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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

Text

Thirsty

A/N Please enjoy what I’ve been self indulging all week. It was a cliche but fun concept to write! @bakugotrashpanda this is the fiction I was dming you about bb. Yall readers leave your thoughts pls bb enjoy~

Warnings: Aged Up/18+ AU, Vampire AU, blood, intense sex, mentions of marking.

He hasn't fed in days, no make that fucking weeks.

Months even although he has tried.

Hoping some stupid fool would venture out during this pandemic and now mandatory quarantine.

Not that the threat of the disease mattered to him, his body would correct whatever ailment in a matter of seconds.

And he needed to eat.

But as usual he has some shit luck. Not a single soul left on the once packed streets.

And there you sit all the temptation in the world, your sweet scent was already hard enough to endure during the few hours you were normally home. Causing the ash blonde to avoid any of the "community" spaces of the dingy shared apartment.

Only agreeing to have you move in since you has claimed you would hardly be home as you were too busy with work.

So busy in fact you could never come by to see the place in person. Further encouraging the angry recluse's decision.

But had you ever come in person he would have denied you, turned you away no matter the price you were willing to pay.

And especially so if you begged.

Because you fucking reeked.

So repulsively pungent that after just meeting you his throat closed up, eyes narrowing to slits as he felt a deep ache within him.

Going out that very night draining three people drops from dry.

Fuck, who was he fucking fooling?

He never liked liars and he was never good at lying either.

You were far from repulsive really.

You were fucking delectable, irresistible.

Sweet scent lingering in the apartment for hours, clinging to the fabric of the couch, the peeling wallpaper like the smoke of a cheap cigarette, clinging to his skin.

If he was that fucked up over your scent how heavenly would you be on his tongue?

He could imagine from what little he felt he could taste in the air during your full moon. Causing his vision to narrow on that steady strong pulse lying just beneath glowing skin.

He has to force himself to leave even if he's just fed, one whiff had him thirsty all over again. He'd turned full glutton from just the smell of you, draining a dozen at a time and yet no amount could please him.

His fangs poke his lower lip now, aching with the urge to sink into tender flesh from just the thought. His salvia already secreting that deadly addictive oxytocin that would bring euphoria to both parties.

He swallows hard but it does nothing to satiate his thirst.

His ever drying throat.

Scarlet eyes cut to the door as he hears the soft pad of your feet stop before the fragile wood that separates the beast from beauty. You rise your capable fist tapping the door gently.

"B..Bakugou..."Your voice is soft as you call through the thick oak. He smells salt in the air causing his stomach to twist.

Were you crying? His throat tightens, muscles screaming for him to move. That this moment, this vulnerability was a golden opportunity to wet those aching fangs. Blunt nails dig into heated palms as he hopes to wait you out but here you go again becoming wholly undeniable.

"Sorry to bother you." You say so softly he almost didn't catch it over the shuffling of your feet.

His heart breaks in two as he lunges for the door, biting back more than just his words.

"What, Y/LN?"

His eyes seem to glow blood red in the low light of the hall, causing you to step back.

There was an intensity to his gaze you could never quite place.

It was as if he hated you and wanted to consume you whole all at once.

Desire burns through your veins especially so when a soft caramel scent is wafted from his room.

You swallow thickly, red eyes dart down and fixate on your throat, a blush creeps over your skin from the obvious blooming bruises.

Why did you have to have your throat EXPOSED?!

Where were your normal oversized hoodies that hid away your sins that you now display openly?

Fading black bruises and pink teeth indents that drove him fucking wild.

Someone dared to mark you and a fucking weak mortal at that.

Bakugou didn't think you had a boyfriend or girlfriend for that matter but you had been smelling like the same male the past few times you ventured out only to return in the late hours of the night.

And long before this house arrest bullshit happened too.

He stares down, body rigid as he is almost fearful to move. One twitch of his finger could set him off, pouncing onto you to leave the markings of a true male.

Instead he grinds his teeth, canines scrapping the inside of his lip. All the while you begin to feel dumb for seeking comfort from a roommate who barely looked your way.

And when he did it set your skin ablaze. A cold sweat runs down your spine as you take a step back.

There wasn't a lot you were scared of in the world, what with being a hero and all.

But there was just something about your roommate that unsettled you.

Whatever it was it sat on the tip of your tongue and when the word was to tumble from your mouth you'd look into that heated gaze and the thought would combust into hot flames.

That licked over every inch of your body.

"I uh...." You stammer, dumbstruck for the first time in your life. Swallowing your pride almost choking on it as you half shout.

"I want to play a game or watch a fucking movie with someone. You can pick but..." He watches one arm cross beneath your breasts, pushing them up a tad, while the other hand covered your throat, making its way up to block your plush lips as you look away. He's noticed this about you in the past year of living with you.

Normally you hold your head high, voice boisterous ringing with confidence but you seemed to curl in on yourself when you spoke to him.

"But I just need someone right now." It comes out soft, borderline desperate as he watches your fingers punch harshly into the skin of your ribs.

He stares you down, fully taking in the bags beneath your eyes. The way your normally glowing skin is slightly lackluster and the red rims of your bottom eye lids.

He hasn't smelt you cook anything in the past few days and there weren't any snack for you to munch on in the house.

You can't stand how his red eyes slice through you like a scalpel. Blade so sharp you notice you're exposed much too late.

With an explosion of your limbs your hands are on your hips, teeth bared before you turn on your heel, yelling.

Fighting back angry, hurt tears.

"You know what, this was fucking stupid. Forget I ever..." A strong hand wraps around your bare bicep, warm to the touch.

"Quit being fucking dramatic and give a man a damn second to answer." He snarls, pulling back his hand as if he touched a burning stove, "I'll make something to eat."

"I'm not being dramatic!" You screech, wholly proving his point. His eyes narrow on the nape of your neck before watching your jaw clench and the quickening tick of that juicy artery.

Still you stomp to the living room, picking up voicing to the hologram to pull up the movie archive. Clearly picking for him.

There was no point in him making enough for two as eating never silenced the ever present growl in his belly or the ache in his teeth. For ever robbed the joy of eating, of cooking.

Everything tasted either tasted like soggy cardboard, salted sawdust, or like ashes of the ghost that food once was.

That's what Bakugou had hated the most about this curse that was placed on him almost a century ago was how much it stole from him.

His sense of taste.

His family.

His friends.

Some days even his desire to live.

He rounds the peninsula of the kitchen with what he's deemed your favorite, placing it into surprised hands.

He must have been right as blush creeps on your cheeks. You take a few bites still scrolling while your thoughts slowly take over.

When was the last time you'd seen him eat? He always cooks but then leaves the containers in the fridge for you with a sticky note scrawled with his roughly neat scrawl.

"Y/N, Eat this before it goes bad dumbass."

You tap the fork to your lips pondering over the mystery that is Bakugo Katsuki.

"Why don't you ever eat what you cook?" Your curiosity slips out in the form of a question. He side eyes you before nodding at your food silently demanding you finish eating.

"It’s never what I'm hungry for."

His voice sends goose flesh over your skin, hairs on your neck standing straight up before you swallow.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Acting like this and in front of a guy you barely knew.

Well, that's partially a lie, you knew a little about him from observing him from time to time.

He'd stay up way too late and would come to the love seat only after he thought you were in deep sleep.

When he is really agitated his skin pops like little fireworks dancing along his forearms which usually only happened when someone named Deku called.

He'd do what he's doing now, despite the harsh look in his ever angry scarlet eyes he cooks for you.

Changes your laundry over when you forget with a scoff but most oddly he indulges you.

Like he is now, sitting squished on the love seat with you, legs spread just enough to avoid touching you.

You give him a glance and finish eating, finally selecting a movie as you're done.

His eyes widen for a moment as you select a movie that would have been considered old even in his time. It stirs odd feelings in his stomach.

"Really, there's 3D movies and shit. And you wanna watch a movie that's not even in color?" He snorts, you would pick this one wouldn't you?

"We must always remember the classics." Is all you say, settling in. Fluffing the blanket over you both and even having the audacity to lean closer to him. You notice his rigid muscles beneath you but you're so desperate for touch that leaning against this stiff board was far better than spending another night alone with your ever twisting mind.

Slowly he melts into your touch, gulping mouthfuls of your scent but enjoying you none the less.

Realizing that he too had been touch starved.

When was the last time he held someone in his arms?

Hell when was the last time he was this close to someone without feeding?

Ten, twenty years?

It didn't matter, he outlived them anyway so why bother getting attached.

Soon a comfortable quiet settles over the old apartment as it is painted in the soft tones of blacks and grays.

Voices mingling in the air as Bakugo silently agrees with some of the lines.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

He feels that way about you, of all the cheap apartments you could have looked at online you chose his.

You with the smell like no other.

Sweet enough to somehow get him to watch this shitty movie again, he puts his head in his palm watching the old film play out.

How many times had he been forced to watch this in the common room of the dorms all those fucking years ago?

And then again in shared apartments when nothing else was on or when Bakugo would lose rock paper scissors.

"Remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

"That’s my least vulnerable spot.” Bakugou grumbles in unison with the long gone actor.

Your ears perk, having never pegged him to like such a heart wrenching movie. You giggle, earning a glare and a bark.

"What?"

"Its just I never would have dreamed you'd ever sit down and watch this movie willingly."

"You're right. I wouldnt. Shitty hair..." He clears his throat, "Kirishima, for whatever fucking reason, used to love this movie. Said it was manly and honorable or some shit like that."

"Used to?" Silence stretches between the two of you for a moment until he sees you fully engaged on him.

His heart twists as he looks down on you and he begins to wonder if your quirk is to pull out unsolicited emotions. His fangs don't ache nearly as much as his chest as he pushes through the feeling.

A feeling he hardly allows himself to have. Thinking of his best friend who so hurt by this curse he refused to feed on humans.

But animals couldn't suffice, their bodies needing something in human blood in order to maintain their peak form.

It took him twenty years before he stopped eating all together.

And when he neared the end, neared the point of starvation where instincts would take over he amplified his quirk until he turned to stone.

Oddly enough he's a shrine relic now.

"He passed recently." Five decades was recent to Bakugou.

Your heart stills in your chest as you see real emotion bloom on his face. Cheeks slightly flushed, eyes almost watery as the bitter nostalgia washes over you in waves.

Without thought you lunge for him, wrapping sturdy arms around his neck to pull him into the comfort of your body as your fingers rake through his hair. Pushing his face against your warm skin.

His nose is pressing into your throat as your sickeningly sweet smell floods his mouth but that isn't even the worst part.

No the worst part is that he can feel your pulse against his lips.

It was like putting a starving dog in front of a steak and telling him not to eat.

Fuck.

His teeth grew on their own and he cannot stop himself as his strong arms wrap around you, pushing you ever closer before he sinks his aching canines into your tender flesh with a groan.

Oxytocin floods your system produced by both his body and your own.

He opens his mouth further, ready to suck in a mouthful of what he's been dying to taste. His pupils dilate and his pants grow tighter at the sound of your soft moan.

He is suffocating, drowning in the dizzying sweet smell that melds beautifully with that metallic tang he cannot get enough of. He wants to savor this sinful high before he has a taste.

Meanwhile you body sears and freezes all at once as a tingling sensation spreads through your body starting at the nape of your neck.

As if a ghost traces its finger along your spine causing you to turn into putty.

"Fuuuuck, Katsuki." You groan. The sound of his name leaving your lips feels as if he's been plunged in a pool of cold water.

He jumps away from you, nails biting into his palms hard enough that half blood moons will surely litter his hands.

Panting as he tries to keep his tongue away from his canines that drip deliciously maddening red.

