take as long as you need. I’ll pick up some clean clothes for you and bring them here. Okay?” You didn’t say a word but nodded and opened the door to the bathroom. After half an hour you were back in your cell but feeling significantly cleaner and comfier.

Instead of sitting back in the corner on the floor you sat on your bed and crossed your legs. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it, so you started singing, first just humming quietly, then adding the words to the song. It was an old lullaby your mom had sang to you more than once. Some things just had a way of sticking with you.

`Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt kuuluu keijujen äänet

Ne tanssivat taas koko yön laulaen

koko yön laulaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

taas syttyy tähtöset pienet

Ne oottavat taas läpi yön loistaen

läpi yön loistaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt sammuu keijujen äänet

Ne liitävät taas ylös luo tähtien

ylös luo tähtien`

Then you sang it over again, this time in English

If your quiet, very quiet,

you can hear sound of the fairies

They’re dancing again through the night until day

through the night until day

Very quiet, almost silent

the stars are lighting the sky

they’re waiting again till the night fades away

till the night fades away

If you’re quiet, very quiet

you can hear sound the fairies

they race through the sky so they’ll be near the stars

so they’ll be near the stars

You sang the song a couple times over and finally you got to the last part you had made up on your own. You always ended it there, since you could never continue singing after that.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

ei kuulu keijujen äänet

Ne lähtivät taas minut yksin jättäen

minut yksin jättäen

Even if you’re very quiet

you won’t hear sound of the fairies

they flew up the sky leaving me alone behind

leaving me alone behind.

You broke down sobbing. Clint was sitting at the monitor, and he thought it’d be best not to disturb you, so you were left alone as you start humming another melody your mom taught you.

Joka ilta kun lamppu sammuu ja saapuu oikea yö Niin Nukku-Matti nousee ja ovehen hiljaa lyö On sillä uniset tossut ja niillä se sipsuttaa Se hiipii ovesta sisään ja hyppää kaapin taa

”I didn’t know she was finnish” Nastasha said to clint as she sat next to him with two cups of tea. “Finnish?” Clint asked as they listened to the beautiful melody coming from the lonely cell. Nat was quiet for a while before saying “Yeah. The language is absolutely bizarre.” They sat in silence for another while, until Clint said: “She sounds miserable” “Yeah, but who wouldn’t. I’m guessing she has no family, since no one has come asking for her.”

Ja pieni sateenvarjo on aivan kallellaan Ja sinistä unien kirjaa se kantaa kainalossaan Ja unien sinimaahan se lapset autolla vie Surrur, surrur ja sinne on sininen, uninen tie

Ja siellä on kultainen metsä, ja metsässä kultainen puu Ja unien sinilintu ja linnulla kultainen suu Ja se unien sinilintu se lapsia tuudittaa Se laulaa unisen laulun joka mielen uneen saa

Your mum never taught you that song in English. You had tried translating it, but it always turned out so peculiar you had eventually given up.

When you felt like you had cried enough you stopped with the finnish and started going through songs you had heard somewhere else, altering the lyrics as you went.

You hadn’t sung anything in weeks and now you just couldn’t stop. It felt good. You went over your favorites altering lyrics and making up new verses, not wanting the song to end. As you sang you thought about mum and home. In the outside world they were forbidden things, because they made it hard to focus on surviving. But here she had all the time in the world to think. After hours and hours she finally laid down on the mattress and drifted to sleep

Tony had just started his shift watching you through the monitor and you were having a nightmare. You were curled up in a ball and whimpered and muttered quietly, as tears ran down your face. You dug your nails into your back and started scratching leaving bloody red marks behind. Then you started screaming. The sound echoed through the halls, but Tony didn’t know what to do, so he ended up doing nothing, just staring at the screen paralyzed. It went on for a while, until you finally flinched so violently you woke up.

You were in a state of panic, but as you realized where you were it started to wear off. Little by little you started to feel the pain from the bloody scratch marks on your back and arms. You examined your injuries to the best of your abilities and then looked at the floor while talking sheepishly at the camera in the corner of the room: “If you don’t mind I’d like to have something to wrap these cuts with. I might also need some help with the ones in my back. Its not a big deal, but I don’t want them to get infected.”

The screaming had woken up Natasha and Steve who were now standing behind Tony, looking at the screen over his shoulders. Tony cleared his throat before turning around in his chair and facing the other two. They both had their arms crossed on their chest. Steve looked surprised as hell, but Natasha was quick to recover. She threw Tony an icy stare before saying: “Should we think the imprisonment over again, or is she still too dangerous for you to handle?” Tony raised his hands before saying: “Let’s think that over in the morning, when the whole team is up. Now, would you mind going to help her with the injuries?” Natasha threw Tony another dirty look, before grabbing the first aid kit and heading to your cell.

Nat came, and you laid on the bed on your stomach. She lifted your shirt, poured antiseptic solution on a cloth and warned you: “I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” She pressed the cloth gently on your back and you shrug. “It’s not that bad. You get used to pain as a homeless kid. Once I had to remove a bullet from my own shoulder.” There Nat saw an opportunity get little bit more information of you and continued the conversation: “Must be tough. I suppose you don’t have any family left?” “Yeah, mum and dad and Tom died… in an accident” you tensed up visibly. Nat continued unbothered but didn’t bring up the deaths again. “I heard you sing the other day. Didn’t know you were finnish.” “Oh, I’m not. My mom was.” “So, can you speak finnish or what?” “Nah, not anymore anyways. I used to, but I haven’t used it in a long time. Some things just stuck with me, like the songs, or silly pet names mum used to call us.” For some reason you felt really safe with Natasha. Her touch reminded you of home as she worked to clean your wounds and then wrap them with clean gauze. You knew it was silly, but it just felt so good to finally talk to someone, so you kept answering her as she continued asking questions. “Pet names, huh. What did she call you?” “She used to call me Lumikki. It’s the finnish for snow white. It’s cheesy as hell, I know but we lived in a little cottage in the woods, and I was obsessed with Disney.” Natasha smiled at you. “Do you remember anything else about your mum.” “She had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. She sounded like an angel. Sometimes I hear her in the wind.” You pause for a minute “And she was a dancer. She used to be a ballerina, but then she had us and her career ended. She never quit dancing though. Once in a while she’d put on her slippers and go through some old routine, like she had never stopped. She even taught me some basics.” Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and continued: “Did you have any siblings?” “Yeah”, you were quiet for a moment, not rushing to continue “One brother. His name was Tuomas, but we all called him Tom. Three years older than me. He was my best friend.” A tear fell down your cheek. Natasha was almost done with wrapping your back so she asked one more question. “How about your dad” You shrugged. “He was a hunter. Spent most of his time with Tom out in the forest when I stayed in with mum.” Nat packed the medical supplies back to the first aid kit and pulled your shirt down so that it covered your back. Then she helped you sit up and said: “I can’t promise anything yet, but we’re having another meeting with the team about your… condition and I believe you might get out of here.” She saw the unsure look you gave her. “Don’t worry” she said as she took your hand “Everything will be alright. I promise”

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Sorry, I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the spacing, tried to fix it but it wont budge... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

#the avengers #mcu #fanfic #child!reader #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #clint barton #natasha romanoff #peter parker #reader x avengers #child!reader x avengers