#there are many more mentions of it than these seven versions
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The evolution of the Oath of Fëanor
I was interested in comparing the different versions of the Oath of Fëanor to understand the similarities and differences and how it changed over time. So I went through HoMe and copied all the different versions to look at them side by side.
To start with, the earliest mention of the Oath appears in The Book of Lost Tales, and it was sworn by Fëanor’s sons, but not Fëanor himself, after the Noldor came to Beleriand:
Then the Seven Sons of Fëanor swore an oath of enmity for ever against any that should hold the Silmarils. / The Seven Sons of Fëanor swore their terrible oath of hatred for ever against all, Gods or Elves or Men, who should hold the Silmarils...
The next version appears in the Flight of the Noldoli from The Lays of Beleriand; Fëanor himself now initiates the Oath and swears it in Valinor. This is also the earliest version of the actual words of the Oath:
‘I swear here oaths, unbreakable bonds to bind me ever,
by Timbrenting and the timeless halls
of Bredhil the Blessed that abides thereon—
may she hear and heed—to hunt endlessly
unwearying unwavering through world and sea,
through leaguered lands, lonely mountains,
over fens and forest and the fearful snows,
till I find those fair ones, where the fate is hid
of the folk of Elfland and their fortune locked,
where alone now lies the light divine.’
Then his sons beside him, the seven kinsmen,
crafty Curufin, Celegorm the fair,
Damrod and Diriel and dark Cranthir,
Maglor the mighty, and Maidros tall
(the eldest, whose ardour yet more eager burnt
than his father's flame, than Fëanor’s wrath;
him fate awaited with fell purpose),
these leapt with laughter their lord beside,
with linked hands there lightly took
the oath unbreakable; blood thereafter
it spilled like a sea and spent the swords
of endless armies, nor hath ended yet:
‘Be he friend or foe or foul offspring
of Morgoth Bauglir, be he mortal dark
that in after days on earth shall dwell,
shall no law nor love nor league of Gods,
no might nor mercy, not moveless fate,
defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance
of the sons of Fëanor, whoso seize or steal
or finding keep the fair enchanted
globes of crystal whose glory dies not,
the Silmarils. We have sworn for ever!’
The next version appears in The Lay of Leithian, The Lays of Beleriand:
They joined in vows, those kinsmen seven,
swearing beneath the stars of Heaven,
by Varda the Holy that them wrought
and bore them each with radiance fraught
and set them in the deeps to flame.
Timbrenting's holy height they name,
whereon are built the timeless halls
of Manwë Lord of Gods. Who calls
these names in witness may not break
his oath, though earth and heaven shake.
Curufin, Celegorm the fair,
Damrod and Diriel were there,
and Cranthir dark, and Maidros tall
(whom after torment should befall),
and Maglor the mighty who like the sea
with deep voice sings yet mournfully.
‘Be he friend or foe, or seed defiled
of Morgoth Bauglir, or mortal child
that in after days on earth shall dwell,
no law, nor love, nor league of hell,
not might of Gods, not moveless fate
shall him defend from wrath and hate
of Fëanor's sons, who takes or steals
or finding keeps the Silmarils,
the thrice-enchanted globes of light
that shine until the final night.’
This is followed by another version of the Oath which appears in Sketch of the Mythology from The Shaping of Middle-earth, after Tolkien stopped working on the poetic Silmarillion and turned to the prose version:
Fëanor and his sons take the unbreakable oath by Timbrenting and the names of Manwë and Bridil to pursue anyone, Elf, Mortal, or Orc, who holds the Silmarils.
The next version appears in the Quenta Noldorinwa from The Shaping of Middle-earth:
Then he swore a terrible oath. His seven sons leaped straightway to his side and took the selfsame vow together, each with drawn sword. They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name of the Allfather, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them, if they kept it not; and Manwë they named in witness, and Varda, and the Holy Mount, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the world Vala, Demon, Elf, or Man as yet unborn, or any creature great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession.
And this is the version of the Oath in the Annals of Aman from Morgoth’s Ring:
Then Fëanor swore a terrible oath. Straightway his seven sons leaped to his side and each took the selfsame oath; and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the glare of the torches.
‘Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor’s kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day’s ending,
woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!’
Thus spoke Maidros and Maglor, and Celegorn, Curufin and Cranthir, Damrod and Diriel, princes of the Noldor. But by that name none should swear an oath, good or evil, nor in anger call upon such witness, and many quailed to hear the fell words. For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper or oathbreaker to the world's end.
And then this is the version of the Oath in The Silmarillion:
Then Fëanor swore a terrible oath. His seven sons leapt straightway to his side and took the selfsame vow together, and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the glare of the torches. They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Manwë they named in witness, and Varda, and the hallowed mountain of Taniquetil, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amrod and Amras, princes of the Noldor; and many quailed to hear the dread words. For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world’s end.
—
It’s so interesting to see the Oath of Fëanor take shape!
First of all, it’s interesting that the Oath was originally sworn by Fëanor’s sons, not Fëanor himself. The greater role of the sons in earlier versions of the story can also be seen in the line about Maedhros, ‘whose ardour yet more eager burnt...’
There are many similarities between the poetic versions, even down to specific phrases: ‘friend or foe’ to ‘foe or friend’; ‘foul offspring’ to ‘foul or clean’; ‘no law, nor love’ to ‘neither law, nor love’; ‘not moveless fate’ to ‘not Doom itself’, and so on. ‘League of Gods’ becomes ‘league of hell’ and then ‘league of swords’.
In the earlier versions, Morgoth could still have ‘offspring’—the idea that the Valar could have children was to be discarded as time went on. Theoretically, ‘brood of Morgoth’ in the version in Morgoth’s Ring could also mean offspring, but it probably pertains to creatures that Morgoth did not directly create, but that he had a hand in making, such as the Orcs.
(Only the version from Sketch of the Mythology explicitly mentions Orcs, but it stands to reason that they should generally be omitted, because Fëanor would not have known of them while he was still in Valinor.)
All versions of the Oath threaten violence against those who take or keep a Silmaril, but the version from Morgoth’s Ring introduces ‘whoso hideth or hoardeth...or afar casteth’. And whereas the earlier versions threaten ‘enmity’, ‘hatred’, ‘fierce vengeance’, and ‘wrath and hate’, the version from Morgoth’s Ring explicitly threatens death.
The naming of Taniquetil appears in all the versions after The Flight of the Noldoli. The naming of Varda in witness appears first in The Flight of the Noldoli; then in Sketch of the Mythology both Varda and Manwë are named, and this was clearly to become a central feature of the Oath.
The naming of the Allfather first appears in the version from the Quenta Noldorinwa, and again in Morgoth’s Ring, and this was also to become a central feature of the Oath. In the version in The Silmarillion, it is emphasized even further: ‘by the name even of Ilúvatar’.
The Quenta Noldorinwa also introduces the pivotal element of the Everlasting Darkness, which had not been mentioned up until that point, but would obviously persist into later versions.
The element of the drawn swords also first appears in the Quenta Noldorinwa, and their swords shine ‘red as blood’ in Morgoth’s Ring in language that is identical to the passage in The Silmarillion. The phrasing ‘which none shall break, and none should take’ is also identical to The Silmarillion.
It’s also interesting that the version in The Book of Lost Tales says the sons of Fëanor swore an oath of hatred against ‘Gods or Elves or Men’, but then the versions from The Lays of Beleriand do not mention the Oath being directed against the Gods, but this element returns in the Quenta Noldorinwa and persists to Morgoth’s Ring (which adds Maiar to the list) and The Silmarillion.
Overall, as the Oath of Fëanor evolved, it seems that it became much more dangerous and malicious and took on ever greater significance in the story. It was never not dangerous, but the Fëanorians kept adding to their list of enemies until they were threatening to pursue to the end of the world any creature, good or evil, who should possess a Silmaril. The imagery of the drawn swords shining red as blood, which appears in the later versions of the Oath, emphasizes the intent behind it.
And although the Oath was already called ‘unbreakable’ in The Flight of the Noldoli, in later versions the sense of its finality and binding nature is much stronger because of the naming of the Valar, the naming of Ilúvatar, and invoking the Everlasting Darkness.
I made this chart to show the evolution of the Oath over time:
Also, Morgoth’s Ring introduces the sentence, ‘For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper or oathbreaker to the world's end.’ This raises an interesting problem: if an oath cannot be broken, then there can’t be oathbreakers. But it says such an oath may not be broken; clearly it is possible to break. (This is backed up by the fact that, in some versions of the story, Maedhros foreswore the Oath. That isn’t the outcome Tolkien ended up choosing—but it shows that it was possible.)
On a final note, it’s also interesting that the Fëanorians threaten to pursue ‘to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man...’ and then it says such an oath ‘shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world’s end.’ I think that’s it. The Fëanorians swore an oath to pursue their enemies with vengeance—but the oath turned on them instead.
#Tolkien#HoMe#Silmarillion#Oath of Feanor#my writing#because I am INSANE... I literally did a word search in HoMe (I have a PDF of it) and there are over 300 iterations of ''oath''#some of them appear inside other words such as loath or loathsome#so I went through and found all the mentions of the Oath of Feanor#there are many more mentions of it than these seven versions#this was really just an analysis of the content of the oath as it evolved#I stayed up to 5am writing this
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dude the TOP song you posted (truce) fucking kills me and the way you described the animatic is??? so good???? I'd bawl actually /pos
I need to know if there's any other TOP songs you relate to the furies/any DE character really, or any slower songs even if they aren't by TOP
OH AGREED ABSOLUTELY!! TRUCE MY BELOVED... and THANK YOU!! we are imagining animatics and crying together! /pos :'] <3
ooh!! well, i havent listened to a lot of TOP in a while, so i don't have many recommendations there unfortunately :'] but for other slow, soft songs, let's see... i'll put them under a cut with all my explanations, but ☀️ "See The Day" by The Altogether (Volition song!), 🍃 "Rounds" by The Oh Hellos (Shivers song!), 🦋 "Would You Be So Kind" by dodie (general skills song, Suggestion primarily!) are the best contenders!
Pretty sure you've seen it already, but from a different ask, i recommend "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier! (and "Like Real People Do" if you want to cry and yearn with me, though my DE ideas for it are very loose hkjhg) these are slow ones i like hkjhg <3
"Goodbye" by The Altogether is a Harry and Dora song :0
"Soldier, Poet, King" by The Oh Hellos is one i specifically relate to Volition (my beloved protector/motivator/crownhead blorbo! [picks him up and wiggles him!!!]), but i would make one of those animation memes for it with every skill slotted into a "soldier" "poet" or "king" position.
☀️ "See the Day" is both another The Altogether song and another Volition song! a real "the worst is over. we made it through. we're going to survive this. it might not get easier yet, but we'll come out the other side and we'll be alive" song. it makes me cry hkjgh
🍃 "Rounds" by The Oh Hellos is a soft Shivers song, though the lyrics don't start until halfway in. ough my god listening to it makes my heart ache (/pos) <3 La Revacholiere singing to Harry in the wind. "Will you start when I end? Yeah, I'm long in the wind..."
"Northern Star" by Dom Fera, a song Harry would sing for karaoke and dedicate to Kim, and then they'd waltz a little clumsily on the dim, starlit sidewalk on their way home for the evening... <3
🦋 "Would You Be So Kind?" by dodie BUT SPECIFICALLY THIS VERSION, because i love everyone's crowded but earnest vibes. this one is led by Suggestion ("oooh you wanna fall in love with us so bad right? right???") and makes me grin, you GOTTA imagine all of the skills squished together in the front of Harry's brain all trying different tactics to get Kim to fall in love with them, (rhetoric: "I HAVE A QUESTION..." ency: "let's write a story! be in my book!") at 2:35, after all the skills singing together loudly, it's just Harry himself singing to Kim, with all the skills slowly backing him up. the ending is all of them fucking ECSTATIC celebrating when harry finally kisses kim hkjhg jesus this'd be so cute hold on i have to go plan this out i have so many thoughts hkjdh
"Seven" by Sleeping at Last would be a sweet Reaction Speed song (ironic that im adding react speed to a list of soft, slow songs though hkjgh) "I'm ready for whatever comes next!" <3 Reaction Speed is a fast, restless little fella who can't sit still for long, always loves moving, acting, doing. he's like the personification of a verb hkjhg <3 i would also accept an interpretation for echem <3
"Cosmos" by Jawbreaker Reunion is a song that The Furies recently suggested to me as a jean song and it's so right for that, very soft and i like it very much :'] (you should also ask The Furies if you want to, it's much more musically inclined than me, i feel hkjhg <3)
awuahg thank you for asking and for reading!! i appreciate it!! <33
oh and here's links to all of the songs in the tags: Come Together Now, Two, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Nine, RPG Animation Meme (<- homestuck lmao)
#volta transmissions#now: songs that didn't meet the requirements (either not a slow song OR doesnt remind me of de characters/skills) but honorable mentions:#you specifically asked for slow songs but i refound ''come together now'' from the lego movie soundtrack and I HAVE SKILL THOUGHTS...#<- no chemi you're not hosting a fucking multi animator project you have enough on your plate THANKS <3#but!! that is my idealized version of the skills to me though. ''we're all really different but we make each other better together''#dodie has many more slower songs but i cant really relate them to DE hkjhg <3 the oh hellos too!! and the altogether <3#''two'' from Sleeping at Last makes my heart hurt but i can't relate it to anyone in specific. but if you want a soft song that i love <3#also from Sleeping at Last but i dont like these songs as much: ''Four'' is Concept! ''Five'' is Viscal! ''Six'' is Psyche in general#but specifically inland and volition!! ''Eight'' is an Endurance song but i'd also take Authority or Phys interpretations <3#but eight is kind of intense so it doesnt go in the actual list. ''Nine'' might be Empathy? get over being a moralist little guy!!#i like ''Two'' ''Seven'' and ''Eight'' while the other ones are not my cup of tea... but they ARE soft songs i associate with skills!#only tangentially related but the RPG animation meme would be. extremely fun to do for the skills. and i think about it intensely.#LISTEN... there's 30-ish beats at the start for characters. theres 24 skills plus room to show group ups by type (int; psyc; phys; mot)#the entire main thing of the meme is [someone says a stupid idea] [everyone disliked that!!] WHICH IS EXACTLY THE RIGHT VIBE HFJKFH#HOWEVER. i still dont have designs for [checks] MORE THAN HALF OF THEM. so EL BIGO MISTAKO LIEUTENANT! YOU CAN'T!#i wish i was more well-versed in music hkjhg im kinda just vibing with what i got <3 this is why daily voltas stopped :'] alas!#esprit: Sammie
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What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars
dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader
9k words
summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?
a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:
nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.
top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist
(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)
It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.
He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.
He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.
And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.
Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.
His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)
His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.
You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.
Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.
Fucking god-
He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.
So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.
No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.
He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.
"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"
And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.
"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.
"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"
"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"
"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"
He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.
...
"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.
"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."
"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You let yourself fall back into your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"
Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend an night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.
Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he'd even managed to virtually show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.
His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.
"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."
You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.
"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.
You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half weeks more, one and a half...
...
Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane got in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.
You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).
You're just so excited.
It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.
You miss him so much.
Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.
Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.
You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.
You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.
It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.
Almost.
He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.
He sees you before you see him.
But then, then when you see him-
You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?
You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.
He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.
God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!
His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.
You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.
That's when Jake pulls back.
"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.
"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."
He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.
He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.
There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.
As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.
"I think we should get out of here, darling."
Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.
"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.
You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.
His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.
"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.
"I want to do it for you", you hum.
"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.
"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.
"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.
You glance at him.
"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.
"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-
"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.
You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.
"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."
Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.
"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.
"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."
Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.
He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.
His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.
You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.
You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.
You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.
Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.
"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.
"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"
You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.
"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."
"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."
Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.
"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-
"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?
"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.
The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.
You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.
And then he pulls back.
You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.
"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.
"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.
You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.
Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.
You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.
Fuck.
You'd forgotten how much... how easily...
"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.
"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.
"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.
You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.
So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.
Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.
You bite down on your lip and look up at him.
God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-
"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.
"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.
For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.
"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."
You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.
"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."
A muscle twitches in his jaw.
"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.
"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.
He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than five seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.
"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"
Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.
"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."
Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.
"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."
He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.
He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.
Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.
You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.
You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.
But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.
He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.
The silence is heavy.
Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.
He rolls his seat all the way back.
"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.
"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.
"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."
Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...
"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"
You swallow.
"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.
You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.
"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.
You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.
"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."
Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.
Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.
"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."
He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.
"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."
You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.
"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."
"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."
He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-
A month away from each other. A month too long.
"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.
"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the driver's seat.
A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. Fuck, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the passenger seat of your car.
"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.
"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, before settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."
You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-
"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.
"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"
You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you'd learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.
"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.
His grin widens.
"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"
"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.
"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."
It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.
"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.
"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.
Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-
And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...
Yeah. Barely.
"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.
"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"
You nod.
You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.
He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.
"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"
"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"
His eyes drop down to your mouth then.
"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."
He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.
That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.
Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.
His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.
You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.
But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.
You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.
You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.
And he knows you can't.
Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.
So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.
"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.
It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.
Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.
Goddamn.
He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.
You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.
You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.
"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."
He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high on his fingers, not on your own for the first time in four full weeks.
"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."
You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.
And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.
"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"
He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.
Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.
Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.
So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.
"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-
Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.
You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.
You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.
You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples, hardened and sensitive and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.
So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off your tongue so filthily he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.
"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.
"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.
Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.
You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.
"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."
"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.
