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chaoticallysapphic · 4 years ago

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Oh my heart

Summary: Lin never expected to have a soulmate, in a world where your mark appears whenever your soulmate is born she grew up completely blank. So when she’s thirty and it finally etches itself around her arm, she vows to never be with the one meant only for her.

A/N: there is an age gap so if that's not your thing, then please don’t read. This will be a two, maybe three parter and the reader is Korra’s older sister who is also a waterbender, besides that I’ve tried to keep any physical descriptions of her as vague as possible.

Word count: 4k

Lin was terrified. Something she had longed for her entire life had finally appeared but at the worst possible time, those strange words etched onto her forearm stared back at her in a taunting manner, making fun of her new attempt at happiness. You wished for me all your life, aren’t you pleased? The voice in the back of her head taunted, but she wasn’t. A moment meant to be filled with joy was one drenched in dread. Lin had finally accepted her feelings for Tenzin, despite him having had his soulmate mark since he was sixteen. Her glances grew longer, her smile seemed reserved only for him, and she finally felt happy, until now of course. Thirty, that’s how old Lin was, which meant she was thirty years older than her soulmate which seemed wrong, disgusting even, so Lin did what she thought best, she burnt it off. She blamed it on a work-related incident when asked, a pesky firebending criminal got a little to close and she paid the price. No one knew she did it to herself in the darkness of her apartment with tears on her face, a hint of regret gnawing at her heart.

Two months later, Tenzin asked Lin out on a date and despite that nagging feeling that this was so wrong, she accepted. After a few months Tenzin made her forget about the burnt skin on her forearm, the shameful secret she’d take to the grave. She felt happy, so happy, she felt loved and accepted, like maybe she had a shot at a happily ever after despite his mark and her own. Lin knew he’d choose her, knew he loved her, and had nothing to worry about, so she laid her head on his chest as they basked in the sun on Air Temple Island.

-----

“You can’t force me into wanting kids!” Lin shouted, her hands waving around as she glared at Tenzin, his usual calm demeanor seemed to crack, his voice rising as he shouted back “I’m the last air bender there is! I have to keep the line going, I have to repopulate my kind!”

“I would be a terrible mother, I hate kids and I’d have to leave my job for at least nine months, I just made Chief!” Tenzin pinched the bridge of his nose, his pale complexion turning red with frustration, he loved how dedicated she was to her job, but it seemed to be all she cared about since getting promoted.

“I think we need a break from each other, maybe a week or t-”. Her eyes widened in horror at his words, her hand's grip at her hair in frustration as she cuts him off “fine, but I am coming back in a week and we are working this out for good, I’m tired of this argument.” Without letting him say another word, she stormed out and made her way back to republic city.

As the week dragged on, Lin put her colleagues through hell. Slamming doors so hard the glass on them shattered, an even shorter fuse than normal, she even fired two of her best detectives for trying to ask her what was wrong. Her apartment seemed cold, her nights seemed never-ending and an undeniable sense of dread clawed its way into her heart like she knew he was slipping away. Maybe she could have one kid, to make him happy and keep the air benders going. If it was an earth bender then fine, she’d have another, but she wouldn’t quit her job, wouldn’t loosen up on the hours and Tenzin would understand, right? He’d just be so happy to be a father that he wouldn’t care, he’d always respected her work before, what was to stop him after a kid or two?

She caved, she decided to go back to air temple island on the fifth day, a sense of determination to fix their relationship fueled each step and she tried to dismiss any fear she had of becoming a mother as she made her way up the steps to where she’d known Tenzin would be. In her state, she didn’t notice the pitying looks the acolytes sent her way, all she cared about was finding him. When she found him in the courtyard, she thought nothing of the young woman speaking to Tenzin with a wide grin but when she put her hand on his shoulder mid-laugh, Lin paused. Tenzin noticed her then, a million emotions flashed through his eyes before his shoulders sagged and a sorrowful expression settled on his face, and somehow, she knew.

Who could blame her when she wreaked havoc on a place she once called her sanctuary, when she wished misery on him before leaving her destruction behind, her fists clenched tight as the best thing she ever had slipped through her fingers.

-----

“Korra!” a feminine voice shouted from behind Tenzin, you pushed past him and ran forward to hug the avatar in the interrogation room, murmuring something to her in a furious tone. Lin rolled her eyes as she looked over at Tenzin who said smoothly “Lin, you are looking radiant as usual.”

“Cut the garbage Tenzin” she replied in an annoyed tone “why is the avatar in republic city? I thought you were supposed to be moving down to the south pole to train her.” you, who came in with Tenzin let go of Korra and walked over to stand by him, your arms crossed over your chest.

“It was too cold for his bald head” you answered right as Tenzin opened his mouth to speak “now why is my sister in so much trou-”. Lin tuned the rest of her words out as shock slammed into her like a rock wall. No. This wasn’t meant to happen, she’d scorched off any chance with her soulmate twenty years ago, or so she thought. But this… this twenty? Yes, a twenty-year-old water tribe girl with brows furrowed, and an expectant look on her face was it. You were what sometimes kept her up at night when she was so lonely it felt like the feeling would surely eat her up as Lin imagined some faceless figure who loved Lin with all their heart, someone who would never leave her.

“Lin?” Tenzin asked, putting his hand on her shoulder which successfully pulled her out of the raging ocean that was her thoughts, no not ocean, definitely nothing water-related. Lin looked into Tenzin's eyes, completely ignoring her one chance at happiness.

“Just get her out of my sight and keep her out of trouble” she practically growled out before storming off. Her heart was racing so fast she’d thought it’d surely give up any second now, maybe she should have known that her hasty decisions from her past would one day come back to sucker punch her in the gut.

“Well that was weird” Lin heard you say behind her as she continued to rush away from you before she accidentally said something. Lin vowed then that she would never say a single word to you. It was better this way anyway, who would want her? Bitter, old, scarred Lin who was practically married to her job and hated all things romantic ever since Tenzin crushed her heart beneath his shoe.

-----

She learned that your name was y/n a few days later, she heard Korra call out to you at the gala and when Lin followed Korra’s excited figure and her eyes landed on her soulmate, the wind was successfully knocked out of her for the second time since meeting y/n. You were wearing a deep blue satin dress that went down to the floor with a blue sheer shoulder shawl that had silver snowflakes embroidered onto it. Your hair was down instead of up, and you had a small amount of makeup on, just a bit of rouge and red lipstick. Lin thought it was the perfect amount, any more and it might distract someone from your beautiful eyes, or your enchanting smile. Her heart began to pound despite her desperate attempt at keeping her emotions in check. A large part of her hated this, hated you, and what this feeling blooming in her chest meant.

When Bolin came up to you and threw an arm over your shoulder, which caused you to laugh, Lin remembered that it would never happen. She shoved her feelings down and turned away from you as her thoughts went from how beautiful you were to how you would never love her.

Later on in the evening, Tarlock calls Lin over and she sees you peek around Korra to eye her curiously, a look of intrigue settles on your features as Lin pushes down any feelings she has at the fact that you’re looking at her and it feels like her whole body is on fire under your stare. “I believe you and avatar Korra have already met” Tarlock looks over at her with that sly look of his that she’s already determined means he’s up to no good.

“Just because the city is throwing you this big to do, don’t think you’re something special. You’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve this” she says to Korra, leaning down a bit to glare at the young avatar. Your curious gaze turns to one of annoyance as you glare at Lin. “Hey! Who gave you the right to be mean to my little sister,” you step in front of Korra almost protectively, as you stare her down. Don’t speak to her, look away, don’t reply, she tells herself. Lin turns on her feet and walks off, trying to seem as if she doesn’t care about what you said. “Why does she always ignore me?” she hears you say in an exasperated tone before she loses your voice over the loud music playing nearby.

-----

When Tenzin stands next to Lin at the pro-bending arena with you by his side, she’s not surprised. It seems the universe has decided to continuously throw you in her face, dangling you teasingly despite knowing her decision regarding your bond. You're holding a bag of fire flakes as you eagerly watch your sisters match, but soon your once excited expression turns to annoyance once the game starts. The Wolf Bats tipped the referee off. Lin wants to go beat the referee up until he starts being fair, just to see you smile once more.

“C’mon! This is bullshit” you shout as the Wolf Bats gain another point. Lin can’t help but notice the way your nose scrunches up as you continue to shout at the referee or how your hair which originally was pushed behind your ears has come loose and is framing your face so beautifully. Her left hand unconsciously grazes over her armor where her burn mark is as she watches you, completely tuning the game out. As Tenzin goes to shout something alongside you, his eyes catch Lin staring at you with a look of longing, he takes a step closer to Lin causing her to tear her eyes away from you and back to the match.

“Lin....” Tenzin begins but she clears her throat and mutters out a sharp “drop it.” To which Tenzin does, for now. Later on, as the match intensifies, Lin says “I can’t believe your sweet-tempered father was reincarnated into that girl, she’s tough as nails.” Lin doesn’t see it, but you smile at her words before deciding to tune out the rest of the conversation between the two, too focused on your sister to care.

You're practically seething at the outcome of this botched game, fire flakes are flying out of the bag as you shout in anger, not noticing the figure approaching with sinister intentions. By the time you do, it's because you're in excruciating pain as something electrifies you, your vision blurs and you make out Lin dropping onto the floor. The figure who electrocuted you steps over your body, you reach out to the Airbender, trying to warn him but nothing comes out of your mouth as he falls to the floor beside you. Soon your eyes droop closed due to the pain despite trying your hardest to stay awake.

When Lin awakens her muscles feel like they're about to give out and she lets out a weak groan as she slowly goes to stand up. Her eyes land on you the second her vision is no longer a blur and her heart fills with panic as she sees an equalist take you into their arms. She stumbles forward, not fully awake, and catches the attention of your capture. You let out a pained groan, in your unconscious state, the sound tugs at her heart and she’s suddenly filled with boiling rage. The equalist is shaking as he continues to stumble backward, another appears to help him take you away and without a second thought Lin shoots out her wires and wraps them around both of their ankles, she gives them a harsh yank which causes them to fall to the ground with a loud thud, for good measure she cuffs them to the floor, warping the metal of the floor beneath them around their wrists and ankles. You land on top of your capture, your eyes begin to flutter behind your lids and you finally stir awake. Pain wraps around your muscles, in your head you think maybe it's best to just lay still, momentarily forgetting about your situation.

You let out a whimper, knocking Lin out of her frozen state as she had gazed at you. Lin rushes forward and wraps an arm around your waist as she pulls you up onto your feet, you open your eyes, blinking the blurriness out of your eyesight. Lin takes you over to the railing as Tenzin also begins to regain consciousness and she props you up against the metal railing. You stare up at her in confusion, your mind is buzzing a mile a minute, not only at the situation at hand but at how her arms felt wrapped around you. “Uhm… Thanks for that.”

“Amon probably ordered them to kidnap you to hurt Korra” she replies, not realizing what she’s just done. Your eyes widen in shock at her words but before she can even notice your shocked state an explosion sets off behind you, sheets of metal from the bending platform go flying and she wraps her arms around you, forcing you to duck down so she can shield you with her body. You pull up a wave of water to protect you from oncoming flames. The heat of the steam from the water causes you both to begin sweating before the flames from the explosion recede only seconds later. You let go of the water, suddenly the discovery of Lin’s secret doesn’t seem so important as you think of your sister. When you passed out she was in the water below, surely she’s somewhere safe, right?

As if to answer your question, Korra appears as she hurtles herself up into the air with a large twisting waterspout. As it begins to falter and then completely goes out you let out a shout filled with terror “Korra!” Lin quickly gets up and shoots her metal wire out towards the roof to send her flying across the arena towards the avatar, before Korra can hit the fiery platform below, she shoots out a second wire to her waist and with all her might yanks her up into the air.

You stand beside Tenzin with wide eyes and bated breath, suddenly the two most important women in your life, I mean Lin has been ignoring you and you’ll have to figure out why later but she is your soulmate which does make her incredibly important to you, are out of your sight and dangerously fighting above as you uselessly stand there with your water bending abilities that won’t get you up there to help fight off equalists. Not being able to just stand by you summon water from below and create an ice bridge to the platform, if you can’t fight, you can try to put out the raging fire caused by the explosion.

“Y/n, wait!” Tenzin calls after but you're long gone. If you just stand there you’ll go insane and you have powers that can help, even if you don't get to kick some equalist ass. Up above Lin finally lands on the glass dome and immediately sets out to take down as many people as she can at once, Korra watches in amazement for a moment as she wraps her wire at some guys foot and slams him into the roof before she gets knocked off the rope and lands onto the dome with a loud thud and the crackling of the glass starting to break below her.

It’s a collision of fire and electricity with metal wires flying towards the men and from below where you are using all your strength to put out the fire, it looks almost beautiful with the sparks of blue and flashes of red if not for the current circumstances. Tenzin has taken to help you with the fire by trying to use air to snuff it out. Suddenly glass from above sprinkles around them and you look up to see your little sister free falling once more.

“Tenzin can you do something with your air?!” You shout and he goes to try and send a force of air to help slow her down but she's going too fast, she’s flailing and if she doesn’t do something soon she’ll most likely die from the impact. As you run to the edge of the platform to try and save her yourself, Lin appears from above Korra and shoots a small wire to her so she can hold onto it like a rope.

Your shoulders sag in relief as you stumble away from the edge and use everything you’ve got to summon a massive wave to once and for all put out the fire. It works and the force of the water has it crashing into the stands taking with it some of the seats and any trash left behind in the frenzy. When you see Lin and Korra land you race off towards the now soaking wet stands, using the water below as a set of frozen stairs to reach them. When you do, Lin has her hand on Korra’s shoulder and is saying something but you don’t make it out before you crush them both in a hug. Some sort of strangled sound of relief bubbles up through your throat as your hold on them tightens.

Korra wraps her arms around you, softly saying “thank the spirits you're okay” as Lin stays perfectly still. As her adrenaline slowly leaves her body and she realizes you aren’t in danger, she suddenly can’t be touched by you. She remains frozen until you pull away, you know it's not the time to bombard her so instead you offer Lin a thankful smile, too worried about how she’d react if you did anything else.

-----

A few days later you finally let Korra out of your sight, letting her run off to deal with her boy problems as you head towards the main police station. You tried to casually ask Tenzin what kind of tea Lin liked best, to which he’d furrowed his brows and said “why?” You simply shrugged and repeated your question. Apparently, it was jasmine, which was a favorite of yours as well so you stopped by your favorite tea shop and grabbed two to-go cups. As you enter the station you square your shoulders and give yourself a little pep talk “You can do this, you just need to march in and figure out why, maybe butter her up with the tea first of course, and then ask why, that’s if she lets you into the office…” you trail off once your eyes land on the door of Lin’s office, the words “Chief Beifong” are written in gold on the glass door which has a blind pulled down so you can’t see inside, which your slightly grateful for.

“Chief Beifong doesn’t want anyone to disturb her” one of the cops called out, but you ignore him and open the door, who cares, you deserve answers.

“I said I wanted to be alone, how brain dead are yo-” her words cut off as you walk in, balancing two cups in one hand so you can shut the door. You swallow, suddenly being in front of her has made most of your bravado slip away, along with your original plan, leaving you speechless. She doesn’t say anything, seeming to forget that she already spoke to you in the arena. You set the cups down and lift your shirt, which causes Lin to blush but you don’t stop until she can see her own words.

“I used to hate them… y’know,” you say quietly before dropping your shirt back down, Lin glares at her desk. “I used to be jealous of Korra and all the attention she got, so imagine growing up with her name etched onto your skin.”

She goes to open her mouth to speak, most likely to spew out some lie so you beat her to it. “I don’t know why, exactly, you kept it to yourself, I asked Tenzin the other day and he said you didn’t have a mark which is odd seeing as you are my soulmate." You pause, your voice softening, "you could have just told me straight away that you didn’t want me, didn’t want this instead of ignoring my existence and leaving me to wonder what I'd done to offend you.” Finally, she looks up from the desk and you make eye contact with her. You're trying so hard not to cry as you try to figure out what's going through her head, will she kick you out? Is your soulmate going to reject you?

“I thought…” Lin begins, she looks away from you, not being able to look you in the eyes anymore. “I thought I was doing you a favor, I’m old, and I’m not the most personable or charismatic person, I thought maybe you’d want someone your own age, maybe someone like your sisters' teammates.”

“So someone who is young and a guy? Did you think that maybe you should let me decide what I wanted instead of just assuming?”

“Look I gave up on the idea of having a soulmate years ago!” Lin shouts and you flinch away in surprise, “thirty years is a long time, do you know how I felt when those words suddenly appeared on me at thirty?”

“Oh, so you do have a mark!” You let out a disbelieving, angry laugh. “So you just went around telling everyone you didn’t have one, pretending the idea of me, of us, didn’t exist.” Tears cloud your vision and you let out a frustrated groan as you quickly gaze up at the ceiling in an attempt to keep them from falling. Lin’s gaze softens and she slowly stands from her desk.

“Y/n… I thought about it every day, but… We can’t be together, I’m far too old and I’ll just hold you back.” You scoff and aggressively wipe at the tears falling down your cheeks, your heart feels like it's beginning to crack.

“Your mark?” You croak out and cringe at how you sound. Lin hesitated before using her bending to take off the armor on her right arm. On her arm is a massive burn scar, you keep staring at it, not knowing what to say. Did someone else do that to her? As if she can read your thoughts, Lin says softly “I did it to myself a few days after it appeared.”

Oh. So this is what it's like to have your heart cleaved into two, what you felt just minutes before seems like nothing compared to the pain wrapping so tightly around you that it seems hard to breathe. She hated the idea of you so much she'd rather hurt herself and lie to everyone in her life. Without another word you turn your back on your soulmate, despite the sound of calling out to you, just like she did to you twenty years ago.

#lin beifong x reader #lin beifon/reader #lin beifong #fanfic #legend of korra #lok #tenzin #korra #pema #soulmate au #bolin #lin #beifong #angst

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 4 years ago

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Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 1/16 (all chapters)

“Oh my g-“ You whined, tightening your grip on the sink. “Harder, I’m gonna…”

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you came undone; took in your smudged makeup and disheveled hair.

Pleasure rippled through you and you moaned into it, pushing yourself back onto the stranger’s dick and taking as much of him in as humanly possible. You could feel every inch of him and he groaned at the feel of you tightening around him.

“Oh f-“ You murmured, holding onto the sink and grinding yourself against your lover in time to the spasms of your body.

You were so overwhelmed by the sensation that you lost all coherency, body acting of its own accord. Your lover sucked in a single breath as he continued to fuck you and you could do little else but stare at your shoes.

You were doing this.

You were doing him . In a bathroom, no less.

How on earth had you gotten yourself into this situation?

━

Whenever you looked back over the course of your life, one detail stood out far more prominently than the others.

You were a good girl.

You had never broken the law, had always adhered to the proper dress code, had never had a filling or broken a bone. You could, and very often did, define yourself by the roads you had never dreamed of taking and the decisions you had never made.

Never was it more obvious than the day you suffered your first real heartbreak.

You had followed the rules carefully; had dressed respectably for every date; had taken care to listen to your boyfriend’s every problem. You’d learned to cook his favorite meal; had faked more orgasms than you could count to feed his ego.

You were sure you would marry that man and had mentally mapped out your next five years. You would have a simple ceremony and a child one year later, then another two years after the first. You’d named them in your imagination and frequently lapsed into daydreams about your future perfect life.

On your fifth anniversary he took you to dinner and you could barely hide your excitement. You knew he had been keeping something from you and you were so sure he was going to propose. You put on your best dress and favourite heels and spent an hour on your makeup and hair. This night was going to be perfect and your stomach fluttered as he reached for your hands across the table.

“(Name),” he said, squeezing your hands in his, “I’ve been thinking about our future.”

“Me too,” you said, squeezing back, willing yourself to hold it together. You wanted this moment to be so perfect and romantic that you would repeat it over and over to your future children and grandchildren. “I’m so happy we’re on the same page.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time,” he said, smiling softly. “I’ve enjoyed all of our time together, but I think we need to move forwards.”

All you could think about was your future children; the length of their eyelashes and warmth of their hugs. You could almost smell the flowers in your wedding bouquet.

“I just...I think we’ve had a lot of fun together,” he said, “but I’m scared that if we stay like this we’ll fall into a rut. I don’t want to be married with a bunch of kids before I’m forty.”

And just like that, your stomach fell through the floor.

“Wait, w-what are you talking about?”

