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iniquitousyearning · 1 year ago

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eighteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, Fighting/Bickering, Sexual Tension, Dirty Talk, Grinding, Kissing, Teasing, Anger Issues, Slight Degradation.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the hushed atmosphere of Dumbledore's office, the venerable headmaster sat regally behind his desk, his piercing eyes gazing over the rim of half-moon spectacles. Mattheo Riddle, an embodiment of stoic strength, stood tall beside you. His usual cool demeanor was marred by a simmering rage, evident in the tight clench of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. You, on the other hand, stood meekly, your nerves palpable, a stark departure from your typically composed self.

"Thank you both for joining me at this early hour," Dumbledore's voice cut through the silence, stern and unyielding. There was no warmth in his tone despite his polite words. "I understand there was an altercation involving Mr. Berkshire and the both of you, Mr. Riddle. Is my understanding correct?"

Mattheo stood like a monolith, his façade unyielding, revealing nothing but a subtle inclination of his head in response. You stole a quick glance at him, a surge of frustration bubbling within you, wishing you could shake him out of his cold indifference, aching to see any sign of remorse or regret just for the sake of Dumbledores scrutiny. The room was saturated with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant murmur of students in the corridors, amplifying the tension in the air.

Dumbledore sighed, his disappointment evident as he shifted in his chair, his gaze fixed on both of you. "I must express my profound disappointment," he began, his words measured but stern. "Your actions were deeply troubling. Resorting to extreme violence, regardless of the provocation, is not the way we resolve conflicts here at Hogwarts."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a hint of irritation, his silence resonating with unspoken defiance, his fists clenched in his pockets. The weight of his anger hung in the air, intensifying your own nervousness. Your palms grew damp, your fingers twitching with unease as they hung anxiously at your sides.

"As for you," Dumbledore's gaze shifted toward you, his expression softening slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I am beyond relieved to know that you were not hurt, and I must say, you displayed commendable courage in the face of danger," he said, his words carrying the weight of acknowledgment. "You have once again proven yourself as a remarkable and strong young witch. I have no doubt that you will continue to exhibit such qualities for as long as you remain here. There are no reprimands to be given to you, and please, if you need any support at all, my door is always open."

A rush of heat surged through your veins, his words igniting a spark of excitement in your chest that you couldn't suppress even if you tried. With a soft, appreciative smile, you nodded, swallowing hard, acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.

"However," Dumbledore continued, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the still tense Mattheo. "In light of this incident, Mr. Riddle, consequences must be faced. There is no way around it."

Mattheo's facade remained as unyielding as ever, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of dread and frustration at the injustice of the situation. The fact that Mattheo had to face punishment for defending you didn't sit right with you, stirring a storm of emotions within.

"Given the unique circumstances of this situation," Dumbledore continued, his gleaming eyes locked on Mattheo, "I'm willing to offer you a choice." His voice held a sense of gravity, emphasizing the importance of the decision. "You can either serve detention a few times a week for a month, during which you will also participate in counseling sessions to address your anger management issues...or, I can arrange a Mentorship for you."

This grabbed Mattheo's attention, and admittedly, yours too--your voice penetrating the air before anyone had a chance to even blink. "A Mentorship?"

"Indeed," he affirmed, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo. "Tom has provided commendable feedback about your capabilities within the guild. I believe this presents a perfect opportunity for you, provided Mr. Riddle is willing to embark on this path. Your role would involve guiding and supporting him as he confronts his challenges. Instead of formal counseling, you will be his coach, helping him navigate his problems and providing the necessary guidance."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before elaborating further. "You'll be required to maintain a detailed log, documenting the situations that provoke his anger and the strategies you employ to help him cope. This log will serve as a valuable resource, aiding us in evaluating his progress and providing targeted support where needed...in order to do so, you would be required to shadow him for a few weeks, outside of class time of course."

His tone softened, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I have faith in your ability to make a difference, young witch. This mentorship holds the potential to not only help Mr. Riddle manage his anger but also foster a sense of understanding and empathy between both of you...you have been the only one thus far who has truly been able to make a difference in helping him achieve success...I'd have never suggested this if I didn't think it would work."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air, a heavy silence stretching between the three of you. Your gaze shifted to Mattheo, his features etched with a mix of unreadable emotions. Time seemed to slow, the tension in the room palpable. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he prepared to speak. His voice, when he finally spoke, was firm, each word carrying the weight of his resolve.

"No," he said, his eyes locking onto yours, a storm raging within them. "I won't do the mentorship."

Your heart plummeted to your feet, a sinking feeling spreading through you like icy tendrils. You were certain you were going to be sick.

"What? Why not?" you blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you could fully comprehend the weight of the situation.

Before Mattheo could respond, Dumbledore's voice cut through the building tension in the room.

"I understand this is a significant decision, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, his tone measured. "I will give you until Wednesday, two days from now, to give your answer. Take this time to think about it wisely. My advice for you to take with you as you leave, is that if someone makes you feel, let them. It's a rare gift to be truly understood."

Mattheo's response to Dumbledore's words was an infuriating silence, his lack of acknowledgment felt like a slap in the face. He spun around abruptly, his demeanor so icily distant that it sent a wave of frustration surging through you. Embarrassment clung to you like a second skin, the prickling annoyance intensifying as he navigated the situation with all the subtlety of a raging bull. Despite the tumult of questions and emotions swirling inside you, you stifled them, opting for professionalism in the face of his blatant disregard.

Desperate to maintain your composure, you managed a tight-lipped expression of thanks to Dumbledore, somehow managing to suppress just how fucking furious you were. And as you briskly exited the office, you huffed in frustration, hastening to catch up with Mattheo's brisk strides who had already made it half way down the hallway at this point.

Gasping for breath, you pushed through the bustling crowd of students, your determination fueling your pursuit of Mattheo, his long strides effortlessly outpacing your hurried steps. You called out his name, your voice almost drowned out by the chatter of the passing students. Despite your efforts, he continued to distance himself, his figure becoming a mere blur in the sea of moving bodies.

Driven by sheer persistence, you pushed harder, your determination propelling you forward. It took several minutes of relentless chasing, your voice echoing down the corridor, before he finally came to a halt. His broad frame towered over you, his chest heaving with pent-up anger as he turned to face you, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snapped, his words laced with a potent mix of frustration and hostility, the raw energy practically crackling in the air around him.

"Excuse me?" Your response was tinged with incredulity, your irritation palpable. "Would you like to start over?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw clenched in visible annoyance. He scanned the corridor, his eyes darting around as students hurried past, completely oblivious to the tension brewing between the two of you in their midst.

"If you think you're going to change my fucking mind, you're not," he hissed, his gaze locking onto yours with unwavering determination. "Don't waste your breath."

Your frustration flared, your brows furrowing as you glared back at him. "Can't we at least talk about it?"

"No," he retorted sharply, adjusting his tie with a swift motion. "We're just going to fucking fight."

Nervously, you glanced around, ensuring no prying eyes were lingering on the intense exchange between you and Mattheo. The corridor buzzed with the hushed conversations of passing students, each one oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing between you.

"I don't care if we fight, I don't care if you literally yell and swear at me...we always fight, Mattheo, that's what we fucking do." You stepped closer, dropping your voice lower. "We are talking about this. Wether you like it or not."

After a moment of intense silence, the challenge in your eyes seemed to finally register with Mattheo--annoyance flicking across his features before he gave an exasperated nod. He motioned for you to follow him, his tall frame moving purposefully toward an empty classroom nearby. With a swift motion, he popped open the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His eyes scanned the hallway, ensuring no prying eyes were watching the two of you.

As you entered the empty classroom, your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The sweet, vulnerable boy you had encountered in his dorm room on Saturday night was nowhere to be found. Instead, you faced the hardened, brooding Mattheo, a stark contrast to the person you had glimpsed during your intimate encounter. The disparity left you unsettled, a feeling of confusion mingling with your frustration.

Inside the classroom, the door clicked shut, drowning out the clamor of the bustling corridor outside. With a quick turn, you dropped your bag and confronted Mattheo, your eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and pity, unable to fathom the complexities of the man standing before you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you exclaimed, your words slicing through the tense silence. There was no holding back now that you were alone. You searched his dark eyes, desperately trying to decipher the turmoil within him. "I mean, what are you thinking-"

"Stop," Mattheo interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a dagger as he took a step forward.

"No," you retorted, refusing to back down. "Don't you see-"

In an instant, Mattheo closed the distance between you, his presence engulfing you as he pressed you back against the desk. Your bodies were inches apart, the proximity sending shockwaves through your senses.

"I fucking said stop," he spat, his teeth clenched, his eyes burning with intensity. "Stop looking at me like that, Raven..."

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "What-"

"All I am to you is a fucking tragedy, right?" he snarled, his anger radiating off him in waves. "Just some loser you want to fix, yeah? Take me in as your new little project to impress your future boss...follow me around all day like a fucking dog..."

"N-no-" you stuttered, your pulse thundering in your ears. "That's not what this is about, Mattheo..."

Helping him was a genuine desire, not some shallow attempt to gain favour, but you knew that it'd be hard to convince him of that, considering that he knows just how much you have been dreaming for an opportunity like this. The words caught in your throat, but he didn't relent.

"Bullshit, Raven...I won't be your charity case," he spat, his tone laced with defiance. "I won't fucking do it."

The air swirled with tension as he stood, a formidable figure, glaring down at you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the rhythm of your racing heart. His words hung between you, heavy with accusation and resentment. He shook his head, a frustrated growl escaping his lips, and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. With a defeated sigh, he moved to a nearby chair, slumping down into it, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Caught off guard by the sudden intensity of his anger, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The silence stretched, pregnant with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you found your voice, laced with a mixture of frustration and genuine concern.

"Who did that to you?" You said, fingers trembling at your sides. "Who fucked you up so bad, emotionally and mentally, that you've completely shut down anyone who tries to fucking help you?"

"Give me a bloody break," he hissed, bitterness dripping from his words as he rolled his eyes dismissively. "Romanticize me all you wish, Raven, but the devil wrapped in silk is still the fucking devil."

Your chest tightened at his cutting words, a potent blend of hurt and frustration surging within you. Desperate to maintain your composure, you ran a trembling hand through your own hair, now, attempting to quell the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"Why are you being like this?" you shot back, your voice quivering with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "Is it because you got what you wanted from me, and now you're reverting to being a complete asshole?"

"Don't even fucking go there," Mattheo's anger surged, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous intensity, his tone dripping with venom. "I never forced you to fuck me...that was completely your choice..."

Your heart plummeted to the floor at his words, your stomach twisting into a knot so tight it felt like it might suffocate you. A choked sound escaped your lips, barely audible as you croaked out, "Oh, gods..." there was a brief pause before you managed to find your voice again. "It was all an act? Is that what it was, Mattheo?"

Mattheo grumbled, once again rolling his eyes in exasperation as his head fell back, his gaze fixated on the ceiling.

"Not an act, Raven," he replied, his voice weary. "I meant everything I said, but this is who I am, don't you fucking dare act like you didn't know that already."

At his words, you were fucking stunned. A tempest of emotions raged within, a maelstrom of desire and frustration, adoration and resentment, crashing against the walls of your heart. Adoration burned hot, entwined with bitter resentment, all while desire surged like a wildfire, intertwined with seething fury.

The tumultuous whirlwind of feelings left you teetering on the edge of reason, torn between the impulse to hurl something at him and the overwhelming urge to throw yourself into his arms.

With a long, trembling sigh, you expelled some of the tension from your lungs, your eyes fixated on him--his tousled brown hair, those mesmerizing brown eyes, the sharp contour of his jawline, and those strong, powerful hands that made you weak in an instant. He was complex, complicated; Gods, so fucking complicated, but he was yours.

"I should get my damn head examined for being associated with you," after a moment, you shook your head, a bitter grumble escaping your lips. "Gods, I hate you sometimes."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a devilish amusement at your words, his demeanor oozing arrogance that set your body ablaze with a single glance.

"Oh, you hate me, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with provocation. He leaned back, lounging in his chair, his legs spreading wider as he patted his lap. "Why don't you come sit on my lap and tell me all about it, baby? I'll drill that hatred out of you real fucking good..."

"Grow up, Mattheo," you said, trying to suppress the wildfire of lust that he awakened in your lungs. Playfully rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the desk. "Don't try to seduce me out of discussing your insanity issues."

"Yeah, that's what I thought Raven," Mattheo huffed, his amusement evident. "You don't hate anything...isn't that why my name never seems to leave your filthy little mouth, hm?"

"Oh, I'd say your name leaves my mouth quite often, actually..." you shot back, smirking. "Mostly when I'm cursing you for being the insufferable asshole that you are, just like right now."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, the tension in the room escalating by the second. "Hate me all you want, princess, but you're always gonna' love how I fuck you."

You let out an exasperated huff, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. "That sounds a lot like a challenge, Mattheo."

"Can't be a challenge without any competition, baby," his voice was low and husky, his confidence sending shivers down your spine. "Consider it a fucking promise."

Releasing a breath of amusement, you stood up straight, and with a deliberate, almost hypnotic sway of your hips, you began to close the distance between you and Mattheo. His eyes, dark and alluring, drank in every curve of your body as you approached, watching as you delicately pulled your lip between your teeth, a gesture that spoke volumes. Your eyes trailed down his form and then back up, locking onto his with unwavering intensity. His tailored uniform strained against his strong shoulders, accentuating the raw power beneath, his legs spread confidently, and his arm casually draped around the back of the chair as that devilish smirk of his played on his mouth.

Pausing right in front of him, you leaned in, the soft scent of his cologne filling your senses. Your fingers, like a whisper, brushed against his lips, tracing the contours as if seeking entrance to the mysteries he held within. Your voice, barely more than a sultry murmur, hung in the charged air between you.

"There are secrets in here," you purred, your touch sending shivers down his spine, "and I want them out."

Mattheo's breath hitched, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips as he fought to restrain himself. His eyes, dark and stormy, were fixated on you with a hunger that was impossible to ignore.

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, his voice laced with desire and frustration, "I'll tell you anything you want to fucking know, Raven, as long as you let me bend you over this desk right quick..."

Your entire body swarmed with lust, an insatiable need that coursed through your veins. Without a second thought, you climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. A sigh escaped your lips, head falling back in surrender as his lips trailed along your jawline. However, determination flickered in your eyes, a fierce intensity that matched his own desire.

"I want answers first, Mattheo," you breathed, your voice a sultry whisper, "then you can have me. Gods, you can have me anywhere you fucking want."

Mattheo growled, his hips instinctively surging against your core as he struggled to contain his desire. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he whispered, his voice husky with need, "I want you everywhere, Raven...against the wall, over the desk, on a fucking table in the Great Hall..."

"Shit..." you breathed, your words a desperate plea, quickly losing yourself in his fervor. "Then you better get talking, Matty...don't you want this? Don't you want me to be able to follow you around all day without drawing suspicion? We'd be able to hide in plain fucking sight..."

"No," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hip bones, his touch a blend of desire and restraint. "I mean, yes, but fuck, no...you'll be too close, it'll be too much..."

"Too close?" Your brows furrowed, your frustration giving way to determination as you buried your hands in his hair. "What does that even mean?"

"A man I called my best fucking friend put his goddamn hands on you...he tried to fucking force himself on you...if you hadn't come around, if you'd never known me, that never would have happened...I will only bring bad things into your fucking life...I can't risk it..." his voice was low now, resonating deep within you like a thunderous echo. "You're my only fucking weakness...they'll start to notice it...someone will try to hurt you to get to me...and I can't--"

Cutting him off, your lips crashed onto his, a desperate, passionate kiss that silenced his words, your body molding against his, fingers gripping him with a fierce intensity. In that moment, words ceased to matter, and all that remained was the raw, unspoken connection between you, a bond forged in defiance of the world around you. You understood his concern, you understood his fears, but everything else be damned, you knew you'd go through fucking hell and back if it meant you could hold his stupid hand.

"I'm your weakness, huh?" you murmured, pulling back, your fingers delicately tangled in his curls, your hips moving provocatively against his, noting the subtle clenching of his jaw. "Guess it's time to prove how strong you really are, big boy..."

"Raven," Mattheo groaned, his dark, smoldering eyes fixated on your lips, his breath hitching with desire. "Keep grinding that tight little cunt on me like this and I promise I'll show you just how fucking strong I can be..."

"It's tempting, I'll admit..." you whispered, your voice a sultry murmur, slowing the movement of your hips as you took a sharp, shuddering breath to compose yourself. "Look, I understand your concerns, and I won't tell you what choice to make, but it'd mean the fucking world to me if you reconsidered...I don't know about you, but I'm not entirely satisfied with only seeing each other twice a week during tutoring..."

"Mm." Mattheo's low hum resonated against your skin, his lips trailing a path of warmth over the sensitive flesh of your neck. "Addicted to me already, aren't you?"

"Shamelessly," you confessed, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. "Mostly to that talented tongue of yours, though. The rest of you, well, I suppose I could manage without..."

"You wound me," he chided, his voice laced with mock hurt, his teeth lightly nipping your earlobe in a teasing manner. "Can't tell if you fucking love or hate me, Raven...don't think I've ever met someone like that..."

Your muscles tightened in response, his strained tone drawing a low sigh from your throat. "Does that bother your precious ego, Riddle?"

"It bothers something, Raven, but definitely not my ego," he growled, his grip on you tightening possessively. "You drive me fucking crazy, did you know you got that effect?"

"Hm, let me check," you pondered, a playful smirk gracing your lips as you smoothly slipped out of his lap. His fingers reluctantly released their hold on your hips, his groan of reluctance filling the room. "Yeah, I did."

"Where the hell are you going?" he grumbled, his hand adjusting his straining arousal in a futile attempt to ease the tension. "You said if I told you-"

"I know what I said, but I lied." you retorted, a nonchalant shrug emphasizing your indifference as you moved toward your bag, slouched on the floor. Your hidden smirk played on your lips. "Apologies, Riddle, but I'm already late to meeting Emily."

"You're unbelievable," Mattheo stood, his eyebrows raised in disbelief at your audacity. "Just wait until I get you alone later, princess," he huffed, his voice saturated with a promise that sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to regret this."

A rush of excitement coursed through you, the sincerity in his tone electrifying. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it yet another promise," he replied, stepping closer, his hand gently tilting your head back to meet his intense gaze. "You know what they say, Raven...little girls that tease, end up on their fucking knees."

He leaned down, his presence enveloping you as he brushed his lips over yours in a feather-light kiss, sending a tingling sensation through your body. The delicate touch lingered for a heartbeat, a fleeting moment of intimacy, before he released you, stepping aside with a subtle gesture, allowing you to head toward the door.

"I look forward to it, then," you grinned, your heart thundering in your chest as you made your way past him. "And I must say, I genuinely do hope you change your mind, Riddle...it would be such a shame if you were occupied with constant detentions and therapy sessions, wouldn't it? I might get terribly bored…most likely would have to find someone else to entertain myself with…”

Almost immediately after the words left your lips, Mattheo's fury exploded in his eyes, a storm of anger and frustration. He lunged for your arm, but you slipped past him with agility, your adrenaline-fueled speed giving you the advantage. With a swift movement, you whipped open the door, leaving him seething in your wake, his voice echoing with pent-up rage as he called after you, his words lost in the distance as you made your escape.

————-

Chapter nineteen->

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kelzthalasbandtherion · 3 months ago

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Reflecting on the past year, what is the most memorable moment that's happened for Kelz'thalas, or what has been the wildest?

The most memorable moment would be connecting with her father, Adonis. For many years he's become reclusive and closed off to outsiders and family. And with Kelz'thalas' return to her family, she's been steadily chipping away at that wall he put up. But it was when she had that breakthrough - that was an incredible scene to write with @grumpyoldfker.