Fearful if he gets even just a drop on his tongue he'll kill you.

He'll drain you dry and leave you to rot in the already decaying apartment.

It takes your head a moment to fall down from the stratosphere before the small holes in your throat close seamlessly with a sharp bite.

You press your hand to the wound, only small specks of blood not yet dried paint your palm.

Shocked eyes rove over the muscular body as things start to slowly piece themselves together.

The explosive temper, ash blonde hair, piercing red eyes, an intensity unmatched and that popping quirk he used when extremely agitated.

Instantly the picture in the old text book pops into mind as you imagine the man before you with a black cowl.

The whole section about his story, about how he and two other heroes had been attacked, bitten, by some immortal being. They shortly fell off the face of the Earth after that.

Mind going into overdrive as your memory floods with the text of files you've been assigned and the voice of the woman you just recently interviewed.

She was the same age as you. Later twenties, petite, long fire red hair with glossy eyes who was mysteriously left in front of the hospital. Suffering from severe blood loss but not a wound in sight.

Not even a fucking scratch.

And worst yet she wasn't the first one. There was one daily and dozens when it neared the ended of the month. Worst yet there was never any video of the perp, just a glitch in the frame before the victim is lying helplessly by the entrance.

Still her slurred words haunt you as you think of her response to your question.

"He was hot. Strong muscles, smelled sweet, like candy and nostalgia. He looked so familiar, like an old movie star or something...."

Or maybe she was thinking of an old hero.

"Ground Zero." The hero name sounds foreign to the panting blonde.

Shit when was the last time he heard that name?

The sound of his old alias brings up surging memories that fist fight with the smell of the blood on his fangs.

Of an overly arrogant boy who was so scared to fail he hardened his heart.

A heart that begin to break while he watched his idol fade away before his very eyes.

Slowly it was mended again from old misunderstood rivalries turned friendships and acquaintances turned family.

Only for them to age and crumple into dust as he stands witness with Father time.

All save one with emerald gems for eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?" It comes out harsh as you rack your brain for the name of that villain, the one that is said to still hide out in the outskirts of a run down city in the states.

You knew Bakugou wasn't that asshole who mutilated bodies after he fed. That much was apparent by his sheer will power to leave you be for the three months the two of you have been confined to these four walls.

But if it's been months like you think surely he cannot live that long with out eating right?

The slightest dark circles hang beneath those scarlet red eyes, cheeks a little paler than normal and his fangs.

Canines elongated, swelling up his gums a bit indicating his hunger, his thirst.

When he does not speak it confirms your theory and it lines up perfectly with the timeline of that woman.

His last meal much too long ago.

"Come, eat." You tap your throat with almost shaky fingers. Heart halfway breaking over the torture it must have been.

He snarls, unmoving ready to bolt for the door but worried he will give in to the ache in his teeth and throat.

Of gulping down every last drop your godly body had to fucking offer.

When he makes no move you grow impatient, allowing your quirk to shape shift your nails into claws.

"You fed me, I feed you. Now I'm telling you to eat." Your voice is commanding as you scratch deep grooves into your forearm followed by beads of dazzling red.

His eyes dilate unnaturally before he swallows thickly.

Getting just a small taste of your blood from his fangs before he is pressing you into the couch, forcing your arms behind your head as he licks a swipe up the wounds. A shudder runs through you both before you feel the skin pull taunt and close fully.

Only for pain to settle in your wrists as one strong hand holds them there before his free hand tilts your head away. Exposing that damn neck you had to press him to. He bites into that blessed artery before pulling harshly at the skin, deeming your flow not fast enough.

You taste far better than you smell and he has to be careful with you for fear he won’t be able to stop. Especially so with each encouraging mewl that leaves those lips and reverberates in his mouth.

His grip turns tighter as you look over him, eyes savoring his sculpted body beneath his tight tee and that bulge that rests in his tight black joggers.

You knee it teasingly causing him to snap away from your neck.

"Careful." A guttural growl, causing you to clench around nothing, "Don't start what you can’t finish."

"Oh I always finish what I start." You free your hands quickly, tugging at his joggers more than needing the treat that lies beneath. He catches your wrist, eyes darkening.

"This isn't how I normally feed."

"Then it's time to try something new." Silence stretches between the two of you, he tries so hard to resist. To tell himself he's had enough at least for now but he finds himself gravitating towards you.

Being pulled back into the heat of your kiss as if the two of you were tragically magnetic.

You positive and him negative.

He rips your camisole from your body exposing your breasts to him. Your skin is marred with more dying bites than he'd like. He smirks to himself as he thinks of you, this strong, brash being and it is hard for him to imagine you to be so submissive

To bend to the will of someone else.

He thinks he'd rather it just be for him.

You notice his smirk as he licks some blood from his lips, your stomach twists in anticipation. Not realizing how much you like those lips curved upward, even if it means he may devour you whole.

"What?" The smallest of blushes creeps along your skin as he leaves you exposed.

"Tch. You own yourself until you're in the bedroom and that's when you want to be marked." He presses kisses along your breasts and collar bone, biting over the fading hickies, "By the looks of these you went out not too long ago. Naughty girl."

He bites causing you to moan as he laps at the blood before removing his mouth. This time allowing all of the little bite wounds to stay open for a few minutes. Little bruises dance beneath the puncture holes. His eyes rake over your body, drinking in every detail as a slight shudder runs through you.

His thumb swipes over a small pink bite mark on your hip. He isn't sure why he feels so jealous over the thought of you lying beneath another man.

Of you gazing up at them in anticipation as their hands sully your skin.

Of their mouth littering your perfect skin with their half assed love bites.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were a grown ass woman who wasn’t his.

Yet he was tempted to call you his own.

"These are pathetic." He murmurs as you watch him lean forward to replace the bite with his own.

His breath is warm on the hip bone before he slides those damn teeth in, giving you another hit of that intoxicating drug.

"Then show me how it should be done. Mark me as yours." He looks up at you, mouth still attached to your gorgeous skin. You fight the urge for your eyes to flutter as you stare him down. He removes himself, blood dripping from his lip.

You swallow fear and choke on desire as he rises above you, hovering over you as he corners you into the couch.

"You wouldn't be able to handle a true marking." His voice is dark, threatening as he leans in to nibble at your lip. Tips of his fangs indenting your plush bottom lip but never piercing the skin. You pull back a bit to better hold his gaze.

"I can handle it." Your voice cuts hard but your eyes scream fuck me harder as you gaze up at him under long lashes.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" His hand slip between your thighs, that you happily spread, to find you soaking, his nimble fingers swirl over a needy clit as you fight from turning into putty in his hands.

You need to be in control for just a moment longer, for just long enough to convince him you won't break so he could go all out.

"I know I can." Your eyes flash serious before returning to that bedroom look causing him to sheath himself in a harsh thrust.

Your head rears back into the couch, biting back the moan hard enough you taste blood.

Only for Katsuki to lean in, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. You watch his face contort before he shudders over top of you. You feel him twitch within you causing you to whimper, trying hard to get some sort of friction.

You never knew Bakugou Katsuki would like to play with his food.

"You're such a naughty slut aren't you, Princess?" He gives another harsh thrust, "Body begging to be fucked out."

How the fuck did he know you loved dirty talk?

"Can, can you read minds?" You pant and he laughs darkly. It's an oddly pleasant sound as it echoes back to you.

"No..." He leans in kissing you until you feel desperate for breath before he presses his forehead to yours, "When I feed I feel their strongest emotions temporarily. If I mark you, make you mine for all the world to fucking see I'll feel your most intense emotions and vice versa. Always or until the bond is broken."

He squeezes your ribs until they groan beneath his touch as he reads your expression.

Where you turned off, were you no longer wanting to be marked? You lean up to bite at his lower lip. Pulling as you ease back down.

"Then make me yours, Katsuki."

"Maybe." He kisses your throat, testing the waters with each thrust until he's set a brutal pace.

Causing a coil to quickly tighten in your stomach.

He plunges into you, wholly, figuratively, lapping at your throat before nipping in your ear as you moan loudly.

"You're taking my cock so well Princess." He praises causing you to clench around his length. His own eyes threaten to roll in the back of his head and he wonders when the last time he has ever felt so in tune with some.

If he ever really has.

The couch hits into the half wall with sharp percussion as Bakugou pulls all but a scream from your lips, nails turning to claws ripping his shirt to threads before they scrape down his back.

He takes bites of you here and there as he thrusts into your throbbing cunt, hitting your clit with his pelvic bone as he bottoms out in you with each harsh snap of his hips.

"Fuuuuck. Katsuki." Is all you can say over and over as he brings you to your first high of the night.

A sweat prickles over your sensitive skin as the coil in your stomach snaps convulsing beneath him as your legs lift from his back.

Eyes fluttering, head thrown back and throat exposed to him as your pussy attempts to milk him dry, coaxing him ever closer to his own climax.

Shuddering as he feels yours in his own blood.

Red eyes drinking in the sight of you, messy sex hair, cheeks and lips red from the rush of blood, body spasming due to his thrusts.

He takes a hand and swirls across your puffy bud, tongue licking at your perked nipple send you into an over stimulated series of body rocking orgasms paired with the high you feel that drips from his fangs with each bite.

You pant heavily, body going limp after your sixth Earth shattering release, vision blurring and all you can see is red.

You can barely hold into his biceps, one hand trying so hard to pull at the ash blonde that sits at the nape of his neck.

He enjoys the sight of you fucked out, border line having your tongue stuck out as if you were making an aehego face.

And all of it just for him.

"What's wrong kitten? Can't finish what you started?" He asks cruelly teasing you ever close to yet another high. You smirk up at him weakly, trying so hard to respond without sounded totally exhausted.

"I can." You use the last of your energy to buck back into him a few more times before he presses his hands to your hips, leaning to growl in your ear.

"Save your energy Princess. I plan to make a round two. Can you last just a bit longer?" His voice softens near the end, fully sending you what you were fighting tooth and nail to avoid.

That ever dangerous subspace as you've fully opened your heart to someone whose true identity you just learned.

Hell, you guess that was better than doing it for someone whose name you didn’t even know as you've done before.

"Yes, Katsuki-sama." You gasp out causing an unexpected chill to run along his spine. He looks down at you in your radiant glory and decides right then.

He decides that he cannot stand the thought of anyone else causing you to look like this. For anyone else to cause your walls to crumple as you expose yourselves wholly.

Or the idea of anyone being able to taste you.

And with his mark not only will other vampires avoid you but anyone who is sexually attracted to you will feel his gaze even if he is not there.

His thrusts turn sloppy as he chooses to give you what they call a mate's mark.

This one will be even more intense than what he originally debating on doing.

He sinks his teeth into you, a groan echoes back to you competing with the sound of your drenched core being pounded into as blood fills his mouth.

He struggles to deposit the right amount of venom because if he puts too much you will be close to losing your free will.

Just as he pushes in the right amount you shatter beneath him, cunt becoming so tight he cannot stand it and he fills you to the brim with seed thrusts harsh to make sure you receive every last drop.

Your body vibrates and stills all at once as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Voice going so high it becomes raw before you quiet beneath him.

He removes his teeth from your throat, lapping at the spilling blood hopeful that he has neither drank too much nor given you far too much venom.

He holds his breath with each passing heart beat fear seeps into his bones. Stilling him to his core, your eyes should be opening any second.

He repeats the mantra over and over fearing your pulse is getting weaker, eyes hardly fluttering.

He swallows, the bittersweet after taste of you settles on the back of his tongue, whispering what he always seems to forget.

That not everyone he's marked has woken up.