He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.
"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"
The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.
"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."
The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.
He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.
But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.
So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.
He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.
Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-
Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-
"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.
Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.
"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.
No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.
Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.
"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.
"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."
Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.
"Such a brat."
#x reader#dbf!jake seresin#dbf!jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#dbf!jake seresin smut#jake seresin smut#jake hangman seresin#top gun#top gun x reader#hangman x reader
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Propaganda
Frances Dee (Becky Sharpe, Little Women)—no propaganda submitted
Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.
This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Frances Dee:
Ingrid Bergman:
God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is. [editor's note: I've seen all of these movies and I think they're fine, but it's been a minute, so I can't thoroughly tag for trigger warnings or officially "recommend"—as always, go forth with caution when a movie is mentioned in a propaganda submission, and don't take a mention as an official recommendation of this blog.]
I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.
I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.
Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!
Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.
One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.
SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy
She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!
She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!
She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!
Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget
With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.
She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group
A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.
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The Fuck's Up With Mammon?
Ok, so, in the grand history of Christian folklore, there are dozens of different ways that the society of Hell and its various demons can be structured. One of the most popular is The Seven Princes of Hell, which divides Hell between seven ruling demons, each of which represents the seven deadly sins (and is opposed by saints who represent the seven heavenly virtues). It's fun because it's got a solid theological theme and not too many working parts - seven is a more digestible number than nine or, like, however the fuck your sort out all the demons in the Lesser Key of Solomon, each of which has some arbitrary number of legions of demon soldiers under their command, and the deadly sins theme gives you a clear way to make each prince's domain stand out.
(Obviously I'm a bit biased here, since I used a modified version of the Seven Princes of Hell for my own story about demons, but still, I think the point stands.)
Now, who the seven princes of Hell are can differ. Binsfield, the guy who coined the name, lists them as follows:
Lucifer, Prince of Pride
Mammon, Prince of Greed
Asmodeus, Prince of Lust
Leviathan, Prince of Envy
Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony
Satan, Prince of Wrath
Belphegor, Prince of Sloth
However, there are earlier versions of the seven princes that rearrange things. Beelzebub has been given the sin of Envy at times, Belphegor has been given gluttony, and both Belial and Abaddon/Apollyon have taken the role of prince of Sloth. With me so far?
Right, ok, so here's the thing: ALL of these demons have shit going on in folklore outside of their role as potential princes of Hell. Well, all except one. To wit:
Lucifer, despite being a translation error, quickly became the front-runner in the grand race of "Who is THE Devil in the Bible, i.e. the leader of Hell itself?" It helps that said translation error was made by King James in his version of the Bible, which, while a terrible translation, is an amazing piece of poetry in its own right and beloved by many Christians because of it. Notably, Lucifer is The Devil of Paradise Lost, which is up there with Dante's The Divine Comedy in being one of the most important and influential depictions of Hell of all time.
Beelzebub is one of the oldest demons in all of demonology, predating Christianity itself, and is pretty close to Lucifer in the race for "Who is THE Devil," with arguably a better claim to the position despite Lucifer being the more popular candidate for the role.
Satan gets kudos for being one of the few devils that's ACTUALLY named in the Bible... even if it's less a name in context and more a title akin to "prosecuting attorney." Because of that, he's arguably got the greatest claim to being The Devil, and in most works where a different devil gets the title, Satan is treated as one of his alternate titles anyway.
Asmodeus was set up in folklore to be The Devil, and has a pretty strong claim to the title because of that. He's also clearly what Dante based his description of the devil's physical appearance on, with his three different colored heads and all, and that gives him some major props.
Leviathan is also a rare demon who gets mentioned in the Bible, although in the Bible it's pretty clear he's not a demon but rather a big sea monster, and a lot of Christian folklore treats him as such instead of as a demon. So that's a pretty big "other thing going on" for him - sometimes he's not even a demon, but more of a godzilla.
Belphegor was mentioned in a good number of texts predating the concept of arranging demons by the seven deadly sins, and while he was mostly a minor demon (akin to most of the other residents of the Lesser Key of Solomon, like Shax or Marchosias or what have you), that's still something. Becoming a Prince of Hell gave him a greater claim to fame, but still, he had a career before it.
Abaddon/Apollyon is one of those demons whose name is ALSO a synonym for Hell itself, which is a pretty big deal. He can be a demon, or he can be hell, or he can be BOTH, like in the takes where Hell has a literal mouth to swallow sinners and is portrayed as kind of a living monster in its own right. He also got to be The Devil in Pilgrim's Progress, and that's pretty cool.
Belial is one of the absolute earliest demons, having been cast as The Devil in the Book of Enoch, which is kind of the O.G. Abrahamic demon story (as much as any written story could be the source of it, anyway). Thus, while Belial may not have the most popular claim to being The Devil, he arguably has the best claim to it, or at least the earliest. Also, Belial is just as often depicted as a lady demon as he is a male demon, which means Belial is the best candidate for a Princess of Hell.
But that leaves... Mammon. And as far as I can tell in all my research, Mammon's claim to fame is and has always been being the Demon of Greed. Like Lucifer, his existence is owed to a translation of the Bible personifying something that was not originally a person - "mammon" was just supposed to mean money and other material wealth, but then it became, well, Mammon, the demonic personification of Greed.
He's the demon who was made for his sin, rather than being given it after his creation. The only demon whose existence purely hinges on needing a personification of a sin, the only one who has no other shit going on. Lucifer, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, they all have rich histories as demons in folklore, but Mammon? He's just greed.
And that's weird to me. Were there no other, more popular demons who could embody the concept? How does Mammon feel having nothing else to him beyond his sin? It's kinda weird, right?
I've got no greater point to this, I just thought it'd be fun to share.
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𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧?? : 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 18+ 𝙙𝙮𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙨
take this however it resonates.
calm down and take deep breaths.
WARNING : this contains mature content!! warnings will be before each pile for any triggering contents!!
♥︎ pile 1. seven – jungkook & LATTO
there’s a sense of love here ( obviously ). they’d prefer to take things slow most of the time. they want to take their time with you, even if you’ve had sex multiple times they still explore you like it’s the first time again. most of the time your making love and not going full force all the time. they may like lots of eye contact, it helps them sense what you’re feeling and deepens the connection between you. most of the time sex can start by then massaging you after a rough day for you. ( this is a new deck that I’m using and in the guide book it describes this card as “like a sexual Poseidon” and mentions the ocean a lot so it is in fact “show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is” )
no matter what they can always seem to get you in the mood, no matter where you are or what time it is. they have a way with words and it’s like they’re compelling you. they never force you of course, but you finally give in. their dirty talk could be amazing. they always know what to say. whether it be in person, or texting. I think they like sexting as well as maybe video calls. they might like to introduce new things into the bedroom pretty frequently. but it’s mostly things they’ll think you’ll like.
for this relationship I think it’ll be important to set up boundaries. having structure. there might be complications that could lead to arguments. this could be an outside of the bedroom thing that could lead into the bedroom or just something that they did that you didn’t like while having sex. just like I’m the music video, they’re arguing and she’s putting him off and ignoring him or annoyed that he’s constantly trying to be in her space. but he’s only trying to prove himself. but in the end they make up.
this is someone that will like to spoil you in and outside the bedroom. they like praising you, saying you’re doing well and that you feel good to them. they might buy you a lot of undergarments. they like to see you looking ethereal for them. they like giving you what you want. multiple orgasms is a thing for them, however many you want or however many they think you deserve ( they actually think you deserve the world so… ) which probably leads to overstimulation.
they might feel possessive of you when this is happening, they like feeling like they’re yours and you are theirs. they won’t let you go. there might be a lot of marking and maybe even a breeding kink. but in the aspect of having a family with you and just the thought of being with you “forever” just does something to them. they’re devoted to you and only you.
they put your own pleasure above theirs, there might even be times where they don’t cum or if they do it’s because they came because they were taking care of you. I’m seeing them eating you out or them sucking you off and then finishing in their pants or on the bed. they get their pleasure from you. they don’t care if they don’t finish to be honest. most of the time it’s you that wants them to cum or wants to touch them. you’re the one that asks to touch them or wants them to cum too.
♥︎ pile 2. dOra maar ( english version ) – OnlyOneOf
mentions of a safe word & the use of one; exhibition; treating someone like a possession;
there’s a sense of someone being inexperienced here. the one that’s more experienced will sort of take you under their wing. they’ll teach you a lot and will guide you through things. they have a craving to be your firsts for a lot of things. I think at first they’ll see/treat you as someone who learns from them or like a possession. I don’t know how to explain it and make it not sound bad. they like you and stuff but the feeling is sort of detached from their love or attraction towards you. like this line “keep you in sight, keep them safe at all cost. because you’re my masterpiece”. even if they might not be your first they most definitely want to be your last.
they like your physique, they feel like they could stare at you forever and never get tired of you. I feel like they like edging a lot, mostly yours. they might like to see you cry a bit. they get off on your glossy eyes looking back at them. they like when you chip in as well, like if they’re making you feel good they like it when you’re adding to the stimulation. they think having an orgasm is a joint effort. there also might be open to trying new things and new experiences in the bedroom with you as well.
they like being the one that experienced new things with you. even if you are somewhat experienced they like bringing new crazy things into the bedroom. things they hope you haven’t tried or experienced with someone else. a somewhat blank slate. a blank canvas. they want you to feel safe and for you to just let go. they want you to sit back and not worry about anything. they’ll take care you.
they’re very big on boundaries, even outside of the bedroom they have safe words. they probably have a sit down talk with you once you’re ready to have sex or be more serious about it. they want to know all the things you don’t like or things you might be willing to try. things that are strictly off limits to you and to them as well. they also put themselves on the table and in the open. they tell you what they like and what they might want to try. you guys often sit down and have talks like this. talks about previous times and what you liked and didn’t like. it might not seem like it, but they do adjust themselves accordingly to your tastes and needs. they want to be able to explore your world safely. and visa versa.
they don’t like exhibition that much because they want to keep you to themselves. there’s a sense of wanting to keep you shielded from peering eyes. they want to be the only one that gets to see you, to see all of you. they might like seeing you take the lead or for you to have an air of “hey look at me, we’re going to have it my way”. I can see you walking up to them naked or maybe with pretty undergarments, with all your prowess and them sitting down legs spread looking at you with want and a small smile.
even though there is communication here, there might be a big misunderstanding of some kind. I’m getting it’s from the inexperienced person. they might want to try something that might be too much for them, but they say it’s fine and that they can do it. even though they’re a little scared they just want to be pleaser. but it just might go fine in the end. you might have a talk afterwards because they knew you felt that way. they went easy on you of course, but if it happens again they might punish you for it.
♥︎ pile 3. blah blah – the boyz
bondage with ropes & ties/anything at hand; humiliation;
I’m getting one of you being showered in gifts, whether it be clothes or toys. it’s already in your possession before you even think about it. this person wants to provide for you. they want you sitting on a throne, if it was possible they’d absolutely do it. they want to give you everything you want. they honestly want to wait on you hand and foot. they’re a very much a power bottom, whatever you tell them to do they’ll do it. they want to give you EVERYTHING.
this all might help build your confidence if you’re lacking. body worship might be a big thing as well. especially in front of a mirror, they want you to see how good you look. how ethereal you look to them. praise is a big thing too, especially them tell you how you deserve to feel good. you might have gone through some partners that didn’t know how to make you cum or finish so you most likely finished by yourself afterwards. but don’t worry that doesn’t seem to be the case with them.
on more harder nights there might be bondage including ropes. but for the most part they like scarves or whatever they can get their hands on. they mostly like tying your arms up but some nights maybe your legs. for your legs it doesn’t really matter to them, tied open or even your thighs tied together. humiliation might also play a part when they’re feeling more dominant with you. making fun of you because you’re liking what they’re doing to you, or if they’re barely touching you and you’re already hard/wet.
no matter if this is a fwb, sugar, or you’re partners you both complement each other. even if you’re the same or you look like polar opposites. you’re a match sexually. you like what the other is sporting and dealing out. it just feels right to you. to spice things up you might role play, you don’t really need to spice things up. this is more for fun than anything.
they like the thought of you exploring yourself. when they’re away they want to hear all bout your little escapades. they want to know new ways to make you cum. they want to know their way around your body. there might be mutual masturbation, or at least them watching you every once and a while.
not really a sexual thing but people honestly wonder how you do it. they want to know how you have this person wrapped around your finger. in the palm of your hand. not to sound stupid or anything but I’m telling you, those people that want to know have running theories. the top theory I’m thinking is why I chose this song, it’s about being entranced by someone’s voice. they could listen to it all day and night.
#18+ only!!#18+ content#pac#free tarot#tarot#tarot pac#pac tarot#pick a card#pick a photo#pick an image#pac reading#tarot reading#18+!!#MDNI#a reading no one asked for!!#pac 15
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Prompt:
Pairing: Mafia! Octavinelle and MC/Yuu/ Reader
Genre: Hurt/ Comfort ig? Slight crack
TW: Kidnapping, blood, minor character deaths, mc does get a little hurt, mentions of guns, usage of guns, violence (because mafia au), mc also curses at one point, talk of killing people, the prefect wears earrings and has hair (i saw someone use put this in warnings once). Let me know if I should add anything else!
AN: First request for TWST ^^ It's my first time writing for the Octavinelle trio, so please forgive me if they're ooc, I tried my best. This was very fun to work on! Send me asks if you wanna know more about my version of mafia!twst because I had so many thoughts about this entire au but I couldn't fit everything in one post lol. Not really happy with the ending (when am I ever) but I hope you enjoy!
"I'm telling you, you don't wanna do this," You warned your captors for the third time as they checked the cuffs holding you up by your arms. It was an uncomfortable position, kneeling with your arms restrained with metal chains above your head. Your shoulders felt sore, and with how every movement made the skin of your wrists rub against the harsh metal, you just knew that you were going to be sporting some pretty nasty bruises around them.
Vil was going to be furious about that.
You watched as the leader came into your range of vision, a self-satisfied smirk painting his face as he walked over to you. There was quite some distance for him to cross to reach you, and he took his sweet time as he leisurely walked over to you. Probably an intimidation tactic, just like how making you kneel was.
You looked at him, unperturbed. Your eyes roamed over the man, who for all his intimidation tactics, was nothing but a poor little boy way in over his head. A reckless little minnow who didn't know his place, as Floyd would say.
Speaking of Floyd. You grimaced at the monstrosity of an outfit the man was wearing. In all your time as a valued member of the mafia, you had seen many outlandish outfits, courtsey of the more openly unhinged Leech twin and the field of work you were in (power had a way of killing the fashion sense of people and letting it rot inside their head). But this... was on a whole another level.
You mentally lit a candle for everyone who had to witness the... very unique display.
A sharp slap snapped you out of your thoughts. 'Did this man, just backhand me? Well fuck you too bitch', You thought to yourself as you looked back at the still smirking man. You could feel a bit of wetness at the edge of your lip, a slight stinging also being felt at the same spot. Your tongue darted out, recognizing the metallic taste of blood as you gingerly licked at the small wound.
"So this is the little Prefect of Night Raven, hm? How... pathetic. Truly, the mafia organization has fallen if they allow the likes of you to hold any position higher than a discardable pawn," he huffed, and you resisted rolling your eyes. Here comes the villainous monologue, you thought to yourself.
As the man spoke, you took note of the people in the room. Apart from you and the man, there were five other men, all very familiar faces. All of them were earlier members of NRC, who left the organization 'honorably' before your appointment as the consigliere to Dire Crowley, the main boss.
There was nothing honorable about the way they were treating you right now though.
Very reluctantly, you listened to the man's speech about how he was basically aiming to cripple Night Raven Mafia by killing you. You forced back a yawn through the speech that was supposed to strike fear into your heart; unfortunately for him, you dealt with seven very unpredictable and occasionally difficult underbosses on a daily basis. Said underbosses must have already been informed of your forced absence.
Now it was just a matter of waiting and watching to see exactly who would come to your rescue...
The door slammed open as soon as you thought that, and the eyes of every person in the room turned to it. You smiled as a very familiar face entered the room, his mismatched eyes dark and foreboding.
"Hi Floyd," you chirped, unfazed by the frown on his face and the dangerous aura around him. Floyd's eyes met yours for a moment, brightening at seeing you, before turning even harsher when he saw the state you were in; clothes (gifted to you by Riddle) rumpled, carefully styled hair (courtesy of Vil) in a disarray, and a slight swelling on the side of your face you were struck at (which would send nearly everyone into a murderous frenzy).
"Who touched my Shrimpy?" Floyd growled out at the men. "Don'tcha know that I'm the only one allowed to rough them up? You're just begging to be squeezed to death."
At this point, the men, who were earlier frozen in fear, started to fumble with their guns. Before they could even get their weapons out, gunshots rang throughout the room, each man dropping to the floor one by one.
"Ah, pardon me, but I would prefer if you did not aim your weapons at my brother," a familiar voice spoke from behind Floyd to the now dead men in the room.
You grimaced at the blood now flowing out and seeping onto the floor, the puddle growing in size and inching closer to you.
"Jade, get me out of these things," you said, successfully getting his attention as you rattled the chains holding you up.
"Ah, of course dear Prefect," Jade hummed, and you did not need to look at his face to know that he was smiling. Jade walked over to you, stopping only to take the keys to your chains from the pocket of the leader. Placing the key into the lock and turning it released you from your uncomfortable position, and you yelped as you flopped onto the ground unceremoniously.