You snatched your hands from his, heart racing. Was this some sort of joke? You had shopped together for a new mattress only two days before. You glanced around the restaurant, looking for cameras or any sign that this was staged. If it was a prank, it was cruel.

“(Name), it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just that, well… you’re like...how do I put this…”

He scratched his chin, searching for the right thing to say, even as your eyes filled with tears.

“You’re vanilla,” he said, “you’re safe, and sweet… but we’re still young and I keep thinking that I might want to try habanero or cayenne.”

“You think I’m...boring?” the words left your lips as a whisper and, while his reaction was to instantly reach out to you and apologise, the damage was already done.

“I can be habanero,” you said before you realised it. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“I know,” he said, “and that’s the problem.”

━

That night you stood in your shower for almost three quarters of an hour, staring into space as the water soaked you through.

His words circled your brain like vultures.

Vanilla.

He thought you were vanilla. Perhaps the worst part was that you could not disagree.

It haunted your every action for the following week. All you saw when you got ready for work was your simple wardrobe and comfortable shoes.

You were a good girl, mild mannered and meek, and everyone seemed to have noticed before you.

Shock made way for despair. Despair turned to denial and denial quickly turned to anger. You hated your ex boyfriend almost as much as you hated yourself, scouring your apartment for everything he had ever touched.

It didn’t take long for your friends to get worried about you. Normally you were all too busy to constantly check in on the group chat you shared, but since the breakup everyone had something to say.

However kind they might have been to spare your feelings, they genuinely did seem surprised that you had broken up. You had been a couple since your college graduation and one of the only constants in the past few years as everyone’s lives took different directions.

As was to be expected, your friends had multiple different opinions on suitable coping mechanisms. Yuiko came over with food; Hana brought wine. Sayaka called you every evening to trash talk your ex.

Then there was Rei.

Rei was the most boisterous member of your friend group, full to the brim with the kind of self confidence that was obnoxious on other people, yet suited her perfectly. Her reaction to the breakup was not to hand you tissues. She posted exactly one message to the group chat and it had haunted you ever since.

To get over one dude… you gotta get under another ;)

You had known Rei for years and never once taken her advice, but something about that statement stuck with you. You would never have come up with such an idea on your own and it left you blushing a bright scarlet. Rebound sex was not something girls like you did, which was exactly why you had to do it.

“I’ll show you vanilla,” you muttered as you put on another layer of red lipstick and pulled your dress just a little lower to tease the lace of your bra.

━

You met up with your friends at Ego , a nightclub you had heard a great deal about, though never actually gone to. You had never had any reason to; you already had a long term partner and didn’t enjoy the idea of dancing in full view of strange men.

You wondered if you’d made a mistake even as you took a seat at one of the tables.

“Any lookers?”

You glanced around the room, trying to make out faces in the darkness.

“I…” you said. “I…”

You swallowed hard, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll get the next round!”

You thought that by going to fetch another round of drinks, you would be able to catch your breath and avoid drawing copious amounts of attention to yourself. You’d never spent much time at nightclubs, though, and realised your mistake once you got within twenty feet of the bar.

Dozens of people in various states of intoxication crowded it, packed like sardines and all trying to get the attention of the bartender. You took a deep breath and took a step into the crowd, only for someone closer to the front to move and send a wave of movement through everyone else. Someone’s shoulder caught you in the chest, leaving you even further back than you had been before.

Normally you were too polite to even contemplate shoving your way through a crowd, but tonight you weren’t yourself. You took a deep breath and put your weight into your shoulders, pushing against the others as forcefully as you could without actually hurting anyone.

At first you seemed to be making progress, though you soon regretted your decisions. As you got within a few paces of the bar, a guy in front of you slipped, the numerous drinks in his hands heading for your face.

Before they could make contact, however, someone reached for your wrist and yanked you towards the bar, out of the line of fire. The drinks hit other partygoers and they cried out in shock; the glasses shattered as they hit the floor. You, however, remained untouched.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, turning to your saviour.

He was tall and lanky, with black hair tied back from his face in a ponytail. He wore a black shirt, black pants, black shoes- a complete contrast to the Blue Hawaiian in his hand.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, looking away from you and taking an indifferent sip of his drink.

The bartender was in the middle of clearing the shattered glass from the floor and so you waited in an awkward sort of silence, finally turning back to the man who had saved you.

“You look as happy to be here as I am,” you said. He looked the type to sit in shady bars with three fingers of whisky, not dance with inebriated strangers, which Ego was better known for.

“Wasn’t my decision,” he said. “Someone’s gotta babysit.”

He pointed towards the dancefloor, where a small group of people danced along to the beat. You couldn’t make out most of their faces, except for one, and you were sure your eyes were deceiving you.

“Is that...Present Mic?”

The stranger followed your gaze, to the man with more than a passing resemblance, who was currently wiggling his hips in time to the beat.

“Him? Nah. I don’t know him.”

“But he’s waving to you,” you said, as the man who looked like Present Mic waved his arms over his head and shouted something in your general direction. You couldn’t hear him over the music and the stranger next to you pointedly turned in the opposite direction, taking a long sip of his drink.

You had been so nervous about approaching strangers. Rei had made it seem so easy- merging into a group and catching someone’s eye. You had always had a boyfriend and never possessed the easy confidence of your friends. It was strangely reassuring that speaking to this man came almost naturally.

“My name’s (Name),” you said. “Listen, you really saved me there...this dress is hand wash only.”

“Shouta,” said the stranger. “My name is Shouta.”

“C-can I get you a drink or something? I really owe you one.”

You realised after saying it that he wasn’t even halfway through the drink in his hand.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “It wasn’t anything special.”

He picked the pineapple from his drink and chewed at it thoughtfully.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t like playing games. What is it you want?”

You were tongue tied, mortified at being caught out so quickly. You fought to keep your composure.

Under ordinary circumstances, you would have stammered some sort of apology or explanation, but tonight you weren’t you and there was no point in denying that you had an ulterior motive.

“Fine,” you said, gathering your nerves. “Do you want to go somewhere more...private?”

You cringed the moment it left your lips, suddenly all too aware of how forward you were being. You couldn’t believe you’d all but thrown yourself at the first guy you saw. What was wrong with you?

He climbed down off the stool he had been sitting on, taking one final sip of his drink.

“Let’s go.”

━

And so it was that you wound up in the nightclub washroom, back against the door and Shouta’s lips on yours.

You had half-heartedly discussed with your friends what to do on the off chance you found someone. You were to post to the group chat with a photograph of you and whoever you left with. You hadn’t expected to leave with anyone, much less decided on where you would go if you did.

You would never have guessed that you would wind up in a washroom, with the door sealed shut behind you. Shouta crushed his lips against yours, one hand pressed against the door, the other on your waist.

Your heart raced, heat rushing through you and pooling in your core.

“Say,” said Shouta, lowering his hand and running a thumb over your lips, “you sure you want this? Right here, right now?”

You moved before you realised what you were doing, opening your mouth and running your tongue over his thumb, looking him dead in the eyes as you wrapped your lips around it.

He hadn’t expected it, but seemed to approve, for he smiled, pulling away and dragging you into another crushing kiss. One hand he positioned above your head; the other grabbed at your clothes, pulling down your dress to expose your bra before heading south.

He lifted your skirt, slipping his fingers into your underwear. You gasped as you felt his hand against your folds, planting your own hand against the door to brace yourself. He caught your eye, tracing a finger around your clit before slowly sinking it deep into you. You reached for his shoulders, hooking one leg around his waist and pushing your lips against his. You pulled him tighter and tighter as he pushed his finger in and out of you, dragging at his shirt and belt.

He squeezed in a second finger and you bucked your hips into his touches.

As if in response, he pulled his fingers out of you and ran them over your clit- the warmth and wetness sending pleasurable shivers down your spine. You had never felt this way before; this man was as good as a stranger, yet you wanted him so very badly. You had never felt this kind of desire before, never known how it felt to have such a growing pressure inside of you.

“Please,” you moaned into his mouth, not knowing exactly what you were begging him for. “Please—-"

“Come here,” Shouta growled, pulling you towards him and then across to the sink. You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, unkempt and wide eyed- a complete transformation from when you stepped out of the house.

You watched through the mirror as Shouta unfastened his belt and fly, lowering his pants low enough to give you a clear view of his hardened dick. He was far more muscular than his skinny physique let on, with a deep scar beneath his belly button.

You were trembling from need, squeezing your legs together to try and fill the void his fingers had left. He smirked and walked towards you, taking hold of your hips and slowly, almost torturously slowly, pushing himself into you.

He was bigger than you expected and you gasped at the feel of yourself stretching to accommodate him. He stopped in place, waiting for you to push back against him before pushing in further. At first his pace was slow, inching in only a little at a time, teasing an increasingly sensitive spot deep inside of you.

“Faster,” you whined, digging your nails into your palms at the pressure inside of you. It was overwhelming your every sense, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every touch. “Please...please…”

He slapped your ass and drove in deeper.

This new pace was faster, his hips slamming into yours with such force that it sent you barreling forwards across the sink. You clung on for dear life, taking in the wet sounds as your bodies clashed; Shouta’s groans of pleasure and exertion.

“Oh my g-“ You whined, tightening your grip on the sink. “Harder, I’m gonna…”

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you came undone; took in your smudged makeup and disheveled hair.

Pleasure rippled through you and you moaned into it, pushing yourself back onto Shouta’s dick and taking as much of him in as humanly possible. You could feel every inch of him and he groaned at the feel of you tightening around him.

“Oh f-“ You murmured, holding onto the sink and grinding yourself against him in time to the spasms of your body.

You were so overwhelmed by the sensation that you lost all coherency, body acting of its own accord. He sucked in a single breath as he continued to fuck you and you could do little else but stare at your shoes.

You were doing this.

You were doing him . In a bathroom, no less.

He gathered your hair with one hand and pulled backwards, arching your back as he fucked you even harder. He was getting close and you could tell; his thrusts were getting erratic and the hand that squeezed your hip was so tight that it left bruises later.

“(Name),” he said, raspiness of his voice betraying his desperation, “where would you like me to...cum”

He groaned and you blushed a bright red.

“In...inside me,” you murmured, the depravity of it all too clear. This was a man you didn’t know; you were risking pregnancy and worse.

In that moment, though, it only added to the appeal.

Shouta pulled you even closer, slowing right down to an almost painfully slow rhythm. He held you in place as he came and gasped for air; the heat of his breath leaving goosebumps against your skin.

You could feel him twitching inside of you, his warmth dripping from you as he pulled out.

You took a deep breath and stood up straight, Shouta letting go of you to pull up his pants. He rinsed his hands under the tap and splashed cold water on his face before grabbing a pile of paper towels.

“I’ll guard the door,” he said, motioning towards the same door he had pinned you against only a short time ago. “Knock when you’re ready.”

“Oh,” you said, watching him leave, “okay.”

For the first time all night, you were alone, the nightclub music in the background your only clue to your surroundings.

You walked towards the sink and took in your bedraggled appearance-bra on full display and cum on your thighs.

You couldn’t believe you were thinking it, but Rei was right. For the first time in weeks you weren’t thinking about the ex. For the first time in years you weren’t thinking about anything.

Habanero, you thought as you switched on the tap.

This was how it felt to be habanero.

━

6 Months Later

You were still a good girl.

That said, you no longer followed the safe roads. Not so long ago, you believed that your breakup was the end of everything, but it had actually been a new beginning.

Two months after the night at Ego , you cut your hair and quit your job. You had been there since graduation and your colleagues were more than a little desperate for you to stay. You had taken on the workload of about seven of eight people while earning only a pittance for a salary.

You had a new job now; something fresh and exciting and challenging to boot. It made you nervous, but that feeling only spurred you on.

You’d never been to UA before and it was much bigger in person. You could already tell you were going to get lost and found yourself grateful that the Principal had taken it upon himself to show you around.

“These are the first year homerooms,” he said, pointing out the doors on your left and right. “1-A and 1-B. I hope you pardon my presumptuousness, but I thought it might be useful to have you shadow one of our homeroom teachers for a couple of hours...get a feel for our curriculum and the kinds of students you’ll be working with.”

“That would be wonderful,” you said, eager to take notes.

“Wait here,” said Principal Nezu, “I’ll be right back.”

He knocked on one of the doors and stepped inside, presumably to fetch the teacher.

When he returned, it took everything in your power to stop your jaw from hitting the floor.

It was him, and he was just as shocked to see you.

“Professor Aizawa,” said Principal Nezu, “this is (Name), our new guidance counsellor.”

He glanced from you to Shouta, taking in your identical expressions.

“Oh… do you know one another?”

#aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #boku no hero academia #habanero

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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banner designer @jamaisjoons | many thanks to @joonsrack for her translations and @jooneggs for beta reading

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be ! Voting is closed! Thank you for participating!

DAY SIX

You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds.

Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return.

Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.

You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.

Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways.

Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere.

“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.

The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”

“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”

The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo?

“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”

Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic.

“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again.

His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”

Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”

“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.

“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”

“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”

You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.”

Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval.

“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him.

Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”

You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head.

Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal.

His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”

“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside.

“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.

“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”

You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.

“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”

You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.

“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”

Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-

Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle.

It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would.

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”

You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more.

Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”

You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.

From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”

You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible.

Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-

You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?

He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do.

You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.

“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.”

You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you.

“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”

You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms.

He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”

You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”

When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”

Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt.

Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”

Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more.

You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”

Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”

Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”

Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”

You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in.

Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”

Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction.

“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”

A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go.

Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it.

Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather.

Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction.

“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”

His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.

You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-

“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.

“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”

You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”

You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice.

Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-

The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”

You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”

Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned.

“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile.

“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”

Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”

Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”

He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.”

His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?”

And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.

---

When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes.

You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments.

You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”

“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”

“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”

You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen.

Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.

He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi.

You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air.

“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”

His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”

Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”

Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”

“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth.

Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”

“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”

Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.

“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”

You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”

“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit? The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes.

“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”

Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”

Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence.

You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now.

Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”

Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”

Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”

Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice.

“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”

You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.

Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot.

Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”

“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”

Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?”

“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”

Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him.

Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch.

Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.

You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.

Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes.

Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face.

Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine.

“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”

Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.”

Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.

In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.

Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength.

Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.

“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core.

As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing.

Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”

“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”

“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth.

“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan.

Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”

Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”

You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”

His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”

You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.

“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”

You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations.

You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”

You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”

He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”

Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”

“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.

Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?”

Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement.

Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation.

He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.

You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.

Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity.

“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.

His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.

You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.

Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.

When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.

He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."

You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.

"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."

No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.

He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."

You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.

One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.

Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.

"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.

"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.

When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.

"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."

You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.

He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"

You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.

You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.

"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."

You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.

"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.

You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.

Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.

"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.

It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.

He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.

"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.

Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.

"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."

It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.

After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.

"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."

You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.

Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.

You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.

"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.

Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.

"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."

"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.

"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."

You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.

So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"

Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."

Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"

You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.

Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.

"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.

"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."

"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.

Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.

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Okay real talk doing 5 ppl per comment takes fucking AGES so imma just try 45 since last time 50 didn’t work.

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kettlequills · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: waking dreams: master of fate

Miraak is victorious against the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha, and reclaims his rightful place as ruler of Solstheim. However, the world he wakes to is not the one he left behind thousands of years ago. When the certainty Miraak once relied on is questioned, will he be able to adapt to this new world and the people within in time to prevent the destruction of all he has worked for? On A03 here.

Tags and tws: Blood and graphic violence, major death, mind control, Apocrypha, Mora.

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.” Miraak’s words rang out bold and proud over the inky seas that surrounded his lonely tower.

He stood, gleaming and glowing, every inch the Dragon Priest he had been, unchanged and preserved in time like a moth behind glass, since Hermaeus Mora’s theft of him from his rightful place at the helm of Tamriel. He kept his back straight and his shoulders tall, let his voice thunder with echoes, and he looked down upon the Last Dragonborn fearsomely-masked, staff in hand. His show, his pride, his excitement, was for his benefit, and theirs, and the dragons that watched them, silent and monumental in this battle of the ages.

Sahrotaar, Relonikiv, Kruziikrel. His companions, his servants, through his torment – and now, the witnesses of his triumph.

As they would all witness!

“The hour of my freedom from this place and its fickle master draws near!” Miraak cried exultantly, fought to remind himself it was for moments more premature, “and soon I will be master of my own fate, once again. My time in Apocrypha is over. And soon, so will be yours.”

Hermaeus Mora’s thousand-fold eyes were unseen in the sickly green sky, but Miraak knew he was there. If he peered over the sheer edge to that liquid darkness, he knew he’d see Seekers clustered like crows, with their ragged cloaks like tattered wings tugged by no current save that of Fate and Mora’s will in airless Apocrypha. In the waters themselves, he would see Lurkers bleeding oil with steady pulses that sat upon the ink in fiery shimmers. Even the constant muttering of rustling pages hissed and whispered amongst themselves, as if placing bets. He heard the riotous wet slap of the ink against the base of the tower, the tentacles beneath squirming like blind worms to the light, and Miraak knew the whole of Apocrypha was watching.

In the tautness of the near-silence, his dragon- and man-heart stuttered in its restless anticipation, cried with each pounding beat the hope of a thousand years’ work swift-coming culmination: soon, soon.

Steady and sure, the Last Dragonborn that returned his gaze. Even now, on the eve of his victory, he drank in the sight; how he had craved the presence of another as the years worn on in his lonely imprisonment.

The air seemed easier to breathe scented by the freshness of Nirn they carried in their lungs, and their arms, their armour, were richly coloured, the most vibrant thing in this world of nightmare and books. No pallid greens or inkblushed blues for them, this Dragonborn wore handsome red and burnished steel. They were solid, made strong by the grain and meat of Skyrim, by the grape and grass of their sun-dazzled, Aedric-blessed life outside this cursed realm. Even now, their form was faint to his eyes, anchored to their real body on Nirn. As he soon would be real, and subject to the pressures of the wind and the rain, the sun and sky, once more.

They were no simple Seeker of Mora’s knowledge, this Dragonborn, with their well-worn sword held sure in their grip and their scratched shield in the other, no, they came to Miraak in the armaments of a warrior, the trappings of an empire Miraak had seen in illustrations. Their skin was browned by sun, their dark eyes watchful and shadowed beneath the owl-face of their wood mask.

Such cheap imitation though their mask was, he scoffed internally, of the mighty artefact they would have been gifted had they walked in Miraak’s time – but no, the men of this new age were weak and stumbling, and remembered not what they ought. No matter, though, he thought, and felt his lips twist to bare his teeth unseen, Miraak would teach them.

“You will die here, by my hand,” Miraak continued, promised, “And with the power of your soul, I will enact my glorious return to Solstheim.”

Unaffected, or perhaps he dared to hope, sparked by this threat, the Last Dragonborn rolled their shoulders with a metallic grinding and extended one gauntlet. They beckoned to him insouciantly, and their feet slid apart to a fighting stance, ready to leap in any direction.

“No words for me, Dragonborn?” Miraak taunted, too eager to let this fated confrontation end without a moment to savour its richness upon his tongue, and the Last Dragonborn growled.

“You waste your breath,” they said, in their raw, untrained Voice of thunder, “Better to beg the name of the one who will be victorious: I am LAAT-AAZ-IN!”

“A strong name,” Miraak allowed, grinning savagely under his mask as their Shout rocked the tower beneath them, shivers of that power in the soles of his boots, “You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise, Slayer of Alduin.”

“Might is unnecessary to win against a man who only talks.” Laataazin nettled at his pride, but though their weapon was held ready they waited for him to speak first, as the elder of the two of them. The note of respect for Miraak was beyond what he had expected – the Greybeards it seemed had bothered to teach their rare pupil some things. Miraak burned to know what else.

“Is that so?” Miraak murmured, and he could not hold back anymore, mortal words were soft as snow in his mouth and he needed fire. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”

It was a mighty greeting, and Laataazin’s wide eyes vanished behind their shield. The plume of fire was brilliant and blinding-bright, and through it, Laataazin charged fearlessly at him. Blinking smoke from his eyes and too slow to leap aside, Miraak swept his staff across his chest. Their shield, glowing white-hot at the edges, smashed into him like a battering ram. The staff clanged hollowly at the brute impact.

They wrestled there at the summit. It was hot work. The thinner parts of Laataazin’s armour were molten and spark-bright, the flames that licked at the fabrics of their tabard smoking relentlessly. Miraak drove his heels into the soft leathery floor, refusing to back down even as he felt his staff begin to creak ominously and his muscles scream. Kruziikrel snarled – Miraak heard the snap of jaws, one of the other dragons harrying it. Sahrotaar? Laataazin had flown it to the summit. Their eyes burned in the firelight through the mask, behind the shield, glimpses of brown shimmering orange. Miraak met those fire-bright eyes, and saw in them a soul that mirrored his own.

