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jackwolfes · 6 months

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Wesper (ish) // Six of Crows // 1997 words // E rated @kinktober2023 Day 19: Voyeurism Bonus warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, Wylan x stranger

[all kinktober fills]

I’m going to kill Kaz.

Jesper has lost count of how many times he’s repeated that thought to himself, soothing himself with the certainty that he’ll be causing Kaz Brekker bodily harm within a few hours at most. It’s still little solace right now, when Jesper is stuck in a wardrobe hiding from the son of the man whose house they’re robbing.

Sure, he probably shouldn’t have been poking around in this random dressing room when he was meant to be waiting for Kaz’s signal. And yeah, he supposes that he should be concerned about how Kaz might fare while Jesper is stuck here. But Kaz always has a stupid fucking back up plan, and Jesper is the one now listening to some useless pretty boy chatter with some staff member or another. From the dull conversation they’re having about Kerch history, Jesper has to assume he’s some kind of tutor, but he’s finding it remarkably hard to focus on what they’re saying on account of the fact he’s now stuck in a wardrobe.

It’s uncanny how easy it is for even the most dire of situations to get worse.

Jesper doesn’t immediately realise that anything has actually changed. He’s leaning against the back of the wardrobe and trying not to slam his head against it in frustration when he realises that the room past the wardrobe door he’s hiding behind is quiet. Not silent, though.

“Mmh—”

He cracks an eye open. There isn’t a lot of space in the wardrobe, but it’s tall enough that he can stand at a slight slouch. It isn’t very deep, though, which means he doesn’t need to lean very far forward at all to get a sense for what’s happening outside. There are slats in the door, thin enough to hide him but just wide enough to allow him to see out. He squints.

Then he realises, with very obvious clarity, what is happening outside.

The flush on Jesper’s cheek understands what he’s seeing before his brain catches up, but when it does — Saints, when it does. Jesper realises with a horrifying mix of interest, desire and dread that the rich and pretty heir to this grand old house is being kissed by his tutor in the most filthy way imaginable. They’re only a few steps away from the wardrobe door Jesper is hiding behind. Jesper’s heart has started to race, slamming against the hollow of his throat. He leans away from the door as much as he can, but it isn’t much.

The rich boy's breath hitches, too loud with proximity. Jesper hears fumbling, then — his heart stops — the distinct slam of a body against the door he's just barely hidden by. He holds his breath. This time when the man whines it's even louder.

With something a little like horror and a lot like arousal, Jesper realises that that pretty boy is now pressed with his face against the mahogany door Jesper is trapped behind. He can see him. His flushed face is just about visible through the thin slats of this stupid closet. They'd be face to face if there wasn't this bare inch of wood between them. Close enough to kiss.

All this means that there’s a very real chance that the rich boy will be able to see Jesper. It’s not impossible, although the slats tip downwards enough that Jesper thinks he’s mostly hidden. Besides: the young man is awfully distracted.

In his too-tight trousers, Jesper's cock twitches at the thought. He's all but leaking into his drawers. Nearly sightlessly he hears sounds that must be belt buckles and stripped off clothes, watching the shadows jerk as the boy’s limbs are tugged free from their coverings.

“Please,” the young man whines.

“Patience, pretty boy,” his companion replies. Once more, the boy whines.

“Please—”

But then his breath catches, killing the words in his throat. He moans, drawn out and shivering, and the man behind him chuckles. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Good boy.”

Jesper can’t see what they’re doing exactly, but he imagines it well. Fingers between spread legs, teasing and toying, stretching, touching. This boy looks soft and princely, and Jesper can only imagine what touching him is like. Silk, a string of pearls. Decadent skin and pillow-plush lips. He gasps a few more times, but doesn’t say much more.

Through the thin slats Jesper watches his face. His pale brows are drawn low, scrunched tight as he’s worked up from behind. As he’s prepared, or maybe worked over his peak (although the tutor makes no move to touch his cock). Even in the dim light Jesper can see a shine of sweat on his brow. His own eyes trace over the boy’s parted lips, catching sight of his pink tongue and the moans that are threatening to fall. He doesn’t seem to care about being caught by anyone — not even Jesper.

And Jesper knows he should feel awful about this. He should feel downright dirty, and if he’s honest he does. But he feels himself burning, too, in a good way. There is molten metal in his core, getting him hot and getting him hard, as he watches this pretty boy taking pleasure without even knowing he’s being watched. The only thing saving Jesper from a moral crisis is the knowledge that he isn’t really being given a choice, either.

He squeezes his eyes shut in the hope that’ll make his hard-on go away, stubbornly refusing to touch himself even though the need is becoming ever more pressing. From the sound of things — hitching breaths, quiet moans, the scrape of fingernails against the wardrobe door — the tutor’s fingers are finding all the right spots.

"Shit— shit— come on—"

The heir cries out, high and pretty like bells on a festival day, and Jesper opens his eyes in time to see the shadow cast across the door disappear. He blinks rapidly, wondering what’s happening, but he doesn’t dare move. What he hears is the sound of fumbling footsteps, enough to be sure that they’re moving away from the closet — finally.

But they don’t leave the room.

There’s a second slam and another loud cry. Jesper presses his palm to his mouth, certain he’s going to make a mortifying noise of his own otherwise. It isn’t the easiest to see through the slats of the door but Jesper sees enough.

The tutor has bent the rich boy right over the vanity.

In his own head, Jesper swears. From where he’s hiding he has a perfect view. They stand side on to the wardrobe and so side on to Jesper, which means he can see the boy’s shirt rucked up over his back, the swell of his bare ass and the dip of his lower spine. But that isn’t all, because fuck, that’d be too easy. The boy’s tutor has shoved him down on the vanity table, which means the boy is propped up right in front of a mirror tilted just so, and giving Jesper a straight line of sight to the boy’s red face. Only for a moment before he buries his face in the table, already trembling. His tutor has lined his cock up and is already pressing in, which makes the boy start to shake. There’s no more begging, but he spreads his legs apart before the tutor asks him to in a wordless plea.

It's dirty and lecherous and Jesper stares anyway, not breathing. The boy’s pale arms stretch over the length of the vanity, hands curled into fists as his tutor starts to take him. Jesper can barely see the tutor’s face from where it’s buried in the pretty heir's throat, but he hears the slap of skin on skin as he starts to fuck him and also doesn’t really care what the tutor does. He cares about the rich boy. He watches with perfect clarity; the way he clenches his fists, his sweat-damp hair, the way his face tilts up towards the mirror with every softly sung moan.

“Please,” the boy moans again. “T-touch my— touch my cock, please—!”

“Saints,” the tutor swears, words low through gritted teeth. He reaches a hand up to shove through the boy’s curly red hair, tightening a fist and nudging him back down. The boy’s body jolts, and he moans one more time.

Jesper can’t understand how he’s being so greedy. The thought of having this heir ready and willing in an empty (or, mostly empty) room and not taking the time to draw out his pleasure is unthinkable. If Jesper were in that stupid tutor’s place he’d go hours if he had to without so much as brushing a hand against his own cock just to give this boy the adoration he is owed.

From behind the shut wardrobe doors Jesper stares, cataloguing every new inch the boy’s blush tracks across. It spreads over his sides, across his back, it even splashes over his cheeks. It's heady and intoxicating, dizzying, glorious.

Then the heir lifts his head just high enough to look in the mirror and looks, without any room for doubt, at the wardrobe door. Jesper’s stomach drops out from under him, suddenly perfectly certain that the heir is looking at him. That he knows. And maybe he does, maybe he heard or saw or fucking tasted Jesper’s frantic disbelief the last time he moaned. Jesper stares, struck dumb, as the boy shoves a hand below his hips and starts to jerk his cock, as if he’s given up on waiting at the whims of other people. He doesn’t let his head drop. He doesn’t stop looking at the mirror. Now it seems as likely that he’s staring at his own reflection as it’s likely that he’s staring at the wardrobe now, and Jesper can’t tell which is hotter to imagine. All the same he stares, mouth dry, as the heir makes himself come.

His body goes tense where it’s folded over the table, starting to tremble as his orgasm seizes him and his tutor chases his release. The heir doesn’t moan or cry out, but having heard it before Jesper can so perfectly imagine the light and faint way his breath might hitch, lost under the grunting of the man above him. He takes each frantic thrust, seeming not to mind being pushed past his limit, although his knees start to buckle before too long.

His tutor doesn't take much more than that, either, although Jesper spends the whole time watching the pretty heir with his pretty flush as he takes it, already long since pushed over his edge. It's all very quick after that, and when they've both caught their breath (while Jesper still struggles) the tutor chooses not to kiss his half-dazed fuck-buddy before choosing to take his leave.

Left alone, the heir stands on still trembling legs. He neatens himself up slowly, tucking his spent cock back into his trousers and smoothing down his fluffed up hair. Then — sparing one last lingering glance at the wardrobe — he heads towards the door.

Holding his breath is instinct until the heir is out of sight, at which point Jesper exhales as quietly as he can manage. Saints, Jesper thinks weakly. He’s certain that he’s going to need a very long and very cold shower to calm himself down. He knows he isn’t out of the clear just yet, and Saints know he’ll have to hash out an uncomfortable conversation with Kaz about why he was late on his side of the job, but —

“I can go twice, if you ever plan on getting out of that wardrobe.”

Jesper goes perfectly still, certain he’s misheard until that pretty Geldstraat boy daintily clears his hoarse throat. I’m going to kill Kaz, he thinks, unbidden, before it’s chased with an altogether more pressing thought that reminds him that he’s still hard in his trousers and desperately, ruinously turned on.