Here's a snippet of the exchange:

The question she first posed rumbled in the back of his mind, as did many other things. He furrowed his brow slightly at it. Had he not explained it before? Had he not made it clear? Clearly not. Then, he realized, he had never explained it clearly at all. When she said his name and recalled her accomplishments, he turned his head towards her and arched a brow. "I am well aware of what you have done and what you continue to do. You are a Warrior. A Commander. It is expected..." he then turned to face her entirely, his broad shoulders leaning forward. A lesson was to be taught here. "You expect recognition? Praise?" he shook his head, "this is the level that is -expected- of you" he raised a finger as if silently commanding to halt whatever reaction she might have to his words. "You are a force, child. I have raised you to be as such... a leader. One that I had hoped your brothers would follow in..." He lowered his gaze and sighed, "You still have much to learn" Clearly, he also knew of her blunders "and when you do learn you'll not receive praise for it. You will be expected to do more. That is the trait of all creatures that go beyond their limitations..." he lifted his eyes once more, "but do not think that this old soul's heart is so cold that he does not have a measure of pride for his only daughter." ---- What had formerly been a matter of nerves and uncertainty now shifted to frustration and disappointment. Her eyes narrowed as she heard his response to her accomplishments. Despite being aware of these matters, he did not live them. He wasn't there for her, so what did it matter if he knew? She wasn't wanting acknowledgement of the deeds in the sense of doing them. She wanted him there. "Father with all due respect... I know this is a thankless job. No matter how much you put yourself out there and do a world of good for everyone, it's taken advantage of. But you and I have a different relationship, or rather... we should." Her voice was strained with growing emotion as she hadn't noticed the hand that now braced on the table's edge while she spoke. She didn't realize that it had dug so deeply into her soul that her body was cowed into reacting. Though his follow-up comments stung just badly and she kept her gaze on him. "Yeah, because the person who could give it to either of us is dead! The one person who knew how to show love and compassion to us is gone! I never got to mourn her, and you aren't the only one who feels her loss, father! You think I go on doing my job because it's an expectation?! I do it because I want to give people hope and know there will be a better tomorrow! You can't lead with discipline and adherence to policy or traditions alone. We can harden our resolve to be a force in itself, but without compassion, we are no better than those that would take it away!" She had at this point rose and sought an elevation above his eyes as he often put her in the same tier of those, he saw beneath him. She did know her place as a leader, and she had often navigated the path of caution when it came to him because of her admiration and respect for him as the Patriarch. But their house couldn't move forward if she let that be the only presiding factor. "We need people to like us too. I know I need to learn more. But you have taken the route of least resistance so that my experiences would be shaped in the worst of fashions. To say you have pride in me after a lecture does not amount for what I know I deserve from you." Her body had visibly trembled, and her lips formed a tight line as tears raced down the length of her cheeks. "I want you to teach me, Dad. I'm not your enemy. But I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. You need to trust me too. Or we're going to lose everything again!" --------------

Adonis' face went tight. His eyes looked at his daughter in warning... she was crossing into a dangerous path. It was that moment when she mentioned the fallen Matriarch that his eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Old, buried wounds were reopened. Old pains were reapplied. He felt a torment twist within him that he had thought he had long since hidden and it was at that moment that he understood that burying something and ignoring it did not make it go away... in fact, it would grow and fester and rear its ugly head much like it did now. Then... rage. He would fight this. He -had- to. He could not take such words from his own daughter... she was meant to listen to -him-. Her words, the emotion behind them, fuelled his anger. But he hung onto that anger in desperation as it other emotions clawed at him. No it is a weakness. They are all weaknesses. He shot to his feet and curled his lips back into a roar. The Light answered his call and drove its strength into his fist as he drove it into the table. The table effectively shattered at the impact point, buckling from his blow and sending the cutlery and utensils flying to the ground. He lifted his eyes at his daughter with a paternal fury. She is perfect. The voice. That voice echoed in the back of his mind. I shouldn't be something that you should hone to lose too. His daughter's words reverberated back and echoed for what felt like an eternity. Whatever rage, whatever anger he felt was suddenly sapped from him. He looked at her and didn't see the woman before him. He saw the small baby within her crib reaching out to clasp his outstretched finger, he saw the small girl playing with her brothers in the courtyard, and he saw the young warrior swing a sword for the first time. He saw her. He saw his kin. His breathing was ragged as he pushed past the debris and fell to one knee as he levelled himself to her seated height.... He ignored the hushed whispers, the scowls from the staff, the rumors that would swell from this moment. He focused on her... and his arms reached out to clasp his arms around her, pulling her into his large frame. He blinked back the tears that threatened to flood his cheeks as he whispered: "I can't lose you too...."

As for the most wildest? That was definitely the narrative I wrote labeled "Fruits of Loop." Again, for context here. I attended the Succulent Tart show on Kelz'thalas "All I want for Winter Veil" alongside Madame Naralinthe Emberdawn. While there, Greatfather Winterveil was handing out gifts. My understanding is that the pets and things could be associated as plushies and what not. But I took a spin on it to say, Kelz received a pet toucan. So, after getting shitfaced, she brought it into her family's estate and left it in her father's study - demanding that it had a place to live there since it was given to her by 'Greatfather Winterveil.'

If you haven't read the story - you can check it out here.

But yeah, I'd say that was pretty wild how she got home and went through the motions of 'convincing' her father to keep the damn bird. Though he had a response to that as well in his excerpt titled "De-Looped." You can read it here.

As always, it's a pleasure to get an ask from you @safrona-shadowsun - Hope this sates your curiosity for the ask!

Tagging @grumpyoldfker & @themadamelioness for the mentions and to thank them for this roleplay journey we have been embarking on with growing characters in a more story-driven and compelling fashion. It's been revitalizing to write like this again <3

#2024 RP Recap #Memorable #Wildest #Roleplay #WoW #Kelz #Adonis

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poor-baby-bangtan · 4 years ago

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i was wondering if you could do something snz-centric with jungkook. like a cold or flu. hes just so adorable and im too much of a sucker of bts taking care of him in fics. (also im so happy youre back and well, you're one of my favourite bangtan sickfic writers here on tumblr ^^)

I hope you enjoy!

Sickie: jeongguk

Caretakers: Namjoon and Seokjin

Words: 6,853

Themes: snz, fever, hurt/comfort

"Ht'tschu!"

By the fifth time that Jeongguk had to tear himself away from the recording equipment to sneeze almost violently into his hands, Namjoon was ready to call it quits for the day. The pair had been finishing up some backing vocals for a nearly-completed song - it was only a bit of harmonization, nothing extreme or extravagant. Jeongguk had always been the best with harmonizing, especially in a higher pitch, so Namjoon figured that he would layer the maknae's hidden track over it first just to get a feel for the way it sounded.

But Jeongguk was barely able to get through any of his lines or simple melodies without having to turn around to sneeze or clear his throat. And now that Namjoon thought about it, his voice did sound a bit rough around the edges and maybe even a little congested if he listened closely enough to his dongsaeng's voice blasting through his headphones. And, above all, he couldn't get through a track that he would have aced any other day. It was nearing 1 AM and the maknae looked tired, stressed, and sick behind the mic.

"JK," he called through the slightly-opened door beyond the large built-in window between them (purely to keep unwanted sounds out of the recording). "You okay?"

Jeongguk sniffed and rubbed at his nose with a knuckle, ears reddening slightly at the sudden attention. Namjoon found it incredibly endearing that, despite living together for just shy of seven years, he still managed to get embarrassed over minor stuff like that.

"Yeah, I'm alright, hyung. I'm sorry, I know you wanted this finished quickly," he managed, staring at the open mic in front of him with obvious frustration and guilt, the tip of his bunny nose pink with mild irritation.

Namjoon stood and took off his bulky headphones, joining him in the adjacent room and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Gguk, it's not your fault." The maknae sniffled again but didn't say anything, looking so pitifully sad as his eyes wandered around the floor. "Are you wearing a new cologne or anything? New shampoo?" Namjoon knew how sensitive their youngest was to smells - his perfume of choice was actually faint and made for women and he wore it for the sole purpose of it not irritating his sinuses. Even a change in shampoo, conditioner, or hair spray had a tendency to trigger Jeongguk's rhinitis flare-ups.

Jeongguk shook his head. "No, everything's been the same, Joon-hyung. I don't know why it's like this."

The rapper chewed at his lip worriedly, running a hand through the younger man's soft hair. "You think you're getting sick, babe?" Namjoon chose to break out the pet names now - it helped break Jeongguk out of that shy, nervous, I'm-grown-up-so-I-can-handle-everything-myself shell he always tried to adopt.

"Hih-H'tshhuh! T'cHh!"

Jeongguk didn't have time to reply before he was pitching forward to sneeze twice into his elbow, leaning back with a little groan. Namjoon chuckled quietly and rubbed the maknae's back as he sniffled and scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve. "I think that might be a yes."

The maknae sighed, rubbing at his brow like he had a headache. "I don't want to be."

Namjoon just tutted and put his palm to the younger man's forehead, frowning when he felt the slightest bit of heat underneath his hand. He wasn't flushed and didn't feel too warm, but he always ran hot when he was coming down with something. "I don't think you have a choice in this one, Gguk-ah."

"But hyung," Jeongguk whined, looking up at him with his big doe eyes, "I can't get sick right now. We have so much stuff to do and I'm already making you stay late-"

"Hey, no," he shushed. "You're not holding back anything. We have work, sure, but it's not anything that we can't push back a few days for you. This is the lightest our schedule has been for a while, so don't stress about it, okay?" Namjoon smiled faintly, running his fingers once more through Jeongguk's fringe. "And you're not keeping me here doing anything. We could have been doing this next week or even not at all; this is optional just to test the sound, you know that."

Jeongguk nodded, sniffling again for good measure. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled, still disappointed and very much not convinced.

"Why don't we go ahead and head home? It's late," Namjoon yawned, stretching, all an act just to get the maknae to not protest leaving just like the rapper knew he would. He had always been the hardest one to take care of - most of the others eventually gave in and let themselves be coddled. But, nope, not Jeongguk. He would put up a fight until he was passed out or in the hospital, something that his hyungs tried relentlessly to keep from happening. No matter how much they drilled into his head that you need to talk to us, Gguk or you can tell us anything, Gguk, it seemed like the kid never listened. Despite the fact that he had recently turned twenty-one, he had absolutely zero skills in the self-care department.

Jeongguk nodded and Namjoon marked that as a big success on his part. "Okay." He patted his pockets a few times before sighing. "Let me find my keys first."

That's right. He drove us here this morning.

"No that's okay, Gguk. I'd rather call a cab." Namjoon wasn't sure if he really wanted his maknae driving while sick, and at midnight nonetheless. He was already a little reckless behind the wheel on the best of days and the last thing they needed was him having a cold (or worse yet, flu) on top of that. The leader silently cursed himself that he hadn't gotten around to getting his license yet (and tried not to be embarrassed that the youngest of his group had to drive him around despite the age gap).

"No, I'm fine, hyung. I can drive," Jeongguk protested, looking just a little too eager to prove himself and that he was indeed okay. "I can.. d-dr- hhitsHh!"

He was interrupted by another sneeze, though, pitching forward, bent at the waist from the strength of it. He slowly straightened upwards, hands still cupped around his face. Namjoon took the hint and passed him a tissue, which Jeongguk hesitantly took as if he were almost too prideful to take it. He usually was, and the rapper was thankful that it was late in the evening. A tired Jeongguk was an obedient Jeongguk.

"I know you can, Ggukkie, but I'd rather just call someone. It's late and we're both tired; I'd feel better if we had a cab or a manager come pick us up. Besides, we're here every day. We can pick up your car another day, yeah?"

Jeongguk wiped his nose with the tissue and threw it away, sighing. "Okay. Is Sejin-nim still here?"

"Let me text him. Go ahead and put your coat on."

The maknae nodded and went to retrieve his hoodie as Namjoon fumbled with his phone.

Joon: Hyung-nim, are you still in the building?

Cool manager hyung: yeah I'm about to leave. need a ride?

He smiled at how Sejin already knew what he needed before he had the chance to say anything about it.

Joon: yeah, me and Ggukie are finishing up in the studio.

Joon: do you mind dropping us off?

Manager hyung: of course, it's on the way anyways. but I thought Jeongguk drove you two here..?

Joon: yeahh but I think he's coming down with something. don't want him on the roads right now ~_~;

Manager hyung: aishhhh why am i not surprised

Manager hyung: that kid always pushes himself too hard

Manager hyung: meet me outside in 10. i'll stop by the pharmacy tomorrow.

Joon: thank you Sejin-hyung :))

By the time Namjoon looked up from his phone, Jeongguk had pulled his hoodie on and was scrubbbing at his nose with one of the sleeves, sniffling weakly. The hoodie was a couple sizes too large and hung low around mid-thigh. He had balled up his hands inside of the sleeves, making rather adorable sweater paws with them. His nose was now red, morphing from the innocent pink tinge that it had held for most of the night, and his eyes looked a little far-off and watery. Namjoon tried his best not to make a sound of endearment and simply pocketed his phone, reaching out and squeezing his dongsaeng's shoulder.

"Sejin-nim is gonna pull up out front for us."

"'Kay," the maknae mumbled, looking exhausted despite himself. Hopefully it wouldn't be hard to get some medicine in him and put him to bed.

Sejin held true to his word; his car was already warm and running by the time the pair made it downstairs. Namjoon crawled into the backseat with Jeongguk instead of taking his usual place up front. Jeongguk didn't seem to mind, or even notice for that matter, as he put on his seatbelt and yawned into his hand. Namjoon caught Sejin's knowing smirk in the rear view mirror, though, and felt his face heat up.

He wasn't one of the most doting members but he still cared, alright?

Sejin started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "How's the song looking, boys?"

"It's going great, Sejin-nim," Namjoon smiled. "Jeongguk is really blowing it out of the water." He reached over and ruffled Jeongguk's hair lightly. Jeongguked smiled that cute smile he does, lips barely pulling back to preview his bunny teeth, eyes scrunching gently around the edges, and it was all Namjoon could do to not make a noise like a variation of a dying animal. That kid does something to his heart that should not be legal. The maknae pushed his hand away and he let him, reaching down to intertwine their fingers and rest them on his thigh instead.

Sejin chuckled deep and throaty, smiling in the rearview mirror. "Just as usual, huh?"

"Yep." Namjoon ran his thumb over Jeongguk's knuckles. "Golden maknae here always does his best."

Jeongguk ducked his head and smiled, teasing his lower lip with his teeth, ears going a bit red. He had never been able to take a compliment without getting embarrassed. "Thanks, hyung."

"Aish, don't thank me kid." Namjoon swore his heart was about to burst. His maknae really was just too sweet without knowing it.

Jeongguk was opening his mouth to say something back but stopped short, getting a far-off look in his eyes as his jaw hung slack. His nose twitched and scrunched several times with the effort not to sneeze; his breath hitched several times as his breathing quickened. He was not able to quell the feeling, though, and sneezed openly onto his lap before he could react.

"Hih.. hh-huh-H'itsxhu! Ht'scHh! Es'cHischh!"

He tore his hand from Namjoon's as he caught the second and third that came with it. They sounded increasingly intense and painful, and Namjoon winced in sympathy.

Sejin sucked in air through his teeth sharply as Jeongguk slowly brought his hands away from his face and sniffled in retaliation a few times. "You feeling okay, kid?" He pulled up at a red light and looked him over in the rear view mirror. "That sounded kind of bad."

Namjoon was glad that Sejin chose not to mention the fact that he had already told him Jeongguk wasn't feeling his best. Jeongguk would have been eternally embarrassed and probably would deny his hyung's help for a while. He had a strange trust system and Sejin seemed to know that.

Jeongguk snuffed once more against the increasing stuffiness in his sinuses before replying. "Yes, I'm okay Sejin-nim, thank you."

Namjoon withheld a sigh and put a hand on Jeongguk's thigh. Always so closed off and shy. Of course, he loved his maknae and wouldn't change his personality for anything. But sometimes he wished he would open up a little more and be a little more trusting to those around him. He had opened up to his band mates after a while, of course, but it was still hard for even them to get through to him at times. Jeongguk could be silly and goofy and just himself wherever he was, but when it came to showing any form of weakness it was like he retreated as far back into his shell as he could get. It was a constant inner struggle for him, realizing that he's still human and needs to treat himself as such. Even one (1) voice crack during a performance can drive him to tears. Weakness and mistakes are just not something that he tolerates with himself, as sad as it makes Namjoon. He's never really as concerned with Jeongguk's physical condition as much as he is with his psychological one when his health dips.

Sejin sighed quietly enough for Jeongguk to miss it and pulled up as the light turned green again. "If you're sure. Just let me know if that changes, okay, Jeongguk-ah?"

"Yes, hyung-nim." Namjoon could hear the gratefulness in the maknae's voice, even if he most likely would not accept the help.

"Aish, kid, always so formal," Sejin grumbled playfully. He had long stopped trying to get Jeongguk to drop the honorifics. They were fond and playful now more than anything.

Jeongguk made that happy noise in the back of his throat that he tended to do, sort of like a mix between a laugh and a endearing huff, and replied, "Of course, Sejin-ssi."

"Ack!" Sejin waved one of his hands in the air dismissively. "That's worse!"

Jeongguk chuckled, fully this time, with a grin that split his whole face and made his eyes squint. He seemed tired, but happy still - probably wasn't feeling too bad, then.

The trio fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the trip. Namjoon could feel that they were all tired - reasonably so, it was past 1am - and if he was being honest he was ready to do nothing more than just crash in bed when he got home. But his maknae still needed to be taken care of, because he certainly wasn't going to take medicine on his own.

The pair said their goodbyes to Sejin after he pulled up outside of their apartment, with the older man giving Namjoon a knowing wink as a way to say good luck with that one. Namjoon just laughed and waved him off. He knew how to handle his maknae.

Jeongguk stumbled inside, already half-asleep from the car ride, and made his way into the bathroom. Namjoon veered towards the kitchen where their medicine cabinet was and dug around for a few minutes looking for some sort of cold medicine or anti-congestant. He came up with a half-empty blister packet of a nighttime cold medicine which was about the best he could have hoped to find. With the winter, colds had been going around the members quite often and it was around that time of the year that they were constantly running low on medicines. That, and it would help Jeongguk sleep more soundly - even though he usually slept a lot (like, a lot) when he was sick, it was never very deeply and it left him still feeling exhausted, even after he was healthy again.

Namjoon popped a few blue gel-capped pills into his hand and filled up a glass of ice water as he heard the shower come on, sighing when he realized he also still needed to shower. But then he had a thought... why wait? He'd rather keep an eye on his dongsaeng anyways.

Setting the pills and glass on the counter, Namjoon made his way other to the bathroom and poked his head in. "Mind if I join you, Ggukkie?" he called.

"Sure, hyung," came Jeongguk's reply, rough around the edges and tired. Even though he had been living with roommates for many years, he still erred to the shy side, especially when it came to being undressed around others. But, if he was tired enough or felt bad enough, he tended to care less about exposure and more about having company and skinship.

At his response, Namjoon stepped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him, quickly stripping down and pulling back the shower curtain to step under the warm stream of water. Jeongguk stepped over to make room for him (thankfully they finally had enough money for an apartment with several large bathrooms with large tubs and showers, so both of them comfortably fit). The water was a tad too hot, probably because the younger was feeling chilled from being out in the cold, even if they were just walking from the car to their door. Or that's what Namjoon hoped - he was praying the kid wasn't cold because a fever was coming on. He did his best to ignore it, though.

Jeongguk was just beginning to shampoo his hair, eyes droopy and tired. He sniffled once, and then twice - the steam was probably helping with his congestion. Namjoon struggled against a fond little smile and reached over to shampoo his dongsaeng's hair himself. Jeongguk didn't even argue and dropped his hands immediately to his sides. His eyes fluttered closed as his hyung worked the product into his hair, swaying with the motion. He sighed a long, drawn-out breath and leaned into Namjoon's touch, mouth just barely hanging open like a puppy's when receiving a good scratch.

"You're not allowed to ever stop that, hyung," he mumbled, words thick with exhaustion and groggy, eyes still closed. Namjoon laughed again and massaged the base of his scalp.

"We'll see about that, kiddo." He worked the suds through Jeongguk's long hair (wow, it had really gotten lengthy, hadn't it?) and took a second to admire the youngest's features. Even when he was feeling under the weather, his face was still radiant and beautiful. His skin was perfectly blemished, a healthy tan (how could anyone ever want to whitewash him?), and the resting-exhaustion-pout glued to his expression made him look younger and more adorable than ever. As Namjoon guided his head underneath the stream of water, he took a second to appreciate how lucky he was to have Jeongguk as his dongsaeng.

Jeongguk preened under the warm water, melting under it as it met his skin. He looked half-asleep. Namjoon fondly tapped his cheek, to which he opened his eyes; the older man smirked. He was just about to say something teasing when Jeongguk's face screwed up and he hitched, pitching forward catching it in his elbow.