Inexorably, Laataazin pushed him back.

Miraak gritted his teeth as he was forced back one step, then another. He had the height advantage, towering clear, he could see their skin bubbling and scalding under their armour at the intense heat, but Laataazin was strong. Cracks raced like fault-lines up his staff, and he had moments – moments, before it shattered in his grip.

They would disarm him? So be it!

He gave a giant shove, and Laataazin’s shield dipped as they staggered. He seized the opportunity and at once Miraak discharged all the magic in the staff. It exploded with a thunderous boom and crack of searing white light.

Miraak was blown clear, rolling quickly to his feet with visions of Laataazin planting their sword in his spine. He squinted around his arms protecting his head from the shrapnel flying everywhere, and hissed.

Laataazin had gone to one knee, but as he stared, they shrugged off the explosion and rose to their feet. Their mask had shattered on their face, and they swiped their metal-clad arm over the wreckage. Fresh blood splattered free from the splinters driven into the flesh of their face, but Laataazin did not pause a moment before raising their head to look for Miraak. Threateningly, their shoulders rolled back, their neck arched, and Miraak had just enough presence of mind to throw up a ward before Laataazin Shouted.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

His ward was battered by the strength of their fire, but held. Over the roar of the dragon-fire, Miraak could hear his actual dragons thrumming warmly in approval. Miraak’s fierce joy welled like a song in his heart. Laataazin’s Thu’um was strong, nearly his match. How long it had been, since he had had conversation with one of the Dov – true conversation, of magnificent fire and fury!

Miraak would not dishonour his opponent by holding back an inch. As Laataazin’s dragon-fire dimmed, Miraak shot a bolt of lightning into its heart. Laataazin cursed in a rumbling voice – either he’d surprised them or hit them. He followed it up immediately with a torrent of ice-storm. The cold was revitalising after the heat of their grappling, and even better, he heard the brittle snap of Laataazin’s armour. Thick mist descended, the hiss of his summoned snow spitting when it touched their searing hot armour, the tower.

Miraak drew his sword and spun it idly in one hand.

“Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn,” he called smugly. Casting Muffle in one hand, he prowled around the column of mist and strained his eyes for any movement in the shadows inside. There – a flicker!

Miraak’s Cyclone Shout bolstered the speed of his limbs, until he was like a surging tempest. He rained down blows on Laataazin, their shield, their armoured shoulders, but Laataazin bore the vicious attacks like a fortress of stone. His oily weapon, the gleam of Mora’s eye dark against his wrist, spawned writhing tentacles that yanked and pulled at the ties of their armour. One strap frayed and snapped under his onslaught, and Laataazin leapt back as if they had just realised what he was about.

“Serpent!” they hissed at him, and Miraak smirked.

He turned his eyes to the crumbling pillars where the dragons snapped and snarled at each other. Relonikiv was tenting its wings, posturing at a growling Sahrotaar, whose finned tail lashed restlessly. Its eyes were dull and distressed.

“Weak that you are,” Miraak called up to it, “You may serve me again to redeem yourself.”

He summoned in a great breath to Shout, but Laataazin’s rung out first, with a crack like sundering worlds. All three dragons froze, the leash of Bend Will dropping over them like a lead blanket.

“Go!” Laataazin shouted hoarsely. They had pushed themselves to Shout sooner than they should have, Miraak could hear the cracks in their throat. No master indeed the Greybeards had raised.

Relonikiv was first, shooting up like an arrow from a bow, then Sahrotaar with a howl of “Thuri!” that sounded almost mournful. Kruziikrel fought, digging its talons into the pillars, but Relonikiv swooped down again to bite at its head until, roaring, Kruziikrel lumbered into the sky. Sahrotaar circled them in swooping lines, like a carrion bird over an army.

“Using my own Shout against me?” Miraak snarled, “They cannot help you up there!”

Miraak did not wait for them to recover but rushed to close the gap. He needed that shield gone if he wanted to close this fight and secure his freedom. Distracted by the dragons, Laataazin didn’t have time to raise their shield before he was on them.

“MUL QAH DIIV!” Miraak’s Dragon Aspect emblazoned him like a god, strengthened his attacks. He went for power this time, two hands clutching over the grip of his sword, blinding Laataazin with sweeps of his great spectral wings. They firmed beneath their onslaught, but their fierce eyes were looking at his face – and so therefore missed his tail lashing around to crack against their knee.

Laataazin stumbled, and Miraak wedged his sword under the shield and sent it flying. A well-placed lightning bolt had it soaring clear over the edge of the tower, and he retreated out of the range of their retribution. With how strong they were, he did not want to risk being caught beneath their blade. He imagined they must strike with the strength of a giant.

Facing him, Laataazin’s expression, marred by old scars and freshly-cut by the splinters of their mask, was a ferocious scowl. Their only reply was a wracking cough. They held their weaponless hand cocked protectively over their midriff, where the loosened strap had left their chestplate to sag on one side.

Relonikiv screamed anxiously.

They met with a furious clash. Evenly armed, though Miraak noted Laataazin had not once used magic, their struggle was one of bodies and clanging weapons. They drove notches into his sword with the force of their swings, jarred his arms all the way up to his shoulder. The fight was long, brutal, and messy. Thrice they cut him and once they just fisted a hand around his belt and headbutted him so hard his skull rang inside his mask.

The summit quickly became scarred with their tumultuous battle, smoking pits of dragon-fire and magical ice still crackling with the aftermath of lightning. The leathery spines of the books that made up this particular tower became waterlogged and swampy under their feet, making Miraak’s boots slide and slip when they bulled against him.

It was an intricate dance, and Miraak’s partner knew the steps well. Better, perhaps, than he, after all this time in Apocrypha with none but Seekers and Lurkers with whom to practice his skills. He praised their skill, and reassured them of the inevitability of his triumph. He could not lose. Miraak’s destiny was freedom.

Through it all, the ink swirled and sucked against the base of the tower, and the dragons circled far above it, their agitated roaring backdrop to the clashing of their blades, Miraak’s grunts when they pushed him back. Laataazin was quiet, but he heard the raspiness of their breathing, saw the sweat that dripped down their forehead and mingled with the blood on their face. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling when they came together again, close as lovers with their breath misting the front of his mask. Their sweat was pure and human, untainted by daedra.

When they were so close he could feel the trembling of their muscles as they fought him not through their blade but through their brace against his chest, Miraak met their eyes. They were brown as earth, he noticed, narrowed in determination. Bloodshot, as if they hadn’t been sleeping well. He bared his teeth at them. How long had they spent, toiling at his stones? Were their bloody eyes his alone?

The tentacles of his sword oozing wetly down the guard of their own, Miraak leant all his weight on their arms. He bore down on them with all his height advantage, crowding the smaller Last Dragonborn until he could see the strain gritting their teeth.

“Getting tired, Dragonborn?” Miraak purred, ignoring the fatigue in his own muscles.

They flicked their gaze up to the dragons circling far overhead. Their arm shook. Miraak pushed harder, sensing an opportunity, and all at once their body trembled at the force of him and gave in. His sword punched into the gap in their armour and slid in to the hilt. Reflexively, Miraak tried to yank it free – but it had notched into bone, and all he achieved was making blood gush wet and warm from the wound.

Laataazin gasped.

For a brief moment, the both of them only blinked at the sword that speared from Laataazin’s chest, the blood that spurted steadily over Miraak’s gloves, but then suddenly, their weapon fell from nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.

“NO!” Mora howled, “This cannot be!”

Laataazin fell, and Miraak caught them without knowing why. They were warm and real, heavy, in his arms. He sank to his knees to bear their weight, arrested by the sheer redness of their shocking-bright blood over their steely armour, his robes, his buckle. Exposed, Laataazin stared up at him, their ruined face mortal and small. This close, he noticed details about them he had not before; the grey hairs that stood among the close-cropped brown of their hair – older than Miraak looked, but centuries younger – the wrinkles around their eyes and mouth that told him they had loved to laugh, once. Laataazin did not laugh now. They coughed, a wet, rattling gurgle, and blood splattered over the scarred lips. They were trying to speak, he could see their lips fumbling, but only blood came out.

“This is the only way, Dragonborn,” Miraak hissed at them, “The only way I can be free.”

Their hand, weakly, curled into the front of his robes.

“This is not my design!” Mora shrieked, and Miraak was dimly aware of his tentacles racing over the floor towards them.

Laataazin’s wide eyes stared up at Miraak. Tears of pain glittered on their cheek. Their breath was shallow and rattling around the sword. They were going to suffocate on their own blood; Miraak had perforated their lung. But there was no time for Laataazin to die slowly in Miraak’s arms. Mora was coming.

Miraak gripped the Last Dragonborn’s jaw, and closed his eyes, his bloody gloved hand spreading red stains over Laataazin’s neck as he sought the softness of their temples, then the back of their head. He pulled on his magicka, that deep and verdant pool inside of him. And then as Mora reached them, Miraak cast the strongest lightning spell he knew.

A snap of burning flesh and Mora’s scream. Laataazin’s body convulsed in his arms, and Miraak roared in pain as the electricity shot through his own body, but they were dead before their stunned hand could untwist from their robes.

Mora’s tentacles wrapped around Laataazin’s chest and yanked. Miraak clung to their body doggedly.

“No,” he shouted, “NO! You won’t-“

A bolt of green magic struck his shoulder and Miraak cried out. Seekers – waves of them, coming up the side of the tower-

Laataazin’s flesh was beginning to glow, Miraak maintaining a death grip on them as the embers of their soul roared to life and surged into him. He felt their flesh dissolving against his fingers, felt the hungry jaws inside his dragon-soul rear its jaw wide, ready to rend and tear Laataazin’s soul into nothing but power for Miraak.

Another blast of magic rocked him, then three more in quick succession. It blew him onto his back and Miraak stared through eyes blurred with pain as the three dragons in the sky tucked their wings and dove. Fire blasted from Sahrotaar, immolating a wave of Seekers before they could fire on Miraak again.

Mora’s tentacles thickened like snake coils and with a mighty heave, the Prince yanked Laataazin’s body from his grasp. Miraak clung to the shred of the Last Dragonborn’s soul even as their body was ripped away from him. With effort, Miraak plunged his magic into the centre of Laataazin’s soul, and followed that tiny, tugging thread, back to Laataazin’s real body.

The air rent wide with a horrible Daedric scream. An unholy rictus of green light shredded open and Miraak saw through, warm darkness, firelight, Nirn. Mora was howling with rage, his thick tentacles wrapping around Miraak’s neck, his body, his limbs, trying to slow him down. The dragons protected him from the Seekers, rode flaming passes over Mora’s tentacles so they withered and popped with the thick reek of smoking oil, but Miraak felt himself being dragged back, slowly, into Mora’s embrace.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, desperation searing as tears in his eyes.

For a moment, Miraak felt a surge of something, as if some dying ember of the Last Dragonborn had heard his cry as he ate their soul, and then the glorious streams of gold and blue and green became fire, dragonfire, infused with all the colours of Keizaal’s auroras and hotter than its sun. A rancid smell boiled up as Mora’s tentacles bubbled and burnt in the fire of Laataazin’s soul infusing into Miraak, their flesh into his, their will becoming his own.

Miraak forced his foot through the portal, then his shoulder. He struggled there like a fly caught in a web as the portal began to narrow and waver, his body wrenched between planes by Mora’s tentacles.

“Niid,” Miraak roared, “MUL QAH DIIV!”

His Dragon Aspect formed spears of spines that drove into Mora’s tentacles, causing the Daedric Prince to snarl. The tentacle hold loosed, just barely, just slightly, and Miraak stumbled forward, out, out, out, into Nirn.

Miraak collapsed to his knees onto Laataazin’s fleshless body, hearing their bones rattle within the casings of their armour at the force of the collision. With his last shred of strength, he reached back and hooked his hand into the portal, feeling Apocrypha’s fury shred into the bone and muscle of his hand. It was agony, agony, but first Sahrotaar’s blue snout wrested its way out, Relonikiv, slim and quick, and Kruziikrel, shouldering through with a deep bass roar at the tightening shred of Mora’s thorns.

The portal snapped closed with a resounding boom. Miraak felt Mora’s presence die, a last imprint of futile, terrible rage.

One of the dragons was howling, and droplets of dragonblood were stinging acidic on Miraak’s shoulders, his bowed head. His hand was a wreck, bloody ink gushing from the wounds, and Miraak was laughing, laughing.

He gripped Laat Dovahkiin’s empty chestplate until his gloves creaked. Their mask rattled free of their fleshless skull, blank white wood yet unbroken here, with no eyes, no enemy, no soul. Miraak gasped for breath around horrible laughter that wrenched at his chest as if it were possessing him, hot tears in his eyes.

Miraak was free.

(tags: @sumsaltysorceress @argisthebulwark)

#inkwrites #my fic waking dreams: master of fate #miraak #skyrim #laataazin #elder scrolls #hermaeus mora #major character death

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worstloki · 4 years ago

Note

Wait...ATLA AU with Waterbender!Loki, and FireNation!Asgard. Mayhaps the spirits are more relevant in this AU, so people especially blessed by non-main/non-elemental spirits (so anyone other than La, Tui, Agni, uhhh Guain and Shu are the earth kingdom ones I think, and The Autumn Lord or air) can have some manipulation of Qi, but it works differently and is very, very rare, depending on the power level of the spirit, a bending blessing can last 1 generation without renewing it through more bending blood, or like 20 generations but it skips a few. So you can have Non-bender (but actually water bender Loki), or Insert Cannon Spirt that can give him some shape shifting blessed and maybe still Water bender but figures that that out waay later Loki. This ask is a little bit of a mess, but just Water Tribe Loki (who’s stuffed full of ‘water Tribe’s are barbaric’ propaganda) Living in Fire Nation Asgard.

because Loki, like me, simply must be the center of the universe:

- Asgard is the fire nation, obviously, and Odin has 3 kids: the fire-bending lightning-bending prodigy daughter, the spare fire-bender who is good but not as good who will strive to do what his father asks because Father simply must be right (even if he’ll realize later and switch sides), the non-bender who is the dishonorable family disgrace who freaks out and makes a run from home when he realizes he can water bend and neither of his parents can and realizes he was adopted? stolen?? and is maybe the avatar and oh frick Odin’s razing the other nations trying to find the avatar and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

- The “air nation” can be four temples/realms (svartalfheim, alfheim, vanaheim, muspelheim) which were wiped out on by the last Sozin’s comet, so the cycle moved on to the water nation (southern water tribe/jotunheim) (northern water tribe/nifleheim) and there ain’t no way he’s going there those people are barbaric monsters... aren’t they?

- he joins a Midgardian (earth-kingdom) circus road-trip that’s touring across the realms (yes, he juggles) that’s actually just the Avengers and maybe they’re all non-benders? maybe some of them are? None of them are too flashy but Loki’s trying to observe the mix of bending styles and pick up on bending techniques without making it too obvious that he’s not a non-bender

- cue Loki getting in touch with the Earth spirit and getting some neat blessing gifts with bending and now he can Earth bend too and suddenly BAM Thor attacks the circus and Loki water bends to defend his circus friends from his fire and they make eye contact and Loki is so scared/devastated at having to go up against Thor who is angry at Loki for leaving home and has been tasked to retrieve Loki - the water bending throws Thor off and in his confusion Loki freezes him to the ground and apologizes and runs for it.

- now the circus folks are all “um, dude??? the prince of the fire nation just attacked us and you didn’t tell us you could bend?? what’s up with that???” so he tells them he may or may not be Fire Nation Prince Loki and they all feel betrayed because “those colonialist jerks??” but Loki explains how he’s actually a water bender... and may also be an earth bender... and they’re all totally on-board with the avatar returning because it’s about time and the earth kingdom is on thin ice with them (ba sing se is Svartalfheim btw) and yes the reason we’re a mix of benders is because this circus is actually the white lotus the avengers and were touring the realms to low-key try finding the avatar who is supposed to be the saving grace and end of this war please

- now the circus folks are helping Loki meet all the other nation spirits (yes they venture into the terrifying Jotunheim and Nifleheim while searching for the spirit (”what do you mean you don’t know where the spirit is?? how’d you find the last ones??” “I only met one!! and it came to me!!” “well I guess we’re stuck searching everywhere in this frozen wasteland then”) and additionally he only gets to meet the spirit who grants him the bending after he accepts parts of himself and others (for example, the water bending was a result of him finally realizing that he didn’t stand a chance at the throne and it wasn’t until every shred of hope that Odin could one day be proud of him was gone that he was messing with the turtleduck pool and maybe saw the water spirit in the reflection and bent water) (the earth spirit comes to him when he accepts that there are people that will still be proud of him and he can move on with life because the circus folk like him for who he is and were excited when he successfully landed a bunch of throwing knives on targets and decided on that as an act he can do)

- The circus folk are also trying to teach Loki what little they know about bending btw since he’s admitted to copying and mixing their techniques together (he does all the bending in one style and yes it’s as chaotic for the opponent as that sounds because you can never tell what he’s going to bend) but there 100% has to be an episode where he steals the water-scroll

- Thor chases them down and Loki can bend water now?? and he’s just trying to bring Loki back like Odin asked him too and then one time he catches up to them and Loki panics and bends Earth too and Thor realizes and stops fighting and tells Loki to just go. Thor goes back to the Fire Nation and argues with Odin and calls him out because Loki is the avatar?? he’s from the water tribe?? and he feels betrayed and does the Zuko-Ozai-Black-Sun-Speech-Without-The-Black-Sun about how neither Loki nor Thor need to prove themselves and he won’t tear this family apart any further (Frigga is in fact an absent mother here btw) and then Thor goes and chases Loki down over weeks and saves him (blue mask hero?? except... feathered-helmet hero??) from Fire Nation soldiers who got their hands on him and the circus folk are NOT happy to have him around (air bending comes to Loki when he finally forgives Thor for being an arrogant self-righteous meanie to him for years because Hela is attacking them now and this is so much worse and Thor gets his eye burnt by Hela and Bruce isn’t that good but he can water-bend and heal a bit so it’s not too bad and he takes a moment to breathe and goes for a walk and BAM air spirit)

- they get attacked a few more times, loki tries getting over the trauma that is realizing the harm that the fire nation has done to all the other realms (and thor is learning this too by the way so when hela attacks you bet they try mentioning the damage and loss of culture the fire nation is resposible for even if she doesn’t care because she’s the heir she needs to be perfect because her two brothers weren’t and look what happened to them they were exiled and live with a blasphemous blend of peasants (and rich-kid-metal-bending-earth-nation-runaway-royalty tony (”WHAT?! SO THAT’S WHERE YOU GET THE MONEY?? I thought you were scamming people not selling cool metal toys and what are we doing that attracts all these royal snobs to us??”))

- Loki has a dream where the fire spirit tells him to keep searching and then one day Hela goes to burn Thor again and Loki just goes ahead and fire bends right back at her and hoo boy his fire isn’t blue but it sure is a lot and Thor does the “........YES!!!” thing and Hela gets stuck in a ring of fire while everyone else laughs and leaves and she can’t lose so watch as her “close friends” end up not being ty lee and mai but the valkyries (the kyoshi warriors are the Red Room Assassins in this AU and no it’s not a childhood torture house it’s just a mostly-women midgardian protection group (maybe Nat trained there so if the circus ever bumps into them she’ll know them? Jane should get to be one of them too even if she’s more into inventing... she and tony should Talk... maybe she and Pepper can beat him up and give him some Respect Women Juice the same way Sokka got his?))

- epic chase across the realms since Loki can bend all the elements now he just needs to figure out how the Avatar state works but until then the gaang is struggling to stay ahead of the Valkyries and get Loki trained up to take down Odin (Thor teaches Loki fire bending so that’s covered but no one else except Tony who is a metal-bending expert really learnt properly and Loki isn’t even a metal-bender)

- eventually Hela snaps from all the losses and as she becomes more unhinged Brun jumps sides and Hela kills off (or fires, if we’re staying PG) the rest of the Valkyries and now Brun is super guilty but she’s fighting to avenge them now

- blah blah blah Sozin’s comet day and Loki goes up against Odin with the help of the Avengers (maybe Thor can take down Hela with the help of Brun and Nat?) etc. etc.