Staying a little bit longer when he’s already late can’t hurt anyone — right?

#read 💃 the 💃 tags 💃#wesper #soc #six of crows #dgb does kinktober 2023 #kinktober 2023 #i still may yet make this a longer thing and change things but! for now! voila!

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kingess · 1 year

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Dark mother how do you manipulate a male that's got a dismissive avoidant attachment style?

Boars with avoidant attachment

The truth is, you want to stay away from them. Romantically, platonically and physically. The only way to get anything out of them is beating them on their own game; which is tedious. It's not worth the work imo and if you've accidentally slipped into it already, chances are, you have emotions invested. My condolences, please run.

In order to get anything out of them you'd have to:

Act colder than anyone you know.

Demean him in every way possible.

Disrespect him from the bottom of your heart.

Keep talking to him even though you despise him and only talk about yourself and your own problems even though he'll withdraw when he senses criticism.

Understand that he WILL deem you as "less capable of a human being" because you "don't suffocate your emotions".

This, however, is the sole reason why he'd be interested because he wants to feel useful, important and superior without putting in emotional effort.

He's used to feeling responsible for everyones emotional states since childhood, hates it, and seeks it.

DO NOT TRY TO COMMUNICATE ABOUT EMOTIONS BETWEEN YOU TWO.

Think Wednesday Addams writing a diary but it's you chatting with him.

An unhealed dismissive avoidant male is the worst kind of a situation you can get entangled with, as well as the easiest if you struggle with abandonment wounding. Stay mindful and safe. It's also easy because they don't require much from you, so you have your own peace to work in the loneliness.

Disclaimer: This post is a reference to dark dating not love advice & isn't recommended for real usage without a rightful dire need.

#attachment styles #girlboss #dark femininity #female manipulator #maneater #manipulate men #high class heaux #wednesday addams #dark psychology #trauma bonding #spoiledblr #art of seduction #gold digger #dismissive avoidant #toxic tips #gaslight gatekeep girlboss

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mooodyblue · 11 months

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i would love a full-length fic with bde and the little who tries to self-punish themselves; maybe he accidentally snaps at them a little for something annoying but small like they break a glass and he’s not annoyed but then they just keep trying to pick it up and help clean up? Until he’s like JUST STAND STILL and then they think he’s annoyed for the glass breaking or something and mumbling all about what they think should happen and then he just has to comfort them!!! lots of hugs and cuddles and reassurance please!!

i looooved this one sm!! ty for the request!! 🫶🏼 there's probably an over usage of pet names here but i just melt when ppl call me honey/baby so .....

wc: 1k

elvis was busy today and you knew better than to bother him while he was working. however, you were feeling small but you didn’t want to be a burden to him. he’d said numerous times to come to him even if he was working and you were feeling fuzzy, but you still always felt bad.

maybe it was past trauma, even the way you were raised. it was always a struggle having to ask for something no matter how dire the situation was. you shut everyone off and that included while you were little. elvis was wonderful with you, he took care of you well and always loved to spoil his little baby. he just wished you weren’t closed off from him when it came to being little. but he understands and never pushed your boundaries.

you shut the bedroom door quietly, listening for elvis and hearing his faint voice downstairs on the phone. letting out a sigh, you tiptoed down the steps and into the kitchen. all you wanted was a pb&j, you could do it. it was just a few simple ingredients and you could get yourself big enough to make it yourself.

one thing about elvis, he knew how you loved to feel small. there was a clear height difference between the two of you so he purposely put all your little plates and cups up higher on the shelf so he could get them for you. although, he did love to pick you up and let you grab them yourself.

as you got on your step stool, reaching for one of your plates, your arm bumped into one of the wine glasses a couple shelves down, causing it to bounce off the edge of the counter and shatter on the floor. you gasped, looking down at the mess and quickly glancing at the hallway.

“.....right–listen charlie, imma have to call ya back. just heard somethin' in the kitchen….yea, sure. a ghost. listen, don't forget those songs i asked about. i mean it!”

you panicked, shutting the cabinet door immediately and getting yourself on the floor to start picking up the tiny shards of glass. “no cartoons before bed….” you muttered to yourself, doing your best to pick up each shard. “daddy’s gonna be real upset…”

“oh baby, what–” elvis turned a corner, seeing you on the floor. “now, what are ya doin’? get up from there!”

“b-but i was just-”

“nuh-uh. get up.” your bottom lip wobbled as you stood up, careful not to touch the glass. “step away from the glass. you don’t need to be touchin’ it and gettin’ your tiny lil’ hands all cut up.”

you backed away slowly as he stepped in, sweeping up the glass. but it was your fault, you broke the glass. it was your responsibility to clean it up. back on your hands and knees as he tossed some of it in the trash with his back turned, he looked at you again. “honey, what did i say? stop touchin’ it.” he said, sternly.

again, you stood up, only to pick up a shard that landed somewhere away from the original pile. “dammit, y/n. stand still, stay away from the glass.”

“but it was my fault.” you replied.

“that don't mean nothin' to me. just stand there and don't move, do as i say.” there was a hint of annoyance to his tone this time as he cleaned up the rest of the glass, letting out a sigh. least it was just a wine glass, he could replace it later.

“....no plushies either…don't deserve ‘em” you mumbled again, “told you daddy would be mad..” you sniffled and crossed your arms, fighting back your tears.

he turned around quickly, his expression softening. “what's this about no plushies?”

“made daddy mad…” you looked down, refusing to look him in the eyes. once again, disappointing someone you loved dearly even if you didn't mean to.

elvis furrowed his brows, “you didn't make me mad.” he tipped your head up with the tip of his finger, getting you to look at him. “no honey, i just didn’t want you gettin’ hurt. that's all. not mad at all. you ain’t hurt, are ya?”

you shook your head, tears fully falling down your cheeks.

“oh, my baby.” he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your entire body. “my sweet, sweet baby.” he cooed.

“‘m sorry, daddy. so sorry, i didn’t mean to do it.” you sobbed into his shoulder.

he felt his heart shatter, just feeling himself wanting to protect you from the rest of the world. “i know you didn’t, sweetheart. i know.” he pulled away from you, holding both of your hands tightly. “listen–it was an accident, right? nobody got hurt, we’re both still standin’ here in one piece. don't go punishing yourself for somethin’ you didn't mean to do.”

letting out a small whine, “i did a bad thing though.” you said with a quick stomp.

“a bad thing that you didn't mean to do. that glass can be replaced.” he frowned. “you didn't break any rules, you don't need to be punished for breakin’ something when you didn't mean to.”

it was confusing to you how nice elvis was about the whole ordeal. it almost brought you some form of comfort knowing he wasn't mad. if it were anyone else, they'd be mad. you'd be punished. you hated being punished but felt like you deserved it sometimes. but elvis had a point, maybe you didn't deserve to be punished for small things.

“i-i can sleep wit’ my bunny?” you asked softly.

elvis hated that you had to even ask that question. “of course, i’d never take away your plushies. you know that.”

“and…and..cartoons?”

he chuckled, “you can watch your cartoons before bed too.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him. “thank you, daddy.”

“love ya so much, little one.” he responded, hugging you back. “let's get you that snack and snuggle up on that couch, sound good? daddy needs a bit of cuddlin’ time with his best baby.”

#elvis x reader

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eruden-writes · 1 year

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Scent Match - Part 5

lycan x human celebrity x non-celebrity contemporary fantasy

(Note: Started with an anon asking for the phrase prompt, “Oh. Oh.”)

Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan hearthrob, Augustine Prime.

But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.

However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.

All because of her scent.

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Amber gaped up at the softly smiling Augustine, catching the slight wave of his tail in her peripheral vision. A long moment stretched between them before she gasped, "You're not serious,"

"I am. Your scent is…” He trailed off, his eyes fluttering closed before inhaling deeply. Explaining scents was always difficult, since there was a layer of description non-lycans just wouldn’t understand. Ambrosial and stimulating, her scent eased in through his nose and danced on the back of his tongue, before sifting through his whole body.

Amber watched as his impressive chest expanded. Embarrassment flittered inside her ribcage, skittish feelings racing along her limbs. It was hard for her to acknowledge how his expression melted even further, his tail wagging a little harder when he opened his eyes. “You have one of the best fragrances I've encountered in a long time. Maybe ever."

"Not marriage proposal good!" Her brain floundered, still trying to make sense of the situation. Augustine Prime had proposed to her. Over her smell. Who did that? She searched his face for some indication this was a joke or a weird attempt at teasing. He simply smiled down at her.

"Yes, marriage proposal good." Augustine almost took a step forward, before thinking better of it as Amber’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. A thought suddenly tumbled through his head and he patted his pockets, until he withdrew an old receipt from his pants and a pen from his jacket’s breast pocket. Forgetting her wariness, he leaned over her with the pen and paper in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing,” she hissed, pressing tight up against the wall, but craning her neck to see what in blazes he was doing. She tried to ignore how his body heat and scent hugged around her. He had a piece of paper pressed flushed to the wall as he scratched what appeared to be a number and email address onto it.

Thankfully, Augustine was soon finished and stepped back. He held the paper out to her, pocketing his pen again. "This is my contact information - my personal contact information - so you can think it over and call me or message me. Hell, text me whenever."

Her hand moved without much thought. After accepting the receipt, she stared at it. She still couldn’t accept that this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t his real private information. He wouldn’t be that lackadaisical, would he? She could sell this information to a fan or outlet. "How can you trust me with this?"