"Hh- hh'itschiew!"

He sniffled a few times as he straightened up, keeping his elbow to his face as he coughed a couple times into it. Namjoon felt his chest tighten and eyebrows pinch together.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay Ggukkie?" He ran his hands through the younger's hair once more, scratching at the base of his neck. Jeongguk just nodded and coughed one more time before dropping his arm, pushing even further into his hyung's touch. But he didn't say anything or respond verbally at all. He was probably feeling too tired to even try and debate about his health. Namjoon just sighed and reached for his own shampoo, quickly lathering up his silver-blonde hair. "I have some medicine laid out for you. Let's just finish up so you can take it and we can get you to bed, hmm?"

Jeongguk only nodded sleepily once more, fumbling for the conditioner. Namjoon once again took over washing his dongsaeng's hair as soon as he had finished with his own; Jeongguk was seriously lagging behind as he struggled to stay awake underneath the stream of hot water. After rinsing out the remaining conditioner from the younger's hair, Namjoon passed over the body wash, turning the maknae around so he could wash his back. Soon enough, though, they were both toweling off and clumsily dressing in sleepwear. Jeongguk groaned when Namjoon pulled out the hairdryer.

"Hyung, can we please just skip that? I want to sleep," he whined, lip protruding in a cute little pout in an attempt to win his hyung over.

"Nope, no way. You're already getting sick and the last thing we need is it getting worse because you went to bed with cold, wet hair. Turn around and sit on the counter if you want."

Jeongguk huffed, annoyed, but did as he was told anyways. Namjoon pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead before brushing through the younger's hair and turning on the blow-dryer. Now the maknae was actually falling asleep, head lolling down several times before he woke himself up and jerked himself back upright. Namjoon bit back a smile as he continued to blow dry his hair, overwhelmed by fondness. By the time his hair was dry, Jeongguk was passed out, mouth hanging open and cheek pressed against his shoulder. At the sound of the dryer turning off Jeongguk stirred, blearily opening his eyes and blinking several times to focus them.

"'M done?"

"Yeah, kiddo. Hop down and we'll go take your medicine."

Jeongguk fixed him with a groggy glare. "You didn't dry your hair."

Namjoon chuckled and winked. "I'm too tired, I guess."

The younger slid off the countertop and headbutted his hyung in the chest; evidently he was too tired to pick his head up, so he let it rest on Namjoon's sternum as he weakly hit him with a closed fist. "You're the worst, Namjoon-hyung," he mumbled, no real heat behind the words.

He just chuckled in response and wrapped an arm around his dongsaeng's shoulders, leading him out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. "Oh yes, I'm just terrible for looking after my maknae," Namjoon said as he passed Jeongguk the pills from where they were on the counter, holding up the glass to the younger's lips. Jeongguk mumbled faux-angrily under his breath as he tossed the pills into his mouth and let Namjoon give him a drink of water to wash them down. Namjoon took the glass with him as the guided the younger down the hallway and into their shared room, setting it down onto the nightstand.

Jeongguk belly-flopped onto Namjoon's bed with a big sigh, stretched out parallel to the headrest. He grumbled incoherently into the duvet and stilled completely. Namjoon huffed a laugh and slapped him lightly on the back of the thigh.

"Come on, Gguk-ah, move over so we can both fit. That's right, get under the covers." Jeongguk sighed and grumbled again at his words, lazily re-correcting himself to lay properly on the bed. Namjoon lifted up the covers for him and the maknae crawled obediently between the sheets, settling in on his side with his feet curled up in a half-fetal position. The older man climbed in after him on the opposite side of the bed, turning off the bedside lamp and pulling up the duvet over the both of them. He reached over and adjusted the covers to below Jeongguk's chin, effectively tucking him in. As he got settled in himself, Jeongguk squirmed his way to Namjoon's chest, cold nose feeling over his collar bone. The rapper intertwined a leg with the younger's, wincing at his freezing toes, and slung an arm around his slim waist. For a few seconds, it was just the quiet sound of the AC and the feeling of the maknae's chest rising and falling against his own, warm breaths puffing against his neck. Jeongguk's long locks tickled against his cheek.

"Th'nk you, hyung," Jeongguk slurred against his collarbone, sounding sleepy and content but more congested than he had previously. Namjoon just gave a low rumble and pressed a hand to his maknae's forehead. A little warm, but that was probably just from the combined heat of the shower and hairdryer.

"Of course, you don't have to thank me, Gguk." He pressed a kiss into the younger's hair. "How're you feeling, jaigya?" Namjoon's brow contorted in concern as Jeongguk shivered a little in his arms and sniffled against his t-shirt.

Jeongguk just gripped his shirt a little tighter and nosed further into the crook of his hyung's neck and mumbled, "Shh, hyung, sleepy t'me, shhh..." His breaths became a little deeper as he fell further into the grasp of sleep, the small rushes of air sending goosebumps over Namjoon's olive skin. "No m're talkin'," he murmured, sounding as if he were barely hanging onto the last dregs of consciousness.

Namjoon pressed a kiss to his forehead before relaxing back into his pillow, fingers drawing invisible pictures onto the younger's back. "M'kay, babe." Namjoon figured he had been awake long enough - it was nearing 3am and he was feeling sick, there was no point in keeping him up any later than he needed to be. He could always check up on him in the morning. Plus, Namjoon thought he had done a pretty good job of taking care of his maknae thus far - a little questioning could wait. "Goodnight, aeghi. Saranghae."

Namjoon was only barely able to hear the whispered reply of "Joon-hyung, saranghae," before the youngest promptly fell asleep in his arms.

xxx

As expected, Jeongguk was restless during the night. He never really woke up but tossed and turned all the same, occasionally making sleepy noises and sighs against his hyung's neck. He never slept particularly well when he was unwell, which was something Namjoon knew was going to happen. That being said, the older man didn't get much sleep either. He was hyper-vigilant and woke up every time his maknae so much as stirred. Namjoon was exhausted, seeing as he had several late nights in a row, but somehow he didn't seem to mind this time. As the night went on, though, Jeongguk seemed to still, back pressed up against his hyung's chest. Namjoon woke up a few hours later to light streaming through the window and Seokjin knocking at the door to wake them up up. The rapper stirred and stretched, inhaling sharply. It felt like he had hardly slept, but it was already 8am.

Jeongguk still lay quiet as the little spoon, curled up into Namjoon's stomach. His body was radiating heat and he was breathing laboriously through his mouth. Namjoon swore and peeled back the covers, pressing a hand to the younger's forehead; he found it to be hot to the touch. His tan skin shone with sweat and his face was particularly pale aside from the flush of his cheeks. Along with that, he was shivering a little in his sleep, brows contorted into a painful grimace. Namjoon dropped his hand and sighed; he knew this was going to happen.

The older man tucked his maknae back into the covers before getting up himself, sighing once more. He made sure Jeongguk was still asleep as he left the room. Seokjin was in the kitchen brewing coffee from the Kurig, watching with tired eyes as the bitter liquid slowly filled his cup. Namjoon approached him from behind and wrapped his hands around the older man's slim waist, burying his face in a broad shoulder and pressing down hard with his forehead.

Seokjin chuckled and patted his arm. "What's this, Namjoon-ah?"

"Jeonggukie's sick," he grumbled into the fabric of the singer's sleep shirt, getting a whiff of his fabric softener in the process. Seokjin always smelled so nice. The younger man could feel the other craning his head to look at him so Namjoon picked his head up and rested his chin on his shoulder instead, meeting Seokjin's gaze. "It came on last night," Namjoon sighed. "He was restless all night and when I woke up he was running a fever."

Seokjin maneuvered out of his arms, turning around to face his dongsaeng and tracing the pads of his thumbs over Namjoon's eye-bags with a concerned crease in his brow. "Are you sure you didn't get it, too? You look awful, jaigya. You're pale."

"No, hyung, I feel fine. Maknae-ah just kept me up with all his tossing and turning."

Seokjin got a smug look on his face, smirking.

"What?" Namjoon deadpanned. He was too tired for this.

"Well," Seokjin drawled. "You're usually such a heavy sleeper. Worried about our youngest, are you?"

Namjoon felt his ears go hot with embarrassment. What's the deal with people, first Sejin, now Seokjin was teasing him? Unbelievable. "With all due respect hyung, shut up. Just because I don't show it as much as you do I actually do care about my maknae," Namjoon spat, pushing away against his hyung's chest and trying to walk past him, annoyed. Seokjin's squeaky laughter followed him and he was stopped by the older man catching his wrist.

"I'm just kidding Joonie, don't get so defensive," he giggled, drawing the younger back into a hug.

Namjoon sighed and buried his face again in Seokjin's shoulder. "Maybe don't tease me then," he grumbled, but the heat was gone.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Seokjin stroked his back and laughed one more time. "Have you checked his temperature yet?"

"Not yet. He's still sleeping."

Seokjin hummed, planting a kiss in Namjoon's bed head before pulling away.

"I'll go get the thermometer. Will you wake him up for me?"

"Sure, hyung." Namjoon started down the hallway, slowly creaking the door open and slipping into his and Jeongguk's shared bedroom. The maknae was exactly where he had left him, turned away from the door curled up on his side. Even though he was about to wake the younger man up anyways, the rapper tiptoed around the bed and kneeled next to his pillow as quietly as he could. Jeongguk's face was still scrunched up and tense with pain, a flush high on his cheeks. His hair and shirt were saturated with sweat. Namjoon reached up with his hand and smoothed over the distressed wrinkles on his forehead; his face relaxed after a few seconds, melting into a neutral expression. His face was hot to the touch and Namjoon's fingers came away damp.

"Jeonggukie," Namjoon murmured, reaching over to grasp his maknae's shoulder gently. "Aghi. It's time to wake up, jaigya." The younger stirred, eyebrows immediately scrunching up again as he fought against waking consciousness and the pain he obviously felt. Namjoon shushed him gently, cupping the side of his face with a large hand and rubbing his thumb over his temple. "I know, babe, wake up for just a few minutes."

Jeongguk blearily opened his eyes and immediately winced, making a pitiful noise of pain from the back of his throat and curling up into a tighter ball. He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in his pillow.

"Aigoo, I know, I know it hurts Ggukkie." Namjoon moved from stoking his forehead to running his fingers through his damp hair, something he knew Jeongguk had a soft spot for. "Seokjinnie-hyung is bringing you a thermometer and then we'll get back to sleep, okay?"

Jeongguk whined weakly, voice gravelly from a combination of sleep and sickness, looking up from his pillow to gaze at his hyung pitifully. His eyes were red and glassy and tired, framed by the high spots of fever-induced color on his cheeks. Jeongguk's face screwed up, and for a horrifying second Namjoon was sure he was about to start crying. He pitched forward with a sneeze instead, following it up with a few rattling coughs. Whimpering, he reached up to hold his head in his hands as though the movement had aggravated a headache. The older man frowned and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead before settling himself on the edge of the bed, running his hand over his dongsaeng's back in soothing strokes.

"How're you feeling, babe?"

Jeongguk just grunted and gently placed his forearm over his eyes to block out the light from the window. "Bad," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

"Tell hyung what's hurting," Namjoon prompted, smoothing out the wrinkles of his maknae's shirt over his side.

Jeongguk didn't move his arm as he answered. "My head n' my body are aching. It's cold."

"I know, aghi. Anything else? Is your throat bothering you?"

The singer just slowly shook his head before once again going still, arching his back against Namjoon's touch. He could feel the younger's fever through his shirt. He was satisfied that the younger's throat wasn't hurting him, though; a hoarse voice was an idol's worst nightmare.

Jeongguk reached back with his free hand and pulled his shirt up to expose his back, reaching for Namjoon's hand to press it into his skin. "Push harder, hyung. Please," he murmured, pushing with more force against Namjoon's hand, digging it into his ribs.

Namjoon took the hint and began to massage his back with the heel of his palm; Jeongguk shivered under his touch, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He was probably cold and skin most likely sensitive, but wanted skin-on-skin contact anyways. His skin was moist and sticky from perspiration, but Namjoon bore the discomfort and carried on.

"Does that help with the pain Jeonggukkie?"

The maknae nodded underneath his forearm, releasing Namjoon's wrist and draping his arm back around his waist. "It feels good, hyung."

Namjoon adjusted his position on the bed for a better reach, kneading the palms of his hands into Jeongguk's feverish skin, moving from his shoulders down to his calves. Jeongguk mewled under the touch, arching his back and wincing but not pushing his hyung away. He always got awful aches when he was feverish and Namjoon seemed to know just how to get rid of them. The maknae tried to keep as still as possible, pressing his forearm against his eyes hard to try and reduce the pain.

A soft knock resounded on the door before Seokjin poked his head in, frowning softly when his eyes drifted to their youngest member. Jeongguk was shivering and trying his hardest not to let small noises of pain slip through his gritted teeth as Namjoon worked against his tight, painful muscles. The skin of his face was flushed and damp with perspiration - even from across the dim room the mat-hyung could see the rivulets of sweat trailing down his neck. Namjoon turned around, hands still kneading against Jeongguk's thighs, and met Seokjin's eyes with the same concerned look.

Seokjin looked back to the maknae and closed the door behind him, walking around and dumping his handful of medical supplies on the bedside table, keeping only the thermometer.

"Oh, honey," he murmured. "You must be feeling awful. I'm sorry, jaigya." Seokjin passed his fingers through Jeongguk's damp, sleep-tousled hair.

Jeongguk peeped out from under his arm and met Seokjin's gaze. "Good morning, hyung." His voice was strained and congested and the older man winced at the sound of it. He pursed his lips and planted a kiss on the maknae's forehead.

"My Jeonggukie, always so polite. Good morning to you too, baby. Let's get you some medicine and some food so you can get back to sleep okay?"

"Okay," Jeongguk mumbled, struggling to push himself up to sit against the headboard. Namjoon immediately moved to help him up, hoisting him up by the armpits until he was comfortably upright. The younger man winced as soon as he was sitting up, grinding his palm against his eye to try and ease the headache. He obediently opened his lips for the thermometer, holding it underneath his tongue until it beeped. 101.9.

"He wasn't very bad last night at all, hyung, I was surprised when I woke up this morning," Namjoon fretted, chewing his lip.

"You and me both, Joonie. We'll fix him right up though, aghi, don't worry too much," Seokjin said, putting the thermometer down on the bedside table and unscrewing the lid to the fever reducers, shaking a few out onto his palm.

Namjoon was about to respond when Jeongguk's face screwed up again for the second time that morning. His eyes got a far-off look as they glazed over, breath hitching. His already-pink nose twitched and nostrils flared, trembling. He brought his hands up where they paused, hovering just a few inches away from his face.

"Hih..."

Jeongguk squeezed his watering eyes shut, letting out an involuntary whimper as the sneeze refused to leave his body. The singer's mouth hung open just slightly as his breathing hitched again, once, twice, three times, nostrils flared and nose twitching.

"Hih... Hh... Hih.h..! Hihtshu! Hi'tshh!" His body lurched forward as he caught the sneezes in his cupped hands. Seokjin quietly blessed him and rubbed his back. Jeongguk let out a little groan as he leaned back slowly, dropping his hands and scrunching his face up in pain. The sneezing hadn't done much to help his headache.

"Oh, baby, I know," Seokjin cooed, running his thumbs over the distressed lines in the younger's face. Namjoon hopped up from the bed and drew the blinds, engulfing the room in a pleasant darkness. Jeongguk visibly relaxed at the abscence of light, sighing and melting back into the headboard. "Here, Ggukkie, take these and drink half the glass." The older singer pressed the pills into the maknae's hand and held the glass of water he had brought along near his lips. Obediently, Jeongguk popped the pills into his mouth and drank from the cool glass of water as Seokjin put it to his lips. Surprisingly, the younger drained the whole thing - both of his hyungs were pleasantly surprised.

"Good job, babe," Namjoon praised, kissing him on the cheek and patting him gently on the head. Jeongguk made a satisfied noise low in his throat, eyes already closed and lolling down to his shoulder.

"That's my maknae," Seokjin smiled, patting the younger on the shoulder before turning to Namjoon. "I'll finish making his breakfast and leave it in the microwave. I think it's fine if you let him sleep for another few hours. Watch over him, okay?"

Namjoon fixed his eyes on the younger who was blissfully dozing by that point, head lolling down to his chest. "I will hyung."

Seokjin kissed the maknae on the top of his head before leaving the room, going to wake the rest of the members and get them to get ready as quietly as they could (if they could at all, that lively bunch...).

"C'mere, Jeonggukkie," Namjoon muttered, going around to his side of the bed and crawling under the covers, holding his arms out for the younger to crawl into. Jeongguk didn't miss a beat, drowsily slouching down and scooting over until he was wrapped up in the older's arms. He nosed forward until his warm forehead was pressed square against his hyung's cheek. Jeongguk intertwined a leg with the older man's, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close as he shivered; he must have been freezing cold. Tucking the blanket securely underneath his dongsaeng's chin, Namjoon pulled him as close as he was able. The younger's breathing was already slow and even, already asleep. Namjoon laughed silently and pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting his eyes drift shut as well.

“Saranghae.”

There were definitely worse ways to spend the day, he thought.

#bts snz #snz #snz fic #snzfic #bts sickfic

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pianomanblaine · 4 years ago

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Be My Guest

AO3 FFN

This had been a horrible mistake. She had known it from the start, and the blinding flash of lightning followed closely by the loud rumble of thunder overhead only confirmed it. Her father should have listened to her when she suggested staying another night at the inn, but they were nearly out of money and had already stayed in the same village longer than they usually would. They needed to move on to a new place where their music would be received by a fresh, hopefully well-paying audience. Gustave hoped to find that in Paris and so he had convinced his daughter not to postpone their departure any longer, despite his deteriorating health. He insisted it was merely a cold and it would pass soon enough. Christine suspected he was in much worse condition than he claimed to be, but Gustave Daaé was a stubborn man.

When they passed through a small village around midday and the sky was looking darker and more ominous by the minute, Christine once again tried to persuade her father to rest there and travel on the next morning. Gustave would not hear of it. He was convinced that if they pushed on now, they could make it to the city before nightfall. Apparently he refused to see that the weather was about to take a turn for the worse.

Three hours later, they were caught in a downpour, with no village, house or farm in sight. They were both soaked to the skin and freezing. Gustave was exhausted. He could not take ten steps without bursting into another bout of coughing. If they did not find shelter from the storm soon, Christine feared her father might not make it through the night.

Maybe if they had gone left at the last fork in the road instead of right, they would have found a place to stay by now, but they had come too far to turn back. She was growing truly desperate. Someone had to be living around here. There had to be someone who could help them. She could not lose her father like this.

Christine did not believe in miracles, and yet that is exactly what it felt like when they rounded the bend in the road and found that the path they were on led straight to a grand solitary estate. They followed the long lane flanked with beech trees to a large wrought iron gate, behind which lay a manor surrounded by vast, well-tended gardens. At first Christine feared that the gate was closed and that they had come all this way in vain, but with a firm shove the gate gave way.

“We’re saved, papa,” Christine sighed in relief. He was so weakened by now that he could not walk without leaning on his daughter, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist to support most of his weight. In her other hand she carried the most valuable thing they owned: her father’s violin, while the rest of their meagre belongings were tied together in a bag strapped to her back. She was cold and wet and tired, and all that weight she was carrying did nothing to improve matters. If they had not come across the manor, she did not know how much longer she would have been able to go on herself.

She almost had to drag her father towards the entrance. She was about to put the violin down for a moment so she could reach for the brass knocker when the heavy wooden door in front of her seemed to sway open of its own accord. Entering an unfamiliar house without being invited in was not something Christine would do under normal circumstances, but another loud clap of thunder and the rain still relentlessly pelting down on them urged her inside.

The door closed heavily behind them with a resounding bang, making Christine jump. It was probably just the wind, she told herself. She expected the noise would alert whoever lived here, or perhaps a member of the staff, to their presence, but no one came to see what was going on. She called out, but her ‘hello’ simply echoed off the walls.

The hall they found themselves in was so dark they could not see two steps in front of them. There must be drapes covering the windows, she thought, and there were no lamps or candles to be seen. She realized that if they had to walk around the place looking for someone to help them, she would need at least one hand free to feel around for any obstacles, so she untied the luggage from her back and put it down on the floor together with the violin, hoping it would not be in anybody’s way.