- so anyways Loki takes Odin’s fire bending and that was the first time he’s entered the Avatar state and when everyone asks how it felt Loki goes “oh i’m not the avatar”

- “you’re WHAT” “not it” “but you JUST went into the avatar state and everything” “yeah and kyoshi gives good head pats but I’m not it” “but-- you mastered ALL THE ELEMENTS?!” “yeah because I was gifted them by the spirits” “but you needed to renew the cycle after it was gone from the world for so long--” “nah I think the spirits just liked me and wanted me to have it” “they... just... like... you...??” “yeah” “so you actually ARE a non-bender Brother??” “oh yeah definitely I was, but not anymore :)” “so you ARE the avatar”

- [twenty minutes later] “I just went into the avatar state and they just told me i’m not it” “...this happened while you were in the avatar state though???” *shrugs* “eh” “don’t SHRUG this off is there an actual avatar out there or no???” “maybe the real avatar was the friends we made along the way” “shouldn’t we go find them???” *cue everyone setting out on another grand quest to find the ~actual~ Avatar*

#ThisPostIsLongerThanMyLifeSpan #TPILTMLS #okay so Avatar!Loki AU but also not #just because #I hope you didn't expect a short response #I may have gone overboard #just a bit #just a small tad teensy weensy bit #now if only someone would write this #I love the idea of Loki being a water bender living in Fire Nation Asgard though #like... the drama #Loki would have a Thor-1-worthy breakdown upon finding out #he'd jump to conclusions and be right #and then when he actually meets another water bender it'll be BRUCE and he's NICE #loki's going to be getting whiplash #the entire show is going to be like Zuko ALone with the learning except Loki isn't alone

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satuguro · 4 years ago

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and then there were three | pt. 2

IN WHICH: feelings between you, zuko, and sokka begin to grow as you spend time together.

PAIRING: zuko x sokka x fem! reader

INSPIRED BY: she — harry styles, someone new — hozier

WARNING: underaged drinking, a mess of feelings, gets heated at the end

pt. 1, pt. 2

NOTES: i apologize for how rushed this is. enjoy! <3

you had all gone your separate ways after the war ended.

there wasn’t much room for rest— they were worldwide heroes, known and loved by most of the population. with toph spreading her knowledge of metalbending, katara and sokka tending to the southern water tribe, aang doing avatar duties and zuko trying to make his nation anew, you all began to see each other less and less.

you had become a well respected general for the fire nation, and have been training future fire nation soldiers to be nothing like the past. you were working alongside zuko to stop the superiority complex that the fire nation had built over 100 years.

you missed them so. you missed toph and her blunt comments, katara and her motherly instincts, aang and his never-ending cheerfulness, appa and his nightly flights, and even momo and his love of peaches. most of all, you missed sokka. sokka, with his words that could easily annoy you and that stupid, smug smirk that made you scoff and roll your eyes. sokka, who hid his worry for you behind sarcastic remarks and faux hatred.

sokka, who you had taking just a small liking to.

regretfully, you had told zuko about your (at the time, you believed it to be old) feelings for sokka during one of your break nights after one too many bottles of alcohol. he said nothing that night— not that the news mattered much to him anyway. zuko felt something stir in him that he knew all too well; jealousy. but for who? he didn’t know.

when did zuko ever know about his own feelings? feelings were complicated in general— especially his own. zuko had no time to feel such romantic emotions for anyone (it was part of the reason why he and mai never truly worked out). but when he saw you and sokka... zuko just felt something.

unknown to him, you were having your own doubts yourself. your time with the new firelord had made you see a whole new side to him that not many others have seen. he spoke to you about his problems and you did the same to him. you leaned on each other when your jobs became too hard, and while he had changed since you were younger, he changed for the better. zuko was working so hard to push his nation forward, and you admired that.

you were busy and so stressed to the point that you forgot that you were young. you had so much ahead of you, yet you held such a big responsibility that you forgot that your own birthday was coming up.

but zuko remembered. he had planned something for weeks without telling you, which was a hard feat in itself. you were his closest confidant, and being a general, you had to confide with him multiple times in the day.

cool air blew in through your window, making you shift in your bed as you tugged your blanket tighter around you. the sound of your door opening made you twist in your bed, the sound of soft footsteps making you crack an eye open. with one swift motion, your balcony doors were thrown open, allowing the sunshine hit you.

you let out a frustrated groan, grabbing one of your pillows and covering your face with it as you felt someone jump onto your bed.

“wake up!” zuko’s voice, oddly giddy despite the early morning, made you let out a longer, louder groan in response. the firelord let out a puff of fire out of annoyance. how could you shove off your 18th birthday so easily? did you just expect zuko, someone who had grown up with you and trained with you, to just forget and allow you to celebrate in peace?

no, zuko cared about you too much to allow that to happen.

“fire boy,” you hissed out, eyes opening ever so slowly as you stared at him. zuko was hovering over you, an excited smile on his face when he saw your eyes meet his. “i’m giving you five seconds to run,” you sneered, making his expression falter for a second.

“but you’ll get up, right?”

you rolled your eyes. “five...”

with that, zuko hurried out of your room, calling over his shoulder, “wear comfortable clothes!”

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

zuko’s hands covered your eyes as he led you around the palace. you were both dressed in your comfortable clothes,which was odd for your statuses. normally you both had to lug around the extravagant clothing that came with your jobs.

“you’re gonna kill me, aren’t you,” you deadpanned, feeling his chest rumble as he chuckled. your face heated up at the feeling of him being so close to you; zuko stood behind you as he guided you blindly through swift turns. occasionally, he’d bump into someone and apologize hastily.

“this would be too easy,” you heard zuko hum in response, “i like a challenge, you know.” under his hands, you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to hit the firelord.

“then why’re you doing this?” zuko made you turn a corner much too quickly, almost making you trip as he made you walk faster. spirits, what was he in such a hurry for?

zuko’s walking came to an abrupt stop, and you could hear shuffling occur around you. “close your eyes,” he ordered, making you shut your eyes tight. slowly, zuko’s hands fell from your face.

“you thought i’d forget your birthday, huh?” zuko asked teasingly, making you grimace. of course he remembered.

“i thought you forgot,” you said, an apologetic smile appearing on your face.

he scoffed in disbelief. “i’m not that mean, y/n,” zuko grumbled, clearing his throat once more.

in front of you, you could hear a quiet ‘well—‘ that was quickly choked down. unknown to you, zuko glared at the ‘present’ in front of him in a silent attempt to make them stop.

“anyway...” zuko’s hands went to your shoulders, “the other presents are kinda busy so they’re coming soon but here’s your first present who’s staying for two weeks!” he rambled, finishing his quick words with a sudden push that sent you falling towards your ‘present.’

your face hit a hard chest as arms suddenly wrapped around you. you opened your eyes and looked up, your gaze meeting familiar ocean blues. “sokka?” you breathed, mouth gaping at the sight of him.

“no, katara,” sokka managed past the stupid smirk that you (loved) hated to see, but you didn’t care. he was here.

his face fell when you suddenly jumped and hugged him fully, your arms wrapping around his neck while his naturally fell at your waist. at first, he froze, heart racing and mind blanking at your hug before he returned the hug. “happy birthday, dumbass,” he mumbled, as he buried his head in your shoulder, hearing you laugh cheerfully before you pulled away.

zuko watched you both interact, and spirits, if he wasn’t confused before, he was certainly confused now. he felt the familiar feeling of jealousy, but once again, he wasn’t sure why he was jealous of. did he want to be you hugging sokka or did he want to be sokka hugging you? or maybe he wanted to be hugging you both.

was there an off switch to this whole ‘feelings’ thing?

“i can’t believe it!” you beamed at them both, your eyes darting between them. you looked at zuko, who stood awkwardly with his brows scrunched together as if he was in thought.

zuko nearly fell backwards at the hug that you gave him, his arms stiffly at his sides as your arms wrapped around his torso. desperately, he looked at sokka for help.

the water tribesman only chuckled at the firelord’s awkwardness, and he made the weird motion of a hug. sokka saw the burning red that appeared on zuko’s face as his arms slowly hugged you back. a proud grin lit up zuko’s face as he looked at sokka once more.

sokka’s heart beat hard in his chest. he was not going to last these two weeks.

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

“she’s really happy.”

“you think?” sokka asked, watching as you helped the cooks with their food. they were in the kitchens, and zuko had told them to cook your favorite breakfast. but you being you, you insisted that you’d help them prepare.

so here they were, watching as you practically jumped around the kitchen. it was as if the mood of the kitchen brightened with you around.

“i know,” zuko laughed softly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“you know,” sokka began, hooking his arm over zuko’s shoulders. he was oblivious to the blush that grew on the firebender’s face as he continued to talk. “you’re doing great. you look good! and like... you’re laughing. you never laugh.”

zuko looked at sokka, eyebrow raising at his words. “is that a good thing?”

sokka nodded his head rapidly, sending him a grin. the firelord was looking at him with big amber eyes, and he was ready to melt at the sight. “of course! and you, uh,” he swallowed, “laughing suits you. looks good— makes you look... good,” he stammered, and zuko suddenly avoided his gaze, his face growing redder.

“right,” zuko replied, his tone more stern that he wanted it to be, “and you’re... also good.”

was that a compliment? it didn’t matter; the mere comment brought butterflies to sokka’s stomach. he could hold back the grin he had as he gently leaned on zuko, which made the boy stiffen up and slowly relax at the action.

though he’d never say it out loud, it felt nice having sokka around again.

the night quickly fell over the fire nation, but zuko’s plans of celebration didn’t falter. he and sokka had spoiled you way too much today — you even protested a few times, but they were both too stubborn. they wanted you to have a good time. besides, you all needed the break from your duties.

lanterns were lit up and strung everywhere, illuminating the dark alleyways full of street vendors and performers. you walked alongside zuko and sokka, the three of you speaking animatedly amongst each other. children ran by your legs, cheering happily as they waved around sparklers and chased each other in their own game.

you swore your face hurt from all the smiling you were doing. everything was so beautiful, and you broke up the conversation to grab both of their hands and intertwine their fingers with yours. you began to run quickly, your laughter melodic as you wove the boys through the crowd.

your run came to a slow stop once you all reached town square, your chests heaving as you caught your breath. street vendors were selling food and items on the side while a huge crowd stood around some firebender performers.

“oh my spirits— there’s cactus juice!” sokka let go of your hand to try and run towards the stand, only for zuko to grab his hand again to stop him from leaving.

“nope. no one’s drinking cactus juice.”

“i don’t want you drooling all over the palace. remember last time?” you asked with a smirk, making sokka pause for a second before shaking his head.

“we can get some sake and drink at the palace,” zuko suggested, making you nod excitedly. it had been a while since you experience drunk zuko and drunk sokka.

sokka’s eyes lit up again, his body practically buzzing with excitement as he dragged you and zuko along behind him. “you guys— they have peaches here!”

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

it was nearly midnight by the time you all went back to the palace. sokka had dragged you and zuko everywhere and had bought practically everything in his path by the time he was done.

the three of you situated yourselves in the courtyard, laying on the blanket zuko had oh-so-kindly laid out. the stars hung over you all, and alcohol surged through your veins as you giggled at zuko, who was laughing at nothing. his cheeks were flushed red from the sake, and he was telling a silly tale while his hands waved wildly.

oddly enough, sokka was quiet as he sat up and stared at you both. your hair was a mess on the red blanket under you, and little wisps of hair covered your face as you continued to laugh. zuko’s hair was even messier than your’s — gone was the composed and cold front he put up. he was relaxed and smiling like an idiot as you shoved him playfully, his body swaying lightly.

“so, sokka,” you said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze. “do you have a person back home? any hot — or cold — people making you happy?” your tone was teasing and your words were slurred.

“what?” sokka’s voice became two octaves higher. you were both staring at him expectingly, intently waiting for his response. he swallowed — was it getting hot? “no one! no time, y’know?” he set his sights on zuko, who had been staring at sokka with a look he wasn’t familiar with. “how about you, hotshot? anyone?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

“nope!” zuko lied as he shook his head, his hair moving along with him. the alcohol in his body made him want to blurt out how confusing his feelings had been lately, how he wasn’t sure who he liked.

“it’s so funny,” you laughed, poking the two boys beside you. “i used to like you both! like sokka made my heart beat really fast and zuko made those stupid moths — or is it butterflies? — fly in my stomach. it’s hilarious how we’re here! together! and i like — i mean, liked — you both!” you rambled, “isn’t it hilarious? so funny!” you began to laugh, the drinks in your body making you ignore the consequences that were certainly going to occur after this.

zuko began to laugh along with you, his body falling next to yours. sokka only gaped at you, mouth slightly open.

you liked them? both of them?

“i had the same problem!” sokka blurted, his confidence shooting up and all his worries being thrown out the window. your laughter came to a stop. “like at first you were y/n, but then you became y/n. and then you!” he pointed an accusatory finger at zuko. “you just became... zuko. you know?”

zuko looked at him blankly, shaking his head. “no, i don’t know,” he stated, brows furrowed as his drunken mind tried to piece the pieces together. “feelings are confusing. i thought i liked one of you but maybe— wait!” he suddenly shot up from the blanket, moving his legs to face sokka. “let me kiss you.”

“what? why?” sokka’s voice cracked upon his question. he was panicking; what if his breath smelled bad? what if he was a bad drunk kisser? what if zuko was a bad kisser— that wouldn’t matter, sokka would still like him.

zuko surged forward, lips meeting sokka’s messily. sokka’s eyes fluttered shut as he reciprocated the kiss. it was a mess of bumping noses and teeth clashing, but it was perfect. zuko pulled away from him, lips red before he looked down at you.

you were watching them both with wide innocent eyes.

“yup, definitely something there,” zuko said with an affirmative nod. is he was sober, he knew he would be freaking out. his eyes trailed down to your lips, silently asking you the question. you only nodded slowly before he leaned down and slotted his lips over your’s.

it wasn’t as messy as the kiss he and sokka shared, but you didn’t care. zuko’s fingers gently tilted your chin up as he kissed you sweetly. you could taste the sake he had drank on his lips.

he pulled away, lips swollen red as he looked at you both. zuko finally figured it out; he liked both of you. it was a moment of clarity that made him happier than he’d been in a while.

all your cheeks were burning and the tension heavy in the air as you slowly sat up. you were all too drunk to realize how important this news was; you all liked each other. there was a second of pause before you grabbed sokka’s head and brought his lips to your’s.

sokka kissed you hard, the years of pining evident in his movements as your lips moved against his. you could feel zuko lean forward, pressing kisses down your neck that send chills up and down your spine.

sokka tasted like sake with hints of peaches. he kissed you differently than zuko; he kissed with fervor and was driven by passion. his hand held the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your skin. zuko’s lips were hot against your skin as he kissed you, and you let out soft moans into sokka’s mouth as you felt the firelord bite down gently.

you disconnected yourself from sokka’s lips, breathing labored. sokka pulled zuko towards him, kissing him almost as passionately as he kissed you.

“bedroom,” you mumbled, and the boys nodded as you stood up, their legs stumbling as they followed you.

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

NOTES: again, i’m sorry for how rushed this part is. thank you for reading nontheless!

buy me a coffee here! any likes, reblogs, or donations are appreciated :)

TAGLIST: @beifongsss @the-firebender-girl @astroninaaa @emberislandplayers @aangsupremacy @gogo-is-cooler-than-you @ibelongtotoomanyfandoms @riespage

#sokka x reader #sokka smut #sokka imagines #sokka #sokka imagine #zuko smut #zuko imagines #zuko #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #atla #atla imagine

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whoisbxcky · 5 years ago

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Holding On, And Letting Go

request: Would you wanna write a Bucky imagine where he was sent to kill the reader when he was the winter soldier and he hurt and a few years later they meet again when she’s an avenger and she’s scared of him? Please make a fluffy ending!

pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 2500

warnings: just so much angst. also fluff at the end as per request! mentions of panic attacks, being shot, implied ptsd, ONE bad language word

author’s note: okay first of all I AM SO SORRY it’s taken me so long to write this. I did not expect to get as many requests as have come through the past few days and it got me a lil overwhelmed so anyone who’s requested I AM WRITING IT i’m just a lil backlogged right now hehe.

More to the point, thank you so so so much anon for this amazing request, I love it so much I may even make a second part... Maybe even a third? Who knows. Anyway, hope you enjoy and stay fabulous my lovelies! ~ Toria <3

Tijuana, Mexico. July 24, 2011. 02:00.

“Fighter 1 this is Echo Sierra, where the hell is that medevac!?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes frantically scanning your surroundings. The team of Marines sent to extract you from your undercover op looked just as unnerved as you did. The rescue chopper was supposed to be here two minutes ago. But overhead, there was only silence.

“Fighter 1, do you copy?”

The sound of an explosion behind you made cry out, and you ducked for cover as the men surrounding you burst into action. Gunfire rang out around you like a chorus of thunder, making your heart rate soar as adrenaline took over. Over the coms, you heard Sergeant Mills frantic voice.

“It’s him.”

You let out a sob of despair, the scene in the street in front of you was like something out of a nightmare. Bodies littered the floor, Marines who had come here to save you, lifeless and bloody.

Your gaze was drawn from your hiding place to the end of the ally, where a lone man materialised from the raging fire of the destroyed building. He moved swiftly, taking out the advancing Marines with sickening efficiency and precision, before his eyes locked on you.

Eyes as blue and as furious as a maelstrom, raven black hair, metal arm…

Hydra’s fist. The one they all talked about, the Winter Soldier.

He’d found you.

You needed to get out of there. Now.

You were running… So much noise… So much blood… You couldn’t get away… Couldn’t get away from him… Eyes as blue and as furious as a maelstrom, raven black hair, metal arm…

A gunshot.

Searing pain, so much blood.

Then, only darkness.

Avengers Tower. April 15, 2017. 04:56.

The rhythmic sound of your first connecting with the solid leather of the punch bag in front of you echoed out around the gym. Accompanied only by the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional grunt of frustration escaping your now dry lips.

You had been down here for hours, last you checked it was a little past four in the morning, but you’d given up keeping track. Sleep did not come easily to you these days, and you figured you may as well make use of your insomnia by getting in some extra training.

You had been preparing to be an Avenger for weeks now, and so far, you were acing every test they had thrown at you, particularly the physicals thanks to your late-night work outs. Everything was going perfectly as you worked towards joining the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

The only problem you’d encountered so far had arrived the day you’d been sat in the conference room, waiting to meet the mission partner you’d be assigned to, nerves and excitement making you practically vibrate in your chair.

Oh, sweet blissful ignorance.

To say you were shocked when the Winter Soldier had walked through the door, would be the understatement of the millennium.

The scene that unfolded after your initial shock had subsided was… Far from your proudest moment, to say the least. It’s one thing to have a panic attack in front of a complete stranger, but in front of your new boss and the man who once tracked you all across Mexico and then put a bullet through your chest … Well, it certainly wasn’t going to make your ‘top five moments as an Avenger’ highlight reel.

It hadn’t taken long for Fury to reveal his knowledge of you and the Soldier’s past, nor had it taken him long to explain the fact that James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier, while sharing the same body, were technically not the same person. Or the fact that Barnes was now ‘cured’ and fighting the good fight. It certainly hadn’t taken long for you to say hell no and flee the room, hyperventilating and shaking head to toe, without looking back.

That had been three weeks ago, and ever since you had been studiously avoiding anywhere Barnes might be. You ate about ten blocks away from the tower, you only ventured into the gym during the early hours of the morning. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do about being in the room next door to the guy, but at least it allowed to you keep track of when he was home and when he might be wandering the Tower corridors.

Eventually, you knew you’d either have to face him, or look for new employment. You two were mission partners after all, and after extensive conversations with Steve, Nat and the on-site therapist, you were now almost certain that what Fury had told you was true, and that Barnes was just as much a victim of the Soldier’s actions as you were.

But still, you couldn’t help the creeping sensation of dread, or the flashbacks you suffered, every time you caught sight of the man.

It was at that moment that the sound of the gym door swinging open and closed brought you out of your musings with a start, and you turned on your heel, eyes scanning the dimly lit room to identify the new arrival.

Your breath caught in your throat, your entire body practically electrified with fear and apprehension as you narrowed your eyes at the last person you wanted to appear in front of you in an empty room.

Barnes.

Just your damn luck.

As soon as his eyes raked over you, he froze, although his expression was entirely unreadable.