#bakugo smut #bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha x reader #bnha vampire au #bnha roommate au #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki smut #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugo vampire #bakudaddy vamp #bnha fic

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rainbowwing251 · 4 years ago

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New World, Old Traditions (Xenoblade Chronicles Tickle Fic)

A/N: SURPRISE! I decided to write a shorter fic for the 1-year anniversary of Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition!

While I couldn’t finish “WARNING: Beware of Grins” in time for the anniversary, I couldn’t stomach the idea of not doing anything for it. So I sat there, wondering if I could do anything to celebrate this milestone, when I thought to myself, “Hey! I should write a fic based on two of the headcanons that I have about the birthdays of the main party members in Xenoblade Chronicles!”

What are those two headcanons? Well, allow me to describe them to you!

Headcanon #1: The birthdays of each of the main party members correspond to a date that matches up with either one of two things:

The release date of a specific entry in the Xenoblade series, including ports.

A date on which major news for a specific entry in the Xenoblade series was announced. An example would be March 26th, the date of the Nintendo Direct Mini that announced the release date for XC:DE and the Future Connected epilogue that came with it.

While I would love to list off all of the birthdays, I don’t want this Author’s Note to drag on and on, so I’ll just list off the birthdays of the characters who will be the main stars of this fic.

#1- Shulk’s birthday is June 10th (the release date of the original Xenoblade Chronicles in Japan).

#2- Reyn’s birthday is March 26th. I already explained the significance of this date earlier, so I won’t repeat myself.

#3- Fiora’s birthday is May 29th (the release date of Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition, A.K.A today!)

If you want to know the birthdates of Dunban, Sharla, Melia, and Riki, let me know!

As for headcanon #2, this is what it is: Shulk, Reyn, and Fiora have a tradition of tickling each other on their birthdays. It doesn’t matter whose birthday it is, they will all get the chance to tickle each other. If you would like to learn more about this headcanon, check out this post!

Now that I have explained my two headcanons, I would like to give one last bit of information before we move on to the fic.

Normally, when I write a fic, Shulk is the lee. However, I wanted to try something different with this fic.

This time, it’s Fiora’s turn to be the lee. Shulk will be one of the two lers in this fic, the other being Reyn (though I suppose that’s obvious, given the fact that I told you my headcanon for Reyn’s birthdate). This is going to be fun to write.

Oh, and one last thing: There are major spoilers for Xenoblade Chronicles in this fic. Do not read this fic if you haven’t beaten the game yet.

Alright, I think it’s about time that we get to the fic. So without further ado, let’s go! Happy 1-year anniversary, Xenoblade Chronicles: Definitive Edition!

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When was the last time she had slept like this?

When was the last time she had a good night's rest with no nightmares or monsters to keep her up at night? When was the last time she dreamed of her friends and the wholesome mischief they would get themselves into? When was the last time she slept in in the morning?

And most importantly, when was the last time she had slept in her Homs body?

For months on end, she was afraid. Afraid of how others would view her in her mechanical body. Afraid that both her friends and brother would betray her. Afraid of losing control over herself once more (even though Meyneth was careful with her body, never putting it in harm's way). Afraid that at any moment, she would fall asleep forever.

But now… she was free. Free from the cold metal that once gave her a second chance at life. Free from the sorrow that filled her heart every time she thought about her shortening life span. Free from the emptiness that came with the inability to feel the physical touch of an organic life form. Free from the gods that once ruled the world.

She thanked them. She thanked everyone and everything that made her life as a Mechon more bearable. She thanked those who gave her the courage to fight on, even with the threat of Zanza and the constant feeling that death was coming for her.

But most of all, she thanked Shulk, Melia, and Linada for finding the Biotic Regeneration Device, the very machine that saved her life.

The sudden loss of her mechanical body meant that she could feel certain physical sensations again. She couldn’t remember the last time that she had felt hunger, thirst, or extreme fatigue. Sure, she had felt tired as a Mechon, but that paled in comparison to the exhaustion she had been feeling since the day that she woke up from the chamber. She hadn’t felt this tired since the day that her brother returned home from the Battle of Sword Valley.

She had felt this way for at least a week now. She knew that some of it came from all of the walking she did when she was tasked to find those who needed help with the reconstruction efforts in New Colony 9, but when she thought about all of the times that she had helped people in the old world prior to the Mechon raid on the old Colony 9, she knew that the majority of her fatigue came from an entirely different source.

She didn’t know for sure what the cause was, but she figured that it had something to do with the fact that she was in a mechanical body for months. She was still adjusting to the body she never thought she would be in again, so it wouldn’t surprise her if the fatigue went away on its own in about a month. For now, she would have to deal with the excessive amount of sleepiness.

Right now, she was asleep, burned out from her walks across the new yet all-so-familiar colony she called home. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue with any of her companions. All of them knew that she was much more tired than she had ever been in her life, and they would usually let her be when she slept into the late hours of the morning.

However, today was a little bit different.

Today was Fiora’s birthday, and she had slept in. Shulk and Reyn were having none of this.

“What do you say we do to wake her up?” Reyn asked the former visionary.

“Hm… We could gently shake her until she wakes up, but she won’t be happy about that…”

“Should we spook her?”

“No! We are not doing that!”

“Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to propose an idea.”

Shulk glared at him for a bit before he put his hand on his chin in thought.

“Scaring her isn’t a good idea, but maybe we’ll have to do something that will jolt her awake…”

“Seems like it’s the only way to wake her these days…”

Reyn mulled over a possible solution. After a few seconds of silence between him and his closest friend, he was suddenly hit with an idea.

“Wait, I got it!”

“Oh dear Bionis… what is it, Reyn?” Shulk said, playfully teasing the older Hom.

“First of all, don’t give me that attitude,” He poked the younger male in the bicep, “second of all, do you remember a certain tradition that you, Fiora and I used to have?”

Shulk rummaged his brain for a memory that would provide the answer to the soldier’s question. Eventually, he found it.

“Are you talking about… that tradition?”

“Huh? Can you be more specific?” Reyn was a bit confused, not understanding the vagueness of the heir’s response, before he noticed the blush that was forming on his face.

“Oh, so you do remember that tradition?”

“Yeah…”

Reyn ruffled his hair before he asked him, “So what do you think? Should we do it?”

“It might work… And even if it doesn’t, we’ll tickle her anyway at some point in the day. Tradition and that.”

“So is that a yes?”

Shulk nodded and said, “Yeah, it’s a yes.”

The auburn-haired male gave him a thumbs up. “Alrighty then, let’s go and wake up Fiora!”

The two of them left the Weapons Development Lab and strolled through the streets of New Colony 9. As they walked by, Dunban, Sharla, Melia, and Riki all greeted them, asking if they could wish Fiora a “Happy Birthday” on their behalf (all four of them were busy with the reconstruction, and Dunban didn’t have the heart to wake his sister up from a well-deserved sleep). They told them that they would, and kept on walking.

Eventually, they arrived at Dunban’s House. Reyn went up to the front door and turned the knob. He wasn’t surprised to find that the door was unlocked. He quietly pushed the door open and tip-toed inside the house. He waited in the kitchen for a few seconds, listening for the blonde woman’s footsteps, before he turned to Shulk to tell him that she was still asleep. The scientist carefully stepped inside the room.

They sneaked up the stairs, careful to avoid the spots that made the steps creak, and found the young girl sleeping in the bed.

“Ready?” Reyn whispered to his fellow Hom.

“Ready.” He answered

The older male slowly lifted the blanket off of Fiora’s body, revealing that she was wearing a Dyed Top and Dyed Bottoms. She usually put these two pieces of clothing on when she was about to go to bed, and wore her normal outfit during the day.

Reyn looked over at Shulk and whispered, “You go for the knees, and I’ll go for the sides, alright?”

“Got it.” The heir whispered back.

Reyn carefully reached over to pull Fiora’s shirt up and slowly drifted his hands towards her sides, while Shulk made his fingers walk up to her knees.

As soon as their fingers made contact with her skin, they lightly wiggled them.

At first, she didn’t react to the touch, far too deep in her sleep to notice anything that came from the real world, but in ten seconds, she finally let out a couple of giggles.

“Hehehehe… Stahahahahahp…” She made an attempt to swat at the boys’ hands, but she didn’t put enough strength into the swats, and was therefore unable to stop the sensation.

Soon enough, her eyes fluttered open, still giggling at the sensation that was coursing through her body. Shulk and Reyn took their hands off of her as she drifted towards wakefulness.

“Shulk…? Reyn…?”

“Good morning, sleepy head!” Reyn sang, ruffling Fiora’s hair exactly like he did with Shulk’s back at the Weapons Development Lab.

“Hands off, you big oaf…~” She teased, earning a pout from the soldier and a laugh from the scientist.

“Happy Birthday, Fiora!” Shulk said, pulling her up into a sitting position before hugging her.

“Aw, thank you, Shulk!” She replied cheerfully, then turned her attention over to Reyn.

“No, Fiora, I didn’t forget your birthday this year.” Reyn said with a faint blush and an exasperated tone.

Fiora had every reason to doubt him. Normally, Reyn would forget about her birthday for at least half of the day before someone would remind him.

“Heheheh… I don’t believe you one bit- ah!” Fiora was about to sass her muscular friend, but she was cut off by Shulk pushing her onto the bed.

“You can laugh at him later, Fiora. For now, we have a tradition to attend to.”

He quickly lost the former Mechon, “What? What are you talking about?”

“What? You don’t remember our old tradition?” A tinge of dismay flashed across Reyn’s face, but in a split second, it had vanished. “What do you think, Shulk? Should we help her remember?”

The younger blonde nodded as a smirk grew on his lips. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

Reyn was about to tickle her underarms, but Shulk stopped him.

“Hang on, do you know how long we’re supposed to tickle her?”

Fiora heard that second-to-last word and immediately began to panic. “Wait, what did you say?”

Reyn ignored her (as did Shulk) and answered the heir’s question. “Yeah, she’s nineteen years old now, so we’ll tickle her for nineteen minutes, correct?”

“You got it! Now, are you ready?”

“You bet I am! Let’s bring this tradition back!”

Fiora could only squirm and giggle as Reyn grabbed her wrists and pinned them down with his left hand. Meanwhile, Shulk sat down on her legs and moved his body until he knew for sure that his weight would keep her legs pinned.

“Nohohoho, guhihihihihiys!”

Shulk tsked at her and slipped into his role as a ler, “You should save your breath, Fiora, because you’re going to need it~”

The unexpected tease from the former visionary was the last thing she heard before she was suddenly attacked by two pairs of hands. One pair went for her underarms, while the other snuck up her shirt and pinched at her ribs.

“Ahahahahahahaha! Nohohohohohohohoho!” She quickly fell into a laughing fit and tried her hardest to pull her arms down. Unfortunately, Reyn’s grip was far too strong, so she had no choice but to surrender herself to the tickles. Even worse, while she made her attempt to escape, the soldier took advantage of the situation and sped up the tickling every time she stretched her arms out.

“Eep! Reheheheheheyn, stahahahahahahap! Lehehehehehet mehehehe gohohohoho!”

“Sorry, Fiora, but you’re out of luck. There’s still eighteen minutes to go~!”

Fiora squealed as the older male raked his fingers back and forth in her underarms and teased her at the same time. Since when did he become an intimidating tickle monster?

Knowing that she was helpless under Reyn’s hold, she decided to focus her efforts on her legs. Shulk was a bit weaker than Reyn, so she figured that it would be easy for her to knock him off. She laughed and laughed for another two minutes before she made an attempt at lifting her right leg.

However, as soon as she tried to lift it, Shulk countered her by launching an all-out attack on her knees.

“Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting away from us~!”

“Whahahahahahahaha! Sihihihihihihihihincehehehehe whehehehehehen dihihihihi yohohohou gehehehehet sohohohoho bohohohohohold?”