She carefully walked forward, her free arm stretched out in front of her, the other still supporting her father, who was now shivering uncontrollably and still coughing. He needed a doctor as soon as possible, or at the very least a fire to warm himself until a doctor could be summoned.

Determined to find someone to help them, Christine carefully took a few shuffling steps forward, feeling her way across the hall until her hand encountered a wall. The chattering of her teeth increased at the feel of the cold stone beneath her fingers as she followed the wall to her left, and she was relieved beyond measure when after a few moments she could see a small speck of light in the distance. Light meant fire, and fire meant warmth.

As they neared the light, she noticed the room they were about to enter was a very large sitting room. She could see a sofa and an ottoman in front of the fire, but not much else. Since the fire burning in the hearth was the only source of light, the majority of the room was cast in darkness. Not that what the room looked like was of any importance to her at the moment. The only thing she cared about was the roaring fire in front of them.

Father and daughter hurried forward as best as they could in their exhausted state, falling to their knees in front of the fireplace and stretching out their hands towards the flames almost close enough to burn their fingers.

It took a while for the warmth to seep into their skin, but eventually Christine’s teeth stopped chattering and she directed her attention back to her father. His shivering had lessened somewhat, but his face had taken on a sickly pale shade and the coughing simply would not stop. She had to search the rest of the house quickly for someone who could help them and hopefully send for a physician, but her father was too weak to go with her and she did not want to leave him alone in his condition.

While she was considering what to do, she felt a shift in the air around her and knew that someone else had entered the room, although they stayed out of the circle of light around the fireplace, remaining invisible.

“How dare you set foot on my property without my consent?”

A thunderous, bodiless voice boomed around the room. Christine shivered – not because of the cold this time – and instinctively gripped her father’s hand tightly in hers. She looked around her, trying to locate where the voice was coming from, but it did not appear to originate from one particular spot, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

“Apologies, monsieur, we simply wish –“ Gustave managed to croak before another violent bout of coughing forced him to stop speaking.

“I do not care about your wishes, old man. I am not your fairy godmother,” the man bit out. “You are trespassing. I want you to leave. Now.” His voice emanated power. Despite how cold and tired she was, Christine suddenly felt the urge to do exactly what he told her, almost as if he was compelling her to follow his orders with nothing but his voice, but leaving was not an option.

She could not fault the man, whoever he was, for being angry with them. He was right after all. They had entered his house without permission. Still, how could he turn them away just like that, with the storm still raging outside? And could he not see what poor condition her father was in?

“Please monsieur, we only seek shelter from the storm,” Christine pleaded. “We have nowhere else to go, and my father is terribly ill. If he is not tended to soon, he may die.” Her voice faltered at the last word and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “He is all I have. I cannot lose him. Please do not send us away, monsieur, I beg you.”

She did not want to cry in front of this stranger, who would not even do them the courtesy of showing himself, but she felt a sob rising in her throat. If he sent them away now, she would lose the only person she held dear in this world, the only family she had left.

The voice was quiet for a while. Maybe she had finally managed to get through to this man, to make him understand how dire her circumstances were and how much his hospitality would mean to her.

When he spoke again, Christine was sorely disappointed.

“And how would you repay me for my extraordinary kindness if I decided to let you stay for the night?”

Although Christine found the question quite impertinent and was astounded by his lack of sympathy, she was so hopeless that she would do anything the stranger asked of her as long as it meant her father was going to be looked after.

“We do not have much money, but whatever we have is yours – “

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice interrupted. “Did you not take a moment to appreciate the size of this estate before you so carelessly intruded on my privacy?” He let out a dark chuckle that sent another shiver down her spine. “I do not want for money, child.”

Although his arrogance and condescending tone infuriated her to no end, she could not let it show. However unlikable he may seem, he was her only hope. She needed his help.

“What else can I offer you then, monsieur?”

As soon as the question had left her lips, she regretted it. She could not see his face, but she could hear the taunting grin in his voice as he answered.

“Let me see. What could a beautiful young girl like you have to offer me? I am sure we could think of something.”

Young and innocent she might be, but she was not that naïve. She understood perfectly well what he was insinuating. She had to think of something quickly, before the conversation got completely out of hand, and so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I – I could sing for you.”

“Sing for me?”

Rather than sounding amused or conceited, his voice now carried a hint of curiosity. She had not expected him to be interested in her voice, but apparently her offer had captured his attention.

“My father and I are travelling musicians, monsieur. He is clearly in no condition to play, but I could still sing, if that would appeal to you.”

He seemed to think it over. For a while, all that could be heard was her father’s wheezing and harsh breathing, along with the sound of the rain beating incessantly against the windows.

Eventually, the voice replied. “Well, let us hear it then.”

Singing a cappella was not something Christine was used to. In normal circumstances her father would accompany her on the violin and she would draw confidence from his wonderful melodies, letting them carry and support her voice, but this time she would have to manage on her own.

She drew a deep, steadying breath and began to sing.

It had not been a conscious decision to sing in Swedish. The repertoire she and her father chose from when performing consisted mostly of French songs, which appealed more to a French audience than music written in a language they could not understand. Yet for whatever reason, this particular song from her home country was the first one that came to mind.

It was a folk song about a young girl who fell in love for the first time, only to realize that the object of her affections was already in love with another woman. Although the story was sad and the melody haunting, the song had always been one of her favourites. Her mother used to sing it to her every night before she went to sleep. It was one of the few things she could still remember about her time in Sweden, when her dear mama was still alive.

After she let the last note die out, the voice remained silent for what felt like an eternity. Perhaps she had offended him somehow. Maybe she should have chosen a French song after all, or a more cheerful one, or maybe he simply was not impressed with her voice. If she had angered him in any way, however unwittingly, he would certainly cast them out and they would be a lost cause.

Eventually the stranger broke the silence. “I have a proposition for you.”

For a moment Christine doubted whether she had heard him correctly. That was not at all what she had expected him to say.

“What sort of proposition?” she inquired.

“I will let you and your father stay here for the night. One of my servants will look after him, and tomorrow morning he will be brought to the private hospital in town, where he will receive the best medical care available. You do not need to worry about the expense, I will take care of everything.”

Could he be serious? Two minutes ago he wanted nothing more than to have them removed from the premises immediately, and now he was offering to pay for her father’s medical care? Could one song have caused such a change of heart? If he truly meant what he said, she would be elated, of course. It would be the answer to all her prayers, but given his earlier behaviour she doubted that he would do all of this simply out of kindness.

“I- I do not understand,” Christine stuttered. “What would be in it for you then?”

“I would expect you to stay here with me for the duration of your father’s stay in hospital. As my guest, my… companion, if you will.”

Her father, who had stayed out of the discussion until now, finally spoke, using the little strength he had left in him to voice his concern.

“No. Christine, you… cannot.” He coughed heavily in between words, heaving for breath, but he went on. “You… do not know him… don’t know… his intentions.”

The voice chuckled, seemingly unconcerned about her father’s struggle to breathe, but rather amused by his protests.

“Ah, I believe I can ease your father’s mind in that respect. I can assure you that no harm will come to you while you stay here, and I can also promise that there will be no… untoward behaviour from my side. I will have my lawyer draw up a contract first thing tomorrow morning. Should you find that any of these conditions are not met, the contract will be rendered void immediately and you will be allowed to leave as soon as you wish.”

How could she refuse such an offer? He was clearly making an effort to ensure her safety, even putting everything on paper so she could leave without repercussions if he did not keep his promises. And most importantly, her father would be cared for. There was still no guarantee that he would survive, but at least he would have a chance. He would receive much better care than what they could afford, and all she had to do in return was move in here, into a house that seemed at least ten times the size of her home back in Sweden. It almost sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch somewhere.

“What if, for whatever reason, I want to leave before my father has fully recovered?”

“Then you will be allowed to do so, of course,” he replied, “although in that case my payments to the hospital will cease immediately.”

“And what exactly would you expect me to do during my stay here?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I do not receive many guests here, so I would simply like you to keep me company for a while. I might ask you to sing for me on occasion. I’m sure that will not be a problem.”

He did not strike her as a very sociable kind of man, so she did not understand why he was so interested in her company. Yet if all he wanted was for her to talk to him and sing a few songs once in a while… That did not sound too bad, did it?

The fact that she was even considering this bizarre proposal was a clear indication of how desperate she really was. She simply could not lose her father, so if this was what she needed to do to save him, she would do it. There was only one more thing she needed to ask before she could accept his offer.

“Will you step into the light? If I am to stay here, I believe I at least have the right to know who I am talking to.”

At first, she thought he had not heard her as he remained out of sight. After a few seconds, however, she could discern movement in the shadows to her right, somewhere between the far wall and the fireplace. Ever so slowly, as if he were afraid of making sudden movements lest he scare her away, a tall, imposing figure stepped forward. Christine could not make out the colour of his eyes from this distance, but it seemed for a moment as if they were glowing in the dark, like those of a cat. It must be the reflection of the fire, she thought.

There was something strange about his face as well. It seemed as if his skin was glistening, but only on the right side. It was not until he was standing right in front of her, within the circle of light cast by the fire, that she understood why: a white mask was covering the right side of his face from his forehead over his nose to his jaw and upper lip. Later she would notice other things about his appearance, like how elegantly dressed he was in his black evening suit and how gracefully he moved. In those first few moments she saw him though, all her focus was on his mask. She wanted to know why he was wearing it, what he was hiding underneath, but she knew asking him would be incredibly rude, as was staring, so she forced her gaze away from his face.

It did not matter what he looked like. Her mind was already made up.

“Very well. I will stay.”

Her father made to protest, but she silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, papa. You do not have to worry about me. I will be safe here. All that matters now is that you get better.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another figure enter the room, although she had not heard the man summon anyone. It was a woman who seemed to be about her father’s age.

“Madame Giry,” the man addressed her, “have one of the servants take monsieur…”

“Daaé,” Christine answered his unspoken question. “His name is Gustave Daaé, and I am Christine.”

“Have someone take Monsieur Daaé to the servants’ quarters. That way he will not need to go up any stairs. And have a room prepared for Mademoiselle Daaé.”

Madame Giry nodded her compliance and without another word, the man left the room.

She did not even know his name.

#phantom of the opera #poto fanfic #poto fanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction #e/c #eline writes #my fic #be my guest

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imjeralee · 4 years ago

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hi!! uh, how about both leon and raihan realizing they have feelings for a male challenger? someone of age, ofcourse. i just thought it would be cute to see them be like, “holy fuck, that guy is pretty 👁️👁️”

hi anon! thanks for the ask. Sure thing, see below -

Leon:

Being Galar’s Champion means Leon gets the chance to see, meet and battle thousands of eager and ambitious gym challengers on a regular basis over the course of his ten year reign

Lately he heard about a gym challenger who had taken the gyms all by storm and had impressed a great deal of the gym leaders and when you passed the semi-finals and finals, he’s even more intrigued.

So he’s naturally curious and also really excited and interested to meet you. He can’t wait to see what you look like, what kind of person you are, what kind of pokemon you have, how you’ve been treating them and how close you are to them and what the battle might be like if you get to the Championship - this is the typical kind of things he thinks about because he’s so passionate about pokemon and battling

But what about himself?

EXACTLY, so he’s totally not prepared to see the gorgeous young man standing opposite him on the pitch when it’s finally time for his battle with you.

Leon doesn’t fall in love with his opponents. He’s not supposed to and no-one has ever made his heart skipped a beat, but his heart did when he laid eyes on you. He’s so blown away by how stunning and breathtaking you are. You’ve taken him off guard in every possible way!

You stand opposite him with a determined but friendly smile on your face in your gym challenger gear and Leon will just stand there and stare for a good moment or so before he finally snaps himself out of it. He’ll be a bit surprised and taken aback by the emotions he’s feeling right now, his cheeks red.

When you walk up, he grows even more nervous which is unlike him and you tell him that you’ve always admired him and you’re really looking forward to the battle etc etc no matter who is the winner. Leon’s heart thumps hard the entire time as he looks at you.

Reminding himself of his duty and the whole reason why they’re here in Wyndon Stadium and with the cheering crowd in the background, Leon goes back to Champion mode and puts that front where he’s grinning and folding his arms over his chest and going like ‘Congratulations Challenger for making it all the way to the finals! I am Leon, Champion of Galar’ the usual standard speech he says to other people who get to this stage but you notice he actually stammers at some point and you’re like ???

You’re not the only one who’s noticed his change of demeanour - Leon is all too aware and he’s not familiar with this feeling; he's not meant to or supposed to be feeling like this. What on earth is happening to him?

The battle begins and Leon usually experiences and goes through the pre-battle jittery sensation, the adrenaline rush and excitement of getting to fight a strong opponent but on this occasion, it’s going crazy and the amount of pressure he feels crazy intense! You’re definitely keeping our sweet Champion on his toes. He realises he’s pretty anxious and nervous in your presence. He doesn’t want to mess up, he doesn’t want to look like a fool.

He will probably focus-slap his face three times and another for good measure, which you notice but you just smile it off

The battle will be intense and Leon will do his best to focus on the match. In fact, he’s trying so hard he’ll be sweating a lot XD

If you lose, he’ll feel really bad and your sad face makes his heart lurch. He’ll approach you shyly and take his hat off, holding it in his hands as he speaks to you; he will be kind and spend more time with you afterwards compared to his other opponents in the past and he will offer to heal your Pokemon, or come with you to the pokemon centre.

Now that he can’t quite get you out of his head, Leon will want to see you again and can’t wait for the next battle, though inwardly he will always be hoping for more between you

On the other hand, if you win, well you’re the next Champion, Leon will be bewildered at first but at the same time he can’t help but thinking how pretty you are and when you’re emotional and celebrating, he’ll just think to himself O_O oh my god, this guy is so beautiful...he’ll be unable to tear his eyes off you and despite losing the title, he’ll really hope you will continue to be in his life someway or another. He'll probably offer to mentor you into becoming a good Champion and providing emotional support should your duties become too much to bear.

Raihan:

For Raihan, it’s just another day at the gym where he’s meant to be battling and his attention will be on his phone when he’s summoned to the pitch, busy with his social media and taking pictures or waving to the crowd

But when he’s introduced to his opponent and he puts his phone down and stops waving, taken aback by how attractive this gym challenger is. He won’t act like he is but he’s thinking it.

He’ll quickly do his best to find out everything about you if he can - from your social media, any photos, any blogs etc.

He won’t hide anything. The moment he laid eyes on you and he liked what he saw. He doesn’t even care who’s watching and who’s listening. He’ll still keep it professional when you walk up to the pitch to face him to talk.

Raihan doesn’t mind having relationships with gym challengers and has often thought about it because he’s pretty open, though it is frowned upon. But he’s careful and he’s also quick to know if someone’s just using him just to get his badge and advance onto the championship.

He won’t get that vibe from you though; he knows you’re genuine and hardworking, and Raihan can tell who is a passionate, seasoned battler - it’s from all those years of being Leon’s rival.

He’ll really want to get to know you better.

He’ll say something different to you compared to the other gym challengers, something flirtatious with double entendres which will have you blushing.

And you’ll feel the way how he looks at you...you can tell he’s interested in you beyond the typical and simple gym-challenger/gym leader scope

When you shake hands, he’ll subtly squeeze your hand and even brush his fingers over your knuckles and thumb in a flirty way, accompanied with a wink and a grin.

It doesn’t mean he’ll go easy on you though, just because you’re easy on the eyes.

Raihan will battle you ferociously. It’s his way of testing you.

During the battle and you’ll feel this intense chemistry between you two, from the way how he looks at you, how he smirks and grins or licks his top lip and fang... he looks hungry for you. You might need to calm your racing heart a few occasions and remind yourself to focus

If you lose, he will feel a bit disappointed but he’s looking forward to the rematch. Before you leave, he’ll ask to take a selfie with you and will probably ask for your number or something so you can keep in touch.

If you win, Raihan will be stunned but immensely turned on. He likes having a partner who is stronger than him LOL.

He’s super impressed; not many gym challengers have come close to making him feel the way he does. He’ll take a selfie with you and ask for your number. When you’re closer, he'll ask you to meet him often outside of the gym.

#pokemon #pkmn #pokemonshield #pokemonswordandshield #pokemonsword #pokemonshieldsword #pokemonshieldandsword #leon #raihan #dande #kibana #pokemon imagines #pokemon headcanons

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oliverwvvd · 4 years ago

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the devil in me, part ii

Back to writing these two, inevitably, at long last. This is for the lovely anon who dropped by and mentioned this one, despite it having been years since the last post. This is slightly trigger heavy, so sorry if the triggers contain spoilers, but people's mental health comes first so they can choose whether or not to engage with the content.

This is part of a series. You can find part one here.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: When Marcus wakes again in the endless white of St Mungo's, Oliver is still there, and his wand is still gone. Marcus thinks it's about debts owed, or at least, that's what he's trying to tell himself. Whatever other reasons might keep Oliver Wood at his bedside aren't remotely within a framework he's equipped to handle. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency, implied invasion of the mind, implied intention not to survive]

When he wakes, one needle is back in his arm and Marcus’ first inclination is to be pissed off about it. Of course it is. Being angry is the best alternative, sublimation for all of the other emotions he should be feeling and isn’t. He doesn’t need any St Mungo’s trained therapist to tell him about that, mainly because it’s deliberate on his part.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I don’t want painkiller withdrawal on top of everything else. The dosage has to be sky-high for me not to be feeling anything.”

“So you’d rather have the searing amount of pain that makes you pass out within minutes instead? You’re right; being a masochist is a much better idea.”

He closes his eyes. “Why are you still here, again?”

“Waiting for you to take your head out of your arse, though it seems I’ll be in for a long wait.” The tart rejoinder in a lovely, rolling Scottish brogue that he instinctively wants to wrap himself in doesn’t help his temper. Neither does the fact that Oliver is still too earnest despite the familiar barb in the words, as though he thinks he owes Marcus something. The stubborn set to his jaw is familiar too, viewed more than once when facing him on a Quidditch pitch.

It makes Marcus want to push him away for his own safety, because don’t you know what I am? Instead, his gaze is sulky, as though he’s a teenager again in a way he hasn’t been in years, and it’s solely fixed on Oliver. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here,” he says, and if that’s not the biggest lie he’s told in the past couple of years, he’s not entirely sure what is.

Oliver shrugs. “That’s too bad, Flint, because I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wearing a poloneck jumper, just like he used to at school when it got to winter weekends out of uniform, and Marcus has the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe it covers bruises or worse. A second thought just as horrifying resurfaces: he still doesn’t have his wand.

That thought makes him abruptly change the subject. “Alright, Wood, since you’re here, be a good boy and tell me why I don’t have my wand.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t phrase it as one. To punctuate it and make it clear he’s not asking, Marcus opts to verbally twist the knife for good measure. “You owe me. That’s why you’re here, right? To settle the debt. So start talking.” That’s not a question either, because why else Oliver might be there is more than he can possibly handle getting into.

Oliver’s (Wood’s, damn it) expression darkens momentarily, as though he’s about to pick a fight. Marcus wants him to, because at least that would be normal, but he sees it the moment that Oliver registers he’s in a hospital bed all over again, sees the way his gaze turns pained and then the shutters draw closed again so he’s at a loss for what the other is thinking. He doesn’t like it. Oliver was always an open book, no filter, no love lost on his side of the equation. He doesn’t know what this new thing is.

He clears his throat brusquely. “Well?”

Oliver sighs. “They’re concerned about your mental state as well. That’s why you don’t have your wand. They thought you might try something you’d regret.”

Fury is, of course, the quickest and most reliable reaction. “So they thought they’d improve things by taking away the only piece of autonomy I had available to me for months? That’s genius thinking, that is. Who do I need to see to recommend them for promotion?”

Oliver’s lips twitch briefly then, clearly catching the sarcasm, but at the same time seemingly unable to smile at it. That’s fine, because it’s not funny at all.

Marcus exhales a sharp sigh, one that’s less exasperated by this point than unimpressed. “I suppose they thought I’d curse the whole place down, eh?” This time, it is a question, and the smile that goes with it isn’t genuine, it’s mean and sharp-edged. It’s an echo of all the ugly things that have stained his hands and his mind, and it occurs to him that throughout that, Oliver has been the only good thing, a pure thing he’d constructed for himself, a secret he kept that was sometimes the only reason he didn’t give in altogether. Now that’s done and it’s back to reality.