"Shrimpy~" Floyd's rapid changes in mood was one thing you did not believe you would ever get used to, "did you really get kidnapped by this sad little bunch of minnows?" He asked, pulling you to your feet and slightly spinning you.
"Shrimpy is so helpless~"
"Indeed," Jade smiled, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You would never get used to the all too malicious upturn of Jade's lips either. He took you from Floyd's arms, ignoring his twin's grumbling as he dusted off your clothes. "Pray tell, how could such... insignificant little men capture you, dear Prefect?"
Before you could answer, a third voice rang through the room. "Jade! Floyd! I told you not to kill any of them!" Azul huffed as he entered your line of vision, glaring at the two men who sandwiched you.
"Ah, pardon me Azul, but they were going to aim their weapons at Floyd. Not to mention how terribly they were treating the Prefect," Jade hummed, not at all repentant of his actions. Azul huffed in frustration, glaring at his consigliere.
You gave him a little wave, and Azul's eyes softened as they met yours. He looked calm and collected as he walked over to you, but the trembling of his hands as he held yours gave his true feelings away. His eyes quickly scanned your body for wounds, narrowing in displeasure at the reddened skin around your wrists and the cut on the corner of your lip.
"Prefect."
"Azul," you said, not missing the way his eyes relaxed considerably as he saw you wearing the seashell earrings he had gifted you. "Ah, so that was how Idia-san found out you were kidnapped almost immediately," he hummed. You raised an eyebrow at his words.
"The earrings have trackers in them," Jade helpfully explained.
"Well, in any case, we must take you back to the Lounge. Everyone else must have assembled there by now."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because, Prefect, we were supposed to bring your kidnappers so that a joint decision could be taken for their punishment," Azul sighed as he pushed his glasses up his nose slightly.
You glanced at your kidnappers, wrinkling your nose as the blood puddle slowly crept closer to your shoes. "They're dead."
"A most unfortunate incident, yes. But, nevertheless, their identities will suffice for now. This just goes to show that we must never leave any loose ties," Azul said ominously. "Perhaps my dear colleagues will learn a lesson from this."
"... Sure. And how did you three manage to make them stay back at the Lounge while you carried out this rescue mission?"
"The heads found it best to send us three since we were most likely to bring your captors back alive," Azul said, glaring at Floyd who just roamed around the room disinterested in the conversation. "Well, that is what Crewel and Trein thought, at least."
You chuckled. "I don't think the outcome would've been any different with the others either so... let's just get to the Lounge."
Azul smiled. "As you wish, Prefect."
#first time writing for octavinelle bbys im very nervous#apologies if they seem ooc or mischaracterized i didnt mean to#here goes nothing#twst#twst writing#twst fanfic#twst octavinelle#octavinelle#twst azul#twst jade#twst floyd#twisted wonderland x reader#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x you#twosted wonderland x yuu#twisted wonderland x mc#azul ashengrotto#jade leech#floyd leech#ice writes#my writing
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Obey Me! Dateables Imagine: MC is kidnapped by a lower demon and summons them to come save them
Demon Brothers Ver.
Characters: Lord Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Solomon
Trigger Warnings: MC is tied to a chair and slightly manhandled, slightly suggestive at the end of Solomon's, mentions of choking
A/N: As soon as I saw how many people loved the version with the brothers, I knew I'd be writing a version with the side characters! I've gotten so many requests to do so, and ya know, my now dateable babes deserve the same amount of love :) I changed the scenario a tiny bit since not all of them are demons, but its the same plot line, so ENJOY!
Oh! I almost forgot, I won't be writing for Raphael, Mephisto, or Thirteen since I don't feel like I know their characters very well. I'm only on lesson 28 but maybe if I get far enough into the story I'll start including them!
Scenario:
You thought all of this would be over. You had been at RAD for half a year now. All the demons seemed to be used to your presence and no one had so much as given you dirty looks anymore. When you first arrived you were the target of some bullying and pranks, but after the school learned you were under the protection of the seven brothers, that ceased to exist.
So when Judas, a popular and nice demon in your history class offered to help you study after school, you gladly accepted it. It was your worst subject, and exams were quickly approaching. He was smart, pretty, and seemed to get along well with everyone.
That was what you thought until you woke up in a dark room, tied to a chair looking up at him, horrified. Your mind drifted back to when he offered you a drink when you first came to the study room. He must have slipped you something and then drug you off to some secluded area.
“Why would you do this?” you demanded, tugging at the ropes that bound your fists together behind the chair.
“Because I think Lord Diavolo’s plan to unite the three realms is blasphemous.” Judas spat back. “Humans could never stand as equals to demons, and when I’m done with you, he’ll feel the same way.”
“I’ll give you one chance.” you told him with an ice cold stare, doing an awful good job at hiding your fear. “Let me go right now and I won’t call for him.”
Judas laughed maniacally, throwing his head back to the ceiling and clapping his hands. He then grabbed the back of your neck and forced you to look up at him. “Go ahead. I’m sure they won’t do anything. You may think that he likes you, but he only protects you out of pity.”
You gave Judas a small smirk before screaming out for your beloved.
Lord Diavolo:
"You sure about that?" a deep voice boomed behind Judas. Diavolo's enormous frame practically swallowed up the inferior demon, instantly striking fear into his heart. He was in his gorgeous demon form, which he hardly ever sported around his subjects.
Diavolo simply crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. His calm demeanor was somehow even more terrifying than if he were acting as furious as he felt on the inside. But Diavolo was a true royal, and he knew the best way to get to this degenerate was to maintain his composure. He took slow, dignified steps towards him, flapping his huge, dark wings with each stride. He stopped in front of Judas and put one of his massive hands over his shoulder.
"Forgive me my subject, but I don't think I feel the same way as you. You see, MC is more valuable to me than the entire Devildom." Diavolo was acting very proper, but it was only because he had to keep his image as prince. "However, you did put your hands on my irreplaceable companion, who happens to be a guest in our realm. Now I can't just let that go unpunished, can I?" The smile on his face didn't drop for a second as he patted Judas on the back.
He then snapped his fingers and summoned the royal guard. The lower demon cowered in fear at the many soldiers that pointed their swords at him. He was shaking in his boots, sweating and tearing up.
"Aw, don't look so sad Judas!" the Lord laughed, "The dungeon isn't that dark and scary. In the future, I wouldn't recommend kidnapping a human that has a pact with the Prince of Hell." The smirk on his face was positively sinister. "Take him away." he ordered, and the guard immediately left the room, dragging Judas away as he begged for forgiveness.
Once they were all gone, Diavolo immediately unsheathed a dagger from his hip and cut your ropes open in one quick swipe. You instantly jumped into his arms. He was holding onto you so tight, as if he was scared you weren't going to be there if he let go. You pulled back after a while and realized that his demon form had vanished… and that he was crying.
"Dia it's alright, he didn't hurt me!" you reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his cheek.
"I'm so sorry." he pleaded, placing his hand over yours. "I told you I would keep you safe here. I failed you."
"No you didn’t, my prince." you told him, putting your forehead against his. "I knew you would come in a second. I never doubted you and I'm not going to start now."
"I love you." he whispered through a choked down sob. "I'm never letting you out of my sight MC. I promise you this won't happen again. I'll do whatever I have to do to make this kingdom a safe place for you."
Barbatos:
That poor little demon. Barbatos was known to be the most sinister and lethal demon in the entire Devildom. Not even Lucifer entertained the idea of crossing him. After all, he had to be extremely formidable to work as the Demon Lord's faithful butler. He was used to cleaning up messes for Diavolo, and taking care of several assassination attempts before word could even reach the young prince.
At first, Barb was surprised that you had chosen him. He thought for sure that you would call for one of the brothers. In fact, the only reason he had formed a pact with you was because they were all gone on a business trip one day, and he wanted to be sure that you had protection. However, he was beyond honored that your first instinct was to summon him. He had always secretly been jealous of your closeness with the brothers, wishing he could have that kind of relationship with you. He just thought you were so nice and lovely, but he was afraid that you only saw him as a side character in your life.
The butler was absolutely enraged when he saw the lesser man gripping on your neck as if you were some toy. The glow of his dark, powerful magic radiated all around him, and in a flash he tackled Judas to the ground. He pinned him down with his knee and tied his hands behind his back. Once Judas was restricted from all movement, Barbatos chuckled in a sadistic manner for a while at the scene in front of him.
"Ah, my apologies, but did you honestly think that I would let someone as pitiful as you get away with hurting MC? Not only are they a vital part of my master's dream for this kingdom, but I care for them far too much to let you lay so much as your pinky finger on them."
Next, he leaned down to whisper in Judas' ear. "Don't fret little infidel, our fun isn't over yet. I'll be back for you in a second." Judas was banished to some other location at the wave of Barb’s gloved hand, and you never saw him again after that moment.
"MC? Did he harm you at all?" Barbatos asked as he sliced through your restraints with his tail. There was so much concern in his eyes, you were so touched.
"No, I'm alright, it was just scary." you chuckled awkwardly. You could feel your anxiety overwhelming you as the ropes fell to the ground. You were shaking and tearing up, not being sure how to handle the adrenaline rush of the situation.
He reached out a hand towards you for a second, then pulled back in hesitation.
You shouldn't indulge in their presence. He thought to himself. They probably want one of the brothers to comfort them.
His internal monologue was interrupted when you suddenly jumped up and engulfed him in the tighest embrace he had felt in centuries.
"Thank you, Barbatos. I knew you would come for me."
He was utterly frozen, totally taken aback at your appreciation. He couldn't help himself anymore and put his arms around you. He squinted his eyes at the warmth of your embrace. It felt like he belonged there, and he never wanted to be anywhere else from that point on. Maybe you did see him as more than a side character.
Simeon:
To Judas' misfortune, he assumed that you would call upon another demon to come help you. He didn't know that you were also close with Simeon, one of the highest ranking angels. You knew that a demon, especially one as low ranking as him, would be powerless in the presence of such a celestial being. That and, Simeon told you when you first came here that if you were ever in trouble, you could summon him.
You guys didn't have a pact obviously, but he had given you a special crystal necklace that would activate in times of extreme stress and danger, that would notify him that you needed help. He had given it to you after your near-death experience with Belphie. He didn't want to tell you for fear of jeopardizing your relationship, but he had a very hard time forgiving Belphie after that because he almost took you away from him, and... he didn't like thinking about demons wanting to kill you. He wanted to protect you and be your guardian your whole life, until you could become an angel like him. He really did like you and when he imagined his eternity, you were always there next to him.
He appeared within seconds, literally glowing with divine light. Judas was blinded at the angel's heavenly brightness, and immediately fell to his knees.
"You poor, misguided soul." Simeon muttered softly, placing two fingers under Judas’ jaw and forcing him to look him in the eye. "Going around torturing innocent humans... its not your fault you can't be as virtuous and beautiful as MC is."
"Simeon, I-" Judas began rambling, "I didn't mean to-"
"Hush now." Simeon interrupted, clearly not willing to give him the chance to explain himself at all. He leaned down to Judas' face. "I pray that you find salvation with your creator."
"No please!" Judas begged, but Simeon was already taking off his glove. He emitted an even brighter golden light from his palm, and Judas disintegrated to ash at it.
"My dear MC-" Simeon began as he rushed over to untie you. "Thank goodness I gave you that necklace. I don't know what I would have done if that monster laid a hand on you. You probably would have caught a glimpse of my dark side."
You laughed with him, taking his hand in yours. "Thank you Simeon. You always take such good care of me. I'm really happy to have you in my life."
His heart skipped a beat and he felt all warm and fuzzy. "MC... I don't have much experience with these kinds of things, but the way you keep brushing against death makes me want to confess something to you.
He brought the top of your hand to his mouth and kissed it before he went on. "I want to be with you, as more than just friends. I want to be by your side because you make me happy. If you'll have me, I'd like to be yours."
"Thank god- sorry, thank goodness." you chuckled, "I was starting to think you were never going to ask me. I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you."
He laughed with you, placing his forehead against yours.
"How about an equivalent exchange? I'll belong to you and you'll belong to me. It'll be like our version of a pact."
"Simeon, if you ever call our relationship a pact, I'll tell Solomon you want him to make dinner for you." you joked, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. His soft lips pressed against yours, one hand cupping your cheek and the other squeezing your own, running his thumb along the back of it. He was smiling into the kiss, and you couldn't help but do so as well.
"Your angel pleads for your forgiveness." he beamed, looking into your eyes with such pure adoration.
Solomon:
You guys didn't have a pact, but he did teach you a special summoning spell to use should you ever have issues with your magic and need his guidance. He didn't anticipate that it would also be useful in emergency situations, but he was glad that he had taught you.
Solomon is the most morally grey of all the guys, so he would have a really fun time with this lower demon. His dark eyes squinted at the sight of Judas with his hand on the back of your neck. Then he held his hand out and put him in a binding spell, pressing Judas flat against the wall until he couldn't move a muscle.
Solomon strode up to him and pressed a hand on the wall over his shoulder, looming overtop of him. "Care to explain what you were planning on doing to my apprentice? I'd love to know so I can deliver a curse unto you that's befitting."
Judas was struggling against the magic to utter out a sound that would somehow save him from Sol's wrath. But it was far too late, for he had already crossed a pretty thick line.
"I can't believe a creature like you had the gall to go after the companion of one of the world's most powerful sorcerers." Solomon began, his magic causing Judas' veins to pop out along the surface of his skin. "I'm almost impressed. However, you still threatened my favorite person, and I can't have other heathens like you thinking I'm okay with that. Unfortunately I'll have to make an example of you, little one."
The sorcerer then placed his palm against the demon's forehead, delivering the curse unto him. Once he was released from the curse, he sprinted out of the room.
"Don't worry, the true effects will show up in a few minutes. After that, no other demon here will even dream of hurting you." He got you out of the chair and helped you up.
"Sol..." you began, fighting back tears as he held your hands in his own. "I don't want to admit it, but that was really scary."
"It's alright, you're allowed to be scared. In fact, you should hang onto that sense of fear down here. It means you're still human." he smiled, running his thumbs along the backs of your hands.
"Well, you're a human, and you're not scared of anything." you challenged him.
"Sure I am." he chuckled, leaning in closer to your face. "Seeing you in danger like this? That scared me."
"I don't believe you." you told him, shaking your head with a smirk.
"Perhaps this will win you over?" he asked before capturing your lips in a kiss. You relaxed into his touch, putting your hands together behind his neck, his own slipping down to your waist. You indulged in each other for a moment, then he pulled away and grinned at you. "Let's go up to my room. I'll teach you some protection spells, and if you're a good little apprentice, I'll give you a reward."
#obey me imagines#obey me side characters#obey me dateables#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#lord diavolo#diavolo x reader#diavolo imagine#barbatos x reader#barbatos imagines#simeon x reader#simeon imagines#diavolo obey me#barbatos obey me#simeon obey me#solomon x reader#Solomon imagines#obey me shall we date#obey me one master to rule them all#otome boys
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SKZ DRABBLE-BANG CHAN
A loose retelling of Hades and Persephone-modernized and darker than before, but beautiful all the same.
A/N: I'm not happy with this. But you guys can have it anyway.
Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Bang Chan, Chan, Christopher, Christopher Bang, Y/N, Femreader, Chan as Hades, Y/N as Persephone, Underworld, Greek Mythology, Hades and Persephone, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Chan x you, Chan x reader, Chan x y/n, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Other members make guest appearances as various Greek gods, Greek Gods
Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst
Warnings: Underworld Shit, Dark Undertones, Underhanded God and Mortal shit and dealings, Death, Dying, Triggering Themes, Toxic Relationships (not main characters), Chan's fucking in love with reader to the point of obsession.
Playlist:
🌸I’ll Be Damned-Gavn
🌸Seven Nation Army-Stevie Howie
🌸Call Me-ShineDown
🌸Granite-Sleep Token
🌸Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version)-Taylor Swift
Title: Every Last Seed
He goes by many names.
He always has.
Hades.
Ploutos.
King of the Underworld.
God of the Dead.
Bringer of Death.
Lord of Darkness.
But by far, his favorite name is the one that only you are allowed, dripping from your lips, soft and sweet, like honey, like a deadly nectar he's become addicted to-
Mine.
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"Where the fuck is he?" Chan storms through the door to his office, terrifying the wraith he employs as his secretary, her throat jumping with a gulp, as she straightens her glasses, and clasps her clipboard to her opaque chest.
"Ah, sir, I was just asking his Lordship if he'd prefer tea or coffee-"
"No need." Chan growls, not even bothering to look in her direction. "He won't be staying."
Hyunjin grins from his position behind Chan's overly large desk, his feet planted directly in the middle of some important treaties Chan had been working on the day before for some particularly pesky mortals.
"Ah, is that any way to treat your baby brother, Channie?"
His given name. The only ones who dare call him by that name are his brothers and you.
Everyone else just refers to him by the name the mortals gifted him when he became God of the Dead eons ago-Hades.
Chan stalks toward his brother's reclined form and promptly shoves his feet off the desk with a little bit more force than necessary.
"The perfect way, actually. Especially when said brother is impeaching on my very valuable and limited time, uninvited, I might add."
Hyunjin sniffs, straightening the highly expensive baby blue suit he wears, and plants his feet firmly on the ground, swiveling in Chan's chair to face him.
He tucks a strand of his golden hair back behind his ear and levels Chan with a self important look that makes him grind his teeth in agitation.
"Fine. You obviously want me to get straight to the point, so I will."
Chan feels a muscle tick in his jaw as he taps his foot impatiently, motioning with his hand for the man before him to continue.
"Great. What is it?"