“Trust me, if Reyn wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be doing this right now. But since he’s here with me, I’m feeling rather brave.” He moved his right hand to the back of her right knee and began to scratch at the spot, while his left hand skittered across her left kneecap. “Soon, you will fear me~!”

The teasing and tickling from the youngest member of the group nearly broke the helpless woman underneath him.

“Ihihihihihihihihi’m nohohohohohohohot ahahahahahfraihihihihihihid ohohohohohof yohohohoHOHOHO! REHEHEHEHEHEYN, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Reyn broke the laughter dam within her by blowing raspberries into her neck.

“No? No what? What am I doing wrong, Fiora~? Tell me!”

“QUIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE RAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASPBEHEHEHEHEHEHERRIHIHIHIHIES!”

Reyn let out a chuckle, “Sorry, what did you say? I can’t understand you!”

“YOHOHOHOHOHOHOU KNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOW WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHID!”

Shulk shook his head and made his hands jump up to her sides. “Fiora, Reyn doesn’t speak ticklish.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand the ticklish language! I haven’t even studied it, yet!”

Fiora’s mind was about to be lost in the raging river of laughter that spilled from her mouth.

“SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT!” She accidentally yelled.

Reyn stopped tickling her and put his hand over his heart in mock offense, while Shulk let out an exaggerated gasp and sped his tickling up to the max.

“Fiora! That wasn’t necessary! Shulk, I think we need to punish this rude little birthday girl!”

“I agree, Reyn, but we should save the punishment for the last five minutes. That will straighten her out for sure!”

Fiora had never shivered at Shulk’s words before, but even though all of the tickling, she felt a powerful chill run down her spine.

“WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOES THAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT MEHEHEHEHEHEAN, SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHULK?!”

The scientist let out the most threatening laugh she had ever heard from him in her life, “You’ll see~” Then he zipped his hands onto her stomach, releasing a shriek from the back of her throat.

“EEEEE! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!” She was getting dangerously close to breaking as she endured the barrage of tummy tickles that rained down upon her.

“Ten minutes left, Reyn! Don’t let up just yet!”

“Got it, but we might want to slow it down so Fiora can breathe!”

“Good idea. If my hypothesis is correct, her laughter will turn silent in two minutes, so we should ease up on her so that doesn’t happen.”

Reyn had to laugh at that. Even when he’s tickling someone to death, Shulk would always find a way to be geeky. Fiora probably laughed at that too, but right now, it was impossible to differentiate between her normal laugh and her tickle laugh.

The two boys slowed their fingers down until they were only tracing over her skin, and although she was tittering, she was able to take a dozen, much-needed breathers.

“Yohohohou guys ahahahahare much mohohohohore ehehehvil than Ihihihi thohohohought…”

Reyn took this moment to revel in her words, “Don’t mess with this tickle monster! You’ll regret it when you do, right Fiora?”

Fiora did her best to give him a death stare, but only succeeded in making herself look silly (if Reyn laughing at her was anything to go by).

As per usual, Shulk took the smart route and just facepalmed at Reyn’s behavior.

“That’s a dangerous thought process, Reyn. Don’t forget that she can dish out punishments more dangerous than Zanza.”

That got a shocked response out of the other male, “You sure about that? I don’t think a tickle monster would have anything on a god!”

“I didn’t defeat Zanza on my own, Reyn! Fiora helped, and so did you and the others!”

Reyn wanted to argue back, but found that he couldn’t. Shulk had a point.

“Anyway, we have five minutes left, and you know what that means~”

“Dear Bionis! How did he transition back into his role so effortlessly?!” Well Shulk was right, Fiora would learn to fear him at some point. If he can return to the role of a ler in no time flat, then she would be terrified to know how he would act if he was playing the role of a tickle monster.

“Ohoho, I’ve been waiting for this! Ready for the grand finale, Fiora~?” Reyn asked with an unnervingly innocent tone in his voice.

“N-nohohohoho!”

“Well too bad!” Reyn nearly shouted out at her. He made his hands hover over her neck, while Shulk had his hands over her hips.

“This is part of the tradition, Fiora. When we reach the five-minute mark, we will target the lee’s worst spots until this time is up. We will not make any exceptions, no matter how much you protest against us or beg for us to reconsider.” Shulk explained to her in the most nonchalant and calm voice she had ever heard from the former visionary. The voice was so haunting that even Reyn was shuddering in fear.

“Now, any last words before you meet your end~?” He asked her. Silence was the only thing he got in response.

“Nothing? Very well, then. Reyn, on the count of three.”

“A-alright then…”

Shulk looked over and raised an eyebrow at his slight stutter before he returned his attention to the poor woman beneath him.

“Three.” The two of them brought their hands closer to her in perfect sync with each other.

“Two.” They finally made contact with her skin.

“One.” Fiora was once again in an anticipatory giggle fit.

“Now!” All hell broke loose.

At long last, Fiora broke under the intense tickling that shook her to the core.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! WHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIY WOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOULD YOHOHOHOHOHOHOU GUHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIYS DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS?!”

Reyn was going to answer her, but Shulk butted in and only said the word, “Tradition.”

They both knew that any further teasing would send the former Face unit into a fit of silent laughter, so they stayed silent for the remaining five minutes. The only sound that could be heard in the house was Fiora’s uncontrollable laughter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to her, they let up. The tickling abruptly ended, Reyn let go of her wrists, and Shulk got off of her legs.

She laid there, chest heaving up and down as she struggled to regain her composure, while the scientist checked on her legs.

“Can you feel this, Fiora?” he asked as he squeezed her leg in a way that would not be painful or tickly.

“Yes… I can... feel it.” She told him in between breaths.

“You alright?” Reyn questioned her. “Feeling woozy?”

“No, I’m… fine.”

All three of them sat there in near-silence as Fiora’s breathing returned to normal. When it did, she spoke.

“That was impressive. I didn’t think you two had it in you to tickle and tease me like that.”

Reyn objected, “Hey, I’ve had that potential for years! If there’s anyone you should be impressed by, it would be him!” He pointed at Shulk, “I had no idea he could speak like that! It creeped me out!”

The younger boy couldn’t help the prideful smile on his face. “I learned it from watching and listening to all of you guys.”

“So that’s why you sounded like Melia towards the end there!” Fiora exclaimed, “I was trying to figure that out!”

“Oh, uh… That wasn’t intentional.” Shulk professed, feeling slightly embarrassed. He often imitated those that he loved on an unconscious level, and apparently, that’s exactly what he did when he teased Fiora.

“Sure it wasn’t.” she countered.

“Hey guys,” Reyn spoke up, “I think we should go and find the others. They might need help with the reconstruction.”

Fiora was a little concerned about the possibility of them working all day today, considering what day it was. “Do you think we’ll have time to celebrate my birthday today?”

“I think so,” he answered, “They told us to tell you that they said ‘Happy Birthday’, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought about that.”

“Oh! Well, I think we should go and find them so we can talk about it! Just give me a few minutes to change!”

“Okay then! Shulk and I will be downstairs waiting!” He turned to the other boy, only to find him staring at the bottom of the staircase.

“Shulk?” He didn’t get an answer.

Reyn didn’t notice it (or perhaps he might have forgotten it), but Shulk knew what was coming next. According to the tradition, once the birthday boy/girl was free from his or her tickle session, then…

“But first…” Yep, he called it.

He turned around and found that she was still sitting on the bed, looking at him and Reyn with an evil glint in her eyes. He knew what was coming.

“W-what?” Reyn stammered out. He was about to turn and make a run for it, but Fiora’s reflexes were too fast, and she caught his arm before he even had the chance to take a single step away from her.

“If I remember correctly, it’s your turn to be tickled.”

The soldier’s eyes widened, “W-wait, so you DO remember our tradition?”

“Yep, I was just pretending to not know about it. I’ll admit, the results I got from that were surprising,” She glanced at the younger Hom, who was as still as a statue, “...but I knew that the reveal would rile you guys up. I know that this will make you ten times more ticklish, so I figured that I would go for it.”

She got up off of the bed and tugged at Reyn’s arm, trying to pull him onto the spot that she was in mere minutes ago. “Shulk, can you help me?”

“On it.”

In no time at all, Reyn’s laughter would fill the home. After that, it would be Shulk’s turn.

They may be in a new world, but they knew that they would adjust to it just fine, because even though everything has changed, the past would never be forgotten.

#tickling #xenoblade chrontickles #lee!Fiora #ler!Shulk #ler!Reyn #SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER I WROTE A NEW FIC!#okay that was a bit over the top #but seriously I'm really proud of this fic #WARNING: Beware of Grins is still in the works #but for now I think this fic will suffice #happy one year anniversary XC:DE!#I still haven't played the base game yet #but I did beat Future Connected last year #hence why I mentioned the Bionis Shoulder in my Silver Linings from Silver Eyes fic #I would like to play the base game #but I don't think I'll be able to spend a good amount of time on it due to college #oh well I'll get to it at some point #for now I'll just continue the Sword & Shield DLC and work on the Crown Tundra #I started that a few days ago

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et-lesailes · 5 years ago

Text

thirst tweets

pairing: chris evans x celeb!reader

word count: 1750

summary: you and your boyfriend chris read thirst tweets for buzzfeed, but chris finds himself getting a little jealous.

themes: jealous!chris, poorly made up thirst tweets by moi, fluff :)

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @b-val1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @bitchbabes-world , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit

note: requested by anonymous // who would have thought that for someone so thirsty writing thirst tweets for a story would still be so difficult. also this is the very first time i’m using “Y/N” in a fic, i normally prefer not to but i figured it made more sense for a fic like this!

“Alright, let’s do this.” Chris declared with a grin, pointing at the camera with a playful wink. You laughed as you nodded your head, just as excited-- the two of you were with BuzzFeed, participating in their famous “Celebs Read Thirst Tweets” video, and being both a couple and a part of the Avengers cast made it all the more fun. “So we’re reading them to each other?” you clarified with the camera crew, giggling slightly at the thought. “That’s right. You read it to the other person as if you wrote it yourself. And-- you have to keep a straight face while you do it.” They confirmed, and both of you laughed loudly upon the thought, clearly liking this game. “Okay, okay. So we’ll switch off,” Chris decided, looking at you with a grin. “Wanna go first, babe?”

“Oh, yes. This is gonna be good,” you laughed, reaching into the container filled with the printed slips of tweets designated for him. Taking one out, you read it to yourself and almost busted out laughing right then and there, but you instead cleared your throat and looked up at him seriously. “Chris Evans could decapitate me and my severed head would be lying there saying thank you daddy.” He blinked before laughing loudly, his hand, of course, going straight for his left pec. “What?! Where did they even come up with that? God, that’s great. Uh, thank you. I think.” He looked to the camera with a wide smile, his blue eyes flickering with amusement. “Okay, my turn.” Reaching into the container, he pulled out a slip of paper, looking down at it-- he was already smiling just from reading it, but he looked back up towards you, keeping a straight face. “[Y/N] could kick me in the balls and I’d probably jizz.” The second he said it, he couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing and you laughed along with him. “Oh my God,” you giggled, looking towards the camera. “Okay, well, I’m not going to do that. For more reasons than one, apparently.”

The video went on, and each tweet became funnier and more vulgar than the previous one. Despite being the great actor he was, Chris was definitely worse than you when it came to staying serious; he was the type of guy who couldn’t help but express himself, and this was definitely the case with his laughter and infamous left boob grab.

“I want to wear Chris Evans’ beard as underwear.”

“I thought I was straight until I saw [Y/N’s] latest photoshoot for Vogue. I’d be wet if she just breathed on me.”