To his consternation, Oliver shakes his head, as though he can sense what Marcus is thinking. “No one believes that after the battle. You threw yourself in the way of someone that would have been dead if you hadn’t, without knowing whether you’d survive.” The words seemed hard for Oliver to speak, as though it was like a demon lived in his throat for as long as they sat there. “They didn’t know if you were going to pull through, the first couple of days.”

An eye-roll is Marcus’ first response to that, and he averts his gaze from Oliver then. “That was sort of the bloody point, Wood.” The words fall heavily in the room between them, but this time it’s not out of malice, it’s from defeat, an admission that he should have kept to himself. The anger hasn’t emptied its well yet, but for the time being, it’s quiet, a savage thing made somnolent again by the fact that he can feel the needle in his arm start to pour more potion into him. Presumably, it’s going to knock him out eventually.

Oliver’s own exhale is shaken, as though Marcus has punched him square in the solar plexus and it hurts, badly. After all these months of silence, it’s as though the casually cruel words aiming to drive him away are doing more damage than even the war has managed to. “Flint, you can’t just…”

Marcus wants to sit up again but the potion, damn it, feels like it’s got him pinned in place. That makes him edgy, makes him feel the cold sweat of panic beginning to prick, and he absolutely will not have a panic attack of any kind in front of an audience. He swallows hard, and Oliver seems unable to finish the sentence. It hangs there between them, unfinished.

That’s the moment that the door creaks open and the healer walks in, oblivious to the conversation that had been happening beforehand. Oliver leans back in the chair beside Marcus’ bed.

Marcus’ lip curls just slightly. “Come to check I’m still breathing?” he asks snidely. “Sorry to disappoint. You can go now, your duty is done.”

The healer does no such thing. “I’d hoped you’d be asleep by now,” he says with a tsk tsk sound that reminds Marcus of the teachers from school whenever he didn’t do his homework correctly. It does nothing to endear the man to him at all. “Evidently we need to increase your dosage. You shouldn’t have ripped those needles out of your arm as soon as you did, but Mr Wood tells me you have a remarkably high tolerance for pain.”

That causes Marcus’ gaze to narrow in Oliver’s direction, and it’s as accusing as it gets.

Oliver, to his credit (the little of it that Marcus is currently willing to give) doesn’t look away. “I’ve been in the Hospital Wing with you multiple times,” is the reminder that unexpectedly arrives, softer than he’s ever deserved. “You never took your painkillers. You always cast Evanesco.”

On the one hand, Marcus’ glare only intensifies, because Oliver’s just ratted him out to the healer. On the other, what does it even mean that Oliver remembers; how there seems to be something dark and sad behind his gaze ever since a few minutes ago. It doesn’t correlate with his real life knowledge of Wood, only the fantasy version he constructed in his head to have a reason to go on, and Marcus is fully aware of how incredibly unhealthy that was and is.

It’s only the healer’s voice that interrupts their charged stare, clearly ready to go for another lecture. “Well, there will be no hiding painkillers here. What were you thinking, taking those out? Did you just not realise the degree of damage you took?” It isn’t an indignant pair of questions, instead asked with the tone of someone who wants to understand the subject they are studying. It presses all of the wrong buttons for Marcus, and he endures it in silence until he can’t.

This is the moment he snaps. But it isn’t like every other time he’s lost his temper. No, this is different; his voice is surprisingly quiet and unsteady when he speaks. “Why does everyone want to know what I’m thinking suddenly? I’ve just spent the last two years having my mind pulled apart at a moment’s notice. All that I want is for everyone to stop trying to get into my head because I don’t want anyone in there ever again. Got it? It’s none of your business what I’m thinking.”

Dimly, he registers that Oliver has gone pale as he starts to understand what Marcus means. The healer looks appalled, because evidently, this was something undetectable while he was unconscious, and he’s beyond lashing out, because this has hit places he doesn’t want to go.

“Get out.” The words are quieter still, and there’s a flat, dulled down, deadly note to them.

Even half-conscious on a bed, drugged by the potion, it leaves to question what Marcus is capable of, the one thing no one has dared to think about so far. It’s a weak threat, but his voice carries all of it, like it’s every atom of a star at the moment of destruction.

The healer leaves. Oliver doesn’t, because Oliver hasn’t learned to be afraid of him, even though he should have.

When Marcus looks at him again, he thinks that he sees Oliver flinch, just a little around the eyes, and he knows he’s going to say something unforgivable if he isn’t left alone. “I meant you as well.” The words are empty. You need to go before I do any more things that I regret, and I can’t live with any more.

Oliver doesn’t listen. Instead, he does something that Marcus can handle even less. He climbs onto the bed and rests there next to him, close enough for Marcus to feel him breathe. “You’re really not a good listener, Flint. I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Marcus’ hands suddenly feel too heavy, utterly ineffectual when he tries to raise them to push Wood right off the bed. Land on his arse. That’ll show him. Instead, his head starts to nod forward, and Oliver, the scheming bastard, must have known that the potion would take effect soon, had kept him talking until he had no choice but to go back to sleep again.

He’s so angry. He’s exhausted. He’s repeating the same cycle, inescapable, stuck on a loop of his own making. There’s wool against his face, something warm against his back. Oliver’s voice is there, he can feel it rumble in his chest, but the words don’t even register. It’s a warm sound, like copper and firelight, and it’s the last thing in his dwindling awareness before the world is lost altogether.

The frightening part is that he’s starting to want to wake up again.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

#the devil in me #ol writes things #flintwood #flintwoodnet #marcus flint #oliver wood #marcus x oliver

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mandadoration · 5 years ago

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before the winter

summary: anon asked: I am LITERALLY BEGGING on my KNEES for a sliver of Din (from that black and white drawing) with a breeding kink. He looks like he fucks wild, like supet dominant, almost primal, but extremely caring. Mando is definitely territorial over his girl. Bitch looks like he invented the breeding kink... I unfortunately cannot help that I am a whore for that man - Fool + anon asked: Could we maybe get some breeding kink din? Claiming his girl in the ultimate way, making her take his seed and punishing her if any falls out. He wants to breed her, wants to fuck himself and his seed so deep she will always be his, telling her dirty things while he does it, how she'll always be his, how she is going to take his cum like a good girl and not waste a single drop

word count: 1, 6222

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

warnings: smut, breeding kink, mild bondage

a/n: so the context behind the drawing by @magichandthing is “what if clan leaders dressed like this” and so uh

I’ve taken some liberties with thinking about if this were the case (i.e. clan leaders =/= covert leaders, but still in high standing? maybe some sort of council?) I’ve also amended the Ways of the Mandalore and Mandalorian culture to try and explain his dress.

Also kind of expanded on this post?

Read this on AO3

In the turbulent times of today, trying to make sure the Ways of the Mandalore didn’t die out were crucial. Mandalorians were an endangered way of life already, and the current political climate wasn’t the best environment for expanding. Secrecy and discipline were enforced. Mandalorian coverts were hidden with high security and discretion. All members of the covert had to be on the same page at all times to reduce risk. After all, the best way to stop something was to stop it from happening in the first place. All of these preventative measures, but time marches on without a care. A new generation had to be brought up.

Foundlings were to be revered, but there always seemed to be an undercurrent of tragedy underneath all that. A foundling wasn’t taken in by a clan unless they were all alone, and as death tolls rose, more and more were orphans. There seemed to be an increase of that, it seems. Young children left alone in the cruel world forever torn apart by war. As Imperials do anything and everything to scrabble for power, numbers were growing seemingly by the day as more and more children were taken under wing. They were cared for, and even loved, for a found family was just as important as beskar.

But a child born into a clan was something to be celebrated.

“Mando--”

Which is why your whimpering voice and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting were echoing around the empty chamber as Mando takes you from behind.

As a result of circumstance, the Way has amended itself a little, and life became different compared to what it was in the past. It still retained the heart and soul of Mandalore, staying true to the real meaning of what it means to be a Mandalorian, but times have forced change, especially concerning clans. For example, within their home turf, clan leaders forwent the usual pomp of beskar. Of course, anywhere else, and they would proudly show off shining armor and the best gear. The show of bare skin was a testament that they have earned their title through blood and body, a way of showing their status. To have the grace to bare their skin, especially in these dangerous times, was an immense show of power.

For you, it just means less layers. Less layers meant Mando could sheathe himself into your warm heat faster. Less layers meant it’d be easier and more convienent to fuck a child into you.

You weren’t a Mandalorian. You weren’t a foundling and you didn’t swear the Creed, but you were unequivocally Mando’s, and you were his to take whenever he felt like it. It’s a high honor to catch the eye of a clan leader, especially one as selective as Mando, and you became a person of intrigue when it was revealed you weren’t bound by the Way. Despite the eyes that follow you and the ever-so fleeting touches from others in the covert, the marks that never failed to show on your throat far above what any collar could hide spoke more than words.

The last time someone put their hand on you, Mando had no hesitation on showing what happens when someone fucks with something that belonged to him.

Paz Vizla’s broken arm was a testament to that.

Mando puts a firm hand on your back and pushes you down, keeping you face down, ass up as his hips snap forward against yours. Each thrust makes you scoot forward the slightest, and punched out moans seem to be the only sound you can make beyond the occasional garbled sound of his name. His grip is bruising on your hips, and he pulls you back to meet him halfway in an effort to increase his pace. Mando’s breathing is labored, a soft groan going through his vocoder every now and then, but he’s rather impassive considered how brutally he was fucking you.

Mando’s beads and necklaces have long since been discarded, and his pants are only shoved down far enough to reveal his cock. You wish he could pull you flush against his chest, but the horns soldered onto his helmet prevents you from getting too close. You don’t mind, and you mind even less in those rare moments you’re on top, holding on to those horns for stability as you fuck yourself on him. But Mando had descended upon you far too quickly and without any preamble that you had no time to even ask him what was going on. Clothes were taken off, and if too much of a hassle, ripped off, his belt secured around your wrists and shoved to the cold floor of his room. Your hands are bound in front of you with it, the Mudhorn buckle, the symbol of his clan, glinting in the low light of the room. He at least had the sense to lay his cloak underneath you, and the fur trim gave your hands something to grasp at.

You only feel the slightest bit of guilt when your tears soak the fine fabric.

Mando moves his hold on your waist to your arms, yanking you back as your back arches and lets Mando somehow sink deeper into you. The moan you let out is filthy, and you think through the haze that you’re being a little too loud, and others were sure to hear. So you bite your lip, teeth tugging on the soft skin as you try to stifle the sounds, only for you to yelp when Mando slaps your ass before he goes back to hold onto your arms.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Your shoulders are straining at the joints from the angle you’re held up in, but you’re so close that you ignore it in favor of increasing your moans tenfold as per his request. In turn, a deep, guttural growl emanates from Mando, making you clench around him.

“Fuck,” he snarls. “My sweet girl, so- so tight, so willing, and all mine.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust that makes you shake. Mando slips out of you, chuckling under his breath at the needy whine you give, and flips you over so that you’re on your back. One grabs your bound wrists and pins them above your head, and the other comes down to lead himself back into your blushed hole, the sweet drag of his cock curling your toes and making you see stars. As you stare up at his helmet with glazed-over eyes, you can see how truly debauched you look in the reflection. Hair mussed, face flushed, eyes shining with unshed tears, seemingly frozen in a permanent state of euphoria. That’s what Mando saw when he looked at you.

You wish you could kiss him.

And that’s another thought that’s fucked out of you as Mando resumes his previous pace. Harsh, unforgiving, and with a clear purpose in mind.

He leans in as close as he can. “Are you going to cum with me?” Mando croons. You nod frantically, half delirious from the rising rush of your orgasm, and give a moan of appreciation when Mando dips his hand down to rub at your clit, matching it in time with each thrust. “Where do you want me cum?” he asks, and it’s a misleading question because you know all he wants to hear is you beg for it. “In your mouth? On your face? Wherever you want, sweet girl, I will do it.” Mando’s voice is so tender and soft, borderline condescending compared to how ruined you feel. He’s close, you can tell, the strong, corded muscles under his skin jumping and straining to maintain an even pace, and he gets awfully wordy when he’s about to cum.

“In me!” you gasp out, clenching and unclenching your hands, nails digging into your soft palms. You strain against your bonds, wanting so badly to bring him close, to touch him. “Please, fuck, Mando, cum in me!”

“Anything for you,” he grunts, “Anything for my sweet girl,” and with one final swipe at your clit with the rough pad of his gloved thumb, you’re cumming, mouth open in a soundless scream as your eyes roll back into your skull. Mando buries himself to the hilt, moaning through the voice modulator as he releases inside of you, and from how much he absolutely fills you, his hot cum has nowhere to go but out, leaking over his cock and smearing over your thighs. His cloak is definitely stained from that.

As you start to come out of your haze, whimpering one last time with a hoarse voice as he slips out, the ridge of your entrance catching on his head, you’re glad that your hands are bound because you’re sure you would’ve torn up Mando’s back with your nails. You run your fingers over the crescent marks dug into your palm.

Maybe he’s into that. You’ll have to ask some other time.

Your heart rate picks up again when Mando makes a displeased sound, almost disappointed, running a finger over your abused entrance. “That won’t do,” he sighs, and he scoops some of his leaking cum to shove it back inside your hole, not caring when you jolt and sigh with each insistent press of his fingers.

You give him a breathless, “What?” and Mando just hooks his arms under your legs to bring him flush against his hips again.

“I said, ‘That won’t do’,” he repeats, slower this time, and your face reddens again when you feel his softened cock twitch against the cleft of your ass. “Because you’re a messy girl, and I’m aiming for a child before winter comes.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons @jokersdoll @creamysacrilege @blondecity

Pedro Tag: @mrsparknuts

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #smut #magichandthing #every day we stray further from gods light and i am the shepherd leading you all away #clan leader mando #clan leader au

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frenemies-to-lovers · 4 years ago

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The Glint of Your Blade | Jurdan Fluff (Jude POV)

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Just some Jude/Cardan fluff inspired by the Folktober 2020 prompt (I am phenomenally late to the party). Set after QON. There’s some sparring, some magic, and some making out.

((One-shot. 3820 words. Just fluff. Heat level: somewhere between mild and medium))

[Read on AO3]

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“I thought I might find you here,” Cardan’s familiar voice says from behind me, startling me and breaking my concentration. I lower Nightfell and turn to face him.

“You could have tried to make a little noise when you entered the room. It isn’t wise to startle someone with a sword in their hand,” I say, pushing my sweat-dampened hair out of my face.

“Perhaps. But you didn’t so much as point it at me, so perhaps I needn’t worry whether you’re armed or not,” he grins.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t stab you,” I retort. He merely hums in response, and I wonder what the truth is. Whether he believes I would or I wouldn’t, he’s unwilling to say.

He takes a step closer and I notice that his face is bare of it's usual golden shimmer and he’s wearing a plain black cloak. He must have had some time to wash and change before heading down to the Court of Shadows, where I’ve been practicing my swordsmanship since I left the brugh after dinner. Leaving Cardan to the revelry on his own.

“Are you planning on sneaking out this evening?” I ask, sweeping the tip of my sword up to point out his attire.

“Only if you wish to. I came to see if I could lure you away. You’ve been down here for quite some time,” he says.

That makes me smile. That he missed me.

“I didn’t realize,” I say honestly. “I’m having a hard time unwinding.” Despite having no immediate threats, court politics are always stressful. There are always dangers lurking throughout Elfhame, and I worry that I cannot anticipate them all.

“Why aren’t you sparring with The Ghost?” he asks.

“I sent him home. I knew he’d rather be spending time with Taryn. And every time we spar lately, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s probably old enough to be our father but he’s also my sister’s... boyfriend? It’s distracting. And kind of gross,” I say, making a face. He laughs.

“Then why not just drink some wine to ease your tension like the rest of us do?” I know he is teasing. I still haven’t developed a taste for alcohol, and do not drink beyond making toasts at feasts and revels.

“I needed to burn off some nervous energy. Wine doesn’t really help with that,” I answer.

“I know something that can help burn off that nervous energy,” Cardan murmurs, voice all honey and silk. He raises a black eyebrow and gives me his most mischievous grin. A sudden spike of heat rushes through me, and I know my face is flushed.

It has been months since I returned to Elfhame, since Cardan was cursed and then restored, since we began ruling together. Since we began sleeping together, and sharing the royal chambers. Since it became public knowledge that we are married -- something that is definitely still weird if I think about it too hard. The better part of a year has passed, and I still get a little flustered whenever he’s particularly forward. It probably encourages him, actually.

Not that I mind it. Not really.

“How about… I’ll try your way if you can disarm me.” I nod at the rack of weapons on a wall of the training room. My training room.

The Roach told me that it was something Cardan had insisted on for the new Court of Shadows. For me. Cardan and I had never actually talked about my training habits, but he must have made some assumptions about them based on what he had seen, what he had known. Those assumptions had made me feel truly and completely seen.

“My way?” That mischievous grin seems to grow wider. “Very well, Jude.”

Cardan goes to the rack, removing and hanging up his cloak before retrieving his sword -- his own sword, made for him by the newest resident smith at the palace. I was a little surprised when he had recruited my help in having it commissioned for him, as I knew he wasn’t partial to swordplay.

He had responded by telling me that perhaps he would find it more interesting with an instructor he was fond of looking at.

He turns back toward me and slices his sword through the air in large, sweeping strokes and then smaller ones. I catch myself looking him up and down as he moves. He is wearing plain black clothing, but it is still perfectly tailored to his frame. He catches my eye and I know he caught me staring, that he knows I wasn’t even thinking about critiquing his form. He grins at me again, and I glare back at him.

“Are you ready, then?” I ask, trying to sound detached.

He takes another few passes with his sword, these ones more purposeful. His skills with a blade are improving, but he still has a long way to go. He seems to sense the same thing in those few movements.

“I may have been a little overconfident in agreeing to your terms. How about we spar until I get under your guard, rather than disarming you?” he asks.

You’re always under my guard. The thought comes to me unbidden, comforting and startling in equal measure. Rather than say that, I try to appear as though I am considering his proposal.

“Alright,” I finally respond. “As a reward for your humility in acknowledging my superior swordsmanship, I will accept your terms.”

“Very generous, my queen,” he says, giving me a small bow and taking up a ready position.

I step toward him and raise Nightfell. His gaze sweeps over me slowly, his face full of determination and desire. I feel the force of his attention like a caress, intimate and possessive. I find my cheeks heating, unsure if his reaction is sincere or if it is an attempt to throw me off balance before we even begin.

I clear my throat.

“Are you quite done ogling me?” I raise an eyebrow as his eyes meet mine.

“I wasn’t ogling. I was. . . admiring your form.” He grins and lets his eyes wander again. I’m pretty sure there’s a blush all the way to my toes, but I refuse to be distracted by it. I hate that he knows how to use his charm on me, and that I’m responsible for the fact that he views it as a weapon to be wielded.

“Let’s begin, then,” I say.

Because his sword is at the ready, I don’t give him any other warning before I advance. I take a cautious swing to test his reflexes, neither as fast nor as strong as I know he is capable of deflecting. He blocks it effortlessly and I am pleased that he was still paying enough attention to be ready for my attack.

He does not return to a defensive position as I expect, but immediately presses into the offense. He swings quickly, but I parry. I see him ready to strike again and step out of his reach, allowing him to waste the effort. There are two ways I usually win with Cardan: I either let him tire himself out with repeated attempts to land a blow, or I tire him out by putting him on the defensive until he makes a mistake.

Since we have been practicing regularly, he has the skill to hold his own in a sparring match, but not the stamina. He has gotten strong, but he still moves a half a beat too slowly, still having to think about what he will do before he moves. My own body reacts more automatically, a lifetime of training and practice informing my steps without conscious thought.

He swings and jabs and strikes, over and over again. I deflect and parry and avoid his attacks, watching as the effort begins to take its toll on him. His breath is coming more rapidly, and his face is beginning to slip just a little. While he never wears the haughty expression I am used to seeing him deploy in public, he tries to keep his face cool and neutral when we spar. Now he looks intently focused on our battle, his eyebrows furrowed just a little in frustration.