Augustine chuckled, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "If my trust is misplaced, I'll just get a new phone number and email address."

She squinted up at him, overwhelmed with a sense of working-class disgust. While changing contact information could range from an inconvenience to extremely dire, she couldn’t think of anyone who would take that risk for someone they just met.

The longer Amber stared up at him, albeit with a baffled and somewhat appalled expression, the more Augustine’s grin grew. It was the longest she’d looked at him without looking away. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was a good thing or not, given the less-than-positive expression, but he would take it.

“How can you be so flippant about this?” Her eyes wheeled between the paper and his face. On top of being freely given the information in hand, he wanted to marry her. That implied shared assets and, if he was being sincere about the prenup, she could set herself up for life. Hell, in theory, she could marry him then skip on over to divorce court. “I could ruin you! Marriage is a big deal!”

Augustine could only shrug to her exclamations. Yes, it was true she could ruin him. It was also true that marriage was a big deal, usually. He couldn’t argue those points. Looking down at Amber Dyer, though, he couldn’t help but feel this was right. Their interactions for the evening, though stilted, felt fine. She was pleasant and sweet, attentive to others and a little quiet. The itch to find out more about her, to take care of her, to have her scent around him forever, were all very hard to ignore.

The longer he stared down at her, that damned soft smile on his lips and an eager expression in his eyes, the more Amber’s heart thrummed. A sudden thought flickered through her head as she searched Augustine’s face. Once again, her hand moved before she thought too hard about it. She thrust her hand out, cell phone in her palm, and demanded,“Give me your manager’s number.”

“What?” A quizzical look flickered over Augustine’s face, but he was already reaching for his own cell phone. “Why?”

“Because someone needs to rein you in and isn’t it usually managers that do that?”

“I already told them what I was going to do.” He smiled as he tapped along his phone screen until the correct contact came up. He held his phone out to Amber, screen facing her.

"We'll see about that…" Amber’s lips pursed unhappily as she squinted from Augustine’s phone to her own. She tapped in the number and, once she pressed her phone to her ear, Augustine pocketed his own phone again.

With his hands on his hips, head tilted, he smiled down at the flustered woman.

The phone rang once, before someone picked up. “Go for Xomoa.”

The voice on the other end was husky, deep, somehow exuding a sense of heat. Amber swallowed the feeling of intimidation as she primly responded, “Hello, my name is Amber Dyer, she/they. Um, I’m here with Augustine Prime and he doesn’t seem too well-”

“Ah, Ms. Dyer,” Xomoa sighed, though whether the manager was relieved or not, Amber couldn’t tell. “Judging from your tone, I take it Auggie actually went through with it.”

“Excuse me?” Amber blinked, the minutely rehearsed momentum de-railed by the interruption.

“He proposed all because of your scent.”

Again, heat licked through Amber. Her shoulders hunched as she squeaked out, “Yes.”

There was a long pause of quiet, as if the person on the other end of the phone expected something. Eventually, Xomoa pressed, “And you said…?”

Amber was at a loss for what to say. This wasn’t how she pictured this conversation going. “And I said what?”

With unerring patience, Xomoa clarified, “What is your answer?”

It was such a simple question. One that Amber should have known the answer to, but her mind completely blanked.

“I… I…” With the metaphorical rug utterly decimated out from under Amber’s feet, her eyes wheeled from a vacant mid-distance to Augustine’s face. He had shifted into a crouch, elbow on his knee and hand cradling his chin as he stared up at Amber. His grin was the pinnacle of shit-eating as he carefully watched her expression. “You’re fine with this?!”

“Absolutely not, but Auggie does what he does.” The sigh Xomoa gave alluded to years, if not decades, of experience with ‘Auggie.’ “Would you like my input?”

“Sure.” Why not, Amber figured. It wasn’t as if any of this made sense to her. Maybe the steady, no-nonsense voice on the other end of this conversation had some ideas that would reboot Amber’s brain.

“Take some time to think it over. From a practical point-of-view, you don’t get proposed to by an A-list celebrity every day, but your privacy will be severely hampered. Fame is a double-edged sword.” Xomoa’s logical tone calmed the frantic flurry of Amber’s thoughts.

She had been so focused on Augustine pulling her leg or not being in a stable frame of mind, she didn’t even consider accepting. What would it look like to be involved with a celebrity? And was that something she could even stomach?

“Why are you okay with this? Are you sure he didn’t miss a medicine dose or something?” Amber pressed on, not totally capable of accepted that Augustine Prime wanted to marry her. Even if he had the money to break it off easily, it still seemed unlikely. Her attention flicked down to the actor, who pouted at her words in a painfully over-acted fashion. “This smells like a manic phase he’s going to regret later.”

“Don't make a mistake. I don’t trust you, but I trust Auggie to make appropriate decisions, even if he’s brash.” Amber felt pity for the manager having to wrangle in their client. The resigned edge to their words made it clear they had attempted to fend off Augustine’s whims before and lost. “If he feels this strongly, I’ll bow to his determination.”

“That doesn’t sound wise,” Amber muttered, lips pressing thin as Augustine continued to pout up at her, though his tail wagged genially. Then again, she didn’t know what he’d do if his requests were ignored or denied. Once more, the very fact she barely knew him reverberated through her head.

“Usually, it’s not, but you took the time to call me, worried over Auggie’s state of mind in this pursuit.” The acknowledgement in Xomoa’s voice was almost missed with their dry tone. But their next words made complicated sensations ping through Amber. “Consider it a small hurdle to gaining my trust.”

“I still have worries over his state of mind.” Amber pressed back against the wall again as Augustine got to her feet. The pout was gone from his lips and, in its place, that seemingly ever-present slight smile.

“As do most of us,” they mused, the wisp of a smile in their voice. “Is he there? Can you put him on the phone?”

Oh, he must have known his manager would want to talk to him. That was why he hovered around her. Wariness in Amber eased as she nodded, even though Xomoa couldn’t see the gesture. “Sure.”

With that, Amber handed Augustine her phone and edged a little further from him. She needed some space to think and the way his body heat took over a space wasn’t helping.

With a deep breath, she broke down the situation into small nuggets of fact. Augustine Prime had proposed to her, because he liked her scent. He was willing to sign a prenuptial that would give her half of his assets. There was no requirement of sex or intimacy. He just wanted her around so he could smell her.

Even with the facts, the whole situation felt surreal, but she trudged on.

Presumably, she wouldn’t have to work while they were married. His generational wealth and his value as an actor would see to that. If they divorced, and she took her fair share, working wouldn’t be necessary for survival either.

If they married, did he expect her to move to California? To Follywood? Amber’s stomach dropped at that thought as feeling overwhelmed coasted over her once more. The amount of people, the traffic, the expenses.

Again, he was footing the bill, though.

Beyond all that, being in Follywood might open doors for a creative writer or artist, wouldn’t it? Augustine might even have some connections. She bit down on her thumbnail at the thought, her brain wracking itself to understand the potential boost in her dream career.

“How are you feeling?” Augustine’s voice interrupted her intense introspection. She jumped, turning to face him again. That damn soft smile twitched with amusement at her reaction, but he held her phone out to her.

“I’m not going to lie. It’s tempting. As shallow as this sounds, you're obscenely rich and, depending on the prenup, I could be set for life.” Amber reached out and took her phone, doing her best to keep contact with the man minimal. Her gaze falling to the phone’s screen, seeing the call ended and nothing amiss. Her fingers slid over the edge of the case, feeling a little more stable as she considered the situation from a logically beneficial standpoint. “And you have connections in the entertainment industry that might help me.”

He bent down toward her, a goofy smile spread over his lips. “Also, I’m talented and not too hard on the eyes, right?”

Amber blinked up at him, staring at the way he posed. With his hand near his chin, his thumb and index finger extended, she almost waited for him to wink. It would complete the flirtatious character persona. When the wink didn’t happen, she remembered he’d asked a question. With a sigh and a shrug, Amber tried to pitch something relatively safe. “You’re a good actor, I suppose.”

Well, Augustine couldn’t say he expected that. Genuine surprise flickered over his features. “What? Don’t you find me attractive?”

She surprised him further by taking time to look at him. As if his visage wasn’t often plastered on magazines at check-out stands or slapped across websites. “Aesthetically, yes. You’re attractive. You have a nice smile, your eyes are expressive, and - I know this sounds silly - but your hands are nice.”

“But are you attracted to me?” His eyes narrowed as he assessed her body language, her expression. There was a tinge of a flush to her cheeks, but that was always there. Amber Dyer was a shy delight. He had a feeling any closeness between her and others - except maybe her friend Addie - would have resulted in pleasant little blushes.

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that,” she said immediately, leaning away from him. The heat on her cheeks worsened just trying to sus out her own feelings on the subject.

Augustine gave a thoughtful hum, his eyes still narrowed as if he were trying to spot something he just couldn’t see.

Whether he was annoyed or curious, Amber couldn’t determine. Actors were notoriously arrogant, weren’t they? Did he even want to marry her after hearing she possibly didn’t find him the most beautiful man to walk the earth? “Knowing that, do you still want to marry me?”

“Of course. That’s a pretty minor issue.” His curious expression melted into a smile at her question. Beyond Amber’s scent, Augustine had found her to be adorable, thoughtful, curious. None of it turned him off to having her around. If anything, the urge to keep her around worsened since now she was a curiosity on top of everything else. Marriage would hopefully give him a chance to understand her even better. Or at least try to.