Hyunjin sighs, making a show of straightening the crown on his brow, and then he gives Chan a grimace which he tries to soften with a halfhearted smile that Chan sees through immediately.
It makes his clench his fingers into fists at his side.
"How's the new little wife, hm, big brother? Satisfactory, I presume?"
Chan feels himself prickle at the mention of you, but he keeps his expression unreadable, dark, as he stares back at his clearly prodding brother.
"Fine. Anything else? Or did you travel all the way here and risk your wife's wrath just to ask me how my honeymoon was?"
Hyunjin blanches at the mention of Hera, and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable now in the face of Chan's obvious ire.
"Yes, well-" He stands up, planting his hands flat on Chan's desk and leaning toward him, as if to appear intimidating.
Chan wants to laugh at the pathetic display.
"-there's been a problem. I'm sure you've noticed the influx of extra souls ever since you uh, tied the knot, without her mother's permission?"
He fidgets nervously under Chan's unwavering, blank stare.
Tugging at the collar of his expensive suit once more, Chan watches as his younger brother, the supposed God of the Gods, seems to wilt under his penetrating gaze.
Finally, he sighs heavily, and seems to implore Chan to give him something, anything, he can work with.
"Her mother's fucking pissed with you, Channie, all right? I'll just come out and say it. I need you to fix this."
Chan remains unmoving, stoic, in the face of his brother's obvious plea.
After another moment of silence, Hyunjin throws his hands outward and exclaims with obvious exasperation, "C'mon, help me out here. Lord knows I've helped you in the past when you asked."
Chan arches a brow. "Helped me?"
His voice is flat, cold, deadly, and Hyunjin winces subtly.
"Okay, listen-" He holds up his hands, as if the weak gesture of peace will stop Chan's building fury. "-you know the delicate balance we have between the mortals. We worked decades for that, and if Demeter keeps fucking offing them left and right, just to spite and overwork you, and the Underworld, we're gonna have a much bigger fucking problem on our hands than a petty little feud between you and your recently acquired mother in law."
Chan hates to admit it, but Hyunjin's right, as much as it pains him to agree.
Fucking Demeter and the chip on her shoulder toward him.
God forbid, her perfect, innocent, naive daughter-the goddess of Spring-fall in love with someone as twisted and dark and wicked as Chan-god of the dead and ruler of the Underworld.
No, the Goddess of Harvest was not bound to let this go lightly, and it seemed he needed to put a stop to this before it ever really began.
A few extra mortal souls on his workload was nothing really, but if she even thought about dissuading you-
Chan pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. He can feel a headache building.
"Fine." He grits out, and he can practically hear Hyunjin breathe a sigh of relief. "I'll handle it."
Ignoring his brother and his babbled platitudes of thanks, he steps toward the window and looks down over the city below, flickering to life beneath the coming darkness.
"But know this-" He turns and levels Hyunjin with a dangerous, black gaze. "-if I even hear a whisper of you and Demeter's little foolish escapades putting my wife in danger, I will end you both without a second thought and with one snap of my fingers."
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He still remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on you. How could he forget?
Attending one of his younger brothers garish and old fashioned parties-he'd thought they'd stopped doing these kinds of things centuries ago-he'd been dragged over to rub shoulders with some of the greats, one stiff tuxedo away from going the fuck home where he belonged.
And then, he'd seen you, hidden in Demeter's shadow- though nothing could truly hide your exquisite and rare beauty, not even your mother's sour, pinched expression-and his feet had moved toward you without permission, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.
Your mother had looked at him as he approached with such disdain it would've set him on fire had he not been a god, but he'd ignored her, striding boldly forward through the party goers until he stood directly in front of you.
"Hades." Demeter had hissed in greeting, dark hatred flashing in her eyes as she'd put a protective arm out in front of you.
You stared up at him with the biggest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, and extended one slender, soft hand out toward him, breaching the threshold of your mother's protection without a second thought, as if you could feel the tug of the persistent string too.
"Persephone." You had whispered, than blushed, your cheeks going red, as his fingers found yours. "Or Kore. O-or (Y/N). Whatever is to your liking, your highness."
Your hand was like velvet-warm and silky in his own-and his fingers dwarfed yours, making them feel delicate and almost fragile in his grip.
"I know who you are, Goddess of Spring." He had replied, with far more confidence in his low tone than his quivering gut felt in the moment.
Your expression had flashed surprise at his words, and you glanced away under his direct gaze, red, full lips parted, cheeks taking on an even deeper hue of scarlet.
The look of sudden shy demureness on your features intoxicated him, and his dick immediately took notice.
"I am honored that one such as yourself, your highness, has taken notice of me already."
He had cleared his throat, subtly adjusting himself in his too expensive slacks-some high end shit Hyunjin had insisted he wear-at the soft tone of pleasure your voice took on at his attention, and finally, reluctantly released your hand, even as Demeter ushered you back behind her looming form.
"We really must be going." Her expression went from pinched to furious as his eyes lingered on you just a bit longer than necessary. She ushered you away. "Say goodbye, Kore."
"Goodbye." You had murmured, eyes flitting up to his briefly, before you let your mother lead you away and out of his sight.
Chan took his leave shortly after, giving Hyunjin some bullshit excuse of the Underworld not running itself, and had hightailed it home, his skin itching beneath the ridiculous suit he wore, and his hard-on aching for a release.
That night, he came with his cock in hand, and your name on his lips.
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He arrives home to find you in the garden, kneeling in the dirt, fingers dug deep into the soil.
It's a common occurrence, a sight he's grown used to, but he still pauses, watching you silently for a few moments, enjoying the way your hair falls around your face, the way the curves of your body are accentuated against the early evening light.
Cerberus notices him first, raising his giant, blocky head from his paws where he lays beside you next to the garden plot, ears erect. His thick tail thumps the ground-once, twice-at the sight of Chan and you glance up, following the dog's gaze.
Chan steps from the shadows, and the most gorgeous smile he's ever seen graces your features as soon as you catch sight of him.
It takes his breath away, and as you stand, brushing the dirt from the dress you wear, he thinks, not for the first time, that you're the most fucking beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure of calling his own.
"Channie." You breathe sweetly, throwing your arms around his neck as he draws closer, burying your face in the juncture of his throat. "You're home."
"I am." He agrees, wrapping you tightly in his embrace, taking a moment to let his nose skim your hair, the smell of blossoms and springtime filling his senses.
You pull back, just enough to gaze up at him, and he lets his finger go beneath your chin, holding you there, so he can study and memorize, once again, every single intoxicating line of your features.
Your lips quirk into the start of a smile, as if you know what he's doing, but you don't say anything.
He's grateful for that.
"Did you have a good day?" You ask softly, your breath warm on his fingers, as he traces the part of your full, soft lips.
"Eh." He lifts one shoulder into a shrug and lets it fall back down heavily. "Not as good a day as I would've had staying here with you, little blossom."
You arch a brow, and he sees it, the stubborn expression wash across your face that lets him know you know he's trying to deflect.
You put your hands on your hips and stare him down, and he resists the urge to lean forward and kiss the tip of your nose.
Fuck, you're adorable.
"I heard Zeus came to see you."
"Is that so?" He questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he watches you hold your ground.
He leans forward, fingering one of the loose strands of hair that frames your face, before he lets his gaze dip to your throat, the golden chain you always wear dipping tantalizingly out of his line of sight where it disappears between the swell of your breasts.
"You're correct." He acquiesces, his fingers itching now to reach up and tug the chain free, so he can dangle the wedding ring he knows lies safely between your breasts between the two of you, just so he can remind himself who you belong to once more.
His dick swells at the thought.
He clears his throat, and brings his gaze reluctantly up to meet yours once more, noting the dark flash of stubbornness that washes across your eyes.
"However." He smirks now, stepping closer, letting his hand gently close around your throat, your pulse thready beneath his palm, like a fluttering bird beating against the bars of a cage. "I don't really want to talk about my brother right now, do you?"
He leans forward, and begins to suck kisses along the column of your throat, and you giggle, batting him away and stepping back before he can distract you further.
"Channie." You whine, putting your hands once again on the swell of your hips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that your delicious curves are going to be the death of him one day. "I'm serious."
He sighs, and tries to ignore the hardness of his eager dick between his thighs, knowing you're not going to let him off the hook-or let him fuck you dumb-until he's told you what Hyunjin wanted.
"Fine." He sighs again, and drops onto one of the many benches he had had installed in the garden solely for the purpose of watching you do what you love most.
You step toward him, and he opens his legs so you can slide between them, putting your hands on his shoulders as his fingers find your hips through the thin material of your dress.
"Tell me." You insist, staring down at him and Chan tilts his head back to look at you, arching a brow at your commanding tone.
"Goddess of Spring, are you really telling the Lord of the Underworld what to do?"
An amused smirk flickers across his lips at the look of exasperation that crosses your features.
You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles, tugging you to him. You protest a little, but let him do it anyway, burying his face into your stomach, the soft feel of your dress caressing his skin.
He breathes in your perfume, once, twice, and then leans back, meeting your gaze.
"Your mother is throwing a little temper tantrum it seems."
Your eyes widen minutely, and Chan sees your lips flatten into a determined, serious line.
"Because of our marriage?"
Chan gives a slight nod. "It would seem so."
One of your hands clenches into a tight, white knuckled fist at your side, and your chest stutters with a sharp intake of breath.
Beyond your shoulder, a vine springs to life, fraught with large thorns, curling around a nearby tree, up and up, tight enough to strangle the bark beneath its hold.
Cerberus raises his head, scenting the sudden unease in the air, and lets out a small whine.
You take in a deep breath, and the vine begins to slowly retract its hold on the tree.
"Little blossom." Chan murmurs, tugging you down onto his lap, and encircling you in the safety of his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise you. I'll handle it."
He feels you shake your head beneath his chin.
"You shouldn't have to handle it. She's my mother. I need to stand up to her."
Chan glances beyond you as Cerberus whines again, and sees the vine's thorns growing dangerously long with your distress, piercing through the trunk of the tree, cracking the bark into splinters.
"Pet." Chan warns quietly, nudging your chin in the direction of the destruction. "Take a deep breath."
You gasp, and let the air out on a long, shuddering breath, and the vine halts its upward progress almost instantly as you collapse against Chan, slumping into his chest.
He can hear the tears in your voice when you whisper, "I'm sorry."
His finger finds your chin again, and he raises your watery gaze to his own.
"Never, and I mean never, apologize for the power you hold, my love. For it will bring gods and mortals alike to their knees, and one day, when they all pass beyond this life, you will be known as their queen."
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"You know, it's usually easier to get into the palace through the front door."
The unfamiliar, male voice startled you and you lost your hold on the branch you were currently coaxing toward the palace wall, snatching it up again with a curse just in time to stop yourself from tumbling all the way back to the ground below.
"Fuck." You glared over your shoulder, down to the newcomer, but could only make out a tall, dark silhouette, cloaked in a hood.
The man tilted his head, as if he was looking up at you, and you swore you could feel his smirk even through the darkness.
"Yes, thank you for the advice." You snapped back with a huff, already reaching out for the next branch as your magic grew it down toward your outstretched fingers. "But I think I'll stick with this."
"Suit yourself, little blossom." The mystery man leaned against the thick trunk of the tree, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at gods knows what.
You paused, catching your breath, and glared down at him, even though you're sure he can't see you.
"Don't call me that."
You saw his chest rise and fall in a silent laugh. "Why?"
"Because." You huffed, reaching for another branch, out of breath as you work around the gods awful gown your mother had insisted you wear to visit Olympus. "I don't know you."
"Oh, but I think you do."
You paused to consider his words, racking your brain for anyone you knew in Olympus well enough to give you a nickname, and came up with no one. Your mother didn't let you visit often from the mortal realm.
"I don't." You insisted, standing up on your tiptoes to try and reach the top ledge of the wall.
You heard the man chuckle again as you stretched-up, up, up-and just as your fingers had grazed the cool marble, your foot slipped off its hold on the branch below, and you tumbled, shrieking, back down through the tree and toward the hard ground.
You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came.
Cracking open one eye, you stared straight into the face of the mystery man, safe in the warm, strong curve of his arms.
His hood had fallen back in the act of catching you, and your eyes widened as you recognized the handsome face before you.
Fucking. Hades.
Brother of Zeus.
God of the Dead.
He grinned at you, and arched a brow, reiterating softly, "But you do."
Your heart did one sharp staccato against your ribcage, as he set you carefully to your feet, and stepped back, and almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his skin against your own.
"Thank you for saving me." You stuttered out, curtsying deeply, now that you had your wits about you.
He chuckled, staring at you as you straightened back up, and you hoped it was dark enough to hide the blush staining your cheeks.
"Oh, I have no worries that if I wasn't here, little blossom, you would have saved yourself."
He motioned upward with a jut of his chin, and you followed his gaze to the tree, gasping as you saw a thick, dark green vine wrapped around its bulbous trunk, stretching down from the palace wall and to the ground below, curling around your feet.
When you glanced back to the man before you, he was already pulling his hood back up over his face, ready to disappear back into the blackness.
"Wait!" You called out before you could think better of it, and he stopped, cocking his head.
You swallowed hard, and took a step toward him.
"Will I see you again, your highness?"
You swore he smiled beneath the hood.
"Call it what you will, Goddess of Spring-fate, destiny, the will of the gods-but I think you and I will be seeing each other again very soon. Very soon indeed."
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"You can't have her, you know."
Changbin took another long sip of his drink, cheeks already rosy, and followed Chan's hungry gaze across the room to you, standing close by your mother's side.
He simply shrugged when Chan turned to shoot him a glare.
"Her mother would never allow it. She hates your fucking guts. Not to mention-" He leaned over and lowered his voice, as if he was telling Chan a secret. He could smell the liqueur on the younger god's breath. "-the whole 'Underworld Ruling' thing."
Chan is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Minho, flute of champagne in hand, look of annoyed disgust on his face, as he slid past the hulking god beside Chan and took a seat on the duvet across from them.
His brother glanced dismissively at Chanbin, leaning back to take another long swallow of his drink.
"Nephew."
Changbin grinned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"Uncle."
Minho arched a brow and his nose wrinkled slightly in open distaste. "Do you ever not wear armor?"
Changbin grinned bigger, and slapped a loud palm to the armor fitted perfectly to his broad chest.
"Of course not! I'm the God of War. Always have to be ready for anything, Uncle. You know how it is."
"I'm sure I don't." Minho sniffed, raising his champagne delicately to his lips, and taking a tiny sip. "The Ocean does not concern itself with the dealings of mortals. Let alone their trivial pursuits of war."
Changbin merely shrugged, and stood, slapping a powerful hand to Chan's shoulder, which sent him jolting forward in his seat, rubbing his offended arm and glaring up once more at the towering figure of his nephew.
"I'm off to find another drink. And maybe a few maidens." Changbin announced, giving Minho a mock salute, as the man stared him down with annoyed disdain. "Take care, uncles."
And with that, he was gone.
Minho's gaze flitted to Chan, and he took another long, slow sip of his drink.
Chan felt his eyes unwittingly pulled back to the other side of the room, but you had disappeared from view, probably dragged off by your mother for more introductions.
"I'm surprised you came."
Chan let his gaze drift back to his brother across from him, and offered him a tilt of his head in acknowledgement, reaching for his own glass of forgotten champagne.
"Yes, well, that makes both of us. I'd hoped to not find myself at another one of these damned archaic, presumptuous affairs for another eon or so."
The corner of Minho's lip flickered with amusement, and his eyes roamed past Chan to the dozens of gods and demi gods currently mingling on the expanse of Hyunjin's vast dance floor.
"Our baby brother is good for very few things, and throwing amusing soirees is indeed not one of them."
Chan felt his own lips quirk into the hint of a smirk, and he raised his glass to Minho in silent salute.
Minho tilts his own champagne in response, and they both take a deep draft of the shimmering, bubbly liquid.
His brothers were hard to tolerate on the best of days, but he'd always felt like Minho understood him just a little bit more than Hyunjin ever had.
Standing, Chan places down the now empty glass and nods to Minho in farewell.
"I've made an appearance. Now it's time to take my leave."
Minho watched him in silence for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then with a flick of his fingers, he filled Chan's empty glass back up with water.
Chan stared at him, and he arched a brow.
"Drink some water before you go, brother. It'll help with the hangover tomorrow."
He sighed, reaching for the glass, and downed the water in one gulp.
"There. Happy?"
Minho's mouth flickered again. "Almost." He cocked his head, and let his gaze roam over Chan's body, as if he could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his mind swirled, already thinking about running into you on his way out.
When Chan went to move past him, Minho put an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.
"Careful, brother." Minho murmured, eyes dark and discerning, trapping him in place. "Interest is a fickle, fleeting thing, but obsession is fatal."
There was a beat of tense, deafening silence, Minho staring at him like he could see right through him.
Chan shook his head, and broke the spell.
"Thanks for the advice." Chan grunted, pushing past him without another glance, stalking toward the exit, not caring as he shouldered past the partygoers, earning himself a round of nasty looks.
The cold night air of Olympus embraced him as he pushed through the double doors and into the opulent garden beyond.
Unlike the swirling colors and lights and noise of the party inside, the garden was deserted at this time of night-dark and quiet and abandoned-just how he liked it.
Taking in a deep breath, holding it as the frigid air seared his lungs, Chan strode deeper into the garden, walking between the towering, shadowy rows of hedges, clearing his head.
The music had almost faded out of ear shot, when he heard it-a small, unfamiliar sound that immediately caught his attention.