“You seem to be tiring, my king,” I say, twisting away from him as he tries to press me backward toward the wall. “Are you ready to concede?”

His movements have become slower, his strike not as powerful as it was when we began. To his credit, I am also moving more slowly and my hair is damp with sweat. Each of his movements seems to be taking more and more concentration.

“Perhaps, my queen.” He strikes, and I block his blow but he continues pressing, our blades locked together. He presses forward and brings his face in as close as possible while avoiding the path of our crossed swords. He gives me a coy smile. “But I will save enough strength to ensure you’re properly spent before we’re finished.”

He withdraws his sword and readies to strike again. I automatically move to avoid the blow, but I am surprised to find myself falling backward. I bring my sword arm up in defense as I hit the hard packed earth of the floor. My free arm and hip are going to be bruised from the impact. I look down and see a vine coiled around the toe of my boot.

A cheap move, but effective.

Much like some of my own best moves.

He is turning out to be a much more apt pupil than I anticipated. He may have a lot to learn about swordplay, but he is an excellent strategist.

I look up, trying to school my expression away from wide-eyed shock to something more menacing. He is advancing on me slowly, his sword still raised, but he isn’t moving quickly enough to press his advantage. If he thinks he can best me by tripping me, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

I point my toe and begin to pull my foot out of my boot, but as I go to move my body, I realize too late that there are more vines sprouting up from the floor. I try to scramble backward, but there are too many and I am caught around my legs, my hips, and the arm I landed on when I fell.

Cardan wasn’t being cocky with his slow advancement, he was using my moment of confusion to continue focusing on using his magic. I’ve never seen him do that before, invoke his connection to the land without his full attention.

I move to cut myself free from the encroaching vines with my sword, but the creeping plants have finally reached up my side and are beginning to pull even my sword arm down. I am well and truly trapped. Cardan tosses his sword to the side and stands above me for a moment, one side of his mouth lifting in a rakish grin that is taunting and beautiful. I am propped up on my elbows, vines covering my body, holding me in place. My hand still grips Nightfell uselessly.

“Clever,” I admit. “The initial maneuver was a distraction to buy you enough time for the finishing move. You’ve been paying attention.”

His grin widens, bright and mischievous.

“You haven’t seen my finishing move yet,” he says, kneeling over me, one of his legs between mine. He pulls Nightfell from my hand. To his credit, he doesn’t toss it aside the way he did with his own, but gently places it behind him, far out of my reach.

He turns back to me and my heart speeds at his proximity.

“I seem to have won,” he says, eyes dragging down my pinned form and then back up. Then, movements slow, he leans over me and the moment stretches until his soft mouth brushes mine. A ghost of a kiss.

“This hardly feels like losing,” I breathe against his lips. He lets out a laugh as he kisses me again.

I feel the vines around my arms loosen, although the ones around my torso begin to tug at me. Cardan slips his hand beneath my head and he lays me down gently, using his magic as an extension of himself. His mouth continues to move against mine as I yield, my back against the floor. His kisses are still soft. A question. A plea. He pulls back momentarily and searches my flushed face.

My arms fully freed, I trace a line from his hand to his shoulder then sink my fingers into his curls. I look into his black eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper. He knows how much I dislike being out of control, and his asking makes me feel safe.

I nod, and tighten my fingers in his hair, pulling him back to me, kissing him hard. I bite his lower lip and I feel his arm move underneath me, clutching me tighter, pressing my body closer into his. The vines are still coiled around me from the waist down, rendering me unable to shift my hips against him the way my body wants to.

As he trails kisses down the column of my throat, I glance down and see flowers budding and blooming everywhere. Tiny, fragrant blooms in every shade of red, from crimson so dark it is almost black, to the faintest pink. I can feel them now. Not just the physical touch against my body, but the sensation of them brushing up against my own connection to the land.

Cardan can sense that something has changed, and he begins to pull away and rise to his knees. His breathing is ragged and his hair is a mess.

“Don’t stop,” I say, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt and yanking him back toward me. He looks briefly surprised but allows me to tug him down, bracing his hands on either side of my head. “I was just. . . distracted by the flowers. I’m okay.”

His eyes scan the floor around me, the vines still holding me around the waist, pinning down my legs. He looks surprised to see them covered in blooms.

“I didn’t even mean to do that,” he admits. That makes me give a short laugh.

“You do that on accident kind of a lot,” I say.

My hand is still clenched in the fabric of his shirt and I pull him down further, our mouths sliding together again.

“You seem rather unperturbed by being rendered defenseless,” he whispers between kisses. His mouth moves back to my neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses down to my collarbone “You must like being at my mercy.”

I hum noncommittally and angle my chin to give him better access. I focus again on feeling him, feeling his magic through the connection we both share with the land. I peek down at him briefly, and see that he is totally lost in the moment, eyes closed and cheeks flushed.

“You know what I like even better?” I ask, unclenching my hand from the front of his shirt and slowly raking it down his chest, brushing my fingertips down the flat plane of his stomach. After a perilously long descent, I finally hook a finger inside the waist of his pants. His eyes flash up to mine and I feel the heat, the intensity like a physical blow.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice rough.

“Winning,” I say with a grin.

With my other hand, I swiftly pull the dagger from my boot and hold the flat of the blade against his throat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe as the vines fall away from my body.

“Your distraction was better than mine,” he says, grinning. “Although a different opponent would not be able to escape so easily.”

“I’m glad you thought that was easy. I still have difficulty calling on the land. And it doesn’t like to work against you,” I say.

“It doesn’t like to work against you, either. But I, unlike you, always have the purest of intentions.”

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

“I merely sought to disarm you. You’re the one holding a knife to my throat,” he points out.

“This is just a reminder that you didn’t disarm me. I’m not even touching you with any of the sharp parts,” I protest.

I begin to pull the knife away, but his hand shoots to my wrist and holds it there.

“Don’t,” he says, his head dipping down again, his forehead coming to rest against mine. He turns my hand and brings the razor-shape edge into just the barest contact with his skin.

“This,” he whispers, letting go of my wrist but not pulling away at all as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “the glint of your blade, the edge of your dagger against my throat . . . it brings back a very fond memory.”

“You really do have depraved tastes.” I kiss him then, remembering that first kiss as our mouths collide and I hold my blade still against his neck. It is different now, of course. It doesn’t feel as dangerous, but the desire is still just as potent as it was the first time. Maybe more potent now that he knows exactly how to kiss me, exactly where to touch to elicit the fastest and most powerful responses from me. I expect him to make one of those moves now, but his kiss remains gentle.

A little frustrated at being one-handed, I stab my knife into the dirt floor. Cardan chuckles at the sound and pulls back. He looks at me with a kind of reverence, bringing a hand to cup my face and brushing his thumb back and forth across my cheekbone.

“Are you ready to go tire yourself out my way?” he asks softly. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod and plant another kiss on his soft mouth before he rises.

He offers me his hand, and I allow him to help pull me to my feet. I pluck my dagger from the earth, and put it back in my boot, then retrieve Nightfell and return it to the scabbard at my hip. Cardan has returned his sword to its rightful place and pulled on his cloak. He holds up another cloak, as though to help me into it.

“That seems like overkill when we have direct access to our chambers,” I say.

“We aren’t going to our chambers,” he responds, mischief lighting his face again. I know he wants me to ask, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I let him envelop me in the dark fabric.

We pull up our hoods and I follow him out of the Court of Shadows and through the secret passageways beneath the palace. I know these tunnels just as well as he does, but I am surprised to find him leading me to a secret entrance to the Great Hall. Cardan cracks the door and peers out. I can hear music and chatter, the revel still carrying on in the hours since we left.

He grabs me by the hand and pulls me out, but we stick to the shadows as we make our way around the back of the dais. I try to move as silently as Cardan as I follow him to what I now think of as our secret room, the doorway covered in ivy. He barely brushes it aside and opens the door only far enough for both of us to slip inside.

Before I can even react to what I assume he’s brought me here for, he grabs me around the waist and pulls my body close to his. But instead of pulling me in for a kiss, I realize he's pulled me in for a dance. His other hand is grasping my own and his feet are already beginning to move to the sound of the music from outside.

I lift my eyes to his and find him grinning down at me.

“My way,” he says as he leads me gracefully around the little room.

For as long as I have been teaching him the sword, he has been teaching me skills I thought would be useful to me as the queen. Dancing is one of them.

I have found that knowing the steps to a dance makes it easier to stay a little more in control, even when I get swept up by the compulsion of faerie music. Although I still cannot pull myself out of a dance once it has begun, I can choose my own steps rather than feeling as though the music is making them for me. When I do so, I am able to feel more of the exhilaration of the dance, and less of the dread.

At revels now, Cardan always looks for my signal at the end of any dance for which he is not my partner. If I touch my ruby ring, he will make his way toward me, cut in to dance with me, and pull me out of the crowd. Knowing that he is watching, knowing that he will always get me out if I am overset, is yet another way Cardan has helped me overcome some of the powerlessness I have felt all my life.

The music that I hear coming through the wall now is faint enough that it has hardly any pull on me. I could stop if I wished, but instead I try to feel the dance the way I felt the steps when we were sparring. Our skills are reversed here, Cardan gliding through the steps without any thought at all, while my movements are just slightly delayed -- the product of my having to consciously think about what comes next.

For a while, we continue dancing without much conversation. He says nothing when I make a misstep, simply leads me through it with the poise of someone who has done this his whole life.

The music outside grows quieter and slower, even the revelry beginning to die down. Cardan pulls me in close enough for me to lean my head against his shoulder.

“Jude?” his voice is soft, and I feel him running the tip of his finger along the rounded top of my ear. I open my eyes and look up at him. I hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed.

I realize suddenly that I love this room. It feels as though no matter what is going on outside these walls, only we exist within.

“Shall we go back to our chambers?” he asks.

“No,” I answer. I pull him with me to the low couch where we lie down together, his arms wrapped around me, my head on his chest.

“Let’s stay here a while.”

#tfota fanfic #tfota #jurdan #jude x cardan #judecardan #@jurdannet #@jurdannetrevels #folktober2020

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tiaragqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Give and Take

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Mafioso! Park Jimin x Singer! Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,8k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Mention of abduction, obsessiveness, possessiveness, implied forced marriage, murder, blood, death

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. All in all, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

You know you’ve been out of BTS fandom for too long when you accidentally mixed Jimin's surname with Kim. Also, I nearly forgot to write this.

Part 1

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“A hundred and five is the number that comes to my head, when I think of all the years I wanna be with you. Wake up every morning with you in my bed, that's precisely what I plan to do.” - Marry Me [Jason Derulo]

Being the girlfriend of a mafia boss was surprisingly… relaxed; or maybe because it was Jimin. When you woke up in a spacious room completed with a queen-size bed, a walk-in closet that kept lavish dresses and clothes in your favorite colors, en suite bathroom, and balcony, Jimin had barged in and immediately leaped on you. You remembered shrieking at the sudden attack of affection and tried to push him off, but he was surprisingly strong for someone so… short.

Suffice to say, he didn’t quite release you for the next ten minutes.

You’d never met a man so clingy, so affectionate except, maybe, a sasaeng. And even so, your guards never let them touch you. One or two times, yes, but their service was pretty good overall. However, they weren’t here to protect you now. You were left at the mercy of a mafioso, the boss one at that.

Now that you thought about it, what happened to your guards? You only remembered snippets of you going to a supermarket to buy snacks when someone abruptly knocked you out. You weren’t sure if your guards saw the culprit, but since the car was basically across the street, you concluded that they must have. After all, it was their job to watch over you.

But you supposed even the most experienced guards were nothing at the hands of mafioso.

You hoped nothing particularly bad had happened to them. Who knows what your kidnapper had done to them when you were unconscious. Wasn’t Mafia a cruel organization? It’d be understandable if the members were trained to act that way. Though, you prayed that they only knocked your guards out as they did to you.

And what about your manager? Oh, God. They must be worried sick about you. Well, maybe not necessarily your well-being.

However, it didn’t seem as if Jimin shared your concern. Not that you were expecting much from him, to begin with.

When you asked him about their conditions, he merely whined and proceeded to bury his face further into the crook of your neck.

“Why are you asking about other men when you already have me here? Am I not enough for you? Why do you even care about those puny men, anyway? They don’t deserve your attention. Not at all.”

You didn’t understand why he said it as though he was your boyfriend already, and that he deserved to be the center of your focus. In fact, you didn’t understand anything at all!

“O-of course I care about them! They’re my guards, after all. You can’t just…” You squirmed in his hold when you felt it tighten around your stomach. “You can’t just dismiss them like they’re nothing! And who the heck are you, anyway?”

His giggle sent an awkward vibration throughout your body. If he sensed your discomfort, then he chose to ignore it. He probably noticed, because he soon giggled again and nipped your neck playfully.

“I’m your number one fan, of course.”

It finally dawned on you that you were dealing with no ordinary fan, but a sasaeng. Out of all people, he just had to be one.

And out of all frantic thoughts that circulated in your head, the worst just had to happen.

“… But,” he continued thoughtfully. “now that you’re here, I guess you could say that I’m your boyfriend!”

You learned pretty early that Jimin was serious about this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing, or maybe it was just him drilling his affection into your distraught brain. Every gift, from big to small, and from cheap to expensive, piled on your floor. Although looking at the ‘cheapest’ present he gave you, it was probably worth a thousand dollars. Your favorite food would be served every day, and any snack you craved would be sent to your – or should you say, your shared – room, regardless of the time.

Compared to your manager who needed to watch over the finance, Jimin didn’t bother to hold himself from spoiling you thoroughly. It came to the point where you had to keep your gaze from wandering to the things that interested you in fear of him buying them with or without your knowledge, usually the former.

Obviously, he wouldn’t do anything without a price. This was a give-and-take world, after all.

Luckily, the price wasn’t that outrageous. Just the things a lover usually did; affection and attention. But, as expected, he forbade you to look and speak to other people for too long. Not even the guards that were stationed outside your room was an exception to his ‘rule’.

And, of course, they’d be more loyal to him than to you. You were just a stranger who was suddenly plucked from your vibrant yet taxing life into his suffocating hug. A weak woman who could do nothing in the face of a muzzle.

“If you talk to other people for longer than ten seconds, I’ll shoot them.” That was what he said to you one day, during one of his impromptu cuddles. Despite the guileless smile he wore, you knew that he wasn’t kidding with his threat.

He’d told you that he’d spoil you to your heart content, and he’d ordered his subordinates to kidnap you. How could you doubt his words?

But you were lonely. The life in Park mansion was generally quiet, and although Jimin liked to invite you to his office, it still wasn’t enough. Not to mention, the guards had forbidden you to accompany him to his meetings because you weren’t ‘official’ yet – not that you necessarily wanted to come in the first place. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the meaning of ‘official’ – though, you did have an inkling – and quickly backed down. Too quick because Jimin had whined, hand outstretched to grasp even a hem of your clothes.

You were so lonely you decided to bite the bullet and greeted the servant who came to give your food.

“… Hello.”

The servant was startled at first, eyes bulged out of their pockets as if you were threatening his family with a gun instead. Once he discerned your friendly, albeit awkward smile, he relaxed slightly and nodded.

Just a nod. He couldn’t even bring himself to return your greeting. That was how much he feared you, or rather, your affiliation with Jimin.

The hesitant response you received sent a pang of disappointment in your chest. To think that one day, people would fear you instead of admiring you like you were accustomed to seeing. You might not have many fans, but you were happy and grateful for their efforts to watch your concerts. You loved looking at their glittering eyes as they followed you on the stage, their wide beams, and their boisterous cheers.

And now, people couldn’t even glance at you without flinching and recoiling. Granted, it was only the servants. The guards didn’t bother to notice your existence beyond necessary interactions, which was very rare.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” you said softly as though he was a cornered animal. “I’m not Jimin. I… I don’t even know what I’m doing in here, to be honest.”

The unnamed servant frowned, and after a moment of awkward silence, finally muttered. “Young master really loves you.”

You frowned while still smiling wearily. That wasn’t what you wanted to hear at all. The reason why you spoke to him was that you wanted to talk about anything, not him. But you supposed it was inevitable, wasn’t it? After all, you were under his ‘protection’.

“I-I see…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Jimin was still in his meeting, right? Maybe you could prolong this, honestly useless, conversation. “Can you at least tell me what your name is?”

He shifted a little and looked down. Ah, you really made him uncomfortable, didn’t you?

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. “It’s–”

Drops of blood splattered your face as he abruptly collapsed to the floor, dying with a shocked expression that rivaled yours. The bang managed to deafen your ears and froze your body momentarily. Slowly, you looked up and discerned the short figure on the doorway.

Jimin held his gun in one hand, face stony despite the death he caused and the trauma he inflicted on you.

“I really don’t want to do this because I know that not many people like to see real-life violence. But sometimes they need a lesson, don’t they?” He averted his emotionless gaze to you and smiled coldly. “I told you that I’ll kill anyone who talks to you for more than ten seconds. So why did you do it? Are you doubting me?”

“N-no, I…” You began to clamber away as he slowly advanced towards you, but the empty spot on your wrist forced you to stop. “I just… I just wanted someone to talk to me, is all.”

He squinted. “Why? Am I not enough for you until you had to go to someone else? A man at that?”

“… I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.” you whimpered, eyes stinging from upcoming tears.

“Oh, I know!” You glanced up to him when you heard him snapping his fingers. “You must be lonely, right?”

Well, he wasn’t wrong but… you really didn’t want to hear his next words. It’d be worse, you were sure of it. There was no way he’d be lenient to you anymore after he caught you talking with a servant. As far as you were concerned, it was considered a ‘betrayal’ to him.

Jimin chuckled and swiftly locked his gun. “You should’ve told me! No need for a drastic measure like that!” he chirped despite the irony of the situation. “After we get married, I’ll definitely bring you to my meetings more!”

Your breath hitched. Get what…?

“What… what do you mean?” That was impossible. There was no way he said what you heard him saying, right? No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t just–

“Get married, of course!” he beamed, oblivious to the severity of his words. “My organization only acknowledges the official members, you know? So if you marry me, you’ll become a part of us too. Isn’t that great? That way, I can freely bring you anywhere.”

No, that wasn’t great. It’d never be great. You might not see another violence, hopefully, but you didn’t want to become a part of them. People tended to lump someone with their affiliations, and that meant they’d perceive you as a criminal, too!

You slowly shook your head, the tears started to spill. “Jimin, no… I can’t. I can’t marry you – I don’t want to.”

Jimin blinked owlishly. “What do you mean? Of course, you want to! You’re my girlfriend, after all!” he chirped. “My parents have seen your pictures, and luckily, they want to meet you tomorrow!”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating for a second as the news crashed your head like a brick.

“So I think we should sleep early. It’ll be bad if you start yawning in front of them.” He giggled and plopped down beside you. “Don’t worry, we’ll be eating together from now on. I’ll tighten the security so people can’t come into our room as they please. That way, you won’t be lonely anymore!”

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quartzturtlecosplay · 4 years ago

Text

Plus Size Cosplaying and an Industry that fails us [Long post]

In late 2020, I purchased a cosplay from a popular online store, EZCosplay. This was before more recent accusations of false advertising and poor craftsmanship came out. I knew the store had some issues (I’ve purchased from them before and I knew first hand), but it was my only option for this specific cosplay.

I could go into detail about the many controversies of the store itself, but for now I’m going to talk about the main problem many of these online cosplay stores seem to have: working with non-standard sizes.

The struggle of finding good, plus size cosplays can be really difficult and almost heartbreaking. Most “plus size” cosplay listings still follow Asian sizing (where American 2XL is an Asian 5/6XL and still may not be big enough). Even if a costume can meet certain measurements, there’s no guarantee that it will fit or be flattering.

I’ve often had to find myself emailing specific stores, asking if their custom sizes go up to my measurements (I am B: 52, W: 46, H: 53, for reference). For my most recent attempt, I was looking for Asami Sato’s outfit from the first couple seasons of Legend of Korra [outfit reference]. Nothing too complicated, just a pair of wide fitting pants and a jacket. I was either met by emails saying “no, that’s too big for us” (despite their size guides saying they can make men’s cosplays in that size) or those that basically said “put in the order, and we’ll see what we could do” with no definitive answer. At the end of my search, I had only one option: EZCosplay.

The cosplay itself ended up being fine, a couple of details missing here or there and the gloves were practically worthless. But hey, at the end of the day I found something that fit, I should be happy right? Yes and No.