“Can Chris Evans just suffocate me with those thick biceps? Is that too much to ask for?”

“[Y/N’s] legs are already perfect but they’d look even more perfect wrapped around my neck just saying.”

The two of you were already having a blast, but then the video moved on to couple thirst tweets-- you hadn’t even been aware that such a thing existed. “There’s thirst tweets about both of us together?” you asked incredulously, glancing up at Chris with amusement. “Like, fans wanting to have a threesome with us or something?” The producer chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “Why don’t you read them and find out?” Now curious, you took the container one of the crew members handed to you, looking at the camera with a little intrigued grin before slipping one of the pieces of paper out. “It’d be one thing to be in front of Chris Evans or [Y/N], but how do people not pass out from the overwhelming beauty and perfection of just being in the presence of both of them together??” you read, then widened your eyes as you looked back up at the camera. “Aw! Oh my God, that’s so sweet, but please, it takes a village to make us look picture perfect, okay?” You looked up at your boyfriend before rolling your eyes playfully, adding, “Well, for me, anyways.” Chris scoffed in response, putting you in a playful chokehold and ignoring your squeals and giggles. “Ignore her, she looks this damn perfect all the time-- and trust me, it does make me want to pass out.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied to his cheesy response, though both of you knew you loved it. He chuckled and let go of you, taking a paper out himself. “My sexual orientation is seeing the way Chris and [Y/N] look at each other. Heart eye emoji, heart eye emoji, heart eye emoji.” He added, then grinned as he saw pictures come up on screen of the two of you at different events, gazing adoringly at each other. “Oh, geez, those look so staged for some reason but they’re so real, I swear.” He laughed, putting the paper down so he could wrap both of his arms around you. “Man, baby, we’re pretty fuckin’ cute aren’t we?” You smiled fondly as you looked at the pictures, chuckling in amusement. “I didn’t even realize we did that. But that is pretty cute, I have to admit. Can fans send us these pictures or something? We need more to decorate our home with, and I swear you guys have more photos of us than we do,” you joked, eyes twinkling as you looked towards the camera.

Just like the previous segment, the tweets were becoming more and more descriptive.

“I bet [Y/N] and Chris have mindblowing sex. What a lucky son of a bitch!”

“Chris looks like he’s such a good kisser, damn [Y/N] good for you girl!”

“Yo those gifs of [Y/N] from that sex scene in her new movie though, I bet that girl’s freaky in bed… Chris care to comment???”

“If I was [Y/N] I’d literally never be able to keep my hands and/or any of my other body parts off of that beautiful man no matter where we were. Props to her for having way more self control than I could ever have LOL.”

“[Y/N] if you and Chris ever break it off please give me a chance, I swear I’d love you down so hard.”

You noticed an ever-so-subtle change in Chris’ expression upon reading the last one, and you wished you had never even read it. The two of you had practically been on autopilot from all the fun you were having, not even bothering to read them to yourselves first but instead just blurting them out loud. Still, he would not show he was upset; the two of you were on camera, after all, but you could read him well by now to know it rubbed him the wrong way. How could it not? You were a bit bothered that the producer had even put it in there, but as you saw the crew laughing, it seemed like they saw nothing wrong with it. The two of you were able to end the video smoothly, still smiling for the cameras and joking around, but once it was over, his expression fell slightly. You said somewhat rushed goodbyes and thank yous to the crew before taking a hold of his arm, lightly pulling him aside to a more private area.

“Babe, don’t be upset about that last one, that entire tweet was just dumb okay? It’s not like we’re actually breaking up.”

He sighed, clearly annoyed as he ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but then after that one it just got me thinking about every tweet. I mean, why do these little pricks think that they can just.. I dunno, think about you like that? You’re my girlfriend, not theirs.”

The pout on his face was adorable-- in fact, his boyish grumbling was adorable, but you knew the last thing he wanted was to be called that right now. Still, you couldn’t help but smile as you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It doesn’t matter, Chris, you’re the one who has me. Not them. And don’t call them pricks, they’re fans, they support us! ...In their own, weird way.” You giggled, and he looked even more grumpy, muttering, “Well they shouldn’t say such crude stuff about you. That’s not how you talk about a lady. Especially not one as beautiful as you. And why does it seem like they’re all trying to say they can fuck you better than I can or something? Doesn’t it seem like that?”

“I think you’re overanalyzing it, baby. But even if that is what they think, they’re wrong.” You insisted, sighing softly as you ran your fingers through his hair, though unable to help but chuckle quietly at how worked up he was-- you couldn’t help but think it was cute how protective and defensive he got over you. “Besides, if you want me to prove how much I love you fucking me, I’d be more than happy to…” you murmured playfully, pressing a kiss to his chin. That made him smile a little bit, though he still looked a bit dark overall. “Mm. I just don’t want people talking about you like that anymore. Only I’m allowed to,” he muttered somewhat childishly, though the corner of his lips were barely tugged upwards, indicating that he wasn’t being fully serious. You smiled in return, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Are you really so jealous that you just basically ignored me inviting you to have sex with me?” you asked playfully, and he blinked a few times before finally cracking a wider smile, sighing as he suddenly scooped you up in his arms. “Jesus. Something really must be wrong with me, huh?”

“Yes, but… your jealousy’s kinda cute.” You admitted, giggling as you securely wrapped your legs around him. “Come on, let’s go back home. Dodger’s waiting for us.” He smiled upon the mere thought of sharing cuddles with you and his adorable canine best friend, nodding his head with another heavy sigh. “Alright. But just know that when we get home I’m tweeting a selfie of both of us just to further clarify that you’re mine.” He leaned in to kiss you lovingly, still easily holding you in his arms. “I have absolutely no issue with that,” you giggled softly against his lips as you kissed him back, giving in to the luxury of the muscular man carrying you outside to the car, just as excited as him to go home and cuddle up on the couch.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans fluff #chris evans fic #chris evans x you #requests #ok so for some reason it's showing the story part as a link???#to someone on my taglist?#but when i edit it its not showing up #idfk i hate tumblr #so sorry if its weirdly like that for you too

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

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grilled cheese

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, a little self-depreciation. mostly fluff.

word count: 2746

Description: chef!au; you can tell a good chef by how he makes his grilled cheese.

for @captainscanadian;; the cbc 1k writing challenge

just a taste masterlist

“May I have the… king burger and a side of the Parmesan truffle fries please?” This food truck was your favorite in the city, it just so happened to be parked right outside of your job, and definitely served up some spicy creole flavors. It had gumbo and jambalaya by the cup, a burger that shouldn’t work as an ode to kings bread but it did and fresh beignets straight from the fryer if you had a sweet tooth.

“Would you like something to drink?” The men who worked it were just a plus, the two of them both terribly handsome, the one currently taking your order was smooth. Impossibly smooth. The gap in his front teeth was incredibly endearing, but the wedding band on his finger and the sweet tone he usually used with you led to you believe his marriage was a happy one.

“We’ve got the Big Shot Pineapple back in,” A sweaty bottle placed on the ledge, “I know that’s your favorite.” And you did love some pineapple soda, but you’d been trying to eat healthier, and ignoring the fact that you were ordering a burger and fries you fought yourself for a moment on whether or not this soda would be too much.

“Stop pressuring her, Sam.” The man behind him joked, “She’ll get the soda if she wants it.” A smirk on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. It was no secret to your coworker behind you, Nat, that you had a crush on Bucky Barnes. His strong jaw and bright blue eyes, that tight bun on the back of his head and his fucking biceps. Those strong arms that were wrapped in colorful tattoos. You’d sat near the food truck every Friday since it’d started parking here two months ago and watched him work.

The kind smile he’d give people, the funny remarks as he cooked their food. The sweat dripping down his face as he lifted the lid off the pot of jambalaya to spoon out a portion. You’d drool over whatever you’d ordered that day watching him work.

“You should ask him out,” Nat popped a fry into her mouth. “He likes you.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the cheap pineapple soda that was just so fucking good.

“He’s nice to me because I tip well,” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, watching him powder beignets and hand them to a sweet little boy, icing sugar still on his fingers. You sighed, looking down at your burger. “Maybe once I lose some weight.” The burger was half eaten as you stare at it with despair. You had been doing so well today, but the sign on the side of the truck said they were only making it the week of Mardi Gras so they wouldn’t have it next week so you HAD TO get it.

It was a very good reason.

“What’s wrong with you right now?” The red headed goddess asked, being someone who hadn’t been a pound overweight her entire life. You rolled your eyes, “No seriously, you’re the same person whether you’re overweight or not. And I can tell when someone likes you and he likes you.”

“I know I’m the same person,” You took another sip of soda, “I’m just….” How do you say it? “Guys have to be into my body type, I guess. I can’t just go out and approach anyone for a date.” You popped a fry in your mouth, “They have to like fat girls.”

“I hate when you say that.” Nat shook her head.

“Say what?” You licked the parmesan truffle flavoring off your finger.

“Fat.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I’m ugly.” You took a glance over at the subject of the conversation, Sam must have said something funny to him because he was laughing. That head thrown back, grab your belly laugh. Fuck he was so hot. His eyes met yours across the pavilion. And he winked. He fucking winked.

“Just go ask him.” Nat stole another fry. “He always gives you extra fries, he practically pays for your lunch,” There was always something they ‘forgot’ to charge you for after they swiped your card.

“No big deal.” Sam would say, he would elbow his buddy, “It’s on the house.” It happened more often than would be normal.

“I’m just saying, instead of thirsting over him, at least go give him your number.” Maybe next week. This week you’d spilled some juice from your burger all over your blouse.

“Next week.” You agreed, “New week I’ll give him my number.”

You’d been on track with your diet all week, the salads, protein smoothies, healthy snacks. That way, you reasoned, on Friday when the ‘Connect Nola’ food truck parked on the pavillion you’d be able to treat yourself with something good.

And something better than good.

He was wearing a black t-shirt today, his hair in a high bun on his head, strands framing his face. A clear plastic poked out of the back of his shirt on what looked like fresh ink he’d gotten since last time you’d seen him. The special was a boneless fried chicken breast and red pepper jam on a biscuit.

“That’s what you should get.” Bucky said from his place over the flat top. Two fryers working hard next to him. “It’s my recipe, so it’s good.”

“As opposed to mine?” Sam smacked his friend, scooting himself around him to pluck the pineapple soda from the cooler. Bucky laughed.

“I’ve got some fried green tomatoes for you too if you want them.” He winked. Your mouth watered.

“You’re going to kill me.” You sighed, “Of course I want them.” Bucky smirked,

“Good cause they’re almost done.” He was stirring some kind of sauce in a metal bowl that after he placed the four thick slices of fried tomato in the paper container he poured over top. The two paper containers were placed on the counter, pineapple soda sweating next to them. You pulled out your card, flipping it between your fingers when Bucky stepped in front of Sam to hand you your food.

“How much do I owe you?” Your voice was breathy, heart racing at the sight of him so close. He leaned over the side, crossing his arms on the counter.

“Dinner, tonight maybe?” A charming smile, almost bashful. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I was going to ask you out.” You laughed. His smile widened.

“Well now you don’t have to… so?” His number had already been scribbled on the take out container next to him. “I’ll see you later.” Nat elbowed you to respond.

“Yeah… yes!” You took the warm containers from him, his fingers brushing yours. “Yes, later. Okay.” You bumped into Nat as you stepped backwards. “Bye.”

He smirked in response, “Bye.”

“I have nothing to wear.” You groaned over the phone. Nat laughed from the other side,

“What about that black dress with the flowers?” The one you’d bought from the flea market in the summer. “Wear that.”