To that, Amber actually laughed and shook her head. She didn’t quite believe he genuinely felt so lackadaisical about it, but she had no proof otherwise. Either he was truthful or his acting skills were phenomenal. It honestly could have gone either way.

“So, should we go back to the dance?” He asked, making a motion back the way they came.

“I was actually planning to leave.” She offered him an apologetic smile, before adding with a gesture to his frame, “After all this, I definitely need to think.”

Augustine bit back his disappointment, his expression faltering. He wasn’t ready to part from her, though. With a raise of one shoulder and a sheepish grin, he asked, “Can I walk you back to your room then?”

Uncertainty peppered Amber’s initial thoughts. Pressing her lips together, she glanced toward the exit. Common sense told her to deny the request. As much of a well-known celebrity as he was, he was still a stranger. Letting him walk her back meant giving away the location where she was staying.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t tempted or that she wanted to outright deny him. Despite herself, Amber was finding Augustine’s presence interesting, if nothing else. When her eyes dragged back to his face, she only offered him an awkward smile. “I don’t want you getting mugged by fans or the paparazzi.”

“Eh, I can handle myself. Just flash them a smile and wink.” Augustine demonstrated his tactic with a liveliness that made it seem he had no problems being hounded. Indeed, there was a level of flattery to be had, having so many at his heels. With the knowledge he’d come onto Amber strong, Augustine reeled back his performative bravado. “But if you don’t want me to, I’ll back off.”

She watched him carefully. From his haughty bravado to the way he eased, body language softening with… well, she wouldn’t call it shyness or uncertainty, but a sort of delicacy. The realization struck Amber as strange. As an actor, the man was phenomenal, but from their time in person, she thought he had the tact of a bag of bricks.

Amber bit her bottom lip, wondering if she was wrong on some level. Regardless, under his hopeful gold gaze, her shoulders sagged and she relented. “Okay, you can walk with me.”

Immediately, Augustine’s demeanor changed again. Back to the puppy-dog grin and perked ears and wagging tail. He offered his arm to her, waggling his eyebrows.

Once again, Amber hesitated. She looked between his proffered arm to his face, imagining the sort of gleeful malice that would fill the Internet if a picture of them together circulated. While Amber wouldn’t call herself ugly, she was nowhere near the same level of beauty as celebrities. People would call her a thirsty fan or maybe even a stalker Augustine had to assuage.

Looking into his eager face, her resilient restraint faltered. This had to be part of the issue Xomoa spoke about earlier, when referring to Augustine being difficult to stop. He just evoked a sense of sureness that made Amber feel like everything would be fine. The status difference between them, the attractiveness, everything, didn’t matter.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she sighed, accepting his offered arm. Even as she looped her hand under his elbow, she was too afraid to let it settle heavily. It was the weight of Augustine’s hand, settling over hers, that forced Amber’s palm to press flush to him.Heat razed up her back as he leaned over her, making it all the harder to meet his gaze.

“No promises, Miss Dyer.” Augustine grinned down at her, catching the flush darkening her cheeks. He struggled to keep his tone light and playful, even as greater wants churned inside him. Something about the way her eyes focused on him, her fingers digging a little into his arm, did sinfully delightful things to his insides. Clearing his throat, trying to coax away the thoughts that would definitely get him into trouble, he asked, “So, where to?”

—

After another quick trip with the personal shuttle - more like chauffeurs, Amber learned - and a quiet walk through the hotel, the two were soon at her door. They had managed to continue idle conversation. From weather, to the final exhibitions tomorrow, to Amber even mentioning how she hoped to clear out her stock. She was surprised to find Augustine attentive, asking questions and input. Even when the talk had little to do with him.

Though, Augustine would argue anything to do with her had to do with him. The need to see her happy and safe had taken further root the longer she was in his presence. He had a feeling that would be the case. Even as Amber rifled through her bag and pulled out her hotel keycard, Augustine couldn’t keep the bummed out feeling from ballooning in his chest. Even now, after so much time together, he wanted more. It was too much, he knew, but he still wanted it.

“Well, thank you for walking me back, Mr. Prime.” Once her door unlocked, she pushed her way inside her room and threw her purse onto her bed. As expected, Addie hadn’t returned. Vaguely, she wondered if her friend would even be back that evening. She turned back to her companion, leaning in her room’s door jamb as she tilted her face toward him.

“Call me Augustine.” He planted one arm on the wall beside her door, leaning close to her proximity. Subtly, he inhaled deeply, trying to get a fill of her aroma for the evening. Even her body heat teased across the distance between them. He could still feel where she had touched his elbow earlier, the way her fingers had dug into him. Shamefully, he knew he wanted so much more.

“Hmn… I don’t think I will.” A pout threatened to crease Augustine’s features at her answer. Once more, Xomoa’s words echoed in Amber’s ears as she sighed, “Not yet, at least.”

Disappointed, Augustine sighed but accepted her answer. He couldn’t very well push it. Especially if he wanted her to accept his proposal. Besides, there’d be time. Even if Amber seemed unsure, she hadn’t ended their time together when she could have.

He let himself be buoyed by that thought as he tried to put as much charm into his smile as he could. “Fine, fine. Can I call you Amber?”

Amber still struggled over the strangeness of it all. A celebrity asking to call her by her first name. The thought sent strange feelings through her, as if a member of royalty were asking to call a peasant by something intimate. It was just strange.

“I suppose you can,” she replied with a shrug. Of the two of them, it was more acceptable for him to use her first name, she thought. Besides, it wasn’t abnormal for her.

“Well, goodnight then, Amber.” A million dollar smile crossed his lips, showing off his pointed pearly whites. She could have sworn the very air around him warmed and lightened at the very expression. Maybe it was the delight gleaming in his eyes that was just making her feel warmer, though.

“Goodnight.” She peered at Augustine from the crack of her door. Something fluttered in her chest, prompting her to add, “I will think about your offer.”

Her words seemed to make his features brighten further. A flash of a smile, of his sharp teeth, tilted at his lips before he turned to leave. Augustine didn’t get far before he stopped in his tracks and snapped his fingers.

Turning back to Amber, who still stood sentry behind her door watching him curiously, he said, “Before I forget. There’s a charity auction tomorrow. One of those ‘win a dinner date’ things.”

She stared up at him, trying to understand what it had to do with her. Did he want her to go with him? Or win him? Immediately, the thought the events of the day took a turn. Had he just wanted her attention so he’d have some schmuck to bid on him? His commission had been $200 so he knew she had that much at least.

“It’s a PR obligation. Raises money for a good cause, yadda yadda.” Unaware of the way Amber’s thoughts were painting him, Augustine turned back to her and approached her door. He leaned a shoulder against the wall nearby, an apologetic expression softening his features. There was a tiny swell of guilt sloshing around in him, but it couldn’t be helped. There were some contractual things he couldn’t wiggle out of. “I can’t really get out of it. I just wanted to let you know, since it might seem weird after everything.”

“Oh, well. Have fun?” A brief look of confusion crossed her features, before she realized he was waiting for something. It took her half-a-second to realize what he was looking for. “I won’t be getting jealous. Again, I barely know you.”

“Yeah, okay. Good to know.” Augustine pushed himself off the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. A sense of disappointment swelled in his chest, but he stowed that away. There wasn’t anything he should be disappointed with, he told himself. He’d already gotten more grace from Amber than anyone else said he would.

One last time, he softly smiled at Amber. “Well, uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she reciprocated, watching as he turned and walked away, dawdling a little, before she closed the door.

Once the door was closed, Amber pressed her back against it. She took a steadying breath, realizing how hard her heart beat and how warm her face felt, before reaching for her phone. Thumbing her way to an ongoing chat with Addie, her mind was a chaotic tumble of what to say. As she typed out her message - informing her friend of the newest turn of events - Amber gave pause. Would Addie - would anyone - believe her? Wouldn’t this sound like the delusional ravings of an obsessed fan?

Amber pressed her lips thin and gave her head a good shake, before finishing her text to her friend. What was she even thinking? She had precedent on her side. It wasn’t as if Augustine would deny he had proposed to her, either. For some reason, that was something Amber was certain of.

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#exo writing #exophilia #lycan #werewolf #lycan x human #werewolf x human #monster lover #monster fucker #monster romance #fictional celebrity #fictional celebrity x non-celebrity #scent match #augustine #amber #she's warming up to him very slowly #though the next part he has Celebrity Contractual Obligations so we'll see if he sticks with amber #:)

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sagau-my-beloved · 2 years

Note

Are you still taking requests? If so can I please have a SAGAU venti coming to the real world to meet creator? Also I understand, Venti is my favorite as well

A Lack of Patience and the Fortunate Result

Hello! I am absolutely still taking requests and will probably be doing so for the foreseeable future! Also this might turn into a part one of multiple, because there's just so much to cover— Annddd I'll probably be doing a set of headcanons just on this concept alone later, because it's really inspired so many ideas that I just don't think I'd have the time to flesh out into separate one shots, whoops (also fellow Venti fans unite, maybe we should start a support group)

Warnings: general Sagau, mild codependency, cussing at a part, mild obsession

Venti was impatient.

It really would have been assumed that a multi-thousand year old God would have at least an above average amount of patience.

This was a false assumption, Venti was never forced to wait for anything, and didn't have a lot of experience in sitting idly by.

Which made this entire thing absolute torture.

You were alive. He knew you were, they all knew you were. But you weren't actually there with them yet, and that was the torturous part.