I’m not going to defend this store. I’ve bought a total of 3 cosplays from them, only 1 of which I’m actually alright with. And there are countless other stories from buyers who have suffered the same disappointment, ranging from all sizes. It’s the lack of care for customers that drive these companies to neglect their plus size markets. Although I was happy with the outcome this time, it was only because I’ve seen how bad things can get if you try finding something more fitted and structed.

Looking back to my first time working with EZCosplay, its easier to see the problem here. Back in 2018, I ordered a Love Live! Flower Bouquet Nozomi dress [pictured below]. For those who are unfamiliar with the design, Nozomi is a larger chested HS Idol. With this outfit, the white is supposed to go completely under the bust and the skirt should begin right above the hips [link to the reference].

Technically speaking, it did fit around me. They were able to make it in my measurements and it fit all the information I gave them. HOWEVER. as we can see, the white hits about halfway down my chest before stopping, not at all as pictured in her design. As larger people already know, when you translate smaller patters into bigger sizes without accounting for actual forms and shapes, you’re left with something like this. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy wearing this cosplay.

As someone who is more used to making their own costumes, this is not how you make plus size clothes. Simply making a pattern bigger doesn’t automatically make it fit plus size bodies. If you’ve ever had to take standard patterns and upscale them to fit, you understand what I mean. Alterations must be made, otherwise you feel like you’re in a potato sack. This is the problem that most people have with EZCosplay. While their costumes do technically fit up to larger sizes and they offer custom measurements, they lack any suitable structure or fitting. I’m sure the Love Live! cosplay would look great on a smaller size, however that’s not what we’re working with (and no way in hell I’m changing myself to wear it).

Now, there are some ways to get around this. If you need less complicated and less structured cosplays, you’ll probably be fine. Or if you find one that allows you to customize the waist line yourself (like how a lot of Toph Beifong cosplays are or maid costumes with aprons, for example). You could easily get a My Hero Academia uniform or a Ouran High School Host Club jacket. Those would be no sweat for larger sizes. Again, bringing up my Asami cosplay, it doesn’t have much structure to it and it fits relatively okay.

But as plus size/larger cosplayers, we should be allowed to be WHOEVER we want and we should be able to find costumes that fit us that aren’t just suit coats and robes. I’m not saying we can’t wear these kinds of cosplays, I’m just saying we shouldn’t have to limit ourselves in what we wear just because that’s all they have for us. America’s standard size is 14/16 for woman. Just like in the regular fashion world, anything above those sizes are either incredibly expensive or they just straight up don’t exist.

As cosplaying becomes more popular, we need to push for more size inclusivity. There have already been so many changes in the last 10 years, with more online stores becoming readily available with larger size options, but we’re not there yet. We need to keep working and demanding big cosplay companies to expand sizes for more inclusivity. Not just plus size cosplayers, but those who are also in the body-positivity movement who actually want to see change.

Both the cosplay community and cosplay industry have a lot of problems. But it’s by talking about these problems that we can work to fix them. We don’t need to change ourselves to fit our fandom spaces, fandom spaces and the costume industry needs to change to accept us, regardless of size, age, race and gender.

If you are looking for sites that offer plus size options, check out:

Note - These are places I’ve found that fit my measurements of 52/46/53, I’ve stared (**) the ones that go beyond that

MicCostumes - Anime and Video Games (I’ve worked with them before, may review at a later time if anyone is interested)

Cosrea ** - Superheros, Disney, and Some Games (Free custom sizing)

HalloweenCostumes.com ** - General Pop Culture, US/UK based

FortuneHouse on Amazon - Large Anime selection

WoShow on Amazon - Large Anime selection

Angel Secret ** - Disney Princess (custom sizing)

And of course, EZCosplay with custom sizing and good discernment .

If you have any questions or would like a full review for how it was working with EZCosplay or MicCostumes, please let me know. As mentioned, I usually make cosplays myself but I’ve been trying to branch out with cosplay sites and closet cosplays, as they can be an easier and more affordable option.

#plus size cosplay #cosplay #cosplay community #cosplay review #pnw cosplay #ezcosplay #body positivity #plus size resources #plus size acceptance

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cinebration · 5 years ago

Text

By My Rules (Quentin Beck x Reader) [Epilogue]

THE END.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: marvelheroes

TWENTY MONTHS LATER

While you had been to many places in the United States, you hadn’t stepped foot in Washington, D.C. It was the capital of professional grifters, con artists who had so mastered the art they were publicly endorsed and lauded.

Stepping out of Dulles airport, you breathed in the noxious fumes as cars swept by, among them taxis and shuttles vying for attention at the curb. Shouldering your travel bag, you turned away from just as Quentin emerged through the doors. Keys dangled in his hand.

“The rentals are this way,” he said, flashing his smile at you.

Following him down the line to the cars parked on the other edge of the parking lot, you slipped into the passenger seat as Quentin climbed in behind the wheel.

“City of thieves and liars,” you said, the words liquid gold on your tongue. “I could get used to it here.”

Quentin’s smile widened as he pulled out of the lot and eased onto the road leading into the city. Traffic was heavy for the time of day, but there was still plenty of time to arrive at your intended destination.

“Let’s go over it again.”

Quentin sighed. “I have it all memorized.”

“Again.”

Inhaling sharply, he began, “My name is Anthony Dukakis. I run a private contracting company, called SecuriThreat, created after the Battle of New York.”

“And I am?”

“Maribel Griggs-Dukakis, co-founder of SecuriThreat.”

“Good.”

Reaching over, you clicked on the radio and scanned across the AM frequencies for a news station. It didn’t take long.

“Two months ago, former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury was convicted of treason. Rumors as to whether he, along with others, are aliens in human disguises still persist despite a failure to prove them beyond the footage leaked to The Daily Bugle nearly two years ago. Fury’s conviction arrived shortly after S.H.I.E.L.D. was shut down due to H.Y.D.R.A. infiltration. The President himself ordered the complete dismantling of the law enforcement agency, including its international bases…”

Pride swelled up within you. The coup d’état had been perfect. No blood had been shed, and Fury still didn’t know who had cut him and the agency at the knees. It was the coup of the century, and you were determined to enact one final coup de grâce.

The Capitol Building loomed ahead. You squeezed Quentin’s knee.

“Kiss for luck?” he asked.

You leaned over and kissed him hard on the cheek.

“Frankly, I’m appalled the media is treating this like new information,” Senator Rufus Sturgess said, rolling his eyes. “The news about H.Y.D.R.A. was released in 2014, and the investigation was conducted then.”

You smiled warmly but without being too earnest. You needed the senator, the chairman of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs, on your side.

“Yes, but given the new information about potential extraterrestrial involvement in our own government, possible prior to the Battle of New York, it was better not to take any chances, no? It was already a vulnerable agency under Fury’s rule, and when he took the reins again, we discover he may have been an alien the whole time?” You shook your head. “It isn’t tenable.”

The senator frowned and shifted his gaze from you to Quentin. Quentin smiled thinly, the response you had trained him to give. Like “good cop, bad cop,” you were playing the part of the amenable seller, while Quentin was the stoic, no-nonsense partner lending gravitas to the proceedings. He sat in his chair with his back rigid, shoulder squarely set. You had given him a disconnected undercut to complete the image of a former military career.

“Those claims are unfounded,” the senator finally said. “The footage may very well have been doctored—”

“Do you really want to take that chance? With the Avengers scattered to the wind and their ‘replacements’ not passing muster, it’s better to err on the side of caution…” You leaned back in your seat. “And preemptive measures.”

“Hmm.”

The senator looked down at the file on his desk. It contained your proposal for the next phase of your plan. The fact the senator had allowed for you to schedule a meeting with hi, suggested that he had not only read the proposal but was actually considering it.

“Give me your pitch,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

Straightening, you began, “The world needs an organization that polices superheroes, not coddles or acquiesces to them. The problem with S.H.I.E.L.D. was that it was entirely a government organization. That made it vulnerable to outside threats, and it would get bogged down in bureaucratic red tape.”

“It was weak under Fury’s leadership and even before that,” Quentin added. “If it wasn’t H.Y.D.R.A., another group would have infiltrated it and caused more damage.”

The senator sighed. “Hence it was dismantled.”

You nodded. “A privately funded oversight group unfettered by the government and given complete autonomy can decide its own actions—actions a government couldn’t sanction.” You paused, letting him arrive there on his own.

The senator’s eyes widened a fraction, almost unoticed if you hadn’t been looking for it. “A group like that would have to be held accountable.”

“And none of it would fall back on you or the United States government. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have another scandal of this magnitude?”

Sturgess tapped his lips with one finger and glanced between you and Quentin. “You want a government contract.”

“No. Merely permission, support, and authority.” You leaned forward. “Senator, the events in Europe just a few years ago have taught us that without control; these superheroes will disregard non-superhuman interests. Yet we are the majority. We must make them acknowledge us.”

The senator slowly nodded. “Okay. I will get this approved.”

You rose and extended your hand. “Sir, M.Y.S.T. will not disappoint.”

“May I ask what your first order of business will be?”

Quentin stood and glanced down at the senator. “We will ensure that Peter Parker answers for his crimes in Europe and the death of Quentin Beck.”

All according to plan.

#Quentin Beck x Reader #Quentin Beck #Quentin Beck imagine #Mysterio x Reader #Mysterio #Mysterio imagine #Jake Gyllenhaal #Jake Gyllenhaal imagine #Spider Man Far from Home #Spider-Man: Far From Home #FFH

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ts-unpopular-opinions · 5 years ago

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Side Track Opinions part 5: Roman

(I’ve been saving Roman for a while now and I am PUMPED! So here’s a late birthday present to our royal lad ❤️ It’s also super nice to save the creativitwins for last because both of their playlists reference each other quite a bit 👌)

1) A Gay Disney Prince: I mean... are any of us surprised? This song is basically Roman’s anthem, so it was bound to be on his playlist. I do find it interesting that both Roman and Remus are the only sides with songs made by Thomas on their playlists. I guess it goes to show that having a big ego runs in the creative family 😂

2) Wonderboy: Only two songs in and we already have a song about Remus, or “young Nastyman, archrival and nemesis of Wonderboy” in this case. You’ll start to get the idea from Roman’s playlist that he really misses being with his bro. This song portrays Roman as almost a perfect and untouchable force. He is seperated from all of his nasty thoughts and is the perfect embodiment of what Thomas sees creativity as (“High above the mucky-muck, castle made of clouds, There sits Wonderboy, sitting oh so proudly. Not much to say when you're high above the mucky-muck.”). I like to imagine that the singer of the song is Thomas, looking to Roman for comfort. Creativity most likely split as a way for Thomas to, not very healthily, cope with his intrusive thoughts (“Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power? Wonderboy, won't you take me far away from the mucky-muck man?”). It’s also interesting to note that at the end of the song, Roman and Remus seemingly join forces very successfully (“Well, Wonderboy and Young Nastyman joined forces; they formed a band the likes of which have never been seen”). Perhaps this is hinting at either Romans want to have his bother back, or possibly foreshadowing to their relationship dynamic in the future. I know I’d love to see Roman and Remus team up together in future episodes, maybe even against Patton and Janus in the next episode?

3) Disney Princess: This song is all about Roman dreaming about being in the lives of different disney princesses. Honestly it’s not super deep, but it does show just how much Roman loves to fantasize about escaping reality and living in his ideal dream world. He wishes his life were more interesting and exciting like what you would see in a movie. Also, Roman is SO desperate for someone to love him... poor guy (“I'd be a handsome man's wife And we'd kiss and we'd kiss And we'd kiss”).

4) Broadway, Here I Come!: (tw suicide) So this song is... interesting. It can be interpreted in two different ways: one being a song about how making it on broadway is a huge leap and very difficult, and another about a person literally jumping off of a building and commiting suicide. I always think of Logic vs Passion during this song because while Roman believes he is acchieving his dreams and is willing to take risks, Logan just believes he’s setting himself up for failure. I think Logan’s view on Thomas’ life and career choice is very hard on Roman and, by the topic of the song, affects him greatly (“The people all are pointing. I bet they'd never guess, That the saint that they're anointing Is frightened of the mess”). He doesn’t know if Thomas will succeed and that makes him doubt himself and causes his work to suffer (“The pressure it increases, The closer that I get” “And the last thing I hear. As the impact grows near, Is it a scream or a cheer?”).

5) Hallelujah: This song, like the one before it, shows a lot of Roman’s insecurities. Roman has a set plan for Thomas in life, but he constantly doubts it and himself due to the comments he gets from other sides (“Somedays I don't think my mama Thinks I'm good enough to be a superstar” “Somedays I don't think my daddy Thinks I'm good enough to be a superstar”). I don’t know specifically which sides he could be talking about in these two lines, but Logan is definately one of them. I like to think he could also be talking about Patton. I mean Roman probably worries constantly about being too much like Remus and disappointing Patton. Roman probably literally thinks that Patton doesnt think hes GOOD enough. Despite all of this self doubt, Roman still seems determined to reach his dreams and prove the others wrong (“But one day I will show him I'm a diamond in the rough, I'll be a superstar” “Yeah, there's a crown covered in glitter and gold I'm gonna wear it, whether you like it or not”).

6) Holding Out for a Hero: This song is from Thomas’ perspective! Thomas DOES see Roman as his hero despite what Janus’ not at the end of the most recent episode may have you believe. Roman acts as Thomas’ protection from all of his darker and more disturbing thoughts. Thomas uses Roman, a picture perfect image of creativity to help him escape from all the bad things in life and in his head (“Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods? Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn And I dream of what I need”). Thomas literally created Roman to be a perfect knight in shining armor. The singer in the song shows this by listing off everything that they believe a hero needs to be/have, Similar to what Thomas would have done in the creation of Roman.

7) If I Dare: I’m conflicted about what this song could mean. At first glance it seems to be about Roman willing to do anything in order to get more creative control over Thomas (“If I dare to risk it, then I know that I'm willing to. If I dare to want this, to want more than I have” “I am holding out for more than what I have now”). Roman really wants to be trusted more and would seemingly take huge risks in order to get that. The part that throws me off is this line: “When the room gets dark, and I am quiet. There's a voice that's soft, like someone's silhouette Saying, "Don't let me go yet"”. To me, this sounds like its about Remus. Possibly Remus begging Roman to not get rid of him and to remain as one. What confuses me is that the line felt so out of place with the rest of the songs meaning. I’m not sure what to do with that information, but if anyone has ideas, let me know.

8) Go the Distance: Roman is so patient... and so unrealistically hopeful... He continues to lay down and let the other sides get their ways because he believes that the wait will be worth it when he finally gets his say (“I'll be there someday, I can go the distance” “I know every mile would be worth my while” “And a thousand years would be worth the wait. It might take a lifetime but somehow I'll see it through”). Despite how many times hes been ignored and let down, he continues to hope that his chance may come one day. Theres also this line: “But to look beyond the glory is the hardest part. For a hero's strength is measured by his heart, oh” which makes me think big time of SvS. He gave up his glory in favor of what Patton wanted because he thinks that it was the more heroic thing to do.

9) Flamboyant: The title really says it all. Roman is extra™️ and he knows that all of the other sides think so too (“I'm a very flaming flammable guy. Some say my fire burns way too high. Some say they find me too hot to touch. But I, I think it's not enough”). I also think its important to note that this song feels a bit out if place with the canon Roman that we know. From what we’ve seen of Roman, he holds back a lot. He denies a great deal of his greed and wants in order to make the others happy and fill in his “hero” persona. This song portrays Roman as having no restraint and not wanting the others to boss him around (“Don't tell me what to do, Don't tell me what to say” “Turn down? I never do” “And no time for restraint”). I’d love to see more of this assertive side of Roman in canon, but right now you can tell that he is holding back. He wishes he didn’t have to, but he feels as though it is necessary to distance himself from Remus.

10) Jumpstarted: Let me set the scene. Thomas is just out an about enjoying his day, he holds open the starbucks door for the guy behind him and... omg... he’s hot... he’s the love of your life Thomas! Roman the proceeds to fanticize about marrying and starting a family with this one random guy that they’ve never talked to nor seen before (“The only one I want is you. I hear the bells and the ring and already, Four kids and the big ol' wedding Singing, You” “And how was I to make a long walk home. You got me feeling like I'm overdosed”). This whole song is just Roman singing about his head-over heals love for a guy in Thomas’ head while Thomas has to act normal and even warns the dude to run away while he has the chance (“Take my advice and run while you still can”). Roman’s quite a hopeless romantic.

11) Brave New Girl: Remember how I said Roman has been holding back and trying to be more polite in order to make himself less like Remus? Well this song is the opposite of that. This is what Roman wants. Roman wants to let lose and be his wildest self again (“She wants a good time” “She needs to really really find what she wants” “There's a brave new girl And she's comin' out tonight” “Who knew she could feel so alive” “Won't take a back seat”). I like to imagine this song taking place after the events of POF. I mean if the others are just going to accept that Janus is good now, then does that mean Remus is good too? If that the case, then what was the point of him and Remus splitting in the first place? This song makes me think that Roman and Remus could team up together in either the next episode, or future episodes to come. Roman is lost and doesn’t really know why he is who he is anymore, so he seeks out Remus, the only one who really understands what he’s going through (“So she met this man, He was kinda rough. He said, girl, what you lookin' for? She said, I don't know I go with the flow. He said, let's get on the floor”). The man in this song could also be Janus I suppose. He does compliment the singer and flatter her, but after the events of the last episode, I find it hard to believe that Roman would be willing to fall for Janus’ flattery again.

12) Every Boy: Roman wants to kiss every boy in the world... and it’s never enough. That is all.

13) Primadonna: What a bop! This song is honestly so good! Again with Roman’s songs making him out to be a lot greedier and wild than he actually has acted in canon (“You can count on me to misbehave”). This song is what I imagine Roman would act like if he had nothing to worry about other than being himself. Roman wants a lot of things and he wants everyone to adore him for the beautiful prince he is (“All I ever wanted was the world” “I can't help that I need it all” “When you give, I want more, more, more” “I wanna be adored” “I know I've got a big ego”).

14) King: You can already tell by the name what this song is about. I’m honestly shocked how obvious it is. At this point we don’t know who made the decision for creativity to split, but this song and a couple of others in the playlist seem to suggest that it was the Roman part of original creativity who decided to push Remus out. He felt as though it was the only way to successfully move forward (“I had to break myself to carry on”). The others sides (I’d like to imagine Patton) tried to convince Creativity to split and despite his not wanting to. His decision to split seemed like it was a very hard one to make and left a lot of pain in its wake (“They say it's easy to leave you behind. I don't want to try” “Is it worth the price?”). Original creativity felt powerful and strong when he was whole, so of course he didn’t want to split (“I was a king under your control”). The song seems to suggest that he tried to repress his ‘Remus’ thoughts in order to remain whole and not lose a part of himself, but this could only work for so long (“Don't wanna have to lose All that I've compromised to feel another high. I've got to keep it down tonight”). In the end, the Roman side of creativity finally won out and both Roman and Remus decided to let each other go (“I wanna feel like you've let me go, So let me go”).

15) Cheap Queen: This song really shows Roman’s struggle with his identity. He’s so quick to change for others in order to be accepted by them (“I can be good sometimes. I'm a cheap queen. I can be a what you like. And I can be bad sometimes. I'm a real queen. I can make grown men cry” “I'm gettin' too cocky since everyone wants me, It's harder to be myself”). This convices me that the way that he’s been acting in the last few episodes (not insulting anyone, very opposed to Janus) is soley him trying to prove that he is good and nothing like Remus. He’s been hiding his true self which we see a lot of in episodes before Remus was introduced. Roman doesn’t want to disappoint Patton in fear of Patton wanting him to split again.

16) Humility: ANOTHER song about Remus. This song is really interesting. It shows us that Roman is VERY confused about his opinion on Remus. He’s lonely and feels incomplete without Remus, He NEEDS Remus back (“I need you in the picture That's why I'm calling you” “I'm the lonely twin, the left hand” “I don't want this isolation” “See the state I'm in now?”). Right after Roman has these thoughts and feelings though, he instantly tries to block them out and retrain the idea that Remus is bad (“Reset myself and get back on track”). He wants Remus back so badly and feels some sort of remorse for kicking him out, but then he ignores those emotions and acts like he hates Remus another moment (“If I pick it up when I know that it's broken Do I put it back? Or do I head out onto the lonesome trail And let you down?”).