He paused, freezing, and listening.
There it was again, just around the next bend, somewhere near the center of the hedge maze, beside the fountain he knew graced the large stone courtyard lined with benches hidden amongst the neatly trimmed foliage.
Taking another quiet step so he could round the corner, he heard it once more.
It almost sounded like-a gasp?
Chan came around the hedge quietly, on full alert, his footsteps silent, and as the fountain came into view, he caught sight of a figure leaning back on one of its edges on the other side, obscured through the haze of the water.
Another creeping step forward, still hidden by the shadows of the bushes, and the person came into view.
It was you-sitting on the marble edge of the fountain, dress hiked up around your knees, leaning forward as you focused on something intently.
Chan narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was you were doing, and when he realized, as another little breathy moan left your lips and your wrist spasmed, he halted, feet suddenly leaden.
Gods above, you were touching yourself.
He should move, he should announce his presence, he should leave, he shouldn't be watching you in this very private, very vulnerable moment, but he can't seem to get himself to break the spell, watching you silently from the shadows of the hedge as you pleasure yourself.
You let out that sound again-a breathless sort of stifled release of breath-and Chan felt his dick start to swell in response, straining against the fine fabric of the slacks he wore.
You let your head fall back, eyes screwed closed, lips parted, as your fingers continue their work, and Chan's eyes are drawn to the way your chest heaves for breath, the perfect swell of your breasts straining against the corset you wear.
Suddenly, he can move again.
Stepping quietly from the shadows, he approached, moving to stand in front of you, and as if you could sense his sudden presence, his eyes on you, your eyelids fluttered open, your mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as you caught sight of him.
"Y-your highness-" You stuttered out, cheeks immediately blooming pink, and Chan was enthralled by the way the rosy color spread rapidly down your chest.
You made a move to remove your fingers, tugging at your billowing skirts, but Chan held up a hand, his eyes meeting your own.
"No. Don't stop."
You froze, staring at him, wide eyed, like a fawn caught in the daylight, and he made an attempt to soften the gravel of his voice, repeating again, softer this time, "Keep going. Please."
You stared at him for another long moment, and he couldn't breathe, maybe you were going to run, maybe you were going to tell on him, what a pervert he'd been, maybe you were disgusted-
And then, slowly, eyes still holding his own, you let your fingers dip back beneath the folds of your gown.
He could tell the moment you made contact again, because your body stiffened, and that sound-the one that went right to his cock-passed your parted lips once more.
Chan watched you, mesmerized, as you let your fingers do the work, arching your body on the edge of the fountain to find the right angles, all the while, holding his gaze unwaveringly.
You were brave, he'd give you that.
You gasped, mouth falling open, and he saw the way your wrist twisted, picking up pace.
He imagined how wet you were, how easily your fingers slid in and out, and he clenched his hands at his side to keep himself in place, to force himself to let you be.
"What do you think about?" He asked suddenly, licking his lips, his mouth desperately dry.
"What-" You started to question, the words breaking off into a breathy moan that had him painfully hard, even harder than before.
He took a step closer.
"What do you think about? When you're getting yourself off?"
Your eyes had screwed closed as you grew closer to release, but you managed to flutter them back open to meet his gaze, your face twisted into the start pleasure, your fingers never stopping.
"You!" You gasped out desperately, chest heaving, free hand digging into the marble ledge of the fountain, fingers white with the effort of holding back.
Chan watched as you came then, crying out and body vibrating, and when the orgasm had finished ripping through you, you slumped back, breathing hard and cheeks flushed.
Pulling your hand from your skirts, Chan tried not to focus on the way your fingers glistened as you wiped them off on your dress.
He was rooted to the spot, watching you come down, cock aching and leaking down his leg, wishing he was the one who'd undone you so fully, when you finally met his gaze once more.
Your expression was unsure, lips pressed into a thin line, when you repeated softly, defeatedly, "You. I think about you."
You sat up, straightening your skirts with your clean hand, and Chan resisted moving closer to you with what very little willpower he had left.
You were biting your lip, staring at the ground between the two of you, when he conjured a trace of shadow, using it to caress your chin and tilt your gaze back up to meet his.
Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, your skin pebbling into goosebumps beneath the touch of the shadow, but you didn't move, you didn't look afraid.
Chan felt the corner of his mouth lift into the hint of a smile as he let the shadow trace your cheekbone, brushing back a loose strand of damp hair into your elegant braid.
"You know, little blossom, my brothers say you're a problem."
Your eyes widened a little more, and then a flash of indignation crossed your pretty features.
"Why?"
Chan cocked his head, studying you, and you stared right back.
"Because I want you, but I can't have you. And I tend to have a fatal flaw of getting obsessive over things that are kept from my grasp."
He flicked away the shadow with his fingers, burying his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he let the words settle between you.
His dick was still unyieldingly hard.
Your lips parted slightly, as if surprised by his admission, and then a brief, mischievous smile flashed across your lips, catching him off guard.
You tilted your head, and your lips quirked upward into a bigger, sweeter smile.
"Your highness?"
"Yes?"
You hopped down from the ledge of the fountain, and found your shoes, slipping your feet into them as he watched, waiting for you to continue.
When you stepped toward him, closing the distance, he resisted every urge to grab you and slot his mouth hungrily over yours.
You looked up at him curiously, studying his features, your eyes large and dark, framed by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen.
When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, as if you were telling him a secret only known to the two of you.
"What do you think about when you come?"
He stared at you, trying to put the words with the movement of your lips.
Finally, he swallowed, watching your eyes flit down to follow the movement of his throat.
"You."
"Hm." You hummed beneath your breath, lips twitching, as you finally slipped past him, headed back in the direction of the party.
Chan whirled, watching you go, and as if you could feel his eyes on you, you turned and paused when you reached the hedges, fingers trailing over the dark, emerald leaves, leaving shining pink flowers behind in their wake.
"Interesting." You arched a brow, giving him a half, knowing smile. "And here I was, thinking my little obsession was one sided."
Chan let a shadow slink from the hedge beside you and trail around one of your ankles.
You grinned at him once more, and slipped silently from view.
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Chan steps off the elevator and is immediately met with the largest bouquet of flowers he's ever seen, shoved directly into his face.
He swats them away with annoyance, and the person carrying the atrocity comes into view, panting like they've just carted weighted rocks up the floors of the building and not obnoxiously perfumed flowers.
"Oh, hey boss." Jeongin beams, adjusting the vase of flowers in his arms, so that he can reach up and push the cap he wears back slightly, revealing a sweaty swath of dark hair.
"I got you flowers!" He holds up the arrangement, as if Chan can't see them, and follows him when he stalks past him toward his private office.
Setting the bouquet down on the front desk as they pass, flashing Chan's assistant a winning smile, Jeongin hurries to keep up with Chan's long strides, floating slightly above the floor.
"Well, Persephone did, technically, but you know, she asked me to give them to you so-"
Chan ignores the chattering messenger god beside him, and turns a left down the hall, already silently going over the meetings he has scheduled for today in his head.
Turning another corner, he's just about to push into conference room two, when Jeongin slides in front of him, spreading his arms out to block his way and trying to catch his breath.
"Whoa, boss. You can't go in there."
Chan stares the kid down, expression stoic.
"Jeongin. Get out of my way."
Jeongin doesn't budge, though Chan can see a flicker of fear flash across his dark gaze as he stands in front of Chan's looming, annoyed figure.
He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck in clear discomfort, and shuffles from one winged foot to another.
"Okay, but here's the thing-" He starts, hemming and hawing, glancing past Chan and to the hallway, then back to the god standing in front of him.
"Jeongin." Chan warns, beginning to think there's something going on that he doesn't know about, and nothing pisses him off more than to be oblivious.
Jeongin clears his throat and gives him a half hearted smile. "Persephone kinda asked me to keep you out of the conference room today because she's kindameetingwithhermomtodiscussthingswithoutyou."
Chan stares blankly at the boy in front of him, wringing his hat now between anxious hands, and then asks quietly, dangerously, "She what?"
Jeongin swallows, the gulp is audible in the tense silence, but still holds his position blocking Chan from the doorway.
It's admirable, he'll give him that.
He gives a little shrug and a sheepish smile. "Sorry, boss?"
Chan growls beneath his breath in frustration, and pinches his nose.
He can feel a headache coming on.
"Fine." He grinds out, the muscles in his jaw popping with his irritation as he clenches his teeth and glances past Jeongin to the waiting conference room. "But you're to come and get me as soon as they're finished." He points a stern finger into the middle of Jeongin's chest. "And Demeter is not, I repeat not, allowed to be alone at any time while she's in the Underworld, understood?"
Jeongin nods and gives him a little salute, even as Chan is already stalking away.
"Yes, sir!" He calls out down the hallway, voice echoing off the walls and exacerbating Chan's growing headache. "I won't let you down, boss! You can count on me!"
Chan mumbles something beneath his breath about hiring new wingmen, and locks himself in his office.
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Chan doesn't get to see you for the rest of the day.
The hours slip by, and he's faced with problem after problem-mortal souls unhappy with their judgement, wraiths he employs needing his every attention and signature, accountants wanting to see him about the toll to cross the Styx ('inflation is happening you know!')-and by the time he finally gets home, well after sunset, his every muscle is tight with irritation.
He walks in to see you in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around your waist, Cerberus at your feet, dozing with his head on his huge paws.
The dog gives a thump of his tail when Chan appears, alerting you to his presence, and you glance up from whatever it is you're chopping, giving him a wide, bright smile.
He's not fooled. It doesn't reach your eyes.
Pushing aside the monstrous bouquet from earlier that now resides in the middle of the giant, granite island that takes up a majority of the kitchen, he raps his knuckles on the stone, watching you carefully, his head cocked.
"I heard your mother stopped by today."
He watches the way your chopping stalls, but you don't look up at him, chest inflating with a silent breath before you turn, tossing the carrots into the large stew pot on the stove.
"Yes." You finally say, back still to him.
He tries to force the irritation simmering just below the surface down, relaxing his whitened fingers one by one, as he blows out a long, slow breath.
"(Y/N)."
You turn then, at the use of your given name said in his stern tone, and resume cutting, chopping blocks of beef into smaller cubes.
Chan blows out another breath, harsher this time, and rubs at his temple.
The headache from before is still lingering, pounding now that he's finally left the office for the day.
"What did you talk about?"
You flick your eyes briefly up to his, and then back to the meat beneath your knife.
"Her 'temper tantrum' as I believe you put it."
Chan winces slightly. That wording probably didn't go over very well.
"And?" He prods, leaning against the counter, leaning down so he can glance into your face.
You bite your lip, and he sees you blow out a breath, before you look up at him and force that smile back onto your face-the fake, overly saccharine one from before, the one he doesn't buy for a moment.
"Do we really need to talk about this right now? You just got home, and dinner is almost ready-"
Chan flattens his hands, palms down, on the cold granite, and doesn't let you look away.
"Yes."
Your fingers tighten around the knife, and he sees you let out a shuddering breath.
At your feet, Cerberus cocks his head, your obvious display of uncertainty grabbing his attention.
"Channie-" You start to say, and he watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow.
Anger swirls into embers in the pit of his stomach.
He leans forward, dark eyes flashing. "What did she fucking do? If she so much as made you feel bad for any of this, I won't hesitate to pay her a little visit in the mortal realm-"
"No, no." You wave your hands, finally meeting his gaze once more, your bottom lip wobbly and your eyes shiny. "It's nothing like that."
Chan feels his heart immediately sink.
A tear drips down the length of your cheekbone, and he resists the urge to lean across the counter and swipe it away.
You rub at your eyes with your hands, and breath in an unsteady inhale.
Cerberus stands, butting his blocky head into your hand, until you let out a slight, watery chuckle, and begin to pet his dark ears.
"She-" You start to say, then stop, and Chan stares at you, frozen in sudden fear.
The flowers sitting in their vase on the counter begin to wilt and turn brown and brittle, dropping leaves to the granite like snow fall.
Chan ignores them.
You take in another breath, and pick the knife back up, moving to chop again.
"She wants to make a deal. She wants me to spend Spring in the mortal realm, with her, so I can fulfill my duties every year. And then I'll stay here, with you, the rest of the time."
You look up at him, your expression vulnerable, unsure. There's hurt in your eyes.
Chan's thoughts stop. His body goes cold. There's a buzzing in his ears, and he doesn't know if the shadows are lengthening, or if his sudden loss of control is causing everything to creep in.
He turns, and without a word, flicks a shadow out to send the vase of now withered flowers crashing to the ground.
You yelp, jumping at the noise, and Chan stands, back to you, staring at the mess he's made, chest heaving, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
The mess he always makes.
After a beat of silence, he hears you put down the knife, and then your soft footsteps, as you pad around the counter and kneel on the ground next to the shattered vase.
Slowly, without looking at him, you reach out and begin to pick up the broken pieces.
Chan breathes in, breathes out. His headache is pounding.
"Little blossom, leave it-"
He starts to say, moving to crouch before you, just as you pick up another piece of sharp ceramic and wince, instantly dropping the piece back down with a clatter, as you pull your hand back against your chest.
Chan reaches out and tugs your hand back into view, watching as the cut on your palm starts to slowly leak golden, shining ichor down the line of your wrist, dripping on the floor between the two of you.
His breath stalls as he glances up to your pained expression, all the anger leaving his body in an instant.
"You're bleeding."
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"You're bleeding."
Chan glanced up at the sound of your voice behind him, meeting your concerned gaze in the mirror, where he remained, leaning over the basin, palms on the cool ledge of the sink, watching the water swirl away down the drain.
"Yeah, well-" He gave a little humorless chuckle as he watched the water shimmer with the ichor he washed from his knuckles, before he straightened and dried his hands, glancing once more at you in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth quirked up into the hint of a smirk, and he winced as it pulled at the split skin of his lip, tasting fresh ichor on his tongue. "-luckily for me, my brother hits like a pussy when he's been drinking."
Your eyes widened. "He hit you?"
Chan turned, swiping a hand across his mouth now, tossing the towel to the side. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."
He'd no more than finished the admission than you're at his side, taking his hand in yours, your eyes raking across the golden liquid that marked his knuckles, tacky and congealing.
You glanced up at him, curiosity flashing across your pretty features.
"What did you do?" You questioned in a whisper, as if asking him to divulge a dark secret.
Chan almost grinned-you're too fucking adorable-but he leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, expression serious, and lowered his voice to match yours.
"I told him, little blossom, that there's no way in fucking Tartarus that I'm going to another one of his stupid, historic parties, unless of course, it's thrown for us and planned in celebration of our marriage."
You stared up at him for a silent moment, and Chan almost backtracked, wondering if he'd been too bold, when a slight smile curved your lips up mischievously.
"Well." You released his hand and straightened the collar of the suit he wore, before stepping back, eyeing him up and down, head cocked with interest.
The look on your face took his breath away.
"Then I guess you'd better get me a ring, hadn't you?"
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Chan slips your ring carefully from your finger, lying it beside the sink, before he tends to the wound on your palm.
You protest the whole time, claiming it's fine and you're fine and he's being dramatic, but Chan's heart won't stop pounding in his chest until every last drop of your golden blood is wiped clean from your skin.
When he's satisfied with himself, he helps you get down from your position atop the bathroom counter, and pushes you gently toward the waiting shower.
"I'll just be a minute." He says, as you roll your eyes, but strip your clothes anyway, waiting before he hears the water turn on, before he darts back to the kitchen.
He cleans up the mess he made in his anger, and goes back to the bathroom.
He watches you for a moment, through the steamy, hazed glass surrounding the large shower, your perfect outline stretched back beneath the pounding water, and then gets rid of his own clothes, tossing his suit to the side, before he slips into the shower to join you.
You glance at him over your shoulder as he enters, wet hair plastered to your skin, lips pulled into a worried pout.
"Channie-" You start to say, but he steps to you and pulls you flush against his bare chest before you can get any of the other words out.
Your arms go around his waist, fingers tickling the skin of his back, and he lets out a long, slow breath, the exhale rustling your hair, your face buried in the planes of his chest.
"I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, and you pull back to look up at him, eyes wide and soft.
"You don't need to apologize." You say, reaching up to shove some of his thick, dark hair back off his forehead, starting to grow heavy with water.
"I do." He nods, staring down at you, letting his finger go beneath your chin, as he traces the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.
You're so fucking beautiful.
"You're my wife, yes, but you're also a Goddess, and I need to remember that."
You stare up at him silently, letting him continue, and he lets out another breath, reaching his hand up to cup the side of your face, your skin warm beneath his fingers.
"You have your own duties and responsibilities, and I'm being selfish keeping you here. I can't hide you away forever."
The corner of your mouth wrinkles, as if you're thinking about smiling.
"Are you sure?" You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.
"As much as I would like to-" He starts, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of your lips, moving up along your cheekbone. "-I can't. The mortals-and Demeter-need you."
You sigh, he feels it in the way your chest brushes his, and lay your head on his chest, listening for a moment, to his heartbeat.
He strokes your damp hair, and finally you say quietly, "All right. But I don't have to like it, right?" You pull back, looking up at him with a tremble in your bottom lip.
"No, you don't, little blossom." He gives you a half smile, bending his head to press a kiss to your throat, than to the swell of the start of your breast. His cock twitches at the feel of your soft skin beneath his tongue. "I'm sure as fuck not going to like it."
You give a little laugh, slightly watery, and reach up to swipe the tears from your eyes.
"What will you do?" You ask with a shaky breath, staring up at him in a way that makes Chan's heart squeeze, his insides feel tight with all the love he has for you. "While I'm gone?"