You were God knows where, a different dimension, a different universe, somewhere that only allowed you to access Teyvat through spirit alone.

And he was grateful, grateful that he had your presence at all, grateful that any part of you lingered. But that didn't change the fact that it simply wasn't enough anymore.

He used to be content with it, he really did, simply basking in the reality of having you at all, allowing himself to close his eyes and just feel you for hours at a time.

But as time grew, so did his obsession, and it really didn't help that you would only show up for a few days, maybe a few weeks, compared to the months of time he couldn't feel your presence at all.

It caused him to start feeling strange emotions rather early on, it was almost comparable to anxiety when you weren't around for those long stretches of time.

Imagine that, the Archon of the fleeting wind, of freedom itself, feeling anxious.

It was almost laughable really, those emotions were so far from what he was, but he just couldn't help it when it came to you.

God, he wished he could help it.

It was only after the newest month that they really started to put him on edge.

It almost felt like the time that you were here was becoming fewer and farther in between. It couldn't have just been his imagination.

What if that had something to do with you? You hadn't been seen in so long, and you couldn't manifest a physical form, was your spirit being forcibly taken from this world?

This thought caused him many nights of pacing, many days of drinking in somber though.

The idea that your spirit would fully recede was too much for him. For him to never feel your presence again, he wouldn't have been able live with himself.

It was the middle of the second month when it happened, when he couldn't take the constant waiting anymore and decided to at least try to take matters into his own hands.

He spent a long night trekking to every single magic wielder and alchemist he could find, anyone that had even the slightest possibility of being able to merge the two worlds, bring you to him.

That was how he found himself before Albedo, willing to drop to his knees and beg for help, willing to give anything.

Albedo looked at him in pity, understanding exactly how dire the situation was.

He took the job, constructing a portal that looked like a magnificent doorway within only a few days time.

It wasn't perfect, it wouldn't really merge the worlds as much as create a hole through them, it would be up to Venti to find you and bring you here himself after that. A task he was more than happy to accept.

The location was set on the place which had the most traces of your energy, it wasn't an exact science, but it was all that could be done.

Albedo gave him a nod, signalling that it was ready, the portal was usable.

Venti knew the risks, and there were plenty of them, but this was necessary.

No one would know he was gone, he made Albedo swear secrecy, no one would know about the portal until he was back, ideally with you in his arms, or maybe even him in yours.

If he got back that was.

Venti closed his eyes tightly, stepping through the open doors into the bright light, feeling something almost akin to the strongest winds pulling at him.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw something completely unfamiliar.

It was almost as if the world had desaturated itself, the colour palette muting, it took his eyes a minute to get used to it.

He was standing in a room, the style of which was completely implacable.

Furniture created in a way that looked like nothing he had ever seen, not even close to any of the seven nations.

Everything seemed so otherworldly.

This couldn't be where you lived, could it?

The longer he wandered, the more it seemed likely. The more it seemed likely, the more his excitement grew.

It wasn't a particularly big living space, it seemed as though there was only a kitchen and living room, not separated by much, and a single bedroom.

It also seemed as though you weren't home, he really couldn't find traces of any life at all.

His nerves were starting to get the best of him, the anticipation of your eventually meeting starting to become more and more real.

Venti wanted to make himself useful, do something for you, create a good first impression, but he was also deathly afraid of touching anything.

Moving more carefully through the living space than he ever had before, he decided to sit, on the floor no less, and bide his time through playing comforting music.

So lost in concentration, he almost didn't hear the door open.

You were just getting back from your job, exhausted after a rather long day dealing with difficult people.

You opened the door to your apartment, cursing slightly as you almost dropped your keys.

You moved to put your stuff down, flipping on the lights as you did so.

Then you screamed.

Venti, not expecting the sudden loud noise, dropped his lyre before frantically scrambling to his feet.

It was you, it was you, he was looking directly at you. He could tell immediately that it was you, your spirit no different than the one he had grown comfortable with after all that time together.

"Your grace! Your grace it's me, no need to be afraid!"

There went his chance at a first impression.

You fell silent immediately after getting a good look at him, realizing that it was not, in fact, a dangerous intruder.

But that didn't make the situation any better.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, Venti!?"

You knew who he was, and despite this not being the best of circumstances, he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Yes! I'm sorry if I scared you your grace."

An aura of relief emanated from him as he stepped closer, you almost fell over yourself trying to move further back.

"I'm going insane, you're not real and I'm going insane."

Well ouch, that hurt.

He shook it off and tried again to move the smallest bit closer.

"Your grace, please, I promise I'm not here to hurt you, I just had to see you."

Already having your back up against the wall, you glanced at the door knob, trying to calculate exactly how quickly you could unlock it and get out.

He took the second that your eyes weren't on him too close the gap, wrapping his arms around you.

Your body reacted immediately. You tried to push him off without even thinking, but he didn't budge.

When your mind finally caught up, you froze completely, you could smell an unrecognizable floral scent coming from him, could feel his hair brush against your skin, the warmth emanating from his body as his arms tightened around you.

If this was actually a hallucination, it was a damn good one.

When you seemed a bit more stable, he pulled back, making sure to keep his hands in yours, "I didn't mean to cause you so much distress, please forgive me your grace." His voice was almost dripping with worry as he spoke, the concern his expression displayed was almost suffocating.

You attempted to speak, to say anything in return, but no sound came out.

After a long moment of silence, which you took to get your bearings, you muttered out, "I need a glass of water."

You move towards the kitchen, pulling your hands away from him. He almost instinctively grabbed you, worried that you were once again trying to put as much distance as possible between the two of you, but managed to restrain himself.

Venti watched curiously as you took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, downing the entire thing in seconds.

"I'm going to assume, for a second, that I am not crazy, and that you're real." You spoke after a moment, steadying yourself against the counter, "Working under that assumption, how the hell are you here?"

He smiled at that, walking closer to you before taking an exaggerated bow, "Your grace, I came here to take you back to Teyvat with me. Although I'm afraid I can't take credit for the portal, that was Albedo."

You stared at him as if he was crazy.

"No."

Well, that wasn't the answer he was expecting—

His face immediately fell as he lifted his eyes to see your stoic expression.

"But... Your grace—"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

Oh.

You... didn't know.

The realization struck him instantly, sending him spiraling down multiple different emotions.

"You're the creator, of Teyvat," his eyes held a pleading look, as if begging you to remember, "I could feel your spirit, we all could. I was worried you couldn't come to us yourself, so I came to get you."

You put the empty glass down and let out a sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose in thought.

"Still working under the assumption that I'm not insane, which is feeling more and more like a stretch, I can't just abandon my life here, there's people here who need me."

He seriously considered saying 'There couldn't possibly be anybody here that needs you more than we do, than I do', but, even with his subpar ability at room reading, he knew that would probably not be the best response.

It was then, in the midst of his sorrow and regret, that he was hit with an idea.

He needed you, but he didn't necessarily need you in Teyvat.

"I can't get back without you."

That was a lie, the bold faced one at that, but it provided the perfect opportunity.

He could stay here, with you, just you. He could stay right by you and worship you as intended, convince you of the power you held. And, more importantly, he could have the opportunity to be the only one getting your attention.

Venti couldn't leave Teyvat forever, and he knew it was now his responsibility to convince you to come back with him, but why did that have to happen immediately?

You let out something akin to a grimace at his statement, understanding exactly what he was asking.

"You shouldn't have come here for me, I'm afraid I really can't help you..."

He stood silent, waiting, waiting for you to offer what he knew was going through your head.

Neither of you spoke, you refused to meet his eyes.

He waited.

"I... I guess you can stay here, until you figure out how to get back yourself..."

It was forced, you knew you were signing up for something rather great, but it felt inhuman to tell him to fend for himself in a world like this, so far from his own, so unkind.

He couldn't contain his excitement, he immediately lunged at you, wrapping you in another hug, much to your surprise.

"Venti!" You yelled in panic before you both fell to the floor.

"Ow."

You swore you could almost feel your head spinning.

"Please warn me next time."

He had fallen directly on top of you, almost feeling the need to hug you tighter after realizing exactly the position the two of you were in, prevent you from pushing him off.

You did so anyway, standing up and brushing yourself off afterwards.

"I can't believe there's an Archon in my kitchen..." you spoke to yourself, trying once again to convince yourself this wasn't a dream.

He was struck with a sudden idea, lying on the cold hard floor, and a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Before you even had time to register, his arms were around your legs.

You looked down at him in confusion, he responded with a look of complete adoration.

You almost rolled your eyes.

"Get off the floor."

He wasn't overly keen on moving, so you offered your hand, which he gladly accepted.

"If you're staying here, then you're going to need a change of clothes, and we need to set some boundaries."

He laughed, nervously, "Do I stand out that much?"

"Yeah, well, we don't exactly have bard's here. Maybe go for something a bit less eccentric."

He would wear whatever you gave him happily, but the idea of parting with the clothes that he had grown so fond of caused a feeling of sadness to flutter softly in his chest.

"Also, you should really stop calling me by those formal titles."

"That's out of the question your grace."

You gave him a soft glare as he beamed at you.

"Then just don't do it in public."

Oh? You would be taking him out in public?

"Of course my divine creator." He made a mental note to substitute it with something more intimate in those situations.

You tried your best to ignore him, choosing instead to walk out of the kitchen and place yourself on the sofa in your living room.

Venti followed you like a puppy, attempting to seat himself down directly on your lap before you shoved him to the right of you, causing him to let out a huff.