The doorbell rang and your heart dropped. “Fuck, he’s here. Hold on.” You quickly shifted through your closet finding the dress she was talking about. “Just a minute!” You called to the man behind the door. “I’m so fucking disorganized.” You said to your friend on the phone, “Where are those heels?”

“The black ones with the thick strap? They’re under your bed. You kicked them off when we got back from brunch last week. I’m sure.” She was right. The dress was soon slipped over your head, heels buckled. “Use protection, be safe, and if you need anything call me.” Your face flushed with the thought.

“Hey,” You panted, opening the door. Bucky stood on the other side, nice slacks and a dark blue button down. “Sorry, I was just…” You gestured behind yourself, catching your breath.

“It’s okay,” He laughed, “I uhh…” He raised a brown paper bag he’d been holding. “I figured I’d cook you dinner, if that’s okay?” So you put on the shoes for nothing, he laughed, “I’m sorry, but yeah, you put on the shoes for nothing.”

“Shit,” You covered your face with your hand, not realizing you’d said it out loud, “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Bucky lowered the bag, “Can I come in?” You stepped to the side,

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Being an adult you’ve taken a lot of time perfecting your living space enough that you didn’t need to go out if you didn’t want to. You were fairly proud of your home, the apartment you’d spent the last couple years in slowly collecting items to finally make it yours. From the soft velvety throw down to the little knick knacks that didn’t make it too minimalistic.

“You’ve got a really nice place here,” He put the bag down on the kitchen counter, he pulled out a bottle of wine and what looked like the ingredients to, “Grilled cheese,” He shrugged sheepishly, “You can always tell a good chef by his grilled cheese. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” You dug through the silverware drawer, pulling out the wine key. “I love grilled cheese.” Two stemless glasses joined you on the counter as you poured the red wine, Bucky opening two different cabinets before finding your pans.

“We’ve got to get you better pans than this.” He joked, waving your cheap Walmart nonstick pan in the air.

“That pan does exactly what I need it to do,” You laughed, “Sit and gather dust.” He rolled his eyes, quickly rinsing the pan out and drying it. You took a sip of your wine as he started.

“Have you always wanted to be a chef?” You asked, stealing a piece of cheese off the cutting board. It was a sharp cheese, tangy on your tongue. He cut another slice. Three different cheeses he had for this sandwich. Along with sun dried tomatoes and a slab of uncut bacon.

“My Ma was a really good cook,” He begins, “When I was a kid I would always be in the kitchen with her, cooking and baking.” A thick bar of chocolate, eggs and other baking ingredients had been set off to the side for later. A dessert he was going to make that he said would be a surprise.

“Cooking has always been love for me. It’s a good way to bring people together and a good way to show someone you love them.” His fingers stopped slicing the cheese, looking up at you through his lashes he backtracks, “Not that I love you, not that I don’t care about you because I care about you, but I don’t love you, but not like—“

“I get it.” You laughed, taking another sip of wine, the red in his cheeks in a full flush. He took a steady sip of wine,

“Have you always wanted to work for Stark?” The cheese was set aside, the thick crust bread sliced, he lay the slab of bacon on the cutting board, working your knife that he’d very expertly sharpened, down the slab, cutting thick slices.

“Not always,” You mused, “I kind of just fell into this job. My roommate from college, Natasha, had done an internship there during our last year and I originally wanted to go to graduate school, but I haven’t quite decided if I wanted to stick with my major or not, so she helped me get a job just doing clerical work and overtime I’ve just worked my way up a bit. Now I run my own department. So I guess I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded, laying the thick pieces of bacon on a baking sheet, the oven already preheated.

“What did you want to do?” He asked, placing the bacon in the oven. You sighed,

“It’s dumb,” He turned to you with an incredulous look,

“Try me.” He started making a batter for the dessert.

“I wanted to be a writer.” You shrugged, “Like books.” You gestured to the small library you’d collected for yourself. Stacks of books in your living room next to the shelves of books on your walls. “I have drafts of things, but nothing serious.”

“You should pursue that.” He poured batter into two medium size ramekins he’d brought himself, tapping the bottom against the counter. “You seem like you’d be an amazing writer.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not good enough.” To tell the truth you’d sent out a couple chapters to some publishers and had nothing but rejection letters, you’d all but given up on it.

He told you more about his family, his sisters, how his parents were still very much in love. “Sam and I with our buddy Steve had all enlisted at the same time.” He flipped the grilled cheese revealing a perfectly crisped brown bread. “Steve decided to have a military career so he’s working in DC right now, Sam and I decided to own our own restaurant, right now we’re going the food truck thing until we have enough to buy our spot in the city, then hopefully we will have the truck and the home store.”

The grilled cheese was fragrant, the three cheeses melted together on a spread of the sun dried tomatoes, thick cut bacon in between. He took his chefs knife and cut the sandwiches down the middle, plating them with ease. “This is so fucking good.” You moaned, the first bite, the crunch, the cheese, the tang from the tomatoes, the bacon perfectly cooked and melty in the middle. Bucky smirked at you from across the table, finishing off his first half.

“I’m honestly surprised you asked me out.” You popped a piece of crust that had fallen onto the side of the plate. Bucky looked at you confused.

“Why do you say that?” Fuck it was the wine, making you feel a little shitty. You were a little drunk to be fair.

“You’re just…. You.” You gestured towards him, “So fit and handsome and like… I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head.

“You’re gorgeous,” He scoffed, “You’re literally the whole reason we even started coming to the pavilion every week. I don’t want to hear that shit.” You sat back in your chair watching him take another sip of his wine, stunned. “Guys really fuck me up because someone probably treated you like you needed to be a certain way to be loved and it’s just not true. I’m attracted to you, you’re kind and funny and smart.” He wiped his fingers on his napkin, “Doesn’t matter to me either way.” Your weight. Didn’t matter. “I like you.”

His eyes were intense and sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly, “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t.” His hand gently grasped yours, pulling it up to his lips. “I just wanted you to know I like you, no matter what.” Okay. Okay. He leaned in, shifting in his chair to lay an arm over the back of yours, taking the hand he held and placing it on his cheek he softly pressed his lips to yours.

Your lips parted and met again. And again. And the timer went off on the counter. His phone shrill and loud letting you know dessert was done. “Hold please.” He whispered against your lips. You felt cold when he removed himself from you, puttering around in the kitchen you heard the stove being turned off and he returned a moment later. “Careful they’re hot.” Two perfect chocolate molten cakes, icing sugar and white chocolate sauce drizzled on top.

“Thank you for tonight.” The two of you stood in front of your open door, his shoes had been slipped back on, hair no longer in a messy bun it hung loose around his shoulders. You were sure it had been your fingers that had worked it loose, but you couldn’t be sure.

The hot and intense make-out session you’d just had on your couch, tongues mixing and tasting of chocolate. Heavy breaths and soft moans melding together, and just the appropriate amount of wandering hands.

“No,” He said, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers, “Thank you.” A breath away he pressed his lips to yours again, slowly. Savoring it. “Breakfast tomorrow?” He breathed, resting his forehead against yours in your doorway. You grinned, running a hand down his arm,

“Same place?” He grinned before taking your lips once more,

“It’s a date.”

taglist// @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky @captainscanadian @albinotigerpython

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #chef!au #plus!reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #the winter soldier #falcon #cbc1kwc

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rubix-writings · 4 years ago

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Golden Pt. 2

Here’s part two of Golden. This is a Chicago Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show.

Summary: Eliza runs into a burning house to save two people she’s never met. This catches the attention of Firehouse 51 and Blake Gallo. Some are calling her a hero but she is living with the trauma of that day.

Warnings: language, a fake award, silently thirsting over firefighters

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“You have arrived at your destination, your route guidance is finished,” Siri spoke through the speakers of my car. I took in a heavy breath, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. I got a voicemail from this firehouse saying that their Chief wanted to see me. I assume it’s to get reamed out about the house fire I ran into a week and a half ago. I know it was dumb, incredibly stupid, but my fight or flight kicked in and I flight-ed all the way into a burning house.

A groan leaves my lips as I get out of my car and adjust my purse over my shoulder. I keep waiting for their sirens to go off so I have an excuse to bail but the only sound are my heeled boots hitting the pavement leading up to the door. As soon as I enter the building I’m immediately grateful for the blast of heat and the smell of pancakes. I make my way towards the smell and the noise. Men and women sit around a large, oval wood table eating breakfast and laughing loudly. Two men are in the kitchen flipping pancakes and scooping scrambled eggs into a large bowl. A small high pitched bark pulls my attention to the sofa in front of a large television.

“Hi, can I help you?” A man with blonde hair dressed in a white polo asks. He’s not being rude, his voice is genuine.

“Ugh, I’m here to see Chief Boden,” I try not to fidget under the gaze of Firehouse 51. I pull at the sleeves of my leather jacket to try and distract from my heart racing. There’s no way anyone else can hear my heart right?

“Oh, you must be Eliza Tilman. I’m Matt Casey, I’ll take you to his office,” he abandons his food and conversation to come over and shake my hand. “Kelly, you’re in this too.” Another tall man stands, he squeezes the woman’s shoulder that he’s sitting next to before joining us to the Chief’s office.

“Chief, this is Eliza Tilman,” Matt says as we enter the office. A large man stands and shakes my hand. It must be a requirement in this place that you have to be good looking.

“Nice to finally meet you, I’m Chief Boden. You’ve already met Captain Casey and Lieutenant Severide. Please have a seat.”

“Not gonna lie, I was not expecting such a warm welcome,” I try to laugh to deflect from my serious expectation.

“Oh trust me, Chief is never this nice,” Kelly laughs before immediately stopping when Chief Boden glared at him.

“Nope, that’s reserved just for you Severide.” I smile. Matt laughs and leans back against the wall near Chief Boden’s desk. “I wanted to bring you here to let you know that, you’ve been nominated for the Richard J. Lawrence award. It’s an award given to a citizen of Chicago that showed exemplary honor and sacrifice.”

I don’t answer immediately, waiting for one of them to pull the rug out from under me, but nothing happens.

“This is a joke right? You’re joking,” I say in utter disbelief. “Shouldn’t you guys be yelling at me, ripping me a new one?” Each one of the men have smiles on their faces.

“We normally don’t recommend running into burning buildings and would ask that you don’t do that again, but what you did for those people saved their lives,” Matt emphasized. I shook my head, I don’t know if I saved their lives and I doubt they know if I did either. What I did was stupid and endangered those people.

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry, give it to someone else. I don’t want it.”

“Eliza-” Kelly started before being cut off by Chief Boden.

“That’s your choice, I’ll wait forty-eight hours to let the committee know so if you change your mind you let me know,” Chief Boden hands me his card with his information. I smile and take it, knowing fully well I won’t be calling and my mind was made up.

“I should get going, thank you,” I stand with the other men and leave the office. Matt is showing me the way out when I run into a man turning the corner. He drops some papers he was holding in a folder. We both apologize for not noticing the other and start gathering the dropped papers.

“I’m really sorry again, hope I didn’t hurt you,” he says genuinely, and I shake my head and brush it off. He looks so familiar, I know I must have seen him at the fire but I remember him more than Matt or Kelly. It’s not till Matt’s phone starts ringing that I realize I’ve been staring at the poor guy.

“Sorry, this is Gabby. Gallo can you show her out?” Gallo nods as Matt waves goodbye. Gallo raises his arm to direct the way.

“I’m Blake by the way, we kind of met at the fire,” he says casually.

“Yes, you pulled me out,” it finally clicks that Blake is the one that got me out of the house. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, easiest save I’ve ever done. Didn’t really seem like you needed the help.”

“Oh trust me I did, got the burns to prove it,” I chuckle.