He gives a slight shrug, leaning against the shower wall, as you move to start shampooing your hair into a lather.
"Run the Underworld. Judge the mortals. The usual stuff. I mean, what did I do before I had you?"
"Brood." You reply back instantly, glancing at him cheekily over your shoulder as you turn to rinse your hair.
He leaps forward and pins you to the wall as you shriek, tickling your sides as you wriggle to get away from him, laughing so hard it makes you breathless.
He pulls back, letting you breathe, and you push some wet hair from your face, taking in a couple of calming breaths, before your eyes meet his once more.
The mirth disappears from your pretty features, and Chan feels his chest tighten.
"Seriously though, Channie, I-" You swallow, Chan watches your throat bob, and your eyes grow shiny again. "-I don't know how I lived all those eons without you. And now, to have to leave-"
"Hey, hey." He steps toward you once more, caging you in the protection of his arms beneath the warm spray of water. You bury your face in his chest. "Pet. Look at me."
Finally, you do, raising watery eyes to his, and he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
"Listen to me, little blossom." He reaches up, stroking your hair behind your ear. "We're talking about months here. Just a few months topside, to soothe your mother, and then you'll be back home with me before you know it."
You sniff, swiping at your nose, and then nod.
"You're right. I know you are."
Chan gives you a half smile, gentle and soft, and leans down to press a kiss to the part of your lips.
The thought of you leaving his side is ripping him apart, but he manages to keep his expression neutral, if only for you.
He presses another, longer kiss against the column of your throat, and takes a moment to breathe you in.
"I love you. I always have, even before I knew you, even before I saw you, and nothing, and no one, will ever change that. You are, and always will be, my obsession, Goddess of Spring."
You look up at him with tear filled eyes, and lean up to press a kiss to his own lips.
"I love you too, God of the Dead. You're the only thing in my entire, immortal days that has ever managed to bring my heart to life, and I thank you for it."
A genuine smile tugs at Chan's lips now.
"Ironic, coming from the Goddess of Rebirth about the Ruler of Souls."
You give a little laugh, eyes sparkling as you look up at him. "I guess so."
Chan tugs you to him and, determined to memorize how you feel, kisses you long and hard beneath the cooling water of the shower.
Inside his chest, his heart flicks out a shadow to meet the flowering vine snaking from your own.
💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀
"Do you think we're all fated to another?"
You ask, lying beside Chan on the grass, the cool night breeze kissing patterns across your bare skin.
He turns his head to look at you, staring up at the stars overhead, fingers twined within his own.
The ring on your finger brushes his knuckle, and a warm sensation washes over him at the thought that you're his now-for eternity.
"Isn't that mortal shit?" He asks teasingly, and you turn to give him a glare, but it only succeeds in making him more endeared, your nose crinkling up and your lips pursing.
"Well, yes, but-" You shrug, turning back to the sky, reaching up your free hand to splay your fingers against the backdrop of the shimmering stars. "-do you?"
Chan considers.
He's never put much stock in fate, or destiny, or anything else the mortals believe in, and he says as much, rolling over to look at you, his hand skimming your bare hip.
"I don't know. But what I do know is this." He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, where you lie, watching him, from the grass.
He lets his finger trail over the marks of his teeth blooming on your shoulder, the love bites already turning purple up the column of your throat, soothed by his tongue.
"Fate is fickle, I don't like to rely on it. Fuck, sometimes, I don't even think I can rely on myself, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you and I, little blossom? We were meant to be. And nobody, not fate or any of that other shit that mortals believe in, made that happen. We did."
He watches you as you pause, considering, and then you give him a smile that steals his breath, sitting up beside him to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.
"Fuck fate." You breathe against his lips, and right now, in this moment, with your skin pressed against his, your warmth settled firmly in his lap, his ring on your finger, Chan thinks he has to agree.
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Chan trips over one of Cerberus' toys and gives the big dog a glare, tucked safely away under the kitchen table, his head on his paws.
"I swear to god, your mom is coming home today, and if she sees the state you left this house in-" He threatens vaguely, waving the toy around, before tossing it into the basket in the corner.
"I'll what?"
Chan whirls so fast at the sound of your amused voice that he almost gives himself whiplash, turning to face you in the doorway, a grin on your lips and your suitcase in your hand.
You give him a little wave, suddenly shy, as he continues to stare at you, rooted to the spot.
"Hi?"
He's moving then, crashing into you and sweeping you up into his arms with such force that you lose your breath, dropping your suitcase to the floor, as he pulls you in tight to his chest.
You're laughing and crying, and Chan breathes you in, nose pressed to the top of your head, like he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.
You pull back, just enough to smooth your palms over the side of his face, your eyes still shiny with unshed tears.
"I missed you, Channie."
"Fuck." He breathes out, crushing you back to him again, never letting you go. "I missed you too, little blossom."
You laugh again, a watery sound, and press kisses to every inch of his face you can reach from his embrace.
Chan feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time in months.
"What did you think about while I was gone?" You ask, your eyes sparkling, as if you already know the answer.
He lets out the breath he's been holding, and leans forward to kiss you breathless.
"You." He breathes back in response, and your lips part with pleasure at his answer. "Always you."
And then he kisses you long enough to make up for all the time missed-past and present.
#skz#stray kids#stay#bang chan#chan#christopher bang#skz chan#persephone#hades#skz fanfic#skz reactions#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz greek gods#greek gods#skz smut#skz fluff#skz angst#bang chan x you#bang chan x reader#chan x you#chan x reader#femreader#y/n#chan x y/n#hades x persephone#cb97#skz au
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urs // Mingyu Series - Part 2
"the best at being the worst... but fuck sake I'm already yours"
DESCRIPTION: she and mingyu were in no place to be in a relationship. she was his best friend's stylist and he was... well he was kim mingyu; something stable was not something that was ideal for the two – not when their careers are both at it's peak.
PAIRING: idol!mingyu x stylist!reader
GENRE: angst
WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, implied smut, stubborn protagonists, so many red flags you would think this is a football game, features the love of mingyu's life (jungkook) and all his other besties
NOTE: if you read INFRUNAMI, no you didn't. this has the same-ish vibes BUT this is the re-written version. many events, actions, and overall plot has been changed. (even if the intro/first part is very similar)
"Are you really not going to come with me?" Mingyu watched her move about her room.
He had shown up to her place unannounced – letting himself in, using the pin-code he had memorized by heart. This was one of many occasions he had put the four digits into good use; at times paying the apartment a visit even when she was not around.
It was the one location no one dared to bother him; mostly because those who were in on their arrangement knew that his presence at the place shouldn't even exist.
It was his new safe haven; a place where he can hide out when his schedules seemed to have more hours of him staying awake than it did of any shut eye.
Any time he felt a moment of pressure from the public eye or his company, he ran to the one place he that silenced the voices in his head – instantly bringing a sense of calm upon him.
Which has been rare to come these days.
Y/n didn't think he was actually being serious when he had invited her to spend the holiday with his family.
She rarely took what he said seriously, knowing that they were nothing but empty promises – being so busy and all. She knew she was last on his priority list and had always kept her expectations quite low for him.
Maybe it was her fear of disappointment.
"I don't know, dude." Y/n sighed, holding two jackets in front of her – mentally debating which would go best with her outfit. She may be spending the day alone but she still wanted to look well dressed. "I have a lot of things to prep for."
"The leather one." Mingyu nodded over to the jacket in her right hand. "Just do it after."
Setting the canvas outerwear in her left hand down, y/n slipped one arm after the other into the oversized jacket Mingyu had suggested – glancing at her reflection in her full body mirror.
He was right, leather did look best.
"I can't. Our flight leaves 5 am." She frowned. "I'll stop by when I'm done."
"Your mom will never let you hear the end of this, you know that right?"
Mingyu had only met her mother once, and it was purely by accident. While visiting last year, Y/n had taken her mom to the company building to show her around – wanting her mother to see where she spent most of her days if she wasn't hopping from one plane to another.
The three of them had managed to get on the same elevator that day; Y/n having no choice but introduce her mother to one of her so-called friends.
Which wasn't much of a lie... technically. They were friends...and a little more. But her mother didn't need to know that.
And of fucking course, Mingyu didn't take long to warm up to the older woman.
Two minutes to be exact.
All he had to do was flash his usual smile and use that tiny voice he used when he was around anyone that was older than him – her mom falling right into the trap that almost anyone had fallen into.
Including Y/n.
Mingyu completely disregarded his original plans of having lunch alone that day, choosing to sit with the two in the company's food hall – bonding with her mother about Y/n's need to always put her job over her personal interest.
In Y/n defense, her job didn't feel like a job. She thoroughly enjoyed what she did – the nearly seven figure salary was just cherry on top of the deal.
"Which is why she won't know." Y/n pointed before picking out a lip gloss from her collection. "It's not like she can check anyways."
Mingyu knew she was right, letting out a frustrated groan. "Come on, I already told my mom you were coming."
The smile on her face fell. "You're joking."
Just as Mingyu had only met her mother once, she had only met not only his mom but his whole family once. And just like Mingyu, she had managed to get along quite well with them – especially his mom.
The older woman was nothing but kind to Y/n despite crashing their rare-to-come family time during the holiday last year. The older woman couldn't help but happily dote on the girl upon learning that she was in the country all alone, all while her mother was back west.
Happy knowing that he was slowly swaying her decision, Mingyu's smile grew larger. "How about I help you do what you need to do so that we can head over together?"
Y/n pursed her lips, considering his offer. She did need some assistance with pressing a few garments and compiling her styling kit – and she did miss having a home cooked meal.
"Fine, but no funny business."
"Well," He let out a soft chuckle. "When you put it that way, now I kind of want to do some funny business."
"Work is work." Y/n reminded him.
They never took their ... business elsewhere. It was far too risky.
Especially at their company building.
・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．
She hated how she could never resist him.
Somewhere in between steaming the rack full of designer pulls she had managed to secure for her talent's upcoming schedule, and their useless banter, Mingyu had managed to get his hands on her.
It started with a simple squeeze at the hip as she tried to ignore the lust full gaze that he had been sending her since their arrival – within minutes he had her pinned against the wall, his lips hungrily attacking her neck.
No matter how much she wanted to stand her ground, keeping to her word, Y/n had given in.
Like she always does.
"What happened to no funny business?" Y/n sighed as she tilted her head to give him more access.
"No one's laughing." Mingyu mumbled against her jaw, a free hand slowly creeping up her shirt while the other hooked on to the belt loops of her jeans – pulling her closer against his body.
"You're annoying."
She could feel her whole body begin to grow hot under his touch, arching her back off the wall as he moved from her neck to her lips – his tongue plunging into her mouth.
"Hey– whoa!"
The sound of the familiar voice broke the spell he had put her under – Y/n pushing off the boy that towered over her to see their friend standing at the door with a bewildered look on his face.
"At the office? Really?" Jungkook cried.
She had completely forgotten that she had asked him to swing by for one last fitting.
Closing her eyes, Y/n let out a loud groan; in both embarrassment and frustration.
They had never been caught once. They've always been careful – which was quite easy considering they were always in the privacy of their own bedrooms.
If it would have been any body else that had walked through the doors, she would have been sure she would have been fired in an instant. Despite having a bullet proof contract that left her almost invincible to any termination.
She was a well known industry stylist after all.
"We weren't doing anything." Mingyu shrugged, walking over to the leather couch – shrugging off the incident as if it was just any regular occurrence.
All while Y/n would rather have the ground swallow her whole.
"Sure, dude." Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Do I need to come back or....?"
"No, we're good." Mingyu answered for her, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
She wanted to strangle him.
Letting out a deep breath, Y/n grabbed the outfit she had set aside off the rack – handing it over to the boy who now had a quite amused look on his face.
He always did enjoy teasing the two; more Y/n than Mingyu, since he was always able to get a reaction from her.
His best friend on the other hand, he didn't seem to care. Dismissing his attempts to poke fun at the secret very few of their circle were in on.
"Say a word, and I'll leave pins in your clothes." She gritted her teeth.
Using his free hand to metaphorically zip his lips, Jungkook turned his heel and headed for the foldable partition set up at the corner of the room.
"I ran into Hana the other day." Mingyu announced – for his friend of course.
Hana.
His ex-girlfriend.
The girl that Y/n wasn't supposed to know about.
What Mingyu didn't know was that she knew all about the girl, all thanks to his blabber mouth of a friend who had spilled all there was to know about the two's past.
During one of their many days of being overseas, Jungkook and Y/n had landed on the topic of Mingyu – a time before he was made aware of his two friend's special kind of relationship.
Hana was his first love; and from what Y/n has learned... his only.
Hana was once a trainee at the company along with the thirteen boys – a girl that Mingyu had grown up with. They have had a long history, having known each other even before he became the idol he was today – she knew him better than anyone else.
As Jungkook claimed, "She'll always hold a piece of him."
"Of course you did," Jungkook snorted from behind the bamboo divider. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure those run ins aren't coincidental."
Y/n pretended to busy herself with packing the remaining items on the rack – all while her mind ran a million miles per hour.
She was curious but she knew it was also not her place.
And definitely not the right place and time to pry.
"Looks okay?" Jungkook stepped out, his arms stretched out as he spun for the girl.
She pulled her lips into a tight smile and nodded. "Does it feel okay?"
"I think you may need to hem the pants." He shook his leg. "Can I keep these after?"
"I mean, I don't think Diesel will say no to you." She chuckled, crouching down to examine the length of the jeans – making a mental note to bring her sewing kit.
"Can I keep the jacket?" Mingyu quipped, eyeing the leather moto-style leather outerwear was sporting.
There was no doubt that this item would soon be a well desired piece by everyone once it was made available for purchase – and free clothes were free clothes.
"Sorry, I work for him. Not you." Y/n shrugged. She knew there would be no issues if they kept the garments that the brand had generously loaned the artist – much like many other brands that scrambled to place their items on the biggest boy group of not only Korea, but the world.
"I'll give it you dude, don't worry." Jungkook gave his friend a knowing look, earning an eye-roll from the girl.
Aside from Hana, the only other person that held Mingyu's heart was Jungkook. The two having an irritable bromance that gave Y/n a headache anytime they ganged up one her.
Which occurred far more often than she liked.
"Okay go change." Y/n stood from her spot, lightly pushing him towards the partition.
"You guys got plans after this? My mom made enough food for half of Korea."
"We're heading to my parents."
"We?" Jungkook coughed, sticking his head out to glance at the two.
Y/n silently sent over a look, telling him to pipe down – thankfully Mingyu didn't catch on to this.
Because he was far too busy typing away on his phone.
"What the fuck?" Jungkook mouthed to her.
"Y/n was going to spend the whole day here." Mingyu locked his phone, looking up to see his friends silently communicating. "You two good?"
"Yeah, Kook is just being annoying."
Despite having the brains, Mingyu was quite oblivious when it came to her.
There were so many telling signs, so many bells and whistles that rang for everyone – and yet, he had no clue that the girl he had roped into having a friends with benefits deal with, had feelings for him.
Who could blame her?
Not only did he look like a reincarnated Greek God, fucked like one as well; but he had all the traits any girl would dream of in a man.
He had been raised quite well.
She had fallen for his stupid smile, the one that showed all of his teeth; infecting those around him.
His stupid laugh that were practically music to her ears whenever she heard it, making her want to crack jokes continuously just so she could hear more of it.
His stupid acts of service that just came so naturally, unable to help herself from becoming putty in his hands whenever he did anything to make her day that much easier – opening bottled water, adjusting her clothes whenever they were not sitting correctly on her frame, wiping away the crumb that stuck to her chin, placing a pillow where his body once laid before slipping into the darkness of the night.
The list could go on.
To Mingyu, these actions were nothing. These were things he would do to those close to him.
But to her, the girl who had accepted the barest of bare minimum from previous lovers, it was everything.
Y/n had fallen for a man she shouldn't have. Not only because of the rules they had set, the stupid fucking rules, but also because she knew he would never give her the time of day.
She had lost count the many times he had expressed to her that relationships was not anything he dreamt of; not now and definitely not anytime soon.
His group was finally reaching the success that they had worked so tirelessly for – the endless sleepless nights, the many injuries, the tears... they were finally paying off.
A relationship wasn't something he could afford, nor did he have energy for.
"I like this. It's low maintenance." He claimed.
Low maintenance.
No daily texts or calls, no checking up; they came and go in each other's lives like the wind – passing by when they pleased.
And for a good while, she was on the same page as him. She too couldn't afford a relationship – not when she was as busy, if not more, as the seven men she worked for.
They were both on two different planets, universes even, but they shared similar worries.
Similar struggles.
But as her schedule started to slow down, with each boy slowly stepping away from the limelight to fulfill their civic duties, nights had become lonely and she began to yearn for the one thing she had been pushing off for years.
"Ready to go?" He stepped in front of her, a soft smile on his lips.
All while she was deep in her thoughts, buzzing about the room in auto-pilot, all the task she had needed done were finally complete – Mingyu taking notice of this as he stayed out of her way, choosing to converse about God-knows-what with his best friend.
Blinking her thoughts away, she mirrored his expression. "Yep."
Mingyu handed her the jacket she had slipped off once they had arrived, reaching over to pull her ponytail from under the garment as she adjusted her top.
There he goes again with doting on her...
"Stay safe, guys." Jungkook snickered as he headed for the door.
"We're going to my parents!"
"That wasn't what I meant but– hey, that too." He winked before slipping out of the room.
Y/n knew she shouldn't have agreed.