17) Aint Got it Like That: Roman is greedy and wants a lot of things, we’ve established this. Most of this song is about how Roman wants more than what he has now, but he still believes it will come if he just waits long enough (“'Cause I ain't really got it like that And one day Imma have it like that And I know that it can't stay this way And one day Imma finally get paid”).

18) Dreamer: I’m not sure whose perspective this song is from, but this feels like a comfort song to Roman. We know that he has a lot of insecurities and struggles to create things because he worries that his ideas won’t be good enough or will be too much like Remus’ ideas. But this song goes completely against that mindset. It’s what Roman wants to hear: “Dream little dreamer, Don't care what they say” “You can do anything” “Dream like you won't fail. Sing like no one's there. Dance like you don't care. Dream.” “Don't fear little dreamer, You'll get there one day” “And I know that it's scary, But you'll succeed” “You're exeptional, You're original” “You're magnificent, You're sensational”.

19) Paving the Runway: This feels like a song from Roman to Thomas and gosh it just feels so loving and sweet... Roman has such big dreams for Thomas and he has so much faith in him (“Cause I know that one day you're gonna fly”). He encourages Thomas to go for his dreams and excel, something that he is hardly told himself (“Go after your dreams, Crazy as they may seem. Go chase all the stars in the sky” “You will reach higher than I ever could”). Roman does everythig he can to set Thomas up for success and to help him reach his dreams (“Darling, stand on my shoulders” “Baby, I'll be paving the runway”).

20) Go.: Again, I’m not sure who the singer of this song is, but I can tell its exactly what Roman wants/needs to hear. Roman is very clearly holding back due to his fear of becoming too much like Remus and that is making it very hard to do his job (“The fear within Has held you hostage. Break free and live. GO.”). This is a good song to be Roman’s last song because I think it helps to show us where Roman’s character is going in the future. He is going to let lose and relax eventually. Perhaps this will lead to him creating the better relationship with Remus that he’s been hoping for throughout this whole playlist. I predict that next episode, well start to see some of this newer, less refrained creativity from Roman.

(And that’s that! If you can tell that theres some tension between Roman and Remus from this playlist, just you wait for Remus’! As usual, let me know what you thought of this ❤️ Love you guys!)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sanders sides #ts roman #roman sanders #ts playlists #ts side tracks #side tracks #ts sidetracks #roman playlist #ts remus #remus sanders #creativitwins #long post

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tameila · 4 years ago

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23 and Pikelan

23. We talk in the dark as we fall asleep, and we are objects in the night sky outside of time. (it is the exact opposite of alone.)

phew! so last week was wild, huh? anyway, here’s what reads like a TSAR reject chapter!

Pike’s first thought when she walked out of her room at 2 am for her mid-night bathroom trip and saw Scanlan’s bedroom door wide open was — “Shit, Scanlan’s in the bathroom!”

Her second thought, upon finding the bathroom vacated, was, “Hm. Guess he must be downstairs.”

It was after standing at the top of the stairs, listening and hearing only the nearby snores from Grog’s room and the distant ticking of the kitchen clock, that Pike’s thoughts took a worrisome turn. She double-checked his room, but his bed was empty. In the corner, his suitcases sat piled atop of each other, just as they’d been since he arrived. Some of her anxiety eased at the discovery, though it was an odd sensation.

Did she really think he’d just take off in the middle of the night? Even if he did, was it even her place to be overly concerned about it? He had his own obligations, so if he had to…Not that it wouldn’t be disappointing, but — Whatever. He’s here still, somewhere, so it doesn’t matter.

Too awake to consider going back to her room, too curious to consider leaving it be, Pike tiptoed downstairs to investigate further.

She noticed the draft first, a wandering breeze around her bare feet and ankles, which led her to the sliding back doors. The curtains were still closed in front of them, as she had ensured before she went to bed earlier, but she could see them rustling as she approached. The open door gave her new concerns — of the wild animal variety, mostly — but they faded as she looked out into the backyard.

There stood Scanlan, face aglow under the moonlight and turned towards the sky. She was halfway across the back porch before he noticed her. When he startled, his yelp morphing to breathless laughter, Pike flushed and raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey,” she whispered.

Scanlan inhaled shakily and answered, “Hey.”

The night air was comfortable, warm with a slight breeze, but her arms wrapped around her torso as she came to stand by his side. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” and despite the low volume of his voice, Scanlan replied with his usual dismissiveness — exuberant and disarming — before, with a measured look at her face, he added, softer, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Pike shook her head. “No. I got up to go to the bathroom, and I saw your door open, and you weren’t — I, I wondered where you were, is all.”

Scanlan lifted his chin back to the sky. “I came out to look at the stars.”

Pike nodded mutely, lost in the dark of his brown eyes where she saw them — stars, bright and hazy. A shiver snapped down her spine, sending goosebumps down her arms, and Pike wrapped herself tighter inwards.

“As you might imagine, we don’t get many stars in L.A., not of the space variety, that is,” Scanlan continued, “What with the light pollution and the — Well, every other kind of pollution, so! Yeah. I don’t know. It didn’t feel good enough to just look out the window. I wanted to get closer. Feel the midnight air. Be a part of the night. All that jazz.” He shrugged, off-setting the earnest weight of his words.

And, maybe she should have let it go, thanked him for sharing that much and reminded him to not stay out too long. The night air was comfortable, warm for so early in Spring, but she worried for him, standing out here in only his boxers and purple robe. Maybe she should have teased him about not closing the door only to tell him that she’d close it on her way in, no big deal, and maybe she should have gone inside. Instead, she chased his sincerity, the gentleness at the corner of his eyes and lips, and she asked,

“Do you wanna go on the roof?”

The ladder they would need to climb up was in the shed, and Pike headed towards it with Scanlan’s laughter at her heels. But, after an incredulous “Wait. Really?”, he followed as well. It took some maneuvering and no small amount of well-meaning shushes as the metal shifted and rattled, but they placed it and climbed up.

Pike went first, unbothered by the task. She’d made this climb more times than she could remember. Wilhand always gave her a talking to when she did it as a teenager. Always out of worry, of course. Never because of her company, which included friends and, twice as often, more than friends. Nowadays, she was on gutter cleaning duty in the Fall and — Well, sometimes you just needed to sit on the roof and look out at it all.

Scanlan, however, needed more coaxing and a promise — or five — from Pike that she wouldn’t drop him as she tugged him up the last bit from ladder top to roof edge. His hands shook and his laughter came to shield his nerves, but Pike did not mention it. When she felt him grasp the back of her night shirt for reassurance as they shuffled a bit higher up the roof, she did not mention that either, though she allowed herself a small, private smile.

When they settled side-by-side, eyes to the sky and shoulders to the roof tiles, Scanlan began to speak. The words came slow at first. A few sentences here and there between deep breathes and the distant sound of passing cars before, with a surrendering sigh, he let go and, just, said it all.

He told her about the last time he saw stars like this — A decade ago, back when he toured in a rented bus and no one knew his name. There’s a lot of open road in America. Corn fields. Deserts. Mountains. You could drive all day and see nothing new, like you were stuck in a loop.

That was back before Dr. Dranzel took up his management. Back before all the narcotics and whatever pill would knock him out for a good couple hours. Back when he was just some jumped up kid with a whole lot of something buzzing through him that he didn’t know what to do with besides write songs and sing ‘em, too.

Sometimes, if his manager fell asleep early, Scanlan could convince the bus driver to pull off to the side of the road. Then, him and whoever else had been cramped in that small cabin all day would hop out to enjoy the stars and a drink. Or three. They would climb up to the top of the bus and lay for hours until —

“I could feel the whole Earth moving under me. We don’t think about it, but you lie still enough, and — Bam. You’re moving. We’re all moving.”

His voice, soft and rhythmic, was a lullaby, a patter of rain on glass, the distant but familiar passing of a car, but she fought to stay awake. With a mumble and a hum she rolled onto her side to face him. His head turned at the movement, and he laughed. She could see his smile, bright under the moonlight, through her heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hey. Don’t fall asleep. You have to get me down from here.”

“Mm. I’m…I will.”

Scanlan laughed, softer.

Pike’s eyelids fluttered at the sound. As her eyelashes met her cheeks, they begged to settle for just a moment, just a quick moment, then they could go inside. She couldn’t fight. She breathed deep then relaxed. In the dark behind her eyelids, she felt the breeze rustle her hair; it fell back behind her ear, out of her face. She heard Scanlan whisper, “Sorry.”

“I’ll get you down,” she whispered back.

“I know you will.” A sensation brushed past her cheek, coming close and then pulling away. She shifted, nuzzling her chin forward, chasing it, though all she got was the scratch of the roof tile against her cheek. Scanlan sighed, and he felt closer than before, a warmth resonating from him that felt steady and gentle. “Go ahead and sleep, Pikey. Okay? I’ll wake you up.”

She needed no further encouragement.

When she woke up some 15 minutes later, it was Scanlan who helped her sleepy limbs back down the ladder and into the house. He wished her goodnight and tweaked her cheek, a teasing gesture but his smile spoke of adoration. She almost ran face first into her doorframe when she turned to leave, and his laughter followed her to bed. It curled up on her chest and nuzzled under her chin like a purring cat whose breaths fell and rose with her own.

She lied for a time, awake but somewhere beyond her body, and she felt it: The Earth spinning beneath her, and Scanlan was right. For a moment, she felt connected to everything, to every house and building in Westruun and the people in them, to the mountains and trees and the stars high above them. They were all spinning together. Slowly spinning. Onwards to a new day.

She fell asleep thinking about the stars in the dark of Scanlan’s eyes.

[asofterworld prompts]

#ask #Pikelan #Pike Trickfoot #Scanlan Shorthalt #asofterworld prompt #my writing #had to force myself to stop writing this one #a girl will take any chance to be soft and RUN WITH IT #Anonymous

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serenlyss · 5 years ago

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Parting Promise

Fandom: The Owl House Rating: G Relationships: lumity Summary: Summer is over, and it's time for Luz to go home. Distressed over the uncertainty of Luz's return, Amity asks her to make a promise... Crossposted to AO3: Parting Promise

So uuhh that new episode huh? I have a lot of thoughts about AOAW, some of which I'm planning more fics around, but for now, have some angst inspired by @frankielucky‘s comic. Be sure to give them and their incredible art some love!

---

Luz sucks in a deep breath as she stands in front of the glowing portal of a door Eda had summoned for her, then lets it out in a single, drawn-out exhale. It stands wide open, revealing a seemingly eternal, softly glowing white void. Nervously, she crosses and uncrosses her fingers to let out some of her anxious energy. Although Luz knows what lays behind it, her inability to see past the silvery veil of light only worsens her anxiety about going home. She’s nervous beyond reason to see her mother again, and to return to the world where she had been shunned. What will her mother say? How will she react, when Luz finally tells her the truth of where she’s been all summer? Will she be angry? Disappointed? The two of them have had their fair share of arguments, but the thought of getting into a serious fight with her mother is… nerve-wracking, to say the least.

She’s already said goodbye. She’d spent the last few days letting everyone know where she’s going and that she may not be returning, but her closest friends had come to see her off personally. They hadn’t come with her to the door; Luz had insisted they not accompany her, and had instead parted with them back at the Owl House. Willow and Gus had come, of course, as had Amity.

Amity. In just about every way, she is Luz’s closest friend, and saying goodbye to her had been the hardest--even harder than with Eda. She’d said her farewells while fighting back tears, and she’d been able to tell that Amity was doing the same when she’d left. Just thinking about it makes Luz’s throat tighten up a little, a constrictive force that causes her breathing to hitch against her will. She swallows back the pit of remorse that forms in her stomach. There’s no doubt in her mind that Amity is the person she’ll miss the most once she’s back in the human world.

Briefly, she reflects on how close the two of them have gotten over the months Luz had spent at the Boiling Isles. Eda had made constant jokes about how inseparable they’d become, and Luz could tell by the knowing looks that she’d occasionally sent her way that she’d picked up on her more… romantic feelings. She wonders if Amity had ever noticed. She wonders if Amity would even be receptive of her silly crush. Not that it makes much of a difference at this point. Luz is going home, back to her real family, to her real life. Amity will go back to hers, the way things were always meant to be. Even if it hurts. Even if it feels wrong. Even if Luz really, really doesn’t want to say goodbye.

She sighs, turning her gaze downward. If there’s anything she regrets, it’s not telling Amity how she really feels. Even if she knows it will be easier this way, it still lingers in her mind, the one piece of business she’s unable to wrap up before she goes. Part of her hopes Amity doesn’t feel sad over this for too long, while the other part of her loathes the idea of the two of them drifting apart. She really hopes this isn’t the last time she’ll ever get to see her.

There’s still a chance, of course. A chance that her mother will see things the way Luz does, that she’ll finally understand why summer camp would have been so torturous. Why Luz feels so much more at home at the Owl House than she’d ever felt in her own house. But there’s a bigger chance that she’ll be shut down immediately and forced back into her normal, boring, sad life, where her interests are pushed aside as childish, and fitting in is all that matters.

She shakes her head. If she dwells on these thoughts for too long, she’ll chicken out and retreat back to the Owl House, where she’s safe, and nothing will be fixed. No, she can’t back out now. Her mother is expecting her. There are things she needs to work out as soon as possible. She steels her nerve, tightening her grip on the strap of her duffel bag, and takes a step toward the bright white void.

“Luz!”

She freezes in her tracks as Amity’s familiar voice calls out to her, her entire body tensing in surprise and dread. Immediately, she feels her emotions start to dredge themselves up again. Why? Why had she come, after Luz had asked her not to? Why did she feel the need to make this as hard as she could? She takes a shaky breath, turning to face her friend and forcing a small smile onto her face. “Amity, you were supposed to stay with Eda,” she chides gently, but her body subconsciously shies away, as though ashamed.

But Amity doesn’t pause in her approach. Luz’s eyes widen in surprise when Amity runs straight into her, wrapping her up in a tight hug and hiding her face in Luz’s shoulder. “I don’t care,” she says shakily, and it’s at this point that Luz registers the tears in her friend’s eyes. Is Amity… crying? “I-I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to leave me.”

Luz has never seen Amity break down like this, and she would never, in a hundred years, expect this to happen over her, of all people. It takes her a few seconds, but she finally remembers to move her arms, wrapping them around Amity in return and pulling her close. “Hey, it’s not going to be forever,” she reminds her, letting one hand travel up to smooth down Amity’s hair. “At least, I hope not. I just need to clear things up with my mom. She… she’ll understand. Eventually.”

Amity shakes her head against Luz’s shoulder. “You don’t know that,” she insists, her voice wavering and cracking. She’s leaving wet patches on the shoulder of Luz’s hoodie. “You have to come back, okay? It’ll be so lonely with you gone…”

Luz’s heart breaks for Amity. She knows all too well what it’s like to feel alone, to have no one to turn to and no one to confide in. But Amity does have people she can trust, now, even with Luz gone. “It’ll be okay. You won’t be alone, you’ll have Eda, and Willow, and Gus, and Ed and Em. I know your siblings can be pretty obnoxious sometimes, but they still love you,” she says, gently pulling Amity out of the embrace so she can talk to her face to face. “You have so many good friends now that you can go to if you’re in trouble.” She breaks eye contact with Amity, glancing down at the ground sadly. “You don’t really need me anymore, you know? You’ll be fine, I know you will.”

Amity goes quiet, and when Luz looks back up at her friend, her eyes are filled with shifting emotions. Shock, denial, sadness, and finally, anger. “Don’t need you? What are you talking about, you idiot?” she demands. “Of course I need you, you’re my best friend! How could you say that? Aren’t you sad?”

Luz backpedals immediately. “I am sad, I just…” She bites her lip and averts her gaze from Amity’s, trailing off. “I don’t know how my mom is going to react to… all of this. I’m going to do my best, and I really hope that I won’t have to be away for long, but I just don’t know. I don’t know anything.” The reality of the situation is really starting to get to her, now. She can feel the tears starting to come, pooling at the corners of her eyes. She blinks rapidly, willing them to disappear, but it’s pointless.

Amity grasps Luz by both shoulders, prompting her to meet her gaze once more. She looks sad, and scared, and helpless--three emotions that Luz rarely gets to see come from her friend. “Promise me,” she commands, her voice firm and authoritative despite her obvious state of distress. Her fingers shake as they curl into the fabric of Luz’s hoodie. “Promise me that you’ll come back.”

Luz hesitates. She knows better than to make a promise she may not be able to keep, even though she really, really wants to. She opens her mouth to say as much, then pauses. It’s as though a bulb lights up in her head, a spark of inspiration. It’s a half-baked ploy, and probably pretty stupid to make on impulse like this, but it’s the only way she can think of conveying her intentions to Amity. “Give me a minute,” she says, then swiftly pulls off her duffel bag and lets it fall to the ground.

Amity watches Luz in confusion as she rifles through the contents of the bag and produces a pen. She clicks it open, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth, and begins to hurriedly scribble on her palm.

“What are you doing?” Amity asks, unable to see what Luz is drawing from her angle.

Luz has never had to seriously use this spell before. Eda had taught it to her after the Covention, to prevent getting cheated like she had during her very first witch’s duel, but it had been a purely precautionary measure, so that Luz could know how the spell works and how to avoid it should she ever need to. Now, it comes in handy for the first time. She tucks the pen away into her bag and straightens up onto her feet again, holding out her hand. “Ask me again,” she says, drawing her shoulders back confidently in a show of her determination.

Amity blinks, confused. She still can’t see what Luz has drawn, but she obliges nonetheless. “Please, Luz. Promise me that you’ll come back,” she repeats, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Luz feels the tears come freely now, but this time she’s overwhelmed not by sadness, but by warmth. When Amity reaches out and takes her hand, she feels a rush of potent, blind affection for her, for the trust they share. A ring of purple draws itself around their clasped hands.

“It’s an oath,” Luz murmurs, voice quivering.

The light from the everlasting oath casts Amity’s dumbfounded face in shades of pastel purple, and Luz catches the glint of it reflecting off her yellow eyes as she stares back at her, speechless. “Luz…”

But Luz cuts her off, firmly stating, “I will be back, I promise. Even if I have to go against my mom’s wishes, I’ll come back. The Boiling Isles is my home now. I have more of a connection to this place than I do to the house I grew up in. I promise you, Amity, I won’t be gone for long.”

A watery smile comes to Amity’s face, and she tugs Luz into another tight hug. She shifts her grip on Luz’s hand, intertwining their fingers together while maintaining the contact from Luz’s spell. “You better not be,” she replies. “Who will go to Grom with me next year if my fearless champion is missing in action?”

It’s meant to be a joke—Luz knows it is—but it still makes her face flame. “Well, then I’ll make sure to be back by then,” she banters back, and revels in the way Amity’s shy smile makes her heart swell with fondness.

Feeling brave and a little drunk on her giddiness, Luz leans forward and presses her lips against Amity’s forehead in a brief kiss. “Don’t miss me too much, ‘kay? And make sure to text me. Cross-dimensional cell signal is a blessing I do not intend to waste,” she says.

When she pulls back, Amity’s face is flushed bright pink. Luz can’t help but feel somehow proud that she’s able to goad such a reaction out of her crush. “O-Okay,” she replies lamely. The awkwardness of it only makes Luz’s affection grow. She wonders if Amity knows just how adorable she can be when she lets herself be honest like this.

Luz pulls her hand out of Amity’s grasp. The eternal oath’s light fades along with the contact, and for a moment she feels disappointed, but she quickly pushes that aside. There will be plenty of time to hold Amity’s hand once I’m back for good, she reminds herself, if only to give herself a little boost of confidence for what lay ahead. She picks up her duffel bag and slings it back over her shoulders, then gives Amity the biggest, goofiest smile she can muster. “Well, I’m off! Tell Eda to lock the door behind me.”

Amity wraps one arm around her middle, raising the other up in a tiny wave. “Okay, I’ll do that,” she replies, still teary-eyed, but with a smile on her face.

Luz gives a nod of approval, stepping one foot over the door’s threshold. “I’ll see you soon, Amity. That’s a promise,” she says, her last parting words, and steps fully through the portal, tugging the door shut behind her.

#the owl house #lumity #luz noceda #amity blight #serendipitousfics

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