“Anything too bad?” his brows furrowed causing a wrinkle in between his eyebrows, it took all the restraint in me not to reach out and smooth it out with my thumb.

“No, doctors say I’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks.”

“I heard about your nomination, congrats,” I stop walking as we get outside.

“Thanks, but I declined.”

“Can I ask why?” He crosses his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge. I look towards my car to try and recenter my head instead of thirsting over the firefighter in front of me.

“I shouldn’t be rewarded for something like that,” I shrug and leave it at that. “That’s my car, thanks for walking me out. It was nice meeting you Blake.”

“Nice to meet you too Eliza,” he smiled before heading back inside. I pull my jacket closer to my body as a gust of cold wind blows through. Here I was so anxious to enter this place like I got sent to the principal’s office for pulling a prank at school when I could’ve avoided it all together. An award for what I did, that’s hilarious. If I’m being completely honest I’m trying to forget the whole thing.

“Eliza! Hey wait up!” I turn to see Blake running to catch up to me at my car.

“Everything okay?” I close the driver door and walk to meet him halfway.

“Yeah yeah, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… a bunch of us hang out at this bar called Molly’s after shift. The least we can do is buy you a beer.”

“Oh I don’t know Blake,” I shake my head.

“Think about it, we’ll all be there tomorrow night around seven. It’d be great if you could come,” he starts to jog back to the firehouse without waiting for a response.

“Well shit,” I say once I’m in my car so no one overheard.

#chicago fire #golden #chicago fire x reader #chicago one #chicago fire imagine #blake gallo #blake gallo x oc #blake gallo imagine #blake gallo x reader #matt casey #kelly severide #imagine

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

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Whumptober Day 24

Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Ao3

Note: might continue this one if enough people yell at me. Do not ask to be put on a tag list.

Warnings: Torture of a minor, blackmail, blood, violence, vomit, more tws in tags

Summary: Slade blackmails Dick into joining him. Things go downhill for Dick when Damian tries to get involved, and Slade decides the interference is a perfect opportunity for a lesson in torture.

-o-o-o-o-

The gym is the only place in this entire mansion where Dick feels safe. Or, at least a little in control of his life. It's been months since he's sold his freedom, and while he's allowed free reign of the entire building excepting the west wing and the basement, there's hardly anything he can do in any of these empty rooms besides glare holes in the walls.

At least, while he's in the gym, he can pretend the faceless punching dummies belong to Slade Wilson.

Because fuck that guy.

It's the safest place in the mansion. It's the only place he's allowed to work himself up to the point of hitting, kicking, and screaming. As long as he doesn't harm the equipment or himself, Slade doesn't care what he does in here. Granted, if he shows his frustration too much anywhere, Slade will use it against him. Which is probably why whenever Slade needs something from him, he looks for him inside the gym.

So maybe it's not the safest place in the mansion.

But it’s still better than cold, empty rooms.

And Dick doesn't really care anyway. Everything stopped being safe the moment he was pinned to the carpet of his own apartment and whispered to that… that…

His knuckles ache. The punching dummy just wobbles, and Dick wonders what would really happen if he tore it apart.

He doesn't even get to entertain the idea of slamming his fingers into the tiniest weakness of the padded fabric to rip it at its seams, because before he winds up for another punch, the sound of heavily booted footsteps make themselves known behind him.

Which definitely means something is up. If Slade wanted to come in here just to mess with Dick, he could have easily left his movements more silent than a moth's wings. He punches the dummy, wipes sweat from his brow, then turns to glare at his captor.

It's not Slade who looks back, but Deathstroke in full attire.

Something is definitely up.

"Apprentice," Deathstroke says smoothly, sending chills of annoyance down Dick's spine. He hates everything about this, but Slade refusing to call him anything other than apprentice or boy is just an insult to injury. It's like Slade owns him. Like Dick doesn't have a right to any other name.

However, instead of lashing out like he oh so desperately wants, he straightens his posture, flattens his expression, and brings his hands behind his back to grasp onto each of his wrists.

Time for the most humiliating thing of all of this. His mouth already tastes disgusting.

"Master."

Dick can't see Slade's face under his mask, but he knows the other man is grinning. It's been months, and Slade has yet to tire from Dick's discomfort.

"Tell me," Slade practically purrs, folding his arms across his chest and looking too relaxed. "Do you remember the conditions of your stay here?"

What's Slade's game? Why is he bringing this up now? Dick grinds his teeth for just a second before forcing himself to respond.

"I do what you say, when you say it, and immediately follow any and all orders without question."

"And in exchange?"

Now Dick can't help but feel a little bit of his uneasiness show in his face. He swallows and shifts his feet.

"You won't detonate the bombs."

Dick can practically smell Slade's smugness as he asks "and where are the bombs located?"

Dick takes a deep breath. "Inside the skulls of Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damian."

How Deathstroke got the bombs inside all of their heads, Dick will never know. All he knows is that he came back from patrol one night to find Deathstroke sitting on his couch, the X-rays of each of their heads sitting on his coffee table. Of course, he didn't know it was their heads until he was overpowered and manhandled to the ground so Slade would explain it all too happily.

Dick doesn't know what Slade's plans are this time around. He hasn't done anything besides force Dick to train in various forms of combat. He hasn't said anything about joining his mission or killing people or… or anything. Just training. Dick's beginning to think he just enjoys having power over Dick.

"Come," Slade says, forcing Dick from his thoughts, "I have something I need you to do."

Dick forces himself to nod, and not question why Slade brought the bombs up. He simply brings his hands to his front, unwraps the tape around his knuckles, and follows along even though the sweat sticking under his workout clothes is uncomfortable and he'd much prefer a shower before dealing with whatever Slade wanted from him.

The walk through the mansion halls are as lonely as always. Dick's sure that even if Slade wasn't a jackass with the thirst to kill for money, this place would still be empty. The entire mansion was built somewhere within the Appalachian mountains, practically in the middle of nowhere. Hidden expertly within the trees and designed to be practically invisible to any eyes traveling above. To get here, they had to take a helicopter.

A helicopter. Dick cannot stress that enough.

He lets his mind wonder as he follows Slade. It's probably for some sort of training exercise outside. Maybe he's being brought to the gun range? He tries to tell himself it's nothing, but there's still an inkling of unease in his gut.

Why did he bring up the bombs?

Slade suddenly comes to a halt, and it's all Dick can do to not slam into his back. He stops and looks at the door Slade stopped in front of with widening eyes.

The door to the basement.

One of three places Slade has forbidden.

Slade doesn't bother with any dramatics like locks or passcodes. No doors are locked here. Dick knows better than to push anywhere he's not supposed to.

The literal heads of his family are on the line.

He watches with a horrible emotional cocktail of nervousness and curiosity as Slade turns the handle and opens the door. There's nothing special right away. Just stairs leading down into the shadows.

"Follow," Slade says, and Dick does.

The travel down is… uneventful to say the least. Nothing to see besides stone steps and gray walls. However, Dick quickly becomes aware of a drop in temperature. A dramatic one. One that seeps through his sweat soaked clothes and straight into his bones like freezing little needles.

It's when they reach the basement floor he realizes why it's so cold, dark, and secretive down here.

It can hardly even be called a basement once Dick gets a good look.

It's more like a dungeon. Long hallways, iron doors with iron bars, dim candles built into the walls…

It's Slade Wilson's personal prison.

Which is strange, because Slade doesn't often take prisoners. Dick's normally the only one to own that title when it comes to Slade.

Slade doesn't give him a chance to really take in everything and just continues down into the dungeon, passing door after door, each holding just glimpses of various dangerous looking tools and chains and contraptions… ones that have Dick's head spinning just by thinking about the range of torture that can be performed in each room.

His bewilderment must be more obvious than what he meant it to be, because Slade turns to look at him and lets out a chuckle.

"You have questions," he notes.

Dick swallows and turns his head from the doors. He forces himself to look Slade right in the eye. Or… the hole where his one eye is hidden under. "… I do."

"Ask."

Deep breathes. "What is this place? Why are we…"

Slade chuckles and turns away, grabbing at a ring of keys from within one of his pockets. It seems the no locked doors policy doesn't apply down here. "I didn't plan on taking you down here so soon," Slade explains, turning down a seemingly random corner. "I planned for you to know this place… intimately… soon enough. Except, well, something came up. And I supposed this portion of training could begin a bit earlier than planned."

He stops in front of a door, one that's more heavier fortified than the rest they had passed. The iron widow on the door is covered by a steel plate, possibly making the inside completely shrouded in darkness.

Dick watches with growing anxiety as Slade pushes the key into the door, turns it, then steps back to allow Dick a clear, complete view on what's inside.

His stomach twists violently. His breath leaves his lungs like he's taken a violent blow to the gut.

There's chains hanging from the center of the dark room, shackles locking tightly over clenched, bare wrists. There's a boy hanging from them, his uncovered toes just one chain link away from having enough purchase to let his heels touch the grime covered ground. He's not wearing a shirt, and his pants are torn near his knees.

Wrapped around his eyes is a blindfold. Over his mouth is a painfully tight looking leather gag. Locked over his ears is a pair of what is definitely sound canceling headphones.

Damian.

Dick finds himself backing away, his heart in his throat, but he quite predictably runs into Slade's chest. He can feel every single one of his nerves twist violently as Slade wraps his fingers around Dick's biceps to keep him standing there, in the doorway, with the perfect view of his littlest brother hanging in chains.

Then, his eyes slide to the side of the room where there are metal tables set with… with tools. Knives. Hammers. Whips. Pliers. Brands.

He almost chokes on his tongue when Slade leans down so his mouth is right by Dick's ear. "He tried to fight me all alone on my last visit to Gotham, demanding to know where you are. I easily took him down, but he needs to be taught a lesson, don't you think?"

Slade’s last trip to Gotham was three days ago. Has Damian been here… hanging here for that long?

"Slade…" Dick whispers, shocked that his voice still exists at all.

The hands on his biceps tighten.

"Master-" Dick quickly corrects himself, but it doesn't fix a single thing. Stirn, unmoving hands begin to force him to walk forward until he's fully inside of the cell, able to smell the faint reek of a child's sweat, and the smudges of blood that stick to his skin. Dick clutches his fists so tightly he can feel his fingernails threaten to break skin. The closer he gets, the more wounds he can see on Damian's mostly naked body.

Slade was careful taking him down.

"Now here's what you're going to do," Slade growls while Damian continues to hang there. Blinded, deafened, gagged, helpless, probably completely unaware that they're in the room. He lets go of Dick's arms and walks towards Damian. He curls a hand in Damian's hair, causing the boy to tense.

Dick wants to scream.

"You're going to do exactly as I say with no back talk." Slade tugs on Damian's hair, causing a muffled grunt, before he taps the pointer finger of his free hand right onto Damian's left temple. Right where the X-rays showed where the bombs were implanted. "Or else."

Dick can hardly sort his thoughts. He can barely breathe. All he can focus on is the hand in Damian's hair, watching as Slade pulls his head back so his neck is exposed, showing the beginnings of an Adam's apple that bobs nervously.

"Master-" Dick gasps, he can't even keep his voice even.

Slade squeezes his hand in Damian's hair, causing Damian to bend backwards even more and release short, almost panicked breaths. The sensory deprivation must not be doing any favors for him. The way his toes barely touch the ground doesn't even allow him to feel for vibrations.

"Pick up the knife, boy."

And something shatters in Dick's chest. "Please, Master- I'll do anything-"

"Pick up the knife!" Slade snarls, and Dick can't help a full body flinch. "If you question me one more time, I'll chain you up to watch me break him myself. Only, if I do it, I'll make sure he dies slowly, and painfully. I won't even use the bomb."