She should have made up a stupid excuse.
But just like all other times, she had given in.
Unable to resist him.
PERMANENT TAGLIST
@thegirlwhoimagined @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @vanillacheol @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu @bubbly-moon @lllucere @bo-fairykim @pluviophile-xxx @daegutowns @jenoxygen @niktwazny303 @aahvii @fragmentof-indifference @leah-rose03 @haolistic @eclliipsed @joshuahongnumbers @gyuguys @yaaaridk @christinewithluv @yoonzinoooo @jaebammie @livelikejinki
(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)
#the way it's been 10 million years since i updated#anyways...... aha hello#spamwrites#spamgyu urs#mingyu scenarios#mingyu x reader#seventeen fic#mingyu x oc#seventeen imagines#mingyu fic#mingyu angst#mingyu#kim mingyu#mingyu x y/n#mingyu series
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Name: Skud
Debut: Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards
SKUD!!!! Who does not like Skud!! This charming little rocket has been terrorizing the hearts of many a Kirby 64 player since 2000, and is not stopping soon. Just look at that smile!
Kirby 64, as you may know, is a game centered around mixing and matching abilities. It's kind of a whole thing! But there's only so many enemies that were introduced to represent the seven abilities that Kirby 64 actually uses, so to keep things fresh and never stale, they made sure there were four enemies per ability; usually, most of these enemies would be brand new! Bomb is the exception, with FIVE enemies to represent it, and four of them being new ones! Skud is one of these!!
If you hadn't looked at what Skud looks like, you might be wondering what it does to earn the title of a Bomb enemy. And to that I say, look at it again! In fact, look at it again even if you did pay attention to its design, because Skud is simply that wonderful. It's a cute little rocket that aimlessly walks to and fro on ground or blocks, but once it sees Kirby, it makes its attack!
As you can guess, rather than throwing bombs like its predecessors Poppy Bros. Jr. and Jungle Bomb (the latter of which doesn't appear in Kirby 64, rest in peace), it turns into a typical missile and launches full force at Kirby, exploding once it hits something! It's kind of like Foley, in that sense, but more homing missile-y.
It is no secret that I love Skud. You love Skud! Everyone loves: Skud. But what are Skud's origins? Are they man, or machine? You first find one in front of Dedede's Castle—did Dedede create them? After all, he made his own mechanical hammer as Masked Dedede. But Skud seems so lively, and is never launched from anywhere–he just minds his own business until he Doesn't.
So, does that mean he's not mechanical? Consider, though, other enemies that protect (another one of) Dedede's castle(s) include Moto Shotzo and Plugg, indisputably living machines! And I haven't mentioned this, but Skud loses his face and feet in favor of fins when he launches!
Personally, I think that Skuds are like ants–they're alive, they're organic, but they just love to self-destruct for fun! And what about how they lose their faces when launching, you might ask? Maybe they feel bad whenever Kirby cries out in pain and don't want to show it! After all, for them this is just playing around!
I feel it worth noting that Bomb is one of the few abilities in Kirby 64 that, when combined with itself, does NOT make an 'enhanced' version of the original ability! Instead, Kirby starts shooting homing missiles out of his mouth...which look VERY MUCH like Skud! While these are faceless, slim and long, there's no mistaking those striking white-with-red-details-colored rockets for anything else. It's a really cute detail, and makes Skud all the more special!
Please look at Skud
#skud#kirby 64#kirby 64 the crystal shards#kirby#kirby enemies#not mario#funky friday#mod tweeter#:>
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STRICTLY PLATONIC [teaser] | choi beomgyu
SUMMARY. fucking your best friend was supposed to be a one time thing in the hopes of relinquishing feelings for your ex, but a one time turned into a weekly and cuddles after sex are way too intimate for your liking. but beomgyu insists that he’d never catch feelings for you, that he’s experienced in these types of arrangements. he still saw you as his best friend! it was totally only platonic for you too… right?
GENRE. smut, fluff, angst, college au, a hyewka fic with plot and structure.. sort of
TEASER WARNINGS. nothing explicit just some marking lol
AUTHOR NOTE. the dream fwb fic ive been wanting to write for ages so thank you to the ask i recently replied to as it was the main motivator for this 😭 this is going to be a long one so we're going the traditional route with a teaser, im opening a tag list so if you wish to be added send an ask or comment!
You’ve never seen Choi Beomgyu in a different light. That’s what you liked about him, that everything was so… constant. Your life could crash and burn but hey, Beomgyu was still Beomgyu— your friendship was a variable in your life that stayed undeniably the exact same.
You know, until you allowed him to fuck your brains out.
Even the sole fact that you have given the thought of Beomgyu being a ‘sex symbol’ has you quivering out of sheer horror— Beomgyu… has never been a sex symbol. Sure, he fucked around, and has a reputation and yeah sure, he was crazy hot when he isn’t showing signs of extreme sleep deprivation …but you’ve just never seen him in that light.
And to have let it simmer in your thoughts for longer than a second, makes you just a tinge hesitant in letting the silly goof pull you into the dancing crowd. You whine, “I’m tired Beomgyu! My heels are killing me.”
He either doesn’t hear over the blasting music or isn’t going to give it up because he pulls you in anyway, crashing your head right into his chest and you let out an instinctual ouch at the hard surface. Your eyes are wide looking up at him, sputtering out an unbelievable sentence. “Have you—have you been working out?”
His grin widens, holding up your arm to guide at feeling out his biceps. “Every now and then.” He doesn’t mind the minute it takes you to actually feel every muscle through his shirt, in fact he’s relishing in your sudden pique of interest in his body.
Whether he’s flexing them or not doesn’t show in his face—he looks completely relaxed and you finally admit—Beomgyu is getting toned.
“Why? You hate working out.” You could barely muffle those words with the way he had you engulfed in his arms, leaning his head in your neck, swaying side to side as if the song blasting was off of Taylor Swift’s Lover and not a Lil Wayne remix.
And he hasn’t even gotten a drop of alcohol yet.
But it’s true, Beomgyu hated the gym. Like, even more than you did. Which is a testament in and of itself.
He pulls away from the crook of your neck, a pout on his lips. “Didn’t you say your type was muscular men? At Halloween weekend?”
Halloween weekend was a year ago, the first frat party you managed to get into with the help of Beomgyu’s friend, Jake. You barely remember anything from it. Other than the occasional retells of the nights by Yunjin’s words, which are always a different version of the same story... so a not very credible source. “I mean, I guess they are. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know, just saying. Jaehyun was suuper muscly.” Okay, the random mention of your ex…maybe he had some drop of alcohol.
“Are you drunk?”
“You took too long to come back, lost at beer pong.”
“How many shots?” you interrogate.
“Two.” At your suspecting glare, he continues on, “Four…five…like, at most seven.”
Your eyes bulge out, huffing out a scoff. You guys always got wasted together! Noticing the furrow of your brows he holds you tighter whining, “I know I know, sorry, I tried telling Heeseung but he’s a savage cruel man, I was practically force fed that cup.”
You don’t doubt that he attempted to persuade Heeseung but you do doubt the force feeding, it only takes a couple nudges before getting Beomgyu to drink. “I’m just slightly tipsy, not drunk yet anyway. I pledged to never ever get trashed without you. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
You slap away the hand he puts up over his chest, incredulously, losing your control over the fits of giggles when he takes your flying hand in his, taking advantage by intertwining your fingers together. “What are you doing?” your cheeks probably hurt from all the smiling, you don’t know, you think your nerves are numb.
“Can’t a guy hold his twin flame, platonic best friend’s hand?”
Skinship was not an unfamiliar with Beomgyu—he was always a naturally clingy guy. You figured when the first ever official lunch hangout you’ve had with the boy and a few of your other friends, had included a lot of random footsie.
You didn’t even know him that well in high school. Who plays footsie with an acquaintance? Choi Beomgyu, that’s who. Yet even after some reluctance that day, you end up letting him have his childish, sort of endearing fun.
Though this was all but childish, the innocently mischievous twinkle of a scrawny teenage boy had been long gone, instead replaced by the most attractive man’s hungry, lust filled gaze. “Who told you to look so sexy today?”
The theme was Angel & Devil—to match with Beomgyu, you insisted on giving him the angel outfit, and you the costume of a devil. Matching was always the fun part of these parties. “Only today?” you drawl, making an exaggerated sultry trail with your finger on his chest.
“God, shut up, you know you’re always hot,” You don’t expect the seriousness of his tone, especially when you were just teasing, but he snakes his hand around your waist, pushing you further into his body, your tits suffocatingly pressed against his chest.
You do not expect the slight squeeze to your ass, your eyes shooting particularly wide, blood rushing up to trickle your cheeks. “But I like it when you’re a little devil, makes you so sexy and alluring.”
His face buried into your neck again, this time not missing the chance of taking a deep inhale. Beomgyu could stay like this forever, filling his lungs with you, and only you. “Still can’t believe I had my hands off you for so long little devil.” Your eyes flutter shut, taking quick breaths as he moves his soft lips to your neck, wet kisses with a slip of teeth nibbling just slightly to tease, planning on coloring you with all the pretty purple hues.
And you’re sure he was well on his way until you sober up at the abrupt change in the DJ’s track.
“Beomgyu, not—not now, we’re in public.” And surrounded by tons of people that you’re either friends with or know. That broke one of the most important pillars of your agreement—to keep the fuck buddies ‘thing’ a secret.
You don’t expect the speed of his instant pull away when processing your words, blinking his pretty lashes and the tipsiness away—his doe eyes are too much of a weakness, the little furrow of his brows something you desperately want to kiss and smoothen out. “Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry.” he scratches the back of his neck, genuinely apologetic.
And eats away at you. You know Beomgyu well—he hates keeping things secret, he’s the type of person to flaunt relationships all over his feed in that lovesick puppy way that most women could only dream of having—but you weren’t dating. And that was the boundary set.
You didn’t ask him to pull away completely though, but here you were, awkwardly as distanced as you could be in the middle of a rager with sweaty college students rubbing their bodies against each other. As gross as that was, you zero’d in on something less of a given: the fact that you’ve never felt this way with Beomgyu. Ever. It was like you were starring in the most awkward coming of age indie movie, y’know, without the crazy scenery and cinematography.
And more often than not, you find that these occurance of realisations, become more and more frequent. You feel things you’ve never felt a certain way with Beomgyu. Which only brought you to realize something else; Beomgyu was now a changing variable in your life and you’re not entirely sure how to handle that.
#txt fanfic#txt smut#beomgyu smut#beomgyu fic#beomgyu fanfic#beomgyu scenarios#beomgyu imagines#beomgyu drabbles#beomgyu fluff#beomgyu x reader#beomgyu hard hours#txt fic#txt scenarios#txt imagines#txt fluff#txt drabbles#txt x reader#txt series#txt hard hours#txt hard thoughts
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It Ain't Me Babe
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Author’s note: A holiday present from me to you ❣️
Summary: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]
Warnings: creative insecurity, mentions of financial instability, teacher things, Ellie talking about Sarah, more flirty flirt, I think that’s it??
Nothing has ever been as annoying or guilt-inducing as an unfinished piece of art. Sure, every artist— no matter the medium— has felt like an uncreative, unoriginal hack, but it still feels just as new as it did the first time. Moonlight streams through your window as you glare at the canvas, hoping for an idea or stroke of genius. It's late. You should be in bed, especially since it's a Sunday night and you spent your weekend working at the bar down the street. But you're holding a paintbrush between stained fingers and praying for a miracle. It's been eight months since you last sold a piece for a whopping $200, chump change when it comes to living in Austin these days. Even with two jobs and doing commission work, you're living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe that's why it's so hard to create? That has to be the reason. You don't remember it being this hard when you were younger.
Creating art was the only thing that brought you solace during your teenage years. It didn't matter if it was drawing, pottery, painting, sculpting. All that mattered was that you were doing it and you were good. You won awards, scholarships, and attention. Your art teacher, Ms. Henry, was a godsend. Grey-haired, glasses-wearing, colorful Ms. Henry glided through lessons and projects like it was second nature. She always had pencils in her hair, a mug in her hands, and a kind word on her lips when you entered her classroom. She's the one who pushed you to go to your artsy liberal arts college full of people richer and better than you. Even with her love and support, you struggled and almost dropped out after that first semester.
"There's always someone better," she told you when you ended up crying across from her in a coffee shop. "But there's nobody in the world who can make what you will because there is and never will be another you. I mean, God, what a gift. I'd hate to see you waste it." That sobered you enough to keep going and eventually pursue a teaching certification. Ms. Henry has since retired to the Pacific Northwest with her wife, Mable, and sends you a postcard every once in a while because she believes smartphones will be the downfall of civilization. After so many years in education, you're ready to agree with her.
You sigh, feeling your motivation fluttering away with your breath, and plop your paintbrush down in the cup engraved with the words "DO NOT DRINK" in bold. The canvas doesn't look like much of anything right now— just a mass of colors and shapes that could potentially pass as an abstract version of a landscape. It looks like the other painting you left at the school to work on when you have time. And the painting before that. And the one before that. You curse at exactly the same time your phone buzzes with a text.
You awake?
You don't bother responding and go straight to FaceTiming her. She picks up on the second ring, her beautiful, round face greeting you with a smile. You met Andie during high school, and her effortlessly cool attitude and bulky violin kit quickly became a part of your heart. You two were inseparable all four years of high school, dividing your time between rehearsals and time spent in the studio, but college took you to art school and her to a prestigious orchestra program in Vienna. She's been there ever since graduation, playing for diplomats and royals alike, but she comes home for holidays, and you've been trying to save money to go see her. Being so far from her is hard, but you make it work.
"Why are you awake?" You ask by way of a greeting, more than accustomed to your seven-hour time difference and her early riser habits. She laughs, and you hear a tea kettle whistle in the background.
"Well, hello to you, too," she says. "I have rehearsals all day today, so I got an early start. Why are you awake?"
"I'm staring at my waking nightmare."
"Oh, God, are you having another spiral?"
"I'm a hack."
"You're an artist."
"I got rejected again this weekend," you say as if to prove your point, and she sucks her teeth. "They said my art didn't fit their vision for their exhibition, but to feel free and submit another time."
"Well, they must not know great art when they see it. There will be another exhibition and another chance for you to show off your amazing skills. And when you get accepted, which I know you will, I'll fly in, and we'll drink fancy champagne and talk shit the entire opening night." She says, and you sigh. Her persistent optimism is one of the things you love about her, but sometimes, all you want to do is sulk.
"Or I could fly to you when your first composition gets performed, and we could do all those things in Austria instead of this shithole."
"Hey, some of us like that shithole."
"Some of us haven't lived in the shithole in ten years."
"Touche," she concedes. "But I'm serious about what I said. You're a good artist, just going through a little bump in the road. One day, we'll be really sexy and successful, and we'll look back at this and laugh with our rich spouses while drinking expensive wine."
"One day," you say, smiling. "How are rehearsals going?" She groans at the question, and you laugh. Whenever you talk to her, she's working on a new show or with a new conductor and always has something to say. There are many things you could call your best friend, but lazy is not one of them.
"I feel like we're stuck on this one part, but the conductor won't listen to me. He says he knows better than I do, which might be true, but also, if he just listened to me, then we can move on. I don't know. I'm sure if I poke him enough, he'll have to listen to me."
"Sounds reasonable."
"That's what I'm saying," she says as she shuffles her coffee mug and breakfast to her dining room table before checking the time. "It's midnight there. Don't you have school tomorrow?" She asks, and you sigh.
"And an early morning staff meeting and art club after school."
"Sometimes, I worry about your mental health." She says, and you laugh a little too deliriously to prove her wrong. You stay up talking with her for a while before finally getting hit with a wave of fatigue and crashing into bed.
The next day is not any less hectic than your weekend was. The staff meeting early in the morning is mind-numbing and completely unnecessary. The printer in the teacher's lounge breaks halfway through a heavy-duty print job, and you're left scrambling for new activities and lessons. Not only that, but your students were more out of control than usual, prompting a veteran teacher to come in and scold your class on your behalf. It would be kind if it didn't make you feel two inches tall and your students didn't look at you like you betrayed them. You spend your planning period indulging in the silence of your empty classroom and fighting off a migraine.
The second the final bell sounds, your art club kids are knocking down your door, more than ready to work on their projects for the winter showcase. The winter showcase is hosted by a local art gallery that opens for submissions from students every fall. If a student's work is taken, it gets shown in the gallery, and they get entered into a prize to win money and a chance to paint a mural downtown. It's a big deal. So far, you haven't had a student win first place, but you've had them get very close. You always assure them you're proud of them no matter what, which is especially true when Ellie slinks into your classroom with a shy smile.
"Hey! We're just setting up supplies to work on stuff for the showcase. Do you have something to work on?" You ask, gesturing to the students working around the room in a buzz.
"I think so. Are you gonna play music?"
"Who do you think I am?" You make a face, and she laughs. "Why don't you find a spot and get comfortable while I queue up a playlist?" She hesitates for a second before she takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to approach another student to ask if she can sit with them. They start chatting easily, and her shoulders relax as she gets more and more comfortable with all the new people. You put on a random playlist and move around the room to answer any questions about colors or give an opinion when asked for one. Over the course of an hour, Ellie makes her own little group of friends, and they all talk as if they've known each other forever as they work. She seems so in her own element, and you can't fight the pride beaming in your chest. Okay, so maybe your job can be pretty cool sometimes. Not fame and fortune cool or traveling overseas cool, but cool nevertheless.