He made the most of his situation, choosing to wrap both his arms around your right one, resting his head on your shoulder.

"God you were never nearly this affectionate in the game." You muttered to yourself.

Game?

The wording confused him, he made a mental note to ask you about it later, but for now he was rather content resting near you. He was tired due to not having slept in a few days, the portal business taking all his attention.

You had half a mind to turn on the tv, allow the mindless drivel to stop you from thinking about the implications of this, of him showing up, but then realized you really didn't want to have to explain what a tv was to him and how it worked. So you instead opted to sit in silence and let your mind brush over everything that had just happened.

You found yourself almost liking the feeling of him, his warmth, his happiness.

You really did like him, this entire situation had just put you on edge, caused you to act a bit more blunt than you normally would.

Not only was a God sitting right next to you, but he was so adamant about you being one as well, that would probably throw anyone off.

After about half an hour, which really felt like no time at all, you noticed that Venti had fallen fast asleep, still holding your right arm in something akin to a death grip.

Fantastic, looks like you're not going to be able to move for a bit.

You stared at him a while, trying to bring your mind to accept the fact that this was real, he was real.

You smiled softly from how peaceful he looked, but that smile retreated pretty quickly as soon as you realized exactly how difficult this was going to be.

You didn't have an extra room, so either he was going to have to sleep on the couch for the foreseeable future, or you'd just have to break down and buy another bed.

You'd have to start shopping for two people as well, rework your financial plans to accommodate that.

Not to mention he's probably going to be asking a million questions about everything.

You almost felt yourself and developing a headache from the thought of it all.

But as you stared down at him, watching as his chest rose and fell gently, how he lay so peacefully against you, how much he already seemed to trust you, you couldn't help but feel like it might be worth it.

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin venti #genshin x reader #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin x reader #venti x reader

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devildomwriter · 2 years

Text

Obey Me As Tumblr #11

Leviathan:

>saves rare items for the most dire of situations

>gets through the whole game without using any of them

Mammon:

“What if there’s an emergency?”

-gets into emergency-

“WHAT IF THERE’S A BIGGER EMERGENCY”

•

Leviathan: If Santa keeps track of naughty kids every year and the year doesn’t start until January 1st, that leaves 6 days after Christmas and New Years left undocumented, so nothing you do can be held against you

Mammon: The Purge: Season’s Greetings

•

Mammon: A vanilla soy latte is a type of three bean soup

Barbatos: No

•

Mammon: Does mace work on birds

Mammon: If a heron is attacking me will mace be an effective deterrent

Mammon: Time sensitive question please respond

•

Solomon: Despicable me ruined the word minion whenever I become a supervillain I’m just gonna have to call them my homies or whatever

•

Solomon: What if when you went to hell you had to watch a cinemasins-style video of every sin you committed during your life as part of your punishment

Me: Why didn’t I get into heaven lmao???

God: Everything Wrong With You spoilers! (Duh)

•

Asmodeus: Be handed a letter by your maid. Break the wax seal. Read it with dawning understanding and then slowly look up into the middle-distance with an ominous smirk. Order your carriage to be prepared at once.

Mammon: Me getting a text and calling a Lyft

•

Leviathan: Any body know any substitutes for love and personal fulfillment

Beelzebub: Crunchwrap supreme from Taco Bell

•

Satan: Fun Fact: ever wonder why it’s called The Iliad? Because ilium was another name for Troy, and the -ad suffix was used to mean “The Story of” This means that if you translated the title, the Iliad should actually be called

Troy Story

Mammon: Thanks I hate it

Simeon: You got a friend in horse

Luke: YOU DO NOT HAVE A FRIEND IN HORSE

•

Satan: Nothing will fuck you up more than the realization that there’s no real reason the alphabet needs to be in order

Mephistopheles: the fuck

•

Mammon: Telling someone “you are shit” and “you ain’t shit” are both insults

Satan: But “you are not shit” is a reassurance

Asmodeus: And “you are not the shit” is an insult

Belphegor: And “you are the shit” is a compliment

Solomon: I present to you the English language

•

Leviathan: Do you ever look at your eyes in the mirror and be like “I’m looking at my eyes with my eyes”

Mammon: I DONT NEED THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW

•

Diavolo: Lollipops are so weird you’re literally swallowing your own flavored saliva

Asmodeus: What have you done

•

Satan: “Maybe if you go to bed you’ll feel better in the morning” is literally just the human version of “have you tried turning it off and back on again?”

Leviathan: What have you done?

•

Solomon: Some of us are still “it” from a childhood game of tag

Mammon: This fucked me up far more than it should

•

Mammon: Pineapple on pizza discourse is so ugly like no one can win

We’re all losers as long as we live in the reality where it’s commonplace to put fruit on pizza

Mephistopheles: Tomato is a fruit

Mammon: Blocked

Mephistopheles: You can block me but you can’t block the truth

•

Belphegor: What if sleeping is our natural state and we’re only awake to gather information for dreams

Lucifer: You stop that

•

Raphael: If you’re lucky your internal organs will never see the light of day

Mammon: What?

Raphael: At some point you will be the next person on earth to die

Mammon: Stop!

•

Satan: The guy on the radio just said “gas prices aren’t so bad if you consider you’re really buying liquid explosive dinosaurs” and my perspective on life is forever changed

•

Barbatos: Want your house to smell great? Put two caps of vanilla extract in a cup, place it in the oven at 300 for an hour and your house will smell like heaven

Simeon: Hack life here

Mammon: I did this once and I thought it said TWO CUPS of vanilla extract and my entire house smelled like pillsburry dough boy’s butt hole for a month

#obey me shall we date #funny obey me #obey me as tumblr #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me raphael #obey me mephistopheles #obey me thirteen

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aita-blorbos · 9 months

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AITA for betraying my soccer team by revealing crucial information to an enemy at one of our biggest games? I know how it sounds, and this’ll be long, but please hear me out.

Just for some background- I had been sent a letter by the official Japanese Football Union, and was offered to join what I thought was going to be some special opportunity to further my skills. It actually ended up being a really stressful, high stakes soccer program, where only a small handful of people actually ended up getting any real rewards for the hard work we went through. We were all ranked based on our initial skills, and I was paired up with the lowest of the low on a team that was already struggling. We already had our first loss in our first game, and we had absolutely no chance of winning- Worst than that, if I had been kicked out of the program along with them, I would never get a chance to play for Japan again. It was always my dream to get my school’s soccer team into Nationals, and if I won this, I would have had automatic chance to play for Japan.

Now, I had initially come from a team full of people who played half heartedly, and said I was being overbearing and a pain to play with because I took it too seriously, and due to the stress and dire situation I felt it was in my best interest just to make a deal with other teams instead of trying to help my own- I gave them crucial information about my team’s strong points and strategies in exchange for three goals scored on my own behalf. If you were a top scorer, regardless of how your team was, you’d be able to move forward and continue with the program. I think I might have been a pretty big asshole with my move, but you have to understand where I was coming from there.

The reason I might not be so sure is during our last match, where the results were most important, we ended up tied against a team with terrifying, impressive players. I had sacrificed my chance of moving forward as the team’s top scorer by grabbing onto their ace striker as he was about to score a goal- If he had, we would’ve lost. I ended up getting a red card for that, making it so another player of ours would move on if we won. But, due to my sacrifice, we were able to win against the team, and our entire team moved forward. I wasn’t fully forgiven by my teammates, but for the most part, I was. I shouldn’t be in the wrong here, right? I was just doing what was necessary. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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mythosandsuch · 6 days

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Ok i gotta rant for a second. I'm a postal worker and the jokes about dogs hating the mailman are completely true. Dogs and me have gotten on my whole life, literally never had a bad encounter with a dog till I got this job. Been attacked twice now, not injured but shaken pretty bad. And all people say all the time *when their dog is not restrained and clearly aggressive towards me* is "Oh he won't bite you!! He's nice!!" I had a dog corner me today, growling, while a second dog was attempting to bite me, and the owner said "don't spray him! He's nice!" (Referring to my dog spray, basically Mace Lite). I was being cornered. By a dog that was growling. And the lady said he was nice. And this happens every day.

So I get off work and I'm thinking finally some peace. And a little dog charges me in the parking lot, barking its head off, and I take my backpack off quick to block it if it tries to get my ankles. The lady runs up and grabs it and just has to say, in a nasty voice, "he wasn't going to bite you, you lunged at him, did you notice that?" Apparently I was the aggressor for standing fast and whipping my bag off just in case this dog, who ran at me from 50 feet away barking, was going to give me a problem.

I love animals. I truly do. All kinds. I would never hurt an animal intentionally except in the most dire of situations. But people are so, so blind to what their precious little 50 pound territorial predators will do to someone they don't like. This is not the first time I've been chastised for indicating fear of a dog. Not the first time I've been chastised for indicating fear of a clearly aggressive dog. As if I'd choose to be afraid! As if this is how I want things to go!

There's no real conclusion to this. Please be aware that your pets can bring others fear and try to be accepting and understanding of that fear. Also, there's probably wasps in your mailbox. You should check.

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godstaff · 1 month

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Wrong message.

I really, really, don't want to start a new controversy, but I don't care if it does.

It has occur to me that Wonderbat, besides all the logistic impediments it raises, it makes absolutely no sense in the life and upbringing of Diana of Themyscira. Her culture taught her not to trust in men and the Patriarch's World. Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne and specially Batso are the epitome of what that represents, talking about toxic masculinity, so she doesn't have any reason to even look at him in a friendly, least of all a romantic way. She can work with him as a colleague, with reservations, but not much more than that.