Your expression, on the other hand, may as well have come with sirens and a bullhorn screaming ‘danger, danger’.

With a sigh, Barnes raised his hands in a mock surrender, taking a tentative step into the room. You immediately took a step back.

“Y/N…Right?”

His voice was gravelly with exhaustion, and even from this distance you could see the black rims around his eyes. Clearly, the guy was as sleep deprived as you right now.

You nodded curtly, eyes hyper fixated on his every movement.

“I… Uh… Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d tire myself out. Would you mind? I’ll keep out of your way…”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. This really was far from the man who had murdered an entire squad of US Marines and left you with a gaping hole where a few ribs used to be.

When you offered him a tentative nod once more, he made his way towards the treadmill, and you could feel him tracking your every move from the corner of his eye. Clearly, he trusted you about as much as you did him.

The silence of the gym was practically deafening, and after a moment of mind-numbing panic, you found words leaving your lips of their own accord.

“Do you remember me?”

Barnes froze then, mid stride towards the machinery. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he spoke in a voice entirely void of emotion.

“No.”

You let out a breath you were unaware of holding, digging your nails into your palms painfully hard to keep from crying. When you spoke again, you could not keep the virulent anger from your tone.

“July 24, 2011. Tijuana. You were sent to kill me… Why?”

Barnes dropped his water bottle then, the sound of it crashing into the wooden flooring making you jump. He rounded on you, his eyes glassy and red, and you simply stared back, unable to keep the shock and apprehension from your face.

“I’ve read the file. But, like I said, I don’t remember.”

He let out an uneasy breath, moving to sit on one of the benches against the wall. You stayed put, trembling from head to toe, your mind entirely numb as you tried to process the fact he truly had no recollection of trying to kill you. Barnes continued.

“I don’t remember a damn thing. I wish I could, so I could give you answers. But I’ve got nothing for you, Y/N."

His eyes visibly darkened, clouded by years of torment, and for a while you both remained mute, both lost in your respective musings. However, eventually Barnes broke the silence with a tentative cough, and your eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Does it still hurt?”

He trailed off, gesturing towards your chest, where the scar of your last encountered lay. Snarling, a constant reminder of your pain. You nodded.

“Can I… Can I see it?”

You looked at him incredulously for a beat, and he faltered.

“It’s just… I may not ever be able to remember what I did to you, to those Marines. But, at the very least, before I apologise, I want to understand as best I can. Otherwise, it’s meaningless.”

He shrugged then, earnest gaze fixated on you, and despite yourself, almost as if in a dream, you found yourself moving towards him, eyes never leaving his as you approached.

Barnes raised himself from the bench, taking a few tentative steps in your direction. You paused briefly, contemplating the insanity of getting that close to the person who once tried, and very nearly succeeded in, killing you. But, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach willed you on.

Give him a chance. Maybe, just maybe, you both need this.

With a short sigh, you stepped forward, coming to rest just centimetres from his chest. You swallowed hard, refusing to allow your gaze to stray away from his own for even a second, fear and apprehension causing a thin sheen of sweat across your forehead.

Barnes offered you a gentle half-smile, and you cleared your throat, tossing your hair over your shoulder to give him better access, staring stonily ahead. He searched your face for a moment more, looking for any sign of objection. When he found none, he tentatively reached out to push your tank top aside, to reveal the full extent of the injury.

You heard him take in a sharp breath, his thumb delicately tracing the lines of the scar tissue. Under his touch, you couldn’t help but note the increase in your heart rate, anxiety causing your whole body to shiver with apprehension.

He glanced at you apologetically, but you shook your head as he moved to back off. As nervous as it made you being in contact with him, you had to trust him, and he you. You were supposed teammates now, after all.

After a few more minutes of inspection, Barnes finally broke the silence once more, his voice raw with emotion.

“Y/N… I am so, so sorry…”

You exhaled deeply, gaze coming to rest on your scar. And the thumb of the man who put it there, gently caressing it, as if he could rub it away like a smudge on glass.

Except… He didn’t put it there… Technically…

You cleared you throat.

“You know for the longest time, I’ve hated you. For what you did, to me, to those Marines.”

You swallowed again, lifting your eyes to meet his own, studiously ignoring the way your body shivered from the intensity of the guilt in his look.

“And now?”

You could see the hurt, the years of torment, the sleepless nights, all of it shining through his gaze in that moment. From the mournful expectation in his tone, you could tell this was not a man familiar with being forgiven.

Could you forgive him, though?

You lost yourself in your inner turmoil for a moment. Undeniably, there was more to James Buchanan Barnes than met the eye. The man in front of you was not a heartless, killing machine. That much was obvious. But those fingers had squeezed the trigger. Those eyes had met your own coldly as you’d screamed for fallen comrades. It was quite the predicament.

After a few more seconds of debating, you settled your resolve. This was a new chapter in your life, and while you could not rectify the past any more than Barnes could, you could certainly work towards giving yourself, and maybe even him, a better future.

You sighed, meeting his gaze once more.

“I don’t hate you, Barnes. I’ll admit, being around you scares the shit out of me.”

He nodded sombrely, stepping away from you in defeat. You instinctively reached out to catch his hand in your own, holding him in place. Wide eyes met your gentle ones, and before Barnes could question you, you continued.

“But I understand now, that wasn’t you. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, and if you promise me I can trust you, Barnes, I’d like to get to know the real you.”

You offered him as sincere a half-smile as you could muster in that moment, dutifully ignoring the tear that was now rolling down your cheek.

Barnes stared at you in disbelief for a second, as if expecting the proverbial other shoe to drop. However, when your resolve did not waiver, the nodded slowly to himself, reaching out with his free, metal hand tentatively. You did not flinch as the cool metal glanced over your cheek, wiping the stray tear away with a gentleness that caught you entirely off guard.

“Bucky… You can just call me Bucky.”

Barnes’ voice- Bucky’s, voice was a barely-there whisper, so quiet you almost lost it in the silence of the gym hall. He offered you that half-smile again, only this time his eyes glittered hopefully in the dimness around you, and you found yourself captivated for a moment. Now that you weren’t on the defensive, you could truly appreciate just how beautifully the light from the hall beyond the gym door framed his profile, and you felt a slight warmth growing in your cheeks under his gaze.

The two of you spent the rest of the night in the gymnasium, talking until the sun came up. As the Tower began to come to life again under the first rays of dawn, the two of you walked side by side up to your shared floor, a planned day of training exercises and even lunch at Bucky’s favourite Italian place down the road ahead of you.

You couldn’t keep from smiling to yourself as you stood in the shower, readying yourself for the day ahead, as you considered the irony in how well you and Bucky actually got on, considering your prickly history.

This, you thought to yourself, could be the start of something interesting.

184 notes · View notes

keeroo92 · 4 years ago

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch18

The Hunt

Word count - 5,487

Quick shout out to @just-another-art-dump for all her help with brainstorming and beta reading the last section. You are a goddess!

Warnings for violence, murder and some yummy spice. Enjoy!

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

--------

V blinked to clear away the sleepiness lingering in his mind. A thick haze of confusion gave him pause; did he have another episode? Where was he? He blinked again, forcing his eyes to focus on his surroundings.

The room was one he recognized instantly. Dark blue walls, posters of rock bands and action films tacked up in places. Splashes of light peeked past the old curtains hanging over a two-paned window. The familiar bookshelf, still messily stuffed with comics and tattoo books, right beside a small desk littered with needles, tubes and other accoutrements.

Nero’s bedroom, untouched since his death. His heart sank. Of all the places to find himself…

The artist took a shaky breath and tried to clear the cobwebs clinging to the rafters of his mind. Last he recalled, he was evading capture and bearing a fresh gunshot wound. Foggy, half-formed images danced in his memory of walking, lovely red on his hands and the hem of his pants, his own blood oozing lazily from his thigh.

As if thinking of it made it manifest, pain rocketed up his leg, fiery and unrelenting. He gasped and brought his hands to press the ache away. Was he still bleeding? How long had he been out? Panic teased at him for a beat before his palms registered the bandage and his missing pants.

What in the world…?

The pain slid into background noise as he carefully shifted his weight and sat up, panning his gaze until he found the culprit of his treatment.

Hot damn, how the hell did she find us?!

“Excellent question,” he croaked.

You weren’t awake yet, and faint streaks of scarlet coated your arms as if you tried to wash his blood off but gave up halfway. Hair a mess, clothing wrinkled and a hint of drool hanging from your lips, he’d never seen you so unkempt.

Good, she’s sleeping. Make a break for it, Van Gogh!

Blue feathers swept past his vision but vanished a heartbeat later. He licked his lips. “I doubt walking is wise for now, let alone ‘making a break for it.’”

Fine, but at least strangle her. She’ll only get in the way.

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize she probably saved my life, right?”

Well… I guess. Fine, don’t kill her but don’t let your guard down.

The artist hummed and Griffon made no further comment. Good enough.

He gritted his teeth and forced his aching body to move closer to you. Shadows hung beneath your eyes and he spotted the remains of yesterday’s makeup, nearly invisible with your hair draped over your cheek. He gently brushed it aside.

Your eyes shot open, instantly alert and aware. “You’re awake… How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” he replied with a wry grin. “I’ve also been worse.”

The bed rustled as you sat up and tucked your unruly hair behind your ears, a slight frown turning your lips. “Let me get you something for the pain, one sec.”

Once again summoned by his awareness, he winced as a bolt of agony pulsed up to his hip. By the time it faded, your palm held out two white tablets and a glass of water.

“Drink slowly,” you said. He obeyed.

An oddly heavy silence hung between you as he lowered the glass. Unspoken words, questions and answers alike searching for the right way to surface. None broke free from their cages of closed lips as you checked his pulse, your touch more medical than personal.

He hated it.

“How did you find me?” the artist blurted.

“You don’t remember? Follow with your eyes, not your head,” you replied, one finger drifting this way and that in his sight. He restrained the urge to bat it away. “You sent me a message.”

You goddamned idiot.

There was no arguing against the truth. He didn’t remember considering sending a message, let alone addressing it to you. It was a miracle it didn’t end up in the inbox of a stranger.

Still. You could’ve turned him in. After the way he fled your apartment, it would’ve made sense. He took another small sip of water.

“You came even after what happened. Why?”

The finger lowered. Lips pursed, you gave him an indecipherable look. He watched the wheels behind your hazel irises turn; toward what result, he couldn’t say. Regardless, he reveled in watching your intelligence at work.

“Do you remember what you said to my dad? That you loved me?”

His lips twitched. This didn’t bode well. “Yes.”

There, he spotted a twinge of uncertainty in your brow. Worry in the set of your mouth, vulnerability in the wideness of your eyes. “Did you mean it?”

I TOLD you that was a foolish idea.

Vergil’s words barely registered; V’s mind was already spinning, struggling to find an answer. At the time, he thought it was the best way to get your father to behave. By staking a claim to you, he established his willingness to defend you. He hadn’t considered whether the words held weight. The answer you wanted now was obvious, and to voice it would all but guarantee your allegiance. It was simple.

And yet so complicated.

Do I love her? What does love even mean?

Throughout history, love held innumerable definitions. The word was constantly evolving, shifting to encompass more variations than before. The greatest and most enduring tales ever told centered on it, and not a soul on earth could deny its influence. Monuments and cathedrals stood testament to its strength, and endless words written across the centuries praised or cursed its existence.

Love defined humanity.

Yet how could he know if this was it? What did romantic love feel like? How did one classify such an intangible concept? So many tried, and many more to come. Perhaps the nature of love was variable; why else would everyone have a different idea of what it meant?

Love, like art, must be subjective.

So what is it to me?

“I…” the artist murmured.

His path led the same way with or without you, but he preferred the former. When he knew you’d see the product of his work, its quality improved. You saturated his thoughts, scrawled your name across the walls of his mind with a messiness only doctors managed.

Your presence eased his nerves, and no other came close to matching your intellect. A worthy opponent for mind games and machinations, you never failed to amaze him with your ability to force his hand. You protected him and gave him shelter when he needed it most, and not once did you demand he change his methods. You respected his views. In time, you might even share them.

You challenged him, irritated him, turned him on and gave him hope that he may yet escape the cold embrace of loneliness.

And most of all, there was the inexplicable desire to answer your question with truth instead of manipulation. He didn’t want to tell you he meant what he said just to coerce you into being his. Surely that indicated something?

This isn’t a question I can answer in a single word.

V sighed and met your lovely eyes at last, his response as well-reasoned as he could manage. “I’m not sure. It’s… it’s difficult for me to care for someone, it’s been many years since I tried.”

He paused to lick his lips and assemble another sentence. The answer you wanted remained out of his reach, and he refused to give you the one that would serve his plans best. All he offered was the truth.

Even so, it stung to see the half-hidden disappointment on your face.

“But there’s something there I can’t explain. I just don’t understand the feeling, so I can’t name it,” he concluded. A chorus of pained groans echoed in his mind.

All you had to say was yes! What the hell is WRONG with you, do you want her to stick around or not?!

You sighed and shifted your weight. He didn’t dare to comment further.

“I think I understand. It… it scares me sometimes, but I can’t deny that I care about you anymore. I can’t keep hiding.”

V released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart was pounding, a giddy desire to laugh tickling his throat. Impulse took the reins, and he watched in wonder as his hand moved to take yours.

“You never have to hide again,” he whispered.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Something in his eyes hammered home his words. An earnest, unguardedness that you’d never seen before. Genuine gratitude and honesty, perhaps. You couldn’t look away.

You discarded thought and leaned in. Lips parted and heart hammering against your ribs, frenetic excitement stilling your breath as V did his best to match your movement.

The kiss was gentle, completely different from what you’d shared at the museum or in your apartment. The world melted away. It was just you and him, everything else was just color and noise, polluting the fragile bond you’d formed. Despite the lies and manipulation, past the tricks and mind games.

Somehow, like a miraculous seed sprouting in a rocky cliff face, love bloomed in a heart that had never known it.

When at last you pulled away, a lopsided smile curved V’s lips. The emerald pools of his eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and his palm refused to leave your cheek. You didn’t mind.

In fact, you wanted more.

You kissed him again, harder this time. Lips communicating without words your need, not just for contact but for understanding. Hunger and reckless desire danced across your mouth, your fingers grasping at his chest. You’d never know which of you moaned first; just that the sound sent you careening past the point of no return.

By the time you came up for air, you were helpless.

“Hold still,” you whispered. The artist licked his lips and nodded.

You wiggled off your jeans, panties tucked within. A soft gasp stroked your ego as you pulled off your top and carefully straddled him, his length hardening against your tingling folds. Gods, how you wanted to feel him deep within, feel his body arcing to meet yours as his voice gave out in a whirlwind of pleasure.

But that would have to wait. This time, he needed to let you do all the work.

“If you lift your hips, I’m getting off. Got it?”

His palms traced fire over your hips, blazing over your body as he smirked at you. Damn him, the smug bastard. “Doctor’s orders?”

You almost moaned at the husky tone he used. “Just say yes, damnit.”

His smirk vanished. Lithe fingers took hold of your ass and gently pulled, guiding you to envelop him one inch at a time. His brows met and his lips fell open, his face an expression of sheer perfection your imagination could never capture.

“Yes…” he murmured.

He fit perfectly, stretching you just enough without being painful. The ridge of his head pushed past your inner muscles and sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout your limbs. Your slick walls shuddered at the welcome fullness, embracing his heat like a long lost friend. Like he belonged there.

Like he was coming home.

For a moment, you didn’t move, wanting to memorize the feeling of being with him for the first time. A choice made many weeks past set your life on course to this exact moment, your every decision only bringing you closer. Two stars orbiting each other, closer and faster with each second as two became one in a fiery explosion that shook the heavens.

You smiled, hands snaking around his neck as you rolled your hips. Nerves sang as you moved, crying out in exultant joy. It was torture to move so slowly, such exquisite agony when all you wanted was to slam against his hips and feel his need splitting you in half.

Slick fluid coated him in seconds as you moved. Each movement pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper. Hot breath spilled from his lips, soft moans from yours. His hands gripped your hip bones, urging you to keep going, his muscles flexing to help you rise and fall, guiding you to impale yourself over and over.

Beads of sweat broke out across your back, but you paid them no mind. It was worth it to hear the man curse and gasp, his eyes hooded and skin flushed from your attention. The time would come for him to show you how he liked it, but for now you reveled in the power you held. It took all your strength to keep from bouncing recklessly.

But the artist was no passenger, and his grip shifted to tangle in your hair and drag your mouth to his for a searing kiss. His tongue danced a tango with yours, flicking and darting back and forth to torture you with his intoxicating taste. Whimpers flowed from your throat only for him to swallow.

Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?

The artist grinned against your needy lips, his lithe fingers lowering to tease at your core. Your body quivered as he lazily painted bliss over your aching bundle, as if you were his latest canvas. He spewed filth as he hunted for that perfect spot, his touch taunting you with ecstasy long before he struck gold.

“That’s it, right there, come on!” you gasped out, arcing back at the brink of ecstasy..

The artist obeyed, tugging you down again to suckle at your pulse. His lips were heaven on your throat, and his teeth nirvana when he blessed you with a nibble. It was too much and somehow not enough, never enough, never-

FUCK!

The world flashed blindingly white, searing your retinas as you crested. The cosmos raced by, the colors and shapes too beautiful to understand. Brilliance and beauty, a kaleidoscope of life. A silken voice moaned praise somewhere nearby, a wet tongue dancing over your chest between words. Losing control never felt so good.

Beneath your spasming body, V’s hips twitched. He sucked in a breath but the pulsing of his cock against your soaked core didn’t ease, his moans changing to a tone you weren’t familiar with. Lower and louder, more breathy in the grip of his orgasm, resonant and musical. You flexed around him, tightening as much as you could manage to feel every throb.

When at last he fell still, it took all your willpower to dismount and check his bandage for fresh blood. You’d rather have curled up at his side and revelled in the afterglow, but that would have to wait. This wasn’t a feel-good made for TV movie where the realities were tossed aside in the wake of a long-awaited union; life didn’t stop just because two people wanted it to.

If only it were that easy.

Thankfully, you didn’t find any cause for concern. A slight dribble, but already clotting. You made sure the wrapping was still tight and laid back, content for now as his slim arms wrapped around you.

His fingers stroked your hair, lazily pulling apart any tangles he found in the process. It was so peaceful, so normal to just lie there and forget the world, but you didn’t let yourself enjoy it for long. Reality wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, now what?” you asked. “We can’t stay in one place too long.”

V sighed, his fingers stilling. “Especially here; they’ll connect it to me far too easily.”

You rose on one arm, giving him a quizzical look. “Why?”

The artist closed his eyes. His jaw flexed and for a moment you feared you’d gone too far, pried too deeply without thinking, but you didn’t dare try to backpedal.

“This… this is Nero’s room,” he responded at last.

Oh. Oh, no…

There were no words to ease the tension his words brought. You knew full well the efforts he took in order to conceal his past, and here you were, invading it.

Minutes passed in utter silence. An apology lingered on your lips, but without knowing the full story it felt insincere. Not long ago, you would have spoken the words without thought, but now… Now you wanted to only say things you meant.

At last, V broke the stillness.

“We need to move. I’ll…” he paused, as if the words pained him. “I’ll need your help.”

“You have it,” you replied. No hesitation, no weighing of the pros and cons. If he needed you, you would be there.

“There’s only one way to guarantee we won’t be disturbed.”

You sighed, heart heavy but unwavering. “I know.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back after this.”

You almost laughed. “There’s already no going back.”