Dick wants to cry. Instead, he sucks in a breath and turns to the table, picking up the first knife he sees with shaking hands. He tells himself that he's doing this to save Damian's life. That if he does as he's told… Slade should let Damian go.

Teach him a lesson. Teach him a lesson.

Slade's not sending a message. He's teaching a lesson. Which means he won't be forced to kill Damian.

Just learn how to torture him.

"Good boy." Dick can practically hear the smile in Slade's voice as he finally lets go of Damian, backing up so the boy is left hanging in his shackles, breathing hard and definitely fighting off anxious twitches.

He holds the knife out in front of him, the light is low in the cell, but he can definitely tell how sharp the edges are. He honestly would rather plunge this knife into his own heart than put it against his kid… but Dick has a feeling Slade wouldn't let Dick go that easily. Somehow, Slade won't let Dick die here. He'll keep Dick alive, then chain him up, and force him to watch Damian gain gruesome death that he doesn't deserve.

He's helping Damian. He's helping Damian. He's doing this to make sure he lives. That they all live.

So he holds the knife out in front of him, approaches, and forces his face to not show how much distress he's in. His lips wobbles, and Slade definitely notices it, but he doesn't comment on it. Just chuckles.

God, Dick hates him so much.

"Put the edge against his jaw… but don't press hard enough to cut flesh," Slade says, and Dick crawls away to some corner of his mind to do exactly as he's told. Robotically. Not feeling anything. His brain is screaming. "Run it down his neck, yes just like that. Trail the tip over his chest, not cutting, but let him feel it. Let him imagine the things it can do to him. We will prove his expectations to be underdeveloped in a minute-"

And Dick does as he's told. He trails the knife over Damian's skin, forcing himself not to flinch every time Damian's breath catches. He brushes where Slade tells him to brush, threatens with a small push when Slade tells him to threaten.

He breaks skin on Damian's back when Slade tells him to break skin.

I'm sorry Damian, he can only scream inside his mind as digs the blade in at an awkward and extremely painful angle near Damian's collar bone.

The kid writhes and certainly does his best to ignore the torture… but he eventually screams through the gag.

And Dick keeps doing as he's told. The shattered pieces of his sole are now a fine, crushed dust.

"There we go…" Slade compliments happily, when the first tear appears under Damian's blindfold. "You're doing great, apprentice."

And it doesn't stop there. And Dick keeps doing as he's told. He keeps pressing the knife. He keeps trailing it. Tearing skin. Puncturing sensitive places. Using Damian's struggles and tremors against him.

Like a monster.

I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry.

Eventually, Slade finally tells him to stop. Dick backs away like Damian’s fire. He watches with wide eyes as Damian sags against the chains and heaves a shaking breath that rattles his entire blood splattered chest.

“Go upstairs, shower, and go to bed,” Slade says, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. Dick can’t help it, he flinches. All he can think about is how Damian is desperately trying to get a hold of himself. Unaware that the torture is over. Unaware that it was Dick who… who… who did this. Slade doesn’t seem to care about Dick’s flinch. He just tightens his iron strong grip and leans closer to Dick’s ear. His mask is off now. Dick can tell by his familiar hot breath against his cheek and ear. “You did good, apprentice. I’m proud of you.”

“What…” Dick breaths, memorizing every line of red on Damian’s skin that he caused. Dick swallows down a mouthful of vomit that tries to rise. “What about-”

The grip on his shoulder shifts, thick fingers squeeze the base of his neck dangerously. “I said go upstairs. Shower. And Go. To. Bed. The brat is no longer your concern.”

There’s a threat in Slade’s voice. One that Dick has been conditioned to immediately obey for fear of worse punishment. Fear of a button being pressed and every single one of his siblings…

He looks at Damian for a heartbeat longer; tells himself that Slade will let Damian go. That Damian will soon be back at the manor and recovering.

Dick nods his head then turns heel, forcing that little pit of despair to turn into something that could be mistaken as hope. He walks past all the other cells, not looking inside a single door, before he’s running up the stairs two at a time and sprinting to his room.

The moment he’s in his bedroom—a large one at that, but filled with nothing but a bed and a dresser—he beelines to his bathroom and is already stripping his clothes before he can close the door behind him. He tries to wipe his arms and hands with his shirt as he takes off his garment, but he can still see smudges of red on his skin. He turns on the water as hot as it can go then collapses by the open toilet.

He empties everything in his stomach, then continues gagging every time he smells blood on his body until steam has completely fogged up the mirror.

He flushes the toilet and steps into the scalding water, hardly even noticing how his skin burns.

All he’s aware of is the red running pink down the drain, and the drops of water on his cheeks that is definitely from the spray of the shower.

He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself.

He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to fully wash the blood from his body.

All he can do is stand there and let the practically boiling temperature of the water assist his emotional turmoil in becoming something physical.

17 notes · View notes

cornacopicimagines · 6 years ago

Text

fuck you parker │p.p

☆.｡.:*

paring: peter parker x reader

words: 4.7k

warnings: PURE SMUT, swearing, rough sex?, oral (female recieving)

summary: Something about Peter makes y/n tick, something about y/n makes Peter combust with annoyance but at the same time neither one can deny the sexual tension but both are too prideful to act on it, that is until Peter is fed up and takes his anger out on her in a specific manner.

a/n: i did decide to make Peter & y/n eighteen so that they are of legal age but that doesn't mean everyone else around them is also eighteen.

masterlist

☆.｡.:*

y/n sat in the cool air-conditioned room of her fourth-period English history class, she smiled contently to herself as she made a mental note that this was one of her very few favourite classes. Not because y/n liked learning about how poetry has evolved but because he wasn't in her class and by him, she means Peter fucking Parker.

The boy got her blood boiling in seconds even without provocation. Every time y/n would see that mop of brown hair she would feel something primal in her to punch his stupid face and Peter felt the exact same way. She wondered if he actually deserved her wrath and insults seeming that all her best friends can say about him are positive comments but then again he was probably putting up a facade around them. y/n forgot when their rivalry started, the only time she can recall starting their arguments was in second grade when Peter beat her in the monthly spelling bee that y/n always won up until then but it probably has been going on ever since the two of them officially met. Ever since then though, the two of them compete whenever they can, y/n would get the best of him and he would lose his shit and then he would beat y/n and then she would lose her shit. It was a constant cycle and a routine that every other student seemed to have memorised along with those two. Sometimes when the pair of them start bickering the teachers would place them at opposite ends of the classroom but that didn't stop glares and snide comments.

Then again, y/n couldn't deny that he was physically good looking. He was really handsome and sometimes she found herself staring at those bulging biceps that would stretch at the sleeves of his tight sweater and imagine what lay under it. y/n would try her best to avert her eyes as hard as she could but sometimes it felt like second nature to let her attention waft over to him even just for a moment. She felt almost ashamed of herself that she thought of him in such lewd ways but it did make for one hell of a session for her when he crossed into her mind and y/n didn't seem like the only one that had the same problem.

Peter was known as the hot nerd, somehow every girl in the school has had an attraction to him whether they acted on it or not or whether it was just acknowledging his features or actually having a romantic or sexual liking to him but every time he was confronted with a pretty girl asking if he was free on Saturday night he would politely decline and walk off as if nothing had happened.

y/n was considered one of the most popular girls in school, she was pretty, smart & had a figure to match, she worked hard and treated everyone with respect and kindness that is except for Peter obviously. y/n didn't really consider herself one of the aforementioned popular girls but she really couldn't care to try and change peoples mind and it did come with its limited perks and of course its downsides. Her looks got her places that they wish they didn't because y/n wanted to show people that she wasn't just an airhead that got advantages just because every guy wanted her to suck their dick and plus it would show Peter that she wasn't the ditz that he likes to call her every so often.

y/n stood at her locker, squished between a bulky footballer trying to get food out of his teeth and what y/n can only describe as a girl who hasn't gone through puberty even though she's seventeen. She shoved her thick textbooks back into her locker before making sure she had all her necessary items for Monday, y/n was looking forward to tonight's plans to lounge about on her couch with her sister and make the most of the valuable time that is a Parent-free weekend. As y/n fixed the stray hairs that fell out of her tight bun she took notice that the two drastically different people that locked her into a human sandwich had left, she wondered why they had rushed off that is until y/n heard the familiar locker be swung open.

"Parker, " she spat, not needing to look at Peter for her to know that it was him on the other end. This was a normal afternoon for the two of them, to bicker while they got their things before refusing to see each other until the inevitable next day.

"y/l/n, " he replied with a low gruff voice, god he sounded hot, she thought. y/n silently thanked whatever God was up there that she was behind this locker door to conceal her faint blush.

"What happen to you, " y/n asked sarcastically, "you sound like absolute shit," she said as she finished playing with the strands of hair.

"Didn't get any sleep, " Peter responded curtly, y/n frowned slightly knowing that he usually bites back but today he sounded tired and aggravated that she was even talking to him.

"Oh what a Greek tragedy," y/n mocked as she finally took her first look at him once she slammed her locker door shut, he looked as bad as he sounded. His hair was messy and ruffled, his skin was red and his right eye seemed to twitch slightly as he glared at her. She wanted to ask him what happen to him but her brain told her mouth to shut up before she could embarrass herself and give more material for Peter to work off when they met again. So, as usual, she went to give him a follow-up retort but was cut short.

"I don't really have the patience for you at the moment y/n, so if you could fuck off that would be fantastic," he snapped as he threw his bag over his shoulder and stomped off. y/n huffed in frustration as she followed his actions and stormed off to a nearby cafe that her friends were meeting up at.

She knew it was a quick walk to the cafe but it would take her some time to get back home so she whipped out her phone and texted her sister.

Meeting with my friends at the cafe will be home later x - y/n

Okay, having my partner for the school fair over now but we should be done by the time you get home - Terri

Cool, we still up for movie night tonight? - y/n

Nah, going to a party and staying Mia's after - Terri

y/n sighed angrily as she tucked her phone into her back pocket. She knew that she shouldn't let Terri go out to a party tonight and that if she did her parents would scold her but y/n knew if she fought Terri on it she would give her that stupid puppy dog look that y/n would have to say yes to.

Before y/n knew it she walked into the warmth of the cafe, her eyes scanning the small area before locking eyes with her best friend Gwen. y/n gave her a wide smile and skipped over and slipping to a sliver of a spot that Gwen had saved for her.

"Thanks, G," she said as she noticed a small bowl of colourful fruit salad infront of her. y/n didn't mean to let her frown creep up on her but before she could erase it with a smile Gwen took notice.

"Peter again?" Gwen asked through a bite of her food. y/n stared up at her through her long eyelashes and give her an exasperated look, "you know he's not that bad y/n." y/n scoffed at Gwen statement as she forked her food.

"Are we talking about Peter Parker," another girl at the table butted in, her short red hair was curled and her face was blushed at the same hue as her locks, "He's in my gym class and I wish he could live in between my legs," she giggled out as she twirled a piece of hair in between her manicured fingers. The comment almost made y/n choke on her food.

"I thought you weren't into, you know, nerds," Gwen retorted as y/n still stared at the girl in disbelief.

The girl scoffed softly, "Oh I am when they have an eight pack and look like a teenage bad boy waiting to come," she replied as she shoved another mouthful of food down her throat. y/n looked up at the girl with wide eyes, she wanted to protest what the girl had just let slip and tell her that Peter was a vile human but the rising heat in y/n was making her shut you up, causing you to become even more frustrated with your dumb feelings.

"You do realise he's a huge dick," y/n spoke up as she raises her eyebrow at this girl, she really didn't want to start an argument over a boy for what felt like the one-hundredth time that week but she said something to doubt her own flustered mind about Peter. The red