Besides, Bruce's critical part of his secret identity comes from posing as a disolute playboy, womanizer and alcoholic. This works for Tony Stark because he is all that. Not Bruce. How long do you think Diana will put up with that? How do you think her mother will tolerate this situation: the utmost public humiliation of her daughter by a male pig?

In better times, Diana ascended to Olympus to take her place as the Goddess of Truth.

Yet, nothing about Bruce is real: his face is a mask. His body is an armor. His strength is usually enhanced by gadgets. He needs vehicles to move around. His identity is a fake, he even thinks his god given face is a fake and his mask is the real thing. He must constantly keep his fragile mind in check so he doesn't fall into madness. He needs life support to go into space or underwater. Diana, pretty much like Superman with Lane, can only go as far with him as his technology allows him to.

Yeah, you'd probably say Bruce doesn't really chase after women and doesn't really drink. How long do you think he can pretend before one of those scorched women finds out and and blows the whistle and sends Bruce's secret down the drain. People can also think Diana took pity on his personal tragedy and background and fell for him as a charity erra nd, but that doesn't work either since he's nothing but an asshole all the time.

All situations between Diana and Bruce require by unspoken accord Bruce acts like the dominant partner...just because of who he is and nobody wants his ego bruised because Wonder Woman publicly challenged his authority.

She must adapt to him, even though she's light years ahead of him. Have in mind Diana is not Clark, she doesn't giva shit about his public image and these are woke times and women must be respected, even by Batso. Ain't it right, girls?

Batso fans love these scenes

A smug bruce scolding a submissive Diana. How long will modern society tolerate them? Why would she, a proud Amazon, even submit to a man weaker than her? An emotionally unstable man at that?

Answer that to me, woke girls, please.

You may say Diana abandoned her home chasing after a man. Truth is she went after her desire to knew the world and to help in a dire international conflict which promptly would've reached her home, knowing nazi ambition of wanting to conquer the whole planet. It was just a matter of time before they do it if action wasn't adopted. Diana decide to adopt it. No, it wasn't because of a man: Trevor was the catalyst, the one who opened her eyes to the global situation (Yeah: the emotional woman couldn't resist a man's charm, and had to follow him) just the excuse, so readers at the time could understand it. Diana was adamant, though, she would have no permanent relation with him until peace on Earth wasn't achieved

Then why would she put up with Bruce. Because he's smarter? He's not. Because he's tougher? He's not.

But he IS just human. Only human. She's a lot more than that. Marston created Wonder Woman in an age there wasn't any respect for women, yet, he made her an early femenist icon. No surprise there: he had to respond to two women at home. Some may look it like he was a dominant Alpha having two spouses to serve him. Knowing women, I think he was just the Boy-Toy of the two women and an outstanding efficient provider for their household, so they kept him.

Diana is an independent woman, even being a princess. She had no problem leaving her lavish lifestyle to pursue her goals, all alone in a hostile world, with odds unfairly against her. Bruce can't do anything without having an entourage of people serving him all the time. He's a CEO, after all. We all know how those jerks are.

All in all, the relationship between Diana and Bruce sends a wrong message about Wonder Woman and what she represents. When she's besides him, she's is no longer a strong woman but another teen fangirling for the Bat and he playing the annoyed tough male who can get all the women, so he doesn't want any.

She no longer takes the decisions, because he has to be in charge all the time. She has to be at his service, so he can function. Like everything in Wayne's Manor, she must indulge his every whim or endure another one of his tantrums. She must blindly accept the bratty spoiled child he had with another woman. Not a request from his part, but an imposotion. Like I've said: she must adapt to him. He's incapable to adapt to things other of what he has already planned.

It seems like a lot to me. Why all the burden must be put on Wonder Woman? I couldn't, wouldn't accept that Wonder Woman, I can't respect her.

I no longer give a fuck about DC Comics and their stupid decisions. I care about the fans and their rather low standards, but that too isn't my problem anymore.

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ffion451 · 2 years

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Chapter Five: The Ladder | Diving: JJK (m)

▷ Hope is rekindled ❯❯❯ ❛ with your free hand you catch the loose strand of hair that sits across his eyes, twirling it for a moment in your fingers before laying it gently out of his face as you say, in the quietest voice, “I’m not telling you it’s impossible” ❜

Chapter characters/pairings: Jungkook x reader, broinlaw!Namjoon, diveinstructor!Hobi

Genre: non idol au, angst, slow burn but eventual smut (see warnings below) see series m.post for fic summary etc.

Chapter warnings: A little bit of smut (no actual sex), some swearing ⚠️🔞Please note that whilst not every chapter has mature content, that the whole fic has a mature focus and so minors should steer clear of the whole thing🔞⚠️

Beta credit: A big thanks to the wonderful @bangtanscotyeondan who read this through for me!

Word count: 3K

<<< Chapter Four | Chapter Six >>>

Thick stretches of yellowed white sprawl across the canvas of your bedroom ceiling. In the dim grey light of morning, the jaundiced tone seems to announce itself boldly and with offensive clarity. In bed, staring up, you wrinkle your nose and resolve on effacing all trace of it behind a new coat of brilliant white as soon as you can. It will be fresh, like sheet of paper not yet written on, you think as you nod to yourself.

Why, when it is so early in the morning, are you obsessing about yellowed paint? Why are you transfixed by following the flow of the colour - noting that here is is yellow, here more grey, here whiter - documenting each square inch of the space above you? If someone asked you, you’d ignore the question, instead asking your questioner why they don’t understand the dire situation. How could they not see the need? How were they not troubled by this creeping discolouration?

A casual observer of you over the last few weeks could easily answer the question you would side step though, because it really is very simple: you’re fretting over paint discolouration because you are completely and utterly scared shitless about what will happen when Jungkook comes over for coffee later, as he promised to last night. As he promised after he kissed you.

You groan aloud and, in an effort to face your demons, you let your thoughts flow through you. They all rush forth, like a stream over pebbles, without either examination or interference: it wasn’t even a real kiss, was it? Less of a kiss and more the sort of peck a reluctant child would deliver to the dry cheek of a maiden aunt (likely at a parent’s hissed insistence). There was probably nothing in it. So why was he so shy then? Possibly because you stood there gawping like an idiot. Did he mean it as anything special? No, probably not. But, what if…? What if nothing. No. He didn’t mean anything by it. Why would he? Look how you’ve behaved towards him…

Around and around swirl the thoughts. By the time you get out of bed you’re no closer to resolving on what Jungkook’s motivation could have been but you are both tense and puzzled.

After feeding the never-patient, perma-hungry Bertie, you make yourself a cup of green tea scented with rose and curl up on the sofa, looking out at the sun rising over the sea. The view is much less impressive than the one offered from the lighthouse, but here, in a little space all of your own, with Bertie curled at your feet, it feels a pretty good spot to pass the time, if only you were relaxed enough to enjoy it.

A few hours later, you’ve forced down half a slice of dry toast, which made your anxious, churning stomach want to heave, and have showered and dressed. Now you pace the bottom floor of your cottage with a demented, barely contained energy as you await Jungkook’s arrival. You’re mid stride, between rooms, literally wringing your hands together when a soft rapping reverberates from the door of the cottage and seemingly echoes through not just the house but also your body, bones and heart. When you finally make it to the door, you open it with shaking hands to find a smiling Jungkook on the other side, carrying the same breakfast and expression he’d greeted Seolhee with what now feels an age ago.

After some awkward pleasantries you sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, picking apart your pastries as you sip the hot coffee you’ve poured into generous mugs. You cradle yours, using your oversized cardigan sleeves as paws to protect your hands from the heat as you sip, guarding your face and avoiding direct eye contact with Jungkook, all the while sneaking small glances at him in your attempt to work out what it is he might be thinking, feeling and intending.

Jungkook looks around, taking a break from watching your clear discomfort, and notices that there are still some boxes in the corner of the room and that some of the jobs you’d started together, like replacing the cabinet doors in the kitchen, have not been finished and it riles him. Jungkook is by nature quiet and often shy, though in the right conditions, when he is absolutely certain of himself, he can be startlingly direct.

“Why did Seolhee tell me that you didn’t need my help anymore?” he asks, gesturing at the unfinished work around him.

You look up at him in enough time to catch the gesture before looking away quickly in shame. It’s just like the moment on the beach with Hobi: you can lie or you can tell the truth. Finally, feeling his eyes burning into you, you make your decision and speak, “Because I told her to. I was embarrassed about the moment with the camera and I couldn’t get my brain to stop thinking about things I’m trying to leave behind -” you hesitate for a moment, “I suppose I felt very vulnerable and needed to be alone.”

Jungkook makes no reply and it takes you a long time to look up at him. When you do he is still staring, his eyes boring into yours as he tries to work you out, “Do you still want to be left alone or would you like me to keep helping?”

You hesitate, and so he presses on, “Not as a job. I’m not after any more money. I mean as a friend who wants to help out.”

You begin to feel hot and uncomfortable under Jungkook’s direct gaze and scrutiny, “That’s kind of you,” you know it’s a weak reply, but you don’t know what else to say.

“I think we’re friends now,” he says plainly, his eyes sweeping across your face, reading your reaction as you start to squirm in your seat, one foot now on the chair, your leg braced in front of you like a shield against him, “aren’t we?”