He hummed, satisfied. Yes, you knew exactly what he meant. The only way to make sure you found an unoccupied home…

Was to slay the homeowner.

~~~Nico~~~

Nico gritted her teeth as the flash of a camera blinded her yet again. She hated reporters. They just wanted sensationalist headlines, not actual facts and definitely not to calm the public.

If folks stayed calm, they wouldn’t sell papers.

Damned vultures.

“As I said, this is an ongoing investigation so there’s only so much I can say,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Next question.”

The clamoring turkeys all started shouting, arms lifted almost as an afterthought. She wanted to scream at them. “Yeah, you, in the front.”

A brown haired man smiled at her, his comrades falling still for a merciful moment. “Jim Kovelli, Red Grave Daily. How can citizens stay safe until you make an arrest?”

Finally, something she could actually answer. “Thanks, Jim. We strongly recommend people travel in groups of at least two, preferably three as we have reason to believe the killer has an accomplice. All the victims so far were alone when they were… uh…”

Shit! I’m not supposed to mention the victims, or the methods he’s used. We don’t want a copycat.

She struggled to find words. If she tried to start over, the frenzy would only worsen. The vultures knew blood was in the water and they didn’t know the meaning of mercy. Her heart pounded, desperation seeping through her mind. Saying the wrong thing here might get somebody killed. Why the fuck did the chief want her to talk to the press?

I’m nobody! It shoulda been someone more experienced up here.

A heavy tread approached, Tony coming to her rescue yet again. Damnit, this was her first press conference, and she botched it. Even though she knew she wasn’t the best person for the job, she’d wanted to do it well, earn a little respect. How was she gonna look her partner in the eye after this?

“Folks, this isn’t rocket science. Stay in groups, don’t go off with people you don’t know, and report any strange behavior immediately. If you see something, do not intervene but call the hotline. The killer and his accomplice are likely armed and considered extremely dangerous. Don’t be a hero. Next question, please.”

Nico hung her head and stepped back, letting Tony take her place at the podium. Her heart sank, and she sighed. This case was just… it was tearing her apart. She barely ate, and she couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Even showering seemed like a distraction.

“Magda Dunham, Buzzfeed News. What can you tell us about the accomplice?”

Nico glared at the crowd of reporters. Didn’t they realize their incessant questions took time away from the real police work? It’s not like she could review Waras’ file during this charade.

Yet Tony gave a kind, calming smile, seemingly unfazed. How the hell did he do that, keep his face from showing how fucked the situation was? A law-abiding citizen, with no goddamn criminal record and a pristine reputation, now believed to be aiding a psycho killer. It was insane.

“While we can’t release any names yet, we have reason to believe a female is assisting the killer. She is intelligent and well versed in psychology, and may try manipulation tactics or coercion to get someone alone. Again, do not travel alone and be wary of strangers. Last question, guys,” her mentor replied.

A swarm of voices answered him, and he pointed to a face in the back. “Penny Slope, The Weekly. Is the psychiatric hospital going to close, or are you content to let killers stay in the city?”

Tony barely twitched. If she’d gotten that question, Nico knew she would have snapped. The hospital wasn’t the issue here; the killer was!

“We are never content to allow killers to roam our streets, and we won’t rest until our city is safe. All I can say about the psychiatric hospital specifically is that they’re implementing additional security measures and we’re working closely with their staff to make sure our friends and neighbors are protected. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have, though. Thank you all for coming out.”

The horde shouted more questions even as Nico and Tony stepped away. Flashes left her blinking, blinded and ready to smack someone if they got too close, but her partner had her back. His warm hand guided her inside the station and back to the conference room.

“You okay, kid?”

Her vision flared red. She was not a kid. Inexperienced, yes. But a kid?

“No. You know what, hell no! Those piss ants are just lookin’ for a headline, they don’t give a shit that people are dying! There’s a damned murderer out there and all they want is someone to blame! It pisses me off. Not to mention we know who the killer is, but for some reason we still can’t say his name or identify the doctor! It’s fucking bullshit! People need to know who to look for, right now all they’re gonna do is panic anytime someone sticks out!”

She slammed her fist against the table and growled, “And I ain’t no kid.”

Tony tossed his hat on the table and ruffled his hair. His face finally showed something other than a mask of composure, falling into exhaustion as he sat down and sighed.

“I know. You’re right.”

Nico’s jaw dropped. “Wh- what?”

Tired blue eyes met confused brown. “I said, you’re right. It is bullshit. I don’t know why the chief is pussy footing around on this. All I can say is that if you wanna stay on the case, you gotta do as you're told. Especially in the public eye.”

Nico’s rage evaporated at the defeated tone of her mentor’s voice. She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “But how do you keep it together? How do you stay so calm when they’re asking you such dumbass questions?”

Tony shrugged. “We protect everyone. Even the idiots.”

The young brunette took her glasses off and stared into the lenses. All she wanted was to catch this guy, why couldn’t it just be that straightforward? The press, the people, office politics, it was all just a waste of time.

Hell, maybe if people stopped distracting her she’d have caught the fucker by now.

A warm weight settled on her shoulder. She glanced up at Tony, disheartened and desperate for any answers he could offer. “Hang in there, Nico. You’re a great cop. You just need to get the hang of the crappy part of the job.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eventually, Tony wandered off and left her to her thoughts. His words helped, but she still wanted to punch somebody. Preferably, the god damned doctor.

I don’t just wanna catch V now. I gotta get her, too.

She picked up her glasses and stood, mind focused once again. She couldn’t give up, no way. A little more work and they’d be hers to arrest, her need for justice satiated at last. Giving up wasn’t an option.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Blood rushed in your ears. Sweat prickled the back of your neck, hidden under the dark hood of your sweatshirt. Cheerful music played on the grocery store’s speakers. It jangled against your nerves as you surveyed the shoppers, searching for a target that fit the parameters you and V agreed to.

Someone alone, preferably small. Not buying enough food for more than themselves. The less attention they pay to their surroundings, the better.

It was all happening so fast, you’d barely had a chance to wrap your head around it. For so long, you’d tried to blend in, tried to hide your deficiencies. The walls you built to protect yourself weren’t meant to crumble, but to last an age. You’d gotten so used to it, you almost forgot normalcy was an act.

But V broke through, first with a whisper and now with a shout. His voice grew louder each day, beckoning you out of your disguise. He was pollen and you were a bee. Madness was no cage to him - it was freedom. Regret held no sway, doubt and hesitation banished from his mind.

The prison you built for yourself was yours to shatter, and choosing a target was just one step closer.

There weren’t many people who suited your needs. An older woman browsing cat food, an awkward teenage boy peeking at condoms, or a person with no obvious gender looking at cereal.

You bit your lip and tried to slow your racing heart. With V’s injury, making the choice fell to you, as did leading the target to an isolated area. The artist hadn’t asked you to make the killing blow, but the end result was the same.

I’m taking part in murder.

The thought held a curious excitement. No fear or disgust, as you knew it should, but a desire to know more. You wanted to understand what it meant to kill, go through every stage of the process and analyze it, piece by piece.

There’s so much I want to know.

You grabbed a box of macaroni and added it to your cart. Not only were you tailing potential victims, you were also getting a few essentials. It helped you blend in, and who knew what you’d find in your victims home? You had to make sure V ate, to get his strength back and heal.

A jar of pasta sauce joined the macaroni. There wasn’t anything else in the aisle you needed, so you left and followed the cat lady toward checkout. Her cart was barren, save for dozens of tins and a bag of kibble. Did she eat cat food, too?

She was the obvious choice. The teenager browsing condoms probably had a girlfriend who’d miss him, and he was too young to be a homeowner. The non-conforming third option left too much to chance. You didn’t have enough information to know if they fit your needs. The cat lady held the least risk.

Step one complete. On to step two.

How do I get her to follow me behind the store to where V’s waiting?

You didn’t have long to decide. She was about to pay, her car keys already in her palm.

Lips pursed, you handed a twenty to the cashier ringing you up and quickly took your bags. Your target was mere seconds ahead of you. No more time to think; it was now or never. You took a deep breath.

“Excuse me, miss?” you began. She was a bit old to be called miss, but most women took it as a compliment. It might help break the ice.

She turned to face you, peering through her bifocals. “Yes?”

Your stomach churned. If you messed this up, you’d have to start over somewhere else, forcing V to travel when every step brought agony. He claimed it wasn’t bad, but you knew better.

“Sorry to bother you, but um… do you think you could help me? My friend lives in the apartments back there,” you paused to point at the cluster of buildings behind the shop. “And he says his cat just went into labor. He’s scared to move her, but he thinks she needs a vet and neither of us have a car! Can you maybe drive us, please?”

You bit your lip and tried to look desperate even as endorphins flooded your circulatory system.

“Of course! I couldn’t let the poor thing suffer,” she paused, glancing to the side. “But… well, with everything that’s been going on, I’m not comfortable going inside. Will you two be able to bring her down?”

You allowed your expression to collapse into relief. “Yes, thank you! Let me show you where to bring the car, it’ll be faster this way.”

“What’s your name, dear? I’m Margaret.”

“Emily. It’s nice to meet you, Margaret,” you replied, pausing just long enough to shake her withered hand. One foot already in the grave.

The woman nodded and followed without protest as you led her behind the shop. The area wasn’t well lit and shadows painted a sinister backdrop over the cold cement. V’s hiding place was just ahead.

“It’s dark back here… maybe we should stay on the main roads, just to be safe?” the woman said. Damn, she was more vigilant than you first thought. You didn’t slow.

“It’s just around the corner, I promise!”

She frowned, but took another few steps to keep up. People instinctively keep moving if the person in front of them does. One more step, and she’d be in V’s range. Your breathing froze, head spinning as you turned around to see him in action at last, to watch the killer in his element.

He didn’t let you down.

Green eyes saw nothing but their target, utterly focused on the task at hand. Despite his injury, he moved with singular purpose. His mouth a thin line, the artist didn’t make a sound as he swung a scavenged length of pipe at the back of Margaret’s head. A sickly, wet crackle and a wheezing gasp barely preceded her collapse onto the pavement.

Whoa… Did he just kill her in one blow?

You stepped closer and pressed two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but she was still alive. You said as much to V and rose.

The artist smirked and adjusted his beanie. “Care to do the honors?”

A tattooed hand held out the bloody pipe, as if he were offering nothing more than a turn in a batting cage. Your legs turned to jelly and a flash mob of butterflies careened though your digestive tract. Goosebumps erupted across your spine and you struggled to swallow the golf ball in your throat. You hadn’t expected this, not yet.

“Hm, maybe not,” he said. “That’s fine, I’m happy to demonstrate. Watch closely.”

He limped to Margaret’s helpless body, humming as he crouched down to turn her head towards you. A thin line of blood trickled from her open lips. The briefest pang of guilt teased at you. She’d seemed like a nice person.

“It’s better when they’re awake, but this will do,” the artist murmured. He raised the pipe high.

I’m about to watch this woman die.

Time slowed to a crawl as V struck. His face contorted into a vicious snarl, rage and fury engraved in his features. He was raw and exposed, possibly the purest version of himself you’d yet seen. Animalistic and predatory, thrilled by his supremacy.

And yet…

In the moment the pipe crushed Margaret’s skull and sprayed hot blood across the pavement, there was something else. A sadness almost like grief. A brokenness hidden behind his wrath, as if he were killing a part of himself instead of an unlucky stranger.

And then it was over, the pipe clanging as the artist dropped it. The expression vanished, masked behind a smirk. You wondered if he was even aware of the change, if he felt the anger and the loss.

What the hell did I just see?

But this wasn’t the time to figure it out, as V’s pained gasp reminded you. He’d been upright for far too long, and after a swing like that his wound must be excruciating. You shoved aside your confusion and curiosity, forcing your mind to prioritize your current predicament. Philosophical explorations could wait.

V limped back to lean on a wall as you rifled through Margaret’s purse. Her wallet and keys were all you needed, and the second you had them, you went to the artist.

“The address on her license isn’t far. Come on.”

It wouldn’t be safe for long. As soon as the body was found, you’d have to move again. The best you could hope for was a couple of days, two or three if you were lucky. Enough time for the artist’s wound to start knitting back together and for you to process the last twenty-four hours.

It’s been a long day.

You hoped Margaret had a comfortable bed.

~~~Next Chapter~~~

#Be My Nightmare #my writing #fanfic #v x reader #v x oc #dmc #dmc v #vitale #tw: violence #tw: murder #spicy

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

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Hi! ✨ idk if requests are open but if they are: joker is hurt real badly at work and his composure slips the closer he gets to the apartment. you hurry to stitch him up/calm him down but what he’s not telling you is he’s SO upset cuz he saw a woman who reminded him of you getting attacked in the street tonight + he realized he really doesn’t wanna lose you

Omgggg I’m so excited to write this one, as soon as I saw it I knew what to write! I truly believe that Joker would love you even harder than Arthur did, he’d basically be Arthur x 1000000 with you, and an event like this would hammer it all home for him. As such, I’ve done my best to not make this out of character - if I have, please let me know so I can re-write! @rebs-doom and I discussed this a little so I took inspiration from there. Please check out her blog if you have the time to, her writing is just incredible and I love her so much!!!!!

Okay so TW; blood mentions, injured!Joker, reader stitches him up, angst (but also fluff bc I refuse to hurt our boi), Joker dissociates, pain induced confessions which aren’t actually confessions because he doesn’t say anything? That sounded weird but if you read it you’ll know what I’m talking about. Also swearing, obviously. And I have no medical knowledge whatsoever but I don’t care. So please forgive any inaccuracies!

Arthur Fleck/Joker: @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox

Word count: 2, 718

Your relaxed plans for the evening were immediately cancelled when Joker almost fell through the front door. He slammed it shut, and you stood up in a panic. There were riots all over the news, talks of gunshots from unknown locations, talks of people getting beaten up and trampled over, the city was on fire yet again and you wondered how long it would be before Joker was able to get proper control over his newfound calling in life.

Your eyes roamed over his form and your heart stopped dead when you saw that, even with his makeup flaking and his skin coming through, he was pale. He was as white as a sheet and clutching his arm. There was blood splattered all over his once yellow waistcoat and you were grateful in that moment that his suit was mostly red; it would make hiding the stains so much easier. You could see straight away that most of the blood on him was his.

You fought back the sudden intense wave of nausea and hurried over to Joker, wrapping a guiding arm around him and leading him over to the sofa. You sat him down gently, quietly, and watched him for just a second. He wasn’t looking at you. No, he was looking through you. His eyes were glazed over with pain, emotionally and physically, his skin still had that ghostly pale pallor, and he was shaking like a leaf. His bottom lip was trembling and you could see how hard he was fighting himself. What the actual fuck had happened to him? Gone was the confident Joker you were used to. In his place was Arthur Fleck, and it broke your heart to see him in so much pain.

Hurriedly did you gather all the supplies from the bathroom that you would need. You didn’t know yet what kind of an injury he had obtained on his arm, but based on his physical signs of his distress and all that blood, it was bad. Knowing from experience that when Joker dissociated, you weren’t even going to be able to ask him to move or to help you, you tenderly removed his jacket, wincing to yourself when his facial expression showed no change but his eyes, oh his eyes were overflowed with tears, which steadily dripped down his face, removing the makeup which stubbornly clung to his skin. He looked a complete mess. Even his vibrant green hair was deflated and sticking to his skin, which had a light sheen of sweat on it. You had never seen him like this and you found yourself wishing that this was all just a nightmare. A really real nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You forced yourself to concentrate, to think. Now wasn’t the time for you to tap out of reality, either.

As his jacket slid off his body, the rich material getting stuck to the place where the blood was the worst, you gasped in horror. He had been grazed by a bullet or something similar, and the wound was leaking blood at an alarming rate. Could someone bleed out from an arm injury? You thought so, but you weren’t entirely sure. You had no medical knowledge at all beyond the most basic first aid. Quickly did you check the sight for any bullet. Nothing. It was a clean wound in that respect, at least. Still, it would leave a massive scar. Joker had always cared little for how his body looked and though his mind was riddled with scars which had never properly healed, his body was, at least on the surface, completely unblemished at the present time. He hadn’t taken a beating in months, for which you were immensely grateful. You had been happy when he had finally decided to start standing up for himself.

Your first priority was to clean the wound, and then you could bandage it. After that, you could focus on your true problem: getting Joker out of his own head and back with you. You had pulled him out of dissociation numerous times with some difficulty, but you had never seen him this bad, even when he was Arthur. Something had scared him, really scared him, and for Joker that was unprecedented; so laid back he was almost horizontal was he. While you worked, you spoke to him. You kept your voice low and calm, your tone as soothing as you could despite how much you wanted to break down and cry. You stroked his damp, matted hair, kissed his forehead, and you kept talking to him. You made him as aware as you could that you were there with him, that you were real, and that you were taking good care of him. He was safe with you.

When at last his wound was clean and bandaged, and you had cleared away the towels and the flannel you had used, and everything looked like before he had come home, you worked on undressing him. Joker would need to be as comfortable as possible in his body, even with the amount of pain he was in, before you could draw him out of himself. If he came to with something still remaining of the evening’s events, he would stay inside his own head. It was a delicate procedure and you didn’t even know if you were doing any of this right, but you had to try. You just had to try. Joker would appreciate your efforts more than anything else.

You left him shirtless but pulled up those electric blue trousers that were almost comically baggy up his legs. You brushed his hair gently and kept kissing parts of his face, his neck. You washed his face with a flannel using hot soapy water. You were so, so gentle and so tender and you were still feeling beside yourself with how his tears kept flowing, his bottom lip kept trembling, and still he didn’t talk. He only blinked occasionally and kept breathing at a regular rate. His heart rate was fine, too. Physically, Joker would heal.

Mentally?

You had to find out what had happened first. The question was - how? With patience and persistence, was the whispered answer. You shoved it away.

You sat beside him on the sofa, your entire body turned towards him. You were watching his every move, his every breath. You were waiting for a chance to get him back home to you.

You waited for maybe another half an hour before Joker blinked once, twice, three times, four and - a deep breath which moved his entire body. There he was. At last. Tears began to pour faster down his face and you leaned forward and kissed his forehead, holding your lips there as you just breathed him in. You were so heavily relieved that your heart was pounding.

A broken sob. You pulled away from him and pressed your lips together to keep yourself from crying. It didn’t work. Your tears mingled with his as they rained down upon his lap, so close together were you and he.

“Arthur?” You smiled gently at him, your eyes holding his. You only ever called him that when you needed to comfort him, when it was imperative that he knew how safe he was. You saved it for the occasions in which you needed his true name, and as such the effect was almost immediate as the familiar name sunk deep inside his ears, touching his brain gently. You followed his gaze every time he looked away from you, and he blinked again. A slow, careful hand came up and into the air as he reached towards you. You stayed so still, refusing to even breathe, and as his hand touched your face, he gasped lightly and wrenched his hand back.

“Y- Y/N. Are you real?”

You smiled, crying just as hard as he was. “Yes. I’m here, darling. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Joker bowed his head and leaned forward so that he could rest his forehead against your shoulder. He cried noisily, like a small child, and you wrapped your arms around him and just held him. You held him tightly, rubbing his back, kissing the top of his head, your stomach and mind sick with worry as that familiar question kept circling around and around in your head like a destructive hurricane:

What the fuck happened tonight?

Slowly did a hand leave Joker’s lap and come up to touch your face. He was checking to see if you were real and it only added to your distress. You didn’t know how much more you could take of this tonight, so mentally taxed were you. His hand followed the curve of your cheek and you pressed a kiss to your palm. His bloodshot green eyes met yours and your heart shattered all over again when tears continued to fall. That question was still in your head, and now it was on the very tip of your tongue. You couldn’t speak. The answer to your very significant question was written all over his face. It was in his eyes and all at once the horrifying truth slammed into you like a truck. It left you breathless and now your fear was his fear. You had always suffered together as a couple, and just because he was Joker now, that didn’t make it any less true. You felt each other’s emotions like they were your own.

You saw the blood on his clothes, which were now in the bath soaking in cold water. You saw the haunted expression on his face when he had crashed through the door. You felt the way he was still gripping you to him, even now, like he was protecting you from an invisible danger. Pieces of the devastating puzzle all clicked into place and at last, at last, you understood.

Someone who looked like you had been attacked tonight. Joker had seen it and it had distracted him in his overwhelming fear, which had resulted in his injury. His physical injury, a bullet graze, was nothing compared to the eternal mental anguish if he were to ever lose you. Only then, should such a thing ever happen, would Arthur Fleck truly go off the rails.

If such a thing were possible, your every emotion in this moment increased. The room became so much brighter, poorly illuminated though it was with lamps which desperately needed a bulb change but you couldn’t afford it right now, your heart began to roar through your head as though your blood was singing its way around your body, your grip around Joker and his around you grew tighter, until it felt as though you would become one physical body. Everything became clearer, more succinct. Mental clarity came to you and you saw Arthur Fleck. Just like you always had and you always would. Gotham had forgotten about him, it had cruelly abandoned him to a life of abuse of the worst kinds, given him back to his abusive mother and more, but you had never thought him invisible or unimportant. No. Since the day you had met had Arthur been a prominent figure in your life. That would never change.

Joker had found his own truth this night. He had always known just how deeply his love ran for you. He had always known how devoted and loyal he was to you, how much you meant to him and how much he didn’t want to lose you. But now, tonight, when he had seen someone who looked just like you getting violently attacked and lost in the crowd, he had come to know his truth. It had shocked him right down to his core, which was still kind and good and soft, and it had made him retreat inside his own damaged mind; his perceived reality was once more scarier than the infamous and familiar demons in his own head.