Students gradually start packing up their things and leaving when they get texts from impatient parents in the parking lot or close to dinner time, but Ellie stays behind, bobbing her head to a beat or bouncing her knee under the table. She's the only one left in the classroom when you start packing your stuff and preparing the room for the next day. "You've got a ride home, honey?" You ask, and she glances nervously between you and her phone.
"Yeah. My dad should be here soon." She says.
"Alright, well, I've gotta lock up here, but I'll wait outside with you until he gets here."
"Oh, you don't have to do that."
"It'd make me feel better knowing you weren't left behind. Plus, I'm the adult responsible for you until he picks you up, so it's kinda illegal for me to just leave you here." You say, and she looks hesitant again but nods. Together, you walk out of the classroom and through the empty hallways until you get out to the scorching September afternoon. You stand outside in silence for a few seconds, taking in the sunset, before you turn to look at her.
"How'd you like the club?" You ask.
"It was fun! I met lots of cool people."
"I told you, kid. You just needed to give it a chance."
"I know, I know," she rolls her eyes, and you smile. "Thank you for pushing me to go. I don't think I would've gone without you." She's so genuine and kind in her tone that it throws you off-kilter. You're used to being berated by students, staff, and parents. To be told you actually had an impact on someone is not commonplace, to say the least.
"I'm sure you would've found your way there without me."
"Maybe, but you helped me get there a lot sooner than I would've on my own." She says, and you take a deep breath. It feels nice to be acknowledged, especially after the day you've had, and Ellie seems to sense it. You're looking for something to say when she looks down at her shoes and kicks a stray rock. "Just take the compliment and move on. Don't make it a thing."
"Alright." You say, laughing, and she cracks a smile, too. Traffic will be horrible on the way home, and you have nothing to eat for dinner, but it's okay. You did one good thing today. That's all you need.
"Sorry, my dad is taking so long." She changes the subject, a touch of anxiety creeping in, and you shake your head.
"Does he always work late?" You ask, and she shrugs.
"Sometimes. Dad and Uncle Tommy have been picking up jobs to send money to my sister in Boston. "
"What's in Boston for your sister?"
"Medical school. She's about to go into her internship at a hospital there."
"That's a big deal." You say, and she hums.
"Yeah. She'll probably save the world or something one day." There's a hint of something nostalgic in her voice, and you decide to push just a little.
"Do you miss her?"
"A lot," she says. "She's my best friend."
"She's lucky to have you." You say. She smiles but doesn't say anything. You want to ask more about her family, but a rickety, greenish pickup truck comes rumbling through the parking lot before you can. Ellie shifts her backpack on her shoulder as her dad and uncle come into view, and you smile at them. Joel, however, looks frantic.
He's unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the driver's side door before the car can even finish moving. There's dirt on his pants and a little bit of a sunburn across his arms, the muscles straining across the black fabric. He politely pulls the ball cap off his head to reveal sweaty curls as he approaches you, jerking his head toward the truck at Ellie. "Why don't you wait in the truck with Uncle Tommy? He's got a snack for you." He says, and Ellie lights up at the mention of food. When you're alone, he tucks his hands in his pockets and gives you an apologetic look.
"'M so sorry. We got caught up at work and lost track of time. It won't happen again." He says, wringing his hands like he's waiting to be scolded, but you wave him off.
"It's okay. Things happen, and I'm just glad she's got someone picking her up." You say.
"How'd she do today?"
"Really good. I think she fits right in."
"She make some friends?"
"I can't give away all my secrets. What else are y'all gonna talk about at the dinner table?" You tease.
"I guess that's right," he says as he stares at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "Thanks for waitin' with her."
"It was my pleasure." You say. You stand awkwardly for a few seconds, rocking back and forth on your feet. His eyes are locked in yours, and there's a silent competition to see who's gonna blink first. "Well, I should let you get home. Have a good night."
"Uh," he starts, stopping you before you can even fully take a step. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You didn't make me uncomfortable," you say a little too quickly, and he smirks. "I was very flattered. Besides, it's not the first time."
"Beautiful woman like you, I'm sure you've got 'em linin' the block for a chance with you." He says. You're dancing a delicate dance here. You're not not flirting, and you're not not interested in him, but if your principal finds out, it could cause a whole new world of problems. Still, it's nice to be wanted after so long of being on your own. You're not a saint, but you're also not doing anything inherently wrong, right?
"The teacher thing usually freaks 'em out before they can get very far."
"That's a damn shame." He's quick with it, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the line. A buzz in your bag reminds you of the time and why you're still at school, and you find your footing again.
"Uh, I usually give out my contact information to the parents of my art club kids in case they need anything or need to contact me quickly. Since Ellie's an official part of that, I figured I should give you my phone number in case anything comes up. If that's alright?" You say, and he pulls his cracked phone from his back pocket.
"Yeah, yeah. That's more than alright." He says, handing it to you to punch in your information.
"It's for emergency purposes only."
"What d'you consider an emergency?"
"Mr. Miller-"
"Joel." He corrects, and you give him a look as you pass his phone back.
"Don't abuse it. I'd hate to have to put you in a group chat with all the PTA moms."
"You're evil." He groans, and you laugh. Tommy, leaning over and honking the truck horn, interrupts your conversation, and he shoots daggers through the back window.
"I'll see you next week, Joel." You say, dismissing him, and he hesitates for another second before nodding.
"See you next week." He says and turns on his heels to get back in his truck. You think you vaguely catch Joel scolding Tommy for being impatient, but you ignore his deep voice and the engine sputtering as you walk to your own car with a little more pep in your step than this morning.
TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 (look at how many of you there are!)
#joel miller#the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fic#the last of us x reader#joel tlou#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#the last of us fic#the last of us au#joel the last of us#ellie the last of us#joel au#joel miller fluff#joel miller au#tlou hbo#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction
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Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapters 272-273
Short Summary: Beastkin prisoners rescue operation.
Last chapter, I was expecting a battle scene between two dragons. Unfortunately... we did not get that. 😭 Ryan blocked Eruhaben's attack with a magic shield, and that was it. Even having 2 chapters today did not help because it all focused on Cale's rescue operation.
Chapter 272 was mostly focused on the beastkin prisoners rebelling against Ryan. Chapter 273 was about Cale's allies leading the rescue operation. And Archie being his chaotic self. 😂
Wisha managed to recruit other Aipotu beastkin elders in joining the operation. The rat and mole beastkin dug underground tunnels which were used as escape routes.
Meanwhile, Lock's berserk form awed the wolf beastkin prisoners, making them think he was the Blue Wolf. It did not help that the author became poetic when describing his berserk form. So... Lock would have his own version of Caleism in this world? 🤣🤣🤣
Archie was the funniest this chapter. There was a magic circle that detected anyone mentioning Ryan's name. That magic circle was linked to the magic circle that restricted the use of magic in the lair. So the solution proposed by Cale's group was... to launch the fantasy version of a DDoS attack! 😂
And Archie led that attack. He was the first to shout the name "Ryan" and the others followed his shouting. Even though he was joining the fight, he repeatedly shouted the name Ryan. 😂 Funny thing was, even Gashan's crows were shouting Ryan's name. 🤣🤣🤣
The numerous people shouting Ryan's name then overloaded the magic circle detecting mention of Ryan's name, causing it to be destroyed along with the magic circle restricting the use of magic. Oh yeah, truly a DDoS attack. 😂
Ending Remarks
I was disappointed that the 2 chapters did not focus on the dragon fight. Fortunately, the scene changed to Cale and the 3 kids at the end of chapter 273, so expect some chaos on Tuesday next week.
Yes, Tuesday next week. The author posted a note, saying that she would not be able to release the chapter on Monday (April 1) because of a sudden family matter. Thus, the chapter for Monday would be posted on Tuesday, April 2, instead. And that was also the reason why we got 2 chapters today.
Lastly, if you still have not heard, we finally have an official English translation. Seven Seas Entertainment recently released an announcement of their license acquisition for the LCF novel. The 1st volume would be released on September of 2024 for $19.99, with it available in large-trim editions with new covers.
I suspect this was because of RIDI releasing ebooks for TCF recently. My problem would be how many chapters would one volume have. Would it follow RIDI's format of 20-25 chapters per volume? Or would it include more? And that price... yikes. Hopefully, the price of the English ebook version would be lower than the printed version.
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I can’t find it, but there was a post that asked what your favorite change from the book to the film was, and I have decided on mine!
I love that they are older in the movie.
Matthew mentioned changing it to make it feel more like the first “real love” of their lives and not something that could be written off as “puppy love”. I totally get what he means, and I completely agree with the decision.
“I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you.” - Alex Claremont-Diaz, pg. 312
It’s a really beautiful line, but it does make me pause for a moment. Alex is only 22 at this point. As much as I believe him, the vast majority of the population does not fall in love that young and stay with that person for the rest of their life.
Alex isn’t directly referring to marriage here, obviously, but that’s the next step of their relationship if they were confident and ready to.
There’s a reason so many marriages that are made at that age range result in divorces. I’m 22 at the moment, and the idea of getting married to someone, whether I think I “feel forever” about them or not, fucking boggles my mind; I don’t think there’s any circumstances where I would agree to marry someone at my age. A marriage this young is just begging to fall apart.
I mean, we refer to college students, most of whom are in the early 20s age group, as college kids. Alex is still finishing college during the book, while in the film, he’s already completed his initial college degree and has moved forward to law school.
Adult audiences know this too, so a line like this coming from a 22-year-old would likely make them roll their eyes. Their thoughts would be: “You’re practically still a kid, you have no idea what your future will be like. You’re going to change, they’re going to change, and you can’t know that your relationship will work with all that.”
And they’re right, and I agree.
But if an almost 30-year-old makes that statement? That’s far more believable!
And I know some people might be thinking: “Early 20s to late 20s isn’t that big of a gap.”
While that’s true in the grand scheme of a lifetime, a lot can happen in six-seven years. I mean, just look at where the world was back in 2018 compared to where it is now! A person can change a lot in that time.
Regardless, Alex and Henry being closer to thirty rather than twenty serves their love story really well. The level of commitment they are agreeing to feels believable, and like they could actually do it.
P.S. - this isn’t to say that I have a problem with them being younger in the book; I find both versions fantastic in their uniqueness.
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Red, White, and Bradshaw
A Red, White, and Rooster Sequel
Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, political inaccuracies. Mentions of and acts of terrorism, death. Allusions to and full smut. Banner Credit @thedroneranger
Masterlist Next Part
...........................................
Chapter 1: Designated Survivor
At thirty-nine years old, you'd lived quite a life. You had been married to the man of your dreams for almost a decade. You had four beautiful children with him. You had been the First Lady of the United States, and you were currently the Secretary of Commerce for Bradley's successor, President James Hamilton.
Though you had worn many hats during your time in Washington, you never lost sight of who you were. After his time as president came to an end, Bradley supported your political career. He was more than happy to take a back seat from the spotlight and be a stay at home dad to your kids.
Andy and Elle were now seven, Leo, whom you were pregnant with at his second inauguration was five, and Wren, your fifth anniversary vow renewal oops baby, whom you loved very much, was three.
Your two boys were the spitting image of their father, and your two daughters were like mini versions of you. Out of all of them, Elle and Leo had definitely inherited your can-do attitude and "bossy" personality, as Bradley would say, while Andy and Wren shared his laid-back vibe.
Your family was your pride and joy, but you were also proud of the fact that you never had to sacrifice your love of business and politics to have them. You were blessed with a supportive husband who recognized how hard you worked.
When President Hamilton had first offered you a cabinet position, you were hesitant to take it. How could you raise a family and serve? Being First Lady was one thing. This was an entirely different level.
Bradley listened as you told him about your worries and assured you that he would do everything in his power to support you if you wanted to make this career move. "You supported me when I need you. You helped me follow my dream, and now it's my turn to help you." Bradley had told you as he held you in his arms one night.
The next day, you accepted the offer, and after a relatively quick vetting process, you became Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, Secretary of Commerce.
The first few months were an adjustment. You spent many sleepless nights venting to Bradley about how you thought you'd made a mistake and that you should quit. He would listen to your concerns and encourage you and soothe your worries each time. He celebrated all of your victories in your new position, both big and small. Everything was going well—too well.
.............
It was a quiet night in Washington D.C.
President Hamilton was about to give his first State of the Union address. You were in a secure, undisclosed location with your family. You had been chosen as the designated survivor. You thought it was silly, really. What were the odds that every single person ahead of you in the line of presidential succession died at the same time?
But you also understood the importance of it. You appreciated a good backup plan.
You were relaxing in some leggings and a well-worn, oversized Georgetown hoodie, staring at the TV when Bradley joined you.
He had an old Navy shirt and some flannel pants on. He'd just tucked the kids in bed before coming to watch the State of the Union with you.
He wrapped his arm around you as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn.
"Oh my god, did I look that stuffy when I gave my speehes?" He asked as the two of you listened.
"No, Dearest. You looked exceptionally handsome." You told him. He laughed as the two of you continued to watch the screen. Everything seemed fine—normal even.
Until it happened.
A large boom shook the safe house just as the live feed of the address went black.
You and Bradley looked as each other with panic in your eyes.
"Bradley, go get the kids." You told him. He was out of his seat and racing down the hall before you could finish your sentence. You quickly flipped through the TV channels to see if you could figure out what was wrong. The sound of sirens and helicopters blared from outside. Whatever this was, it was serious.
Just then, Dante, the head of your security team, burst in the door. Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to move all of you now." He said in a protective tone. "Dante, what's going on?" You asked him. He didn't respond.
Just then, a news flash came over the TV, and your heart sank. Your children came running into the room and gathered around you as Bradley followed behind.
"Oh my god." The two of you said in unison. "Bradley, they blew up the Capital." You said in disbelief as you watched the screen. You couldn't believe your eyes. In the spot where the beautiful building had once stood was nothing but a pile of burning rubble.
"Dante, I need you to get the Seresin's on the phone right now." You demanded. "Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to get all of you out of here now. We will call them from the car." Dante said. You wanted to protest, but he was grabbing your arm and hauling you out door as more members of your security team escorted Bradley and your children.
You looked back over your shoulder just in time to see a banner flash stating that there would likely be no survivors. Your heart sank as you thought about all innocent men and women who lost their lives— your parents included.
Suddenly, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Andy and Elle sat on either side of you in the car while Leo and Wren clung to Bradley.
You were vaugly aware of him telling you that they had reached Jake and Jaycee. The Seresin's and their three children were fine, and more security would be sent to them.
Bright lights from police, fire, and military flashed through the streets of D.C. as Dante navigated them. You were sure someone was talking to you, but you didn't hear what they said. You felt like you were underwater.
You didn't register yourself getting out of the SUV or the fact that you were being taken through a back passage of the White House. It was only when Chief Justice Inglewood was asking Bradley to hold the Bible and for you to place your hand on, that you snapped back to reality.
"Wait, what's going on?" You said as you looked around the room.
"Mrs. Bradshaw, you're the designated survivor." Chief Justice Inglewood said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You still hadn't processed what was going on.
"Honey, you're about to take the oath of office. You're going to be the president." Bradley said to you calmly.
You took a deep breath as Justice Inglewood looked at you. "Please place your left hand on the Bible, raise your right hand, and repeat after me." She began. You didn't even have time to process what Bradley had said before Inglewood started the oath.
"Do you, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States?" Chief Justice Inglewood asked you.
That's when the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The president, vice president, and everyone else in the Capital tonight were dead. You swallowed thickly as your children huddled close, not sure of what was happening, but aware enough to know something was off.
You took a deep breath and looked at Bradley for reassurance. He nodded his head and smiled.
"I, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." You affirmed in a shaky tone. You felt like you were going to throw up. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt like sandpaper. You were vaugly aware of someone taking pictures in the background as you spoke the words.
"Congratulations, Madame President. I wish this could have been under better circumstances." Justice Inglewood said as she shook your hand.
You thought that it was odd that she was shaking your hand and congratulating you. You were here because hundreds of people had died, not because you won an election. You did deserve this.
Your hands started to shake as tears pricked your eyes. This was wrong. All wrong. You felt like you couldn't breathe. How the hell did you end up here?
Your husband turned to you and saw the fear in your eyes.
Bradley immediately pulled you in for a hug before cupping your face in his hands. He could sense the terror running through your body as the severity of the situation set in.
"Oh my god, Bradley. I—I—what am I going to do?" You said as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.
"Right now, we are going to tuck the kids in and read them a bedtime story. Then, you are going to go with Dante to a secure conference room and talk with the department heads that weren't at the State of the Union. You are going to figure out a way for us to get through this because that's what you do best, honey. You solve problems. Tomorrow morning, you are going to drink way too much coffee, put on a suit, and address the nation. You are going to let them know that we are down, but not out. You are going to show them how strong their president is. But most of all, you're going to do your best. That's all you can do." Bradley tells you as he kissed your forehead.
Dante doesn't give you time to respond or to help Bradley with the children before he is whisking you away again.
"Go get 'em; Madame President. I love you." Bradley said as he ushered you to go. You nodded and followed Dante.
You couldn't believe this was happening. One minute, you were enjoying a quiet evening. The next, you were thrust into a position you weren't even sure you wanted and knew you weren't qualified for.
"Oh my god." You said to yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening as the weight of everything settled over you.
You were no longer Secretary Wiseman-Bradshaw. You were President Wiseman-Bradshaw.
Life as you knew it would be forever changed.
Dante and your other Secret Service team members stopped outside a door. Dante went ahead while you waited behind. Moments later, he returned and said,
"Madame President, they're ready for you."
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