You give a small nod, and he calls your name to draw your eyes back to him. When your eyes meet his, one of the most awkward conversations you have ever had follows. Jungkook is persistent and unrelenting: he wants you to open up, to admit that you want his friendship; he wants to spend more time with you; he wants you to be honest with him; he makes it uncomfortably clear that he’s attracted to you and thinks you’re attracted to him; he indicates that he’d like to see where it leads. The whole conversation feels overwhelming, but you reach your limit when he pushes to find out why you’re so hung up on an ex who clearly hates you, that’s not precisely how he phrases it, but that’s what he drives at.

You do your best to be honest with him, though you swerve and slide around saying anything directly; as you speak you insinuate rather than make statements, but when you’ve finished he knows that you want him in your life but that you’re nervous, and, most importantly for him, he knows that you’re attracted to him too but that something is holding you back. Finally, it’s clear that whatever the situation is with your ex, you have no intention of telling him about it right now.

You don’t know why you were able to open up to Taegi but can’t do so with Jungkook, it truly puzzles you; every time you try to speak about it, the words seem to turn to ash in your mouth and you choke on them.

“I’m not perfect,” Jungkook reassures you, trying to draw the information from you. He is trying to pry you open and find out what is going on with you and Jion, and thinks that maybe revealing is own vulnerability will help, “I had a thing going for a while with a woman who wasn’t available, it’s done with now, but it went on for longer than it should have,” he admits and notices how your eyes narrow in silent judgement, “so you can be honest. It won’t change anything - I’ll still want to be your friend and I’ll still want to know you better.”

When you don’t answer, Jungkook changes tack, “I like you, you know that,” he says earnestly, “but I don’t want to make the same mistakes. I don’t want to get involved with you and find out that you are going to go back to your husband. I don’t want to fall for you only to realise you were never mine.”

You try to change the subject, your heart racing at the though of it, “Jungkook, is that what’s happened to you? Did you fall in love with the woman you’ve been seeing?”

Jungkook appreciates the warmth and sympathy in your voice, but he knows you’re trying to avoid the topic. He reassures you that he isn’t, and has never been, in love with this woman but that he would quite like to feel that way about someone who was actually available, leaving no room for doubt that that person is you.

“Look,” he says gently, observing how both your legs are now in front of you, your arms clutched around them as you look at him from behind the barrier of your knees, “it’s obvious that you don’t want to talk to me about your ex yet, I get it. But could you just answer some questions?”

You say nothing, simply clutching you knees tighter. Then, to Jungkook’s relief, you nod, and he continues, “Is it impossible for you and me to see where this goes? Could we maybe see if we become more than friends or are you going to get back with Jion?”

You don’t even realise you’ve begun to cry until you speak and hear the tremble in your voice, “The truth is that I still love Jion and I don’t know how to stop. But we are never getting back together. I promise you, he’s lost to me and there’s no way back,” saying it aloud is too much for you, and a sob catches in your throat as the tears pour forth, “I know I need to move on, I know I do. I just don’t know how to. I can’t see myself with anybody else, I don’t know how it would work.”

Jungkook looks devastated, his large eyes entirely round now as he listens intently to you, unmoving. Shame at hurting him so carelessly floods through you. Without even realising what you’re doing, your knees drop from before you and you face him openly, speaking without thought, and with each word, Jungkook’s eyes light up, “It’s not even that I don’t want to move on, I do. I want a new start, I want to feel happy again. It’s not impossible to imagine I could feel something for someone else…” you stop then, you can’t bring yourself to go any further and you drop your legs to the ground and clutch the edge of the table, preparing to stand and walk away, “I can’t do this,” you breathe out, voice soft as a whisper.

In one swift movement, Jungkook is beside you, kneeling. One large hand closes over your hand on the table and brings it to rest in your lap as he gently turns you to face him, “You can’t do this right now, because you’re not ready yet,” he encourages.

You nod and echo his word as you look into his soft expression, “Because I’m not ready just yet.”

He smiles and prompts, “But one day you might be.”

You purse your lips and stop crying, attempting a small smile, “But one day I might be.”

His free hand wipes the tears from your face with the gentlest sweeps of his thumb, “You're not telling me it’s impossible, because you have feelings for me too.”

You breath catches, but with your free hand you catch the loose strand of hair that sits across his eyes, twirling it for a moment in your fingers before laying it gently out of his face as you say, in the quietest voice, “I’m not telling you it’s impossible, because I do have feelings for you too.”

A small laugh of pure relief escapes him then, “I promise we’ll just see where it leads,” he says, his voice suddenly thick and heavy with want, “but can I just kiss you now? Just once?”

You realise, as he speaks, that your own breath now comes in short, shallow strokes and you’re on the verge of panting. You half nod as Jungkook releases you, sitting back on his heels at the same time as his hands splay across your hips, sliding you from the chair and onto his lap. You move freely with him, supporting your weight on your feet and his lap as you straddle him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as his shift to your waist to pull you closer.

The whole thing happens within seconds, with an easy fluidity born of need and hunger. Later, when you replay the moment on loop, you’re not sure if he kissed you first or if you kissed him, not that it matters because, either way, it was only the first of several.

Within moments Jungkook’s soft lips meet your own, and soon you’re breathlessly making out in a needy jumble of lips, tongues and teeth as you seek to press more closely into him, your core alight; he pushes up into you, his cock rapidly hardening as you kiss and seek friction and relief from each other.

Jungkook’s thighs burn from the uncomfortable position and he desperately wants to push you on to your back on the kitchen floor and to rut into you ‘til he blows in his pants, but even is his lust-crazed mind, he knows the stupidity of that move. No, he reasons, you need to feel in control. It’s you that needs to set the pace and balance of things between the two of you; Jungkook is determined not to frighten you off. Every moment is a struggle though as he inhales the sweet, slightly nutty scent of your hair and skin, the subtle taste of your lips laced with coffee, the tantalising curves of your firm and yet soft body, the maddening heat of you and the delicious, fervent sound of your gasped breaths, especially when his mouth finds its way to your neck and you moan. His rock hard cock twitches painfully as you press your body into him, your breasts and pebbled nipples push firmly against his body as one of his hands grips your ass to pull you closer despite the pain it brings, the other tangling in your hair. You grip his back, your other hand splayed across the back of his neck as you moan for him. He sucks on your neck hungrily, trying to control his urge to fuck you right here and now.

Grinding into Jungkook, all thoughts except pure lust seem to leave you. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, so long since you’ve felt hands on you like this that you’re almost driven mad with longing. If you could think straight you’d realise something else too, something crucial, and that is the fact that, as your body writhes against Jungkook, desperate to feel him closer, frustrated by the fabric that separates his cock from your cunt, your only thought is of him. You’re not mindlessly rutting against a hard body, you’re not picturing Jion; right now, your mind and body is entirely focused on Jungkook and all you want is for him to throw you on your back and fuck you senseless on this floor.

Jungkook is trying to resolve on breaking away from you when you breathlessly moan his name, and without thinking, he groans loudly and deeply, “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he whines as his lips meet yours again and he gives in to your mutual desires, holding you firmly in his grip as he manoeuvres you away from the chair behind you and on to your back. He grins against your lips as he feels your hips buck up into him and he repays you by driving his throbbing bulge into you where you need him most, earning a gasp of desire from your breathy moans straight into his mouth, which he swallows with satisfaction.

Undoubtedly, left uninterrupted, you and Jungkook would have fucked like animals on that kitchen floor, but fate, in true cockblocking form, intervenes. Jungkook is shuddering with utter desire as your tongue traces over his lower lip when he hears a low, but distinct, and very threatening growl: he glances up immediately to see Bertie in the doorway, now awake and no longer curled in his basket, hackles raised and teeth bared dangerously. In one smooth movement, Jungkook slides off you, backing up against a kitchen cupboard, and raises his palms up to show he means no harm, “Easy boy,” he says soothingly.

Flustered, you sit up and spin on the floor to face Bertie, coming between your dog and Jungkook, “Bertie!” you say in a firm voice, “down.”

Bertie, reassured that Jungkook is not savaging you, well, at least not in the way Bertie would think, instantly relaxes and rushes you to with a wagging tail, sniffing at your face and accepting the strokes and pats from you and Jungkook. Like that, the fog of lusts lifts, the spell of uncontrolled desire is broken; when you turn and face Jungkook, you both share an embarrassed smile, taking in each other’s flushed faces, puffy lips and dishevelled hair.

“So, we’ll take it slow, starting now?” Jungkook says guilty, leaning against the cupboard with a shy smile. You simply laugh heartily, his own giggle joining yours as you lean back against his chest, his arms cradling you as Bertie installs himself on your lap, the three of you as one.

Jungkook is on cloud nine as he holds you, his arms around you, one hand on Bertie’s fur, the other resting, reasonably innocently, on your thigh. He knows when this moment ends that he’ll need to slow it all down, but right now he doesn’t care because he knows he has a place in your heart, no matter how small, and that’s enough for him for now: Jungkook has his foot on the bottom rung of a ladder and he’s ready for the climb.

A/N: If you’ve taken the time to read this and the story so far, thank you. Please, please, please though, don’t be a silent reader. I am always open for asks, anon or otherwise, so please go ahead and tell me what you think, any questions you may have for me or the characters, anything, really - I long for interaction and I promise I will be nice! 💌So please, send me a message: I’ll love you forever💌 😘💛

<<< Chapter Four | Chapter Six >>>

<<< back to series m.post

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #minors do not read #bangtanwhq #btswritersclub

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