He was so fucking terrified of losing you that the mere thought of it had sent him spiralling into a dissociative state that you nearly hadn’t been able to pull him out of. A tsunami of love crashed over you, drowning your shores, and you were lost as your grip on what you had thought to be real faltered. You were the luckiest person on the entire fucking planet and you knew it.

Joker’s palm was still on your cheek, warming you from the outside. He still felt hazy, like he was watching himself through a television screen, but he was coherent enough to be able to see the exact moment you figured him out. His mind was so complex even he didn’t understand it, never mind the supposed professionals he had always been made to see (and a fat lot of good they were) but you had taken the time to try, and you had come to see him. You always did, in the end, no matter how long it took. Your innate understanding of Arthur had always meant the absolute world to him, and he had always made the effort to use his own intuition to see you just as clearly. It was one of your many strengths as a couple. Your continued joint willingness to try was one of your favourite things about your relationship. Anything could happen when you just tried.

Slowly did he lean in to press his lips to yours. Bare faced, his hair slicked back and his eyes shining with a galaxy that, even with its immeasurable size couldn’t quite quantify his love for you, he looked like Arthur. He was Arthur and sometimes you had to take care to remind yourself of the fact that no matter what, Arthur was still himself at his core. He hadn’t changed his truest, most genuine self. He had only grown into it, succumbed to it. You kissed him gently, trying to comfort him without words. Touch was the best way to affirm that you weren’t a delusion, that you were real and he was real and that you were in love and together.

“I was so scared,” He whispered against your lips, tears running anew down both of your faces. “I had to come home as quickly as I could just to see. If I lost you, I’d die - “ His hands, shaking, cupped your face as he fought with himself for control. You were both fine. His injury would heal and in the morning this would all seem like a bad dream, but in the moment he could only let himself feel with the liberation that Joker embodied.

He was exhausted and you could see it. With steady motions did you stand up, taking Joker with you. You didn’t let your skin leave his for even a second. You took him to the bedroom and the two of you got comfortable in the bed. The mattress protested, the springs creaked and bounced back into place as you moved, but for once your economical situation didn’t even occur to you. You didn’t give a flying fuck about anything but Joker right now. He laid facing you, his legs tucked up so he was in the foetal position. His arms were wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in your stomach as he allowed himself to cry it all out. Crying really did make people feel better. It restored the chemicals in the brain which were unbalanced. It left people tired, though, and you were really tired too, so taking him to bed had been your only option. You weren’t physically strong enough to move him to the bed if he fell asleep on you.

You held him, there was nothing you could do or say to assuage his very real and palpable fear that either of you could one day lose the other from a reason entirely out of your control, and pressed kisses to whichever parts of him you could reach. You remained quiet, letting him express himself, and when he was finally done sobbing, you wiped his tears away and kissed him as tenderly as you could, biting back your own emotions as you had been since he had come home.

Only when Joker was definitely asleep did you allow yourself the luxury of crying.

I’m actually crying now. Someone send help.

EDIT: PART TWO

#Nonnie #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader #joker #joker imagine #joker x reader #joker 2019 imagine #joker 2019 #todd phillips #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix imagine #Joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix x reader #phoenix!joker imagine #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker x reader

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readyplayerhobi · 6 years ago

Text

So You Wanna Be The Best

; Pokemon Trainer!Jungkook x Pokemon Trainer!Reader

; Genre: Fluff, crack

; Word Count: 8.1k

; Synopsis: Every Pokemon trainer has a rival, and it’s just your luck that you got stuck with your hometown nemesis Jeon Jungkook. As any good rival, he’s determined to beat you to the title of Pokemon Master and he might have a chance at both that and you...if he wasn’t so dang inept.

; A/N: So I finally hit 10k followers and I’ve had this floating around almost finished for months...so I finally finished it to say thanks! It’s nothing serious...and it’s probably not even good but...I hope you get some enjoyment out of it anyway! :) slight spoilers for Stranger Things season 2 and season 7 of Game of Thrones lol

Groaning quietly, you pull out the water bottle from your bag and take a deep pull. It’s a little warm from being stuck in your bag for so long and you’re beginning to run low, making you vow to drop by the PokéMart when you next get chance.

The next Mart isn’t for another half a day’s walk, though you could definitely shorten that distance if you used the fold away bicycle you’d finally invested in the other week. Blinking up at the blazing hot sun, you chew your lip lazily for a few minutes as you place your bottle firmly back onto the side of your bag.

It’s too hot to bicycle, you decide to yourself and begin to trek forward once more. Your shoes are getting a little worn out, the rubber thinning and you resolve to hit up Goldenrod City when you next get chance. The magnet train would take you there, but you’d have to reach Saffron City first.

And you’re nowhere near there.

It only takes another half an hour of walking before you’re tugging at your blue vest top, grimacing at the sight of it slowly turning transparent around your sweaty areas. Looking down at the ridiculous amount of boob sweat you’re generating under your bra, you decide to finally do something about it to try and cool down a little.

There’s no-one on the path, so you grasp the third Pokeball on your belt and press the button to expand it. “Come out Starmie!” You call and watch as a purple, multi-pointed star Pokémon appears. Letting out a little noise, it jumps around and leans backward to look up at you, red jewel glinting in the hot light.

“Hey girl, it’s really hot. Can you help me out and give me a little spray? Little! Not water gun please.” You warn, reaching a finger out to warn her. She had a mischievous temperament and was as likely to knock you flying with a water gun as she was to give you some spray.

Thankfully, she must be in a pretty happy mood as her second set of arms spins frantically while she makes a high pitched noise. Moving away from you, she leans forward slightly and a gentle spout of water erupts from her in an arc, tiny droplets falling and creating a rainbow curtain.

Grinning, you dash between the arc and giggle wildly, tugging your black and white cap off and letting your hair go damp with the cool water. Dancing around under the spray, you laugh and sigh happily as the water cools your hot skin to a pleasant temperature.

“You know, if this was Jurassic Park then you’d be the first one to get eaten by the T-Rex doing that.” A deep voice suddenly calls out, making you shriek in surprise and jump away from whoever it was. Almost immediately, Starmie reacts and shoots a high powered jet of water in the direction of whatever had made you scared.

A loud yelp sounds out around the quiet area as the young guy gets thrown backwards from the force, his white shirt immediately going see through and sticking to his defined abdomen while his navy jeans darken even further.

“Starmie, stop!” You call out, running over and running a soothing hand along her top arm. She lets out a frustrated sound before stopping, her second arms spinning to show her agitation. You pat her gently and give a smile. “Thank you girl, I really appreciated it. I’ll make sure to give you a Poke Candy when I get one, okay?”

She makes a happy sound at that and jumps, going back into the Pokeball without complaint as you turn to face your rude interloper. Striding over to where he lays on the ground, you stand next to him with hands resting on your hips while looking down at him with a brow raised.

He gasps on the floor, wiping at the water on his face before brushing the wet strands of his dark hair away from his forehead. “That Starmie is a menace.” Is all he says for a moment as he lays there, before groaning and sitting up on his hands.

Your eyes graze his figure, noting the defined abdominal muscles on show along with delightfully thick thighs in the tight jeans. He really must be a sucker for pain because those jeans must be chafing anyway in this heat, nevermind now that they’re wet.

“My Starmie just doesn’t like you because you’re always mean to her. And it was the Lost World, not Jurassic Park. Loser.” You mumble, rolling your eyes as he glares up at you with those pretty eyes that has everyone else thinking he’s sweeter than sweet. And okay, maybe he is sometimes,

Since you were little, Jeon Jungkook has always been the boy that has needled you in the worst way. When you’d gone to Professor Oak’s lab to choose your starter Pokémon, he’d proudly stood to the side and waited until you’d picked yours. Your Chikorita had seen him pick Cyndaquil, cackling at how fire beats grass. Probably the only time he’d ever got a type right.

Ever since, he’d been your official Pokémon rival trainer. You might respect him more as a trainer if he wasn’t a giant buffoon who was about as good at training Pokémon as you were at ballet dancing. And consider you fall over if you turn too fast, you’re really not good at dancing. But he wasn’t a terrible friend in fairness, just overly competitive.

“You’re a loser.” Is his quick witted reply and you sigh deeply, rolling your eyes. How did you get stuck with him again?

“Why are you here anyway? I thought you were supposed to be heading over to Kanto?” As much as you make a lot of noise about him, you actually kinda miss Jungkook when he’s gone for long periods. He may say some of the dumbest stuff you’ve ever heard, but he wasn’t the worst travel companion you’d ever had.

And travelling across the world could get a little lonely sometimes.

He sits and stares at you for a moment before standing, grimacing and sticking his tongue out in an ‘ick’ face as he peels his wet shirt off his chest. “This is gross. Actually disgusting. You need to train your Starmie better.”

Spluttering at his outrageous words, you viciously rub what hair of his you can reach until it’s going in a million directions while he whines at you and tries to dodge. “You take that back you little shit! Do you even have a water Pokémon? I know that when it comes to types, you become as useful as a chocolate fucking tea kettle.”

He slides out of reach and raises his hands in a karate gesture, causing you to fling your head to the side. Honestly, for a 21 year old man he’s incredibly immature. And he turns you just as immature.

“Anyway, I was gonna go to Kanto but then I found this sick Pokémon and I just had to show it off to you. He looks freaking awesome, I bet you have nothing like it.” He goads childishly, crossing his arms over his chest, almost transparent under the wet fabric, and smirking. You’ll admit, you’re distracted by the way the muscles in his arms bulge at the movement and you curse the fact that Pokémon gyms aren’t the only kind of gyms he goes to.

“You’re such a fucking kid. You’re like that kid in Stranger Things that finds that baby demogorgon and thinks it’s cool when everyone else is screaming that it’s dumb. I swear, you’d destroy the world if it involved something you thought looked cool.” You scoff and he glares at you.

“SPOILERS. Oh my fucking god, you know I haven’t seen season 2 you bitch! Keep it up, and I’ll fucking spoil that Viserion dies in Game of Thrones.” He hisses, pointing at you in anger and you scream while running at him, hands clawed to his throat.

“YOU JUST DID YOU ASSHOLE!” For a moment you’re both fighting with each other, neither of you realising how ridiculously dumb you look. It’s only when you hear a soft cough that you both freeze, glancing over at a youngster stood there with wide eyes. Jungkook is bent in half, his head firmly underneath your arm as you push at his head.

Immediately, you’re both jumping away from each other and looking away innocently. Coughing yourself, you tap at the ground awkwardly before grinning at the young girl. “Hey, don’t do drugs. You’ll end up like this guy.” You point at Jungkook.

The words have him jumping at you, teeth bared before they turned into a clenched smile at the girl. “Ignore her, she’s just angry that I got a cool Pokémon and she didn’t.” You stare at him in disbelief, ignorant of the way the girl nods slowly before quickly skating away.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” You curse, hands flailing in the air. He stands by and rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out immaturely.

“Whatever. Wanna fight? I wanna show you my Murkrow.” Jungkook grins, his face practically radiating excitement at his new Pokémon. Sighing, you shrug before dropping your bag to the floor.

“Sure...why not. It’s not like it’s a boiling hot day or anything. Of course, let’s fight with our Pokémon, because that makes sense.” You grumble to yourself, grabbing the Pokeball that you want to use as you watch him send his new acquisition out.

Immediately, a Murkrow appears out of the ball. You watch as the dark Pokémon flies around for a few moments before landing on the ground, giving you an evil glare from underneath his hat shaped feathers.

He does look pretty cool, but Jungkook has more knowledge about video games than he does Pokémon. So you send out your Pokémon with a tiny smirk, knowing he’ll immediately ridicule it. Which he does.

A tiny pink flower floats in the air while a white Pokémon with a green lower half clutches tightly onto the flower. It gives a little chirp at the sight of you before zooming to face the rumbling Pokémon in front of it.

At the sight, Jungkook cracks up and his cackling laugh is probably all that can be heard for a mile around. He laughs for about a minute, arms wrapped around the still damp top of his middle half as he bends over before wiping away the tears.

“A fucking flower? You sent out a flower? What even is that? Murkrow is dark and flying Y/N, oh my god. And you tell me I’m useless with types.” He snorts, rolling his eyes. Smirking at him, you watch as he orders his Murkrow to use pursuit, the dark type move causing it to fly with purpose towards your Pokémon.

“Flabébe, avoid it!” You call out and immediately she darts out of the way, floating gently away from the Murkrow which squawks with outrage. Grinning, it’s with a glance to your Pokémon that you call out. “Okay Flabébe, use moonblast!”

Flabébe squeaks cutely and spins in a circle, looking up into the sky. Today, the moon is just barely visible in the sky as the sun outshines everything else, but it seems to glow a little as your tiny Pokémon draws on its power. As she gets brighter, she suddenly spins in a circle before a glowing, pure white light erupts from her in a direct beam.

It hits Jungkook’s Murkrow head on and you both have to cover your eyes at the blinding light. Once it finishes, Flabébe is left floating happily while Murkrow is collapsed on the floor, having fainted from the instant KO. Smirking, you watch as Jungkook’s jaw drops.

“What the fuck!” He curses, running over to his Murkrow and drawing him back into the Pokeball while he looks up at your Pokémon with wide eyes. “It’s a fucking flower, what the fuck was that?!” Jungkook sounds outraged and you giggle, walking over and letting Flabébe rest on your hand gently.

“You’re still useless with types. Murkrow is dark, Flabébe is fairy. Fairy has a type advantage.” You grin brightly as his disgruntled look, the gentle pout on his lips as he scowls at losing adorable.

“I’ll beat you one day.” He grumbles to himself, cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment at losing. You laugh and pat at his chest lightly as you give Flabébe a tiny stroke of thanks, sending her back into her ball and picking up your bag.

“Sure thing Jungkook, and I look forward to it. I also look forward to the day Michael Bay makes a film without one of those stupid slow mo scenes with an explosion in the background but I doubt that’ll happen soon so...keep hoping! Everyone has to have a dream right!” You call out, waving to him as you begin to make your way down the path.

“Michael Bay’s movies are great! Transformers is fantastic!” He shouts out and you smile despite yourself, shaking your head.

“That right there, is why I never take you seriously. That and you consider Batman & Robin to be the best Batman film!” He curses you out as you walk away from him, causing you to chuckle to yourself. Jungkook might annoy the hell out of you, but you sure do enjoy beating him time after time. Everyone needs some experience right? And he makes it so easy for you.

Especially when he looks that good.

You reach Violet City by the end of the day, just as the sun begins to creep past the horizon and the sky erupts in swashes of pinks, purples and oranges. It’s with more than a little happiness that you situate yourself on a grass verge outside of your hostel and munch down on a kimbap and some lemonade that you’d bought from the local store.

You’d swung by the PokeMart as well to buy some potions to heal your wounded while also stocking up on rare candies to treat them all. For half an hour, you simply enjoy the time to yourself. No other trainers are staying at the hostel apparently, so the street is quiet and peaceful with the scent of the nearby flower garden dancing through the air lazily.

Swallowing the last of the kimbap, you dust off your hands before pulling out the packaway bowls and pouring a small amount of Pokémon kibble inside each one. There’s six bowls to go with your six Pokémon, and each one is well aware of which is their bowl. It makes feeding them easy as they all require different amounts as well.

Pouring out water for them as well, you take out your Pokeballs and call them all out, balls popping open as each one of your beloved team emerges. Starmie lets out an excited scream and begins to eat eagerly, which makes you feel bad as you’d asked her to help you so much earlier.

Flabébe chirps softly before floating down to rest at the edge of her bowl, tiny hands grasping a piece of kibble and little mouth taking the softest bites. You have to stop yourself from cooing at the sight before turning your attention to your others.

An annoyed snort lets you know that your Rapidash is irritated and his diamond hard hooves cause sparks to erupt every time he paws at the ground. Walking over to him, you pat the soft, white fur on his neck before running your hand through the blazing hot flames. His trust in you means that it just feels a little warmer than normal and you grin as he noses your pockets, nostrils flaring.

“Okay big guy, okay. Let me heal you first okay?” You murmur, tugging the potion bottle off your belt and heading to his back hooves. A cut from the fight you’d used him in today is prominent and you sigh, running fingers over the top as you crouch down to get a better look. “I’m sorry Rapi, you did good though!”

He’d won the battle for you though, charging forward in a blur of speed to become what looked like a flaming meteor. But he’d suffered before, the Pidgeotto hurting him before it eventually fainted. Spraying the potion on the cut, you watch as it bubbles slightly before healing right up, causing you to smile.

“Good boy, anywhere else hurting?” You ask, running your hand along his back before coming back to his head. Big, bright and kind eyes stare back at you, filled with love and affection. For a moment, you’re left breathless as they remind you of a certain rival trainer. Rapidash shakes his head and you smile, rubbing his silky soft nose before pointing at his bowl.

“Okay, good. Go eat.” Soft clomping is heard as he heads over to his bowl and you cross your arms, watching them all eat. Your Meganium, the final evolved form of the Chikorita that had started your whole journey years ago, has finished eating and is happily playing with your Raichu.

Sitting down next to them all, you sigh deep and let your head fall, the content noises of your Pokémon all you can hear. A soft nose bumping your hand causes you to look down, spying the black body with yellow rings of your Umbreon. Grinning at him, you cross your legs and watch as he purrs happily before jumping into your lap, his big body taking up way too much space.

Running your fingers through his soft fur, you simply watch as his breathing begins to deepen and he slips into a quick nap already. Sometimes, you remember back to when he was a tiny, fluffy Eevee and nostalgia grips your heart. But you love your little dark Pokémon so much, so you know it was the best decision to evolve him.

“Hey butthead, thanks for just leaving me.” Your peaceful moment is interrupted by the voice of your rival, causing you to groan out loud as your head rolls back. There’s silence, before your looking at the upside down figure of Jungkook’s face only inches away from your own.

Letting out a cry, you shift forward and mumble an apology to Umbreon as he grumbles at being jostled around. “Christ Jungkook, what do you think this is? The Spiderman movies?” You grunt at him, fingers getting a little tighter on Umbreon’s fur until he growls at you softly.

The guy sits down with a flop, letting out a deep and long groan as he extends out his long legs and relaxes. Starmie begins to make irritated noises and you make a negative gesture to her, shaking your head. You really don’t want to hear Jungkook’s whines if he ends up wet again. Especially as he’s obviously staying the night at the hostel too.

He surprisingly stays quiet for a moment before he interrupts it as usual. You swear the boy has never spent more than five minutes being quiet or not moving except when he’s sleeping. Even now, his feet are slowly rocking from side to side in a rather childlike movement.

“Your Pokémon are such girly Pokémon, you know that?” He says before getting into a crouch. His own bag, army camouflage and ridiculously big, opens up and he begins to pull out his own Pokémon bowls and food. You sometimes forget that he is actually a trainer too, despite how bad he is at it.

Raising an eyebrow at his words, you watch as he releases his own Pokémon and instructs them to eat. Your own watch warily before you smile at them and gesture. “It’s okay, you can play.” Almost immediately, his Pikachu runs over to your Raichu and they both begin conversing intently.

“Since when did Pokémon have gender norms you butthead? Besides, you’re one to talk. Overcompensating much?” You state wryly, pointing to his ominously large Gyarados that has taken over the fountain in front of the hostel before gesturing to his Arbok that is coiled up.

Jungkook gives you a droll stare. “Yeah, your shitty attitude.” He’s obviously visited the Pokémon Centre as his Murkrow is back, squawking happily as it chows down on kibble. His Typhlosion, the evolved form of Cyndaquil, is sunning himself lazily on a flat rock nearby.

The Scyther he’d caught in the Safari Park in Kanto is currently glaring at everyone from afar. You don’t know why he keeps it around, as it has to have the grumpiest disposition you’ve ever seen in a Pokémon.

“Weird, didn’t know I meant that much to your life to make you revolve your whole team around me. Besides, if you didn’t like this shitty attitude, why do you keep following me around?” Taking a sip of the now warm lemonade from your side, he simply watches for a moment.

His clothes have dried again but there’s still something rather appealing about the way he sits next to you, one arm resting on a knee while his other leg rests on the floor. Scoffing at you, he tugs out a granola bar and chews down on it, making soft noises of annoyance at the bland flavour.

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you reach into your bag and throw him the remaining kimbap, trying to ignore the way his face lights up in an adorable bunny-esque smile. “Because of that. You’re too kind-hearted to turn me away yeah?”

Watching him through narrowed eyes, you scoff lightly and push at his broad shoulder. “More like your mom would ream my ass out worse than Mrs Weasley if I let you die.” He glares at you at that, giving you the finger before taking a huge bite of the kimbap.

“Fuck you too.” He gets out, voice muffled as his cheeks are stuffed full of seaweed, rice and spicy tuna. “Anyway, you’d be so lucky to see my dick and see if it stacks up.” At that, he nods to his Gyarados that is now napping in the water, giant body breathing softly despite the permanently angry look on its face.

“Are you...are you seriously comparing your dick size to your Pokémon? Wow Jungkook, I don’t know about being a Pokémon master but if you’re being serious then maybe you should consider a role in PokePorn. They’re always looking for...well endowed folk.” You glance meaningfully down at his crotch then and miss the slight flushing of his cheeks.

“You are the worst person. How do you even know that exists? It’s...it’s a bad place okay? The internet is a wonderful place but that...that is a dark place. You must never go there young Padawan.” His face is blank as he stares out, raises his hand as if he’s showing you some grand painting or something.

It’s with a heavy sigh that you simply roll your eyes at him. “You mixed up two films dumbass. It’s from the Lion King, not Star Wars.” You finish your lemonade and simply go back to stroking Umbreon’s long ears, smiling softly as his back leg begins to shake as you itch at a troublesome spot for him.

You don’t see the fond way that Jungkook watches you quietly, nor the way he jerks his head away when you bring your eyes back up to the human sized pain in your butt. “I didn’t mix two films up. Mufasa is voiced by the same guy who does Darth Vadar...ergo Star Wars!” He exclaims, raising his hands wide while his eyes go big endearingly.

Laughing softly, you shake your head and point at him. “That’s like saying that because Liam Neeson plays both Qui-Gon Jinn and Aslan the lion, then Aslan is a Jedi master badass.” A smile plays on your lips as you watch Jungkook nod enthusiastically, shuffling around to face you as he sits cross legged with a childlike look of happiness.

“Exactly! Have you ever listened to Aslan? He could easily be a Jedi. Everything is connected, I tell you.” He nods sagely at that, pretty pink lips pouting adorably and you get the bizarre urge to reach out and poke that soft, rounded cheek of his.

Humming lightly, you tap your lips to your fingers. “So by your logic, then Xenomorphs are real in this world right?” He pales slightly at that and you giggle, remembering how freaked out he got when you both watched the Alien films at the hostel in Celadon City when it had been raining too hard for either of you to leave. Jungkook had whined at you for weeks after that, too afraid to sleep.

“Well...no.” He mumbles, fingers playing with the grass.

“Yes! Natalie Portman was in Star Wars and also in Thor: The Dark World. Chris Hemsworth was in Thor: The Dark World and also The Cabin In The Woods….and Sigourney Weaver was in that. Which leads me to...Alien.” Sitting back on your hands, you smirk at him with a raised brow as his mouth simply opens and closes a few times.

“You ruin the fun sometimes.” Is all Jungkook mutters, carding his fingers through his hair and leaving it styled rather attractively. It’s hard not to focus on just how attractive Jungkook is sometimes, especially when he unleashes his forehead like now. It makes you want to reach other and ruffle his hair back.

Stupid Jeon Jungkook and his stupid good looks. Who did he think he was?

Silence falls between the both of you and it kind of surprises you. Umbreon shifts in your lap and lets out a little content sigh, causing you to look down and give a tiny smile as you run your fingers through his soft black and yellow fur.

Looking back up, you note the sun is even lower to the ground now and it’s almost blinding at eye level. The sky is now a stunning painting of stark colours, as if the sky Pokémon have decided to become artists in their free time and smear an abundance of colours together in a work of art that could grace any museum.

Turning your eyes over to Jungkook, your breath stutters as you capture the sheer beauty of him. He’s turned his head to watch the sunset as well, pouting lips parted ever so slightly. The softly dying rays cause his golden skin to almost glow while the gentle breeze blows soft strands of dark hair across his forehead.

The bridge of his nose extends out before rounding off softly while the sculpted line of his jaw is even more prominent than before, making you swallow quietly as it really, completely strikes you that Jungkook really is no longer that obnoxious young boy you knew who dreamt of being a Pokémon Master. He’s still obnoxious of course, but he’s grown into himself so much.

Strong biceps peek out from under his shirt while broad shoulders fill it out in a way they hadn’t only 3 years ago. The tightness of the shirt simply magnifies his tiny waist, a waist you already knew was hiding a spectacular pair of abs from the many times he liked to waltz into your hostel room shirtless.

The blue jeans are currently clinging for dear life to his spectacular thighs, truly they’re a work of art that would look wonderful next to the sky painting, and you can almost imagine the seams of his jeans screaming from the strain. Where he gets the time to end up buffer than a Machamp is beyond you. It hits you square in the face then though - the realisation that Jeon Jungkook is quite possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

When he turns his attention back to you, your eyes track over his stunning face. Buck teeth that are endearing peek through his open mouth while his eyes, so achingly wide with innocence right now, watch you in turn.

“Don’t you think the sun looks like the yolk of an egg from the side?” He muses to himself, brow creasing in concentration while his lips pucker out. Almost immediately, the moment is lost and you internally sigh. Right there is why you can never take him seriously, no matter how beautiful he is.

Groaning, you let yourself fall backwards onto the soft grass and ignore the protest from Umbreon as you do so. “I swear, you’re like...the biggest moron ever.” You whine, pushing his hand away as he moves to poke your side.

“What? It does! A big ball of yummy yolk. Mmm, I want ramyeon now. Do you wanna go get ramyeon?” He asks idly, humming to himself as he taps his chin lightly. Your face creases in a combination of awe, disgust and confusion - impressive the emotions he can pull from you at once.

“You literally just ate a roll of kimbap...and you want to eat a whole bowl of ramyeon? God...do you have a bottomless pit there or something? If I stare into it, will it stare back at me?” He ignores your sarcastic remarks as he begins to call his Pokémon back, securing them safely away in their Pokeball homes.

“Come on! I walked so far today! And you beat me so like...you owe me.” At that, you stand up abruptly and press his chest your finger to his chest firmly, causing him to whine as he moves back.

“Are you fucking kidding? Since when does the winner buy the loser the meal?” You swear, it’s like he lives to annoy you. But then, you remember when he got asked if you were his girlfriend when you were 13 and he’s staunchly answered that you weren’t his girlfriend, you were his opponent.

Both of your parents were forever convinced that you were going to get married one day. You know, the usual ‘childhood-friends-to-lovers’ thing and honestly? You agreed. There was only two routes for Jungkook and you realistically. You either killed each other after an epic Battle Royale, which you would win because he’d be the one stuck with a frying pan from his backpack, or you fuck and eventually get married.

And given that you really enjoyed being alive and weren’t particularly interested in seeing him dead, you knew it would be the second option. Plus, the idea of someone else getting to fall in love with Jungkook annoyed you. He may be as annoying as Ashley in Resident Evil 4, and lord was she annoying, but he was your annoying.

No one could accuse you of not being a realist. Besides, you occasionally acknowledged that he was attractive and there had been more than one occasion where you had dreamt about doing something other than pushing at his abs casually.

“You’re bitching at me...but I’ve noticed you haven’t said no.” Jungkook sings sweetly, his voice pure as he spins in a circle slowly. You glare at him before pushing at his back, the solid muscles giving in easily as he lets you push him forward.

If you didn’t buy him a meal, he’d just whine at you until you eventually did. So you may as well just get this over with.

“Fine...let’s go. Everyone,” You call out, voice slightly louder as you look over your team with fondness. They all stop what they’re doing and turn to look at you in varying stages of alertness and you feel a twinge of sadness that they have to go back into their Pokéball’s. Your Pokémon are tired and haven’t had a lot of time to have fun lately so you sigh and point at them. “Stay here okay? Don’t run away, we’ll be back soon.”

They’d be fine within the area of the hostel, a common sight for trainers who were making their way through the world and they were all well behaved. All of them make an affirmative noise to you as you walk over to your Rapidash, smiling and patting his soft, milk coloured fur with affection. “Hey boy, will you take us into town please? I’ll make sure to get you the spiciest treat!”

His large eyes narrow slightly as he takes in Jungkook, who stands behind you paling slightly at the sight of the fiery mane and tail that dance lazily in the cooling breeze. A slight dip of his head lets you know he’s willing and you smile brightly, petting him harder before kissing his solid cheek and turning back to the young guy behind you.

“Come on, he’ll let us ride him there.” Jungkook looks over Rapidash warily and you laugh lightly, moving over to him before smirking. “What? Are you scared of him?”

“Errr...yeah. He’s got fire for a mane, he could give me fire crotch. Like...real life fire crotch. And he’s huge! And really fast!” The excuses fall from his lips easily but you can also see the curiosity in his eyes, causing you to smirk and poke his chest lightly.

“Yes, he does have fire for a mane and tail. Very hot fire. But he’s said he won’t hurt us, so he won’t. He loves me, so he’s definitely not hurting me.” At that, Rapidash slams a diamond hard hoof down onto the floor, the flames on his fetlocks flaring slightly. “Come on, you’ll enjoy it. He won’t go too fast, right boy?”

Rubbing at the base of his horn, Rapidash nickers quietly as he shakes his head before nodding exaggeratedly and you chuckle in amusement. You do love the personality your Pokémon have sometimes and you’re beyond thankful that they’re just like you.

Jungkook moves up quietly, for once no longer cracking any wise jokes and you smirk as you lift a leg to him. He looks confused until you gesture towards your Pokémon and his mouths opens in a small ‘o’. Rapidash is almost as tall as Jungkook, and there’s no way you’re getting on top of him without leading him over to something.

He gives you a lift up and you sit on Rapidash’s slim back with happiness, letting your fingers run through the odd sensation of his flame mane. It just felt slightly warm, which really did feel strange at your crotch.

Hopping up behind you, Jungkook lets out a small noise of fear as Rapidash begins to move towards the town centre and his arms wrap tightly around your waist. Your recent realisation that you might actually genuinely like the guy behind you makes his pseudo-hug feel like he’s lighting you up from the inside and you wonder if maybe you should have just walked instead.

But he feels nice pressed against you, so you don’t say anything. In fact, you just enjoy it.

How you’ve managed to end up falling over the years for the dumbass who thought he’d picked up a bottle of ketchup once only to discover it was actually chili sauce was beyond you. But opposites attract and all that you guessed.

“So err...why don’t you ride him more often? I mean...he’s fast right? You could’ve gone everywhere by now...left me behind.” Jungkook’s voice is so close to your ear that you jump, looking back at him with wide eyes before your cheeks heat slightly at how his plush lips are so close to your own.

“He’s my Pokémon, not my ride. You gotta treat them like friends, they’re your partner not your workhorse. Like the girlfriend or boyfriend who’ll never let you down.” You give him a raised brow at that and he whines quietly.

“Hey...it’s not my fault that everyone I’ve dated has been about as solid as half the MCU at the end of Infinity War.” Snorting, you shake your head and look back towards the slowly approaching town centre.

“Wow, too soon man. And you ever notice there’s something that links all these particularly flaky people together? Namely...you know...you?” He doesn’t respond to that for a moment before sighing, his hands almost subconsciously stroking your stomach and your abdominal muscles tense at the sensation.

“I know I act an idiot...and that I failed most classes, I’m aware you don’t need to point that out, but I’m not actually one. I just...don’t like educational environments. I like being out here, in the real world. Learning out here with people and Pokémon. And maybe I just didn’t want proper relationships with any of them. I’m only 21, there was no need to go full on Notebook with someone yet.” He sounds serious for once and you give him the respect of taking him seriously too, humming lightly.

“I know you’re not stupid Jungkook, even if you act very odd sometimes. You’re...not a terrible Trainer. Definitely need to actually do some studying on your types, which I’ve been telling you for years but whatever. And no, you don’t need to be in a proper relationship yet. There’s a lot of life out there.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to hum this time, only he sounds slightly reluctant. Reaching the centre, you both dismount from Rapidash and pet him while he goes to graze on the public grassland in the centre, underneath the overhanging branches of the blossoming tree while the pond ripples when a Goldeen swims to the surface.

You sit on a bench facing the pretty scene, smiling at two Pichu as they chase each other around in the longer grass surrounding the pond while a Girafarig bends awkwardly to drink.

The sudden tapping of your shoulder brings you back and you turn to see Jungkook offering you a cup of ramyeon, steam rising off the spicy noodles and you smile a thanks as you take it and dig in with the chopsticks he gives you too. How he’d managed to bring them over you have no idea as he’s got two cups for himself, his lips already swelling and going red from the spice of them.

“How do you eat that much? Seriously, don’t you like...want to vomit?” You query, watching him with wide eyes before scooping a helping of noodles into your own mouth. The spice makes your nose run already a little and you scowl at him, wondering why the hell he got the extra spicy version.

Jungkook just gives you a gross smile, noodles dangling from those spice-inflamed lips before he slurps it down happily. “I get the shits, what do you expect? And I get a bit bloated too but...it’s filling and I like the taste.”

Coughing slightly, you wave your chopsticks at him and note the red tint of the ends of them with amusement. “You like your ass feeling like Mordor and your tongue disintegrating?”

Snorting, he shakes his head and stuffs another mouthful in before letting out a content noise that’s borderline disgusting. “Mount Doom you mean. Mordor’s just the place, Mount Doom is the volcano. And no, I don’t like my ass feeling like that but here we go. Did you know that your ass feels like that when you’ve eaten spice because it has the same nerve endings as your mouth?”

Pausing with your noodles halfway to your mouth, your brow turns in before you shake your head. “You’re impossible you know that. How do your Pokémon stay with you?”

“Because I may not be the best Trainer, and I may never be the best when you’re around, but I love them. Even if they’re not the Pokémon everyone thinks is cute.” God dammit, why did he have to go and say something adorably sweet like that? You’d almost got over that weird little crush you’d realised earlier only for it to come flooding back at his words.

You should’ve realised long ago that it was all futile...that you’d long been fighting a losing battle and that your parents were right. It was a good measure of a person with how they treated their mom and how they treated their Pokémon.

Jungkook adored his mom, he called her every night for at least half an hour to update her on all the cool things he’d done that day, and despite his lack of common sense when it came to battles, he really did love his Pokémon. He’d even adopted some who’d been abandoned because they were considered ugly or scary, like the Houndoom he’d sent to go live with his parents when no one wanted it because it scared people.

You’re not entirely sure what takes over you, but you place your cup of ramyeon to the side and shuffle up to him. He’s so unused to you being this nice to him that he gives you the side eye before looking you over suspiciously.

It’s almost hilarious how he almost hugs his last cup of ramyeon to him closer, as if you want that.

“Hey...Jungkook. Has there ever been like...a reason why you never take dating seriously?” You want to laugh at how he tenses up so suddenly, his shoulders almost to his ears as he instead focuses determinedly on the Totodile that waddles up to him. Giving it a sweet smile, he reaches down and strokes the Pokémon’s head before it walks off with happy eyes.

“No...no reason.” His Pikachu suddenly arrives out of nowhere, slightly out of breath before jumping up into arms with a sweet ‘Pika’ before he begins berating Jungkook with quick sounds that have you laughing. Jungkook seems to be happy that he’s got a distraction and he makes soft soothing noises before his Pokémon lets out a sleepy yawn, blinking at you blearily before crawling out of his arms and into yours.

Watching as the yellow and black electric mouse Pokémon falls asleep, Jungkook’s lip kicks up in a smile before he’s shaking his head. “Even my own Pokémon like you more than me.”

You cringe slightly and shrug as best you can, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

He lifts a hand up to stop you before giving a soft smile, looking way too sappy at you as his eyes practically shine while he watches you with his favourite Pokémon. In fact, he’s rather watching you in the same way that he watches his favourite Star Wars movie and your stomach twists slightly, your hand stroking Pikachu’s head before you finally ask.

“Do you like me? Is that why you never dated properly?” You’re pretty Jungkook wishes that he could burrow into the ground like a Ditto and just...never emerge or something. Become a legendary Pokémon that’s only spoken of in hushed whispers.

“So you’re just gonna ask it like that, huh? Really confident of yourself there?” He says, eyes wide and you just smile at him so softly that he practically deflates.

“On a scale of one to the ending of Red Dead Redemption 2, how obvious was it?” Biting your lip, you try hard to stop your smile but fail as you watch him squirm about awkwardly with what is possibly the sappiest look you’ve ever seen him give you. Honestly, how he ever thought he was subtle was beyond you.

“Jungkook...you’re a terrible liar. I’m pretty sure anyone with eyes has probably noticed.” His cheeks are bright red now before he covers them with his hands, his normally confident self collapsing in embarrassment and you place a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“You can let me down easy, I mean...please. Don’t be mean, not now.” Jungkook mumbles into his hands, refusing to look at you and you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

“Why do you think I’m going to turn you down?” The question is legitimate, and you watch as he rolls his eyes in turn at you before holding out a hand and counting down the reasons.

“You think I’m an idiot, you always bitch at my types because I never remember, you always beat me so I’m weak and I don’t think I have any redeeming qualities for you. You’re gonna be a Pokémon Master one day and I’ll...I dunno...be working in a PokéMart or something.” His words are practically silent by the end but you let out a soft tut before pushing at his shoulder, wiggling your body across the bench to keep Pikachu asleep until you can comfortably rest your head on him.

You’ve done this before, and it always felt nice. It feels nice now, but slipping your hand into his feels even nicer.

“You’re smart where it counts and you’ve stopped me making stupid decisions out here, like that time when I was going to buy a Love Ball until you pointed out how dumb it is and that it’s just a waste of money. And you’re totally right on that. You don’t care about types and it’s stupid for fights...but it’s because you just pick Pokémon that you like and stick with them, even if they’re not the best. You’re loyal, because you’ve stayed with me all these years. And PokéMart’s are important to the economy so don’t knock them or the people that work there. They’d be privileged to have you.” Jungkook is suspiciously quiet and you try to get a glimpse of his face, curious to see if he’s crying.

“Are you crying?” He’s shaking his head furiously and you chuckle, pushing your face into his arm. “Is this like that time you totally weren’t crying at Endgame and it was just popcorn dust in your eye?”

“This is exactly like that. I’ve just got...ramyeon dust in my eye.” He mutters, using his free hand to wipe at said ‘not-crying’ eyes.

“I don’t think it works like that, but okay.” You shrug and quieten down, focusing on the little tuft of hair his Pikachu has on top of its head, almost like a super tiny mohawk.

“Do you mean that?” A nod is his silent response. “Would you...consider it a privilege to have me?”

Your heart practically clenches at his soft words and you grin, shifting until you’re both looking at each other. He’s nervous, his eyes glancing everywhere until you finally pull his attention back to you. It’s weird to see him like this, but you find it endearing either way. For once, he’s being serious about something, and it’s you of all things.

“I would. And I do, hence why I’ve never quite properly gotten rid of you.”

Before you can do anything else, your face is suddenly smashed against his awkwardly and you both let out a surprised noise, your mouth against his cheek and nose against his eye. It’s not even slightly comfortable, or romantic, and you both push away to spy your Rapidash standing behind the bench, an almost mischievous look in his eye.

“Did your...Rapidash just smash your face against mine?!” Jungkook asks, eyes wide as he watches the Pokémon in suspicion. Smirking, you turn back around to look at him with a raised brow and shrug.

“Well...I do pick smart Pokémon right? He’s just trying to tell us to get a move on already.” He goes to ask with what, you know him that well, but instead you take both hands and cup his cheeks gently.

Almost immediately he shuts up, eyes going wide as you slowly lean into him. You give him plenty of time to back away, but he just lets his eyelids flutter shut before his lips purse into a sweet pout, waiting for the kiss you’re about to give him.

And you really are, until a sudden blast of icy cold water causes you both to go flying off the bench with a loud shriek. Sitting on the floor, your shirt soaked to your skin, you spot the culprit and let out a groan of frustration.

“Starmie! He wasn’t hurting me! Why are you even here?!”

“I told you! That Starmie is a menace! I can’t believe she just...ruined the best moment of my life!”

“She isn’t a menace, she’s just protective! You just don’t lik-”

“Can you just shut up and kiss me please? I’ve waited years for this.”

“Oh...okay. Yeah...Starmie, don’t you dare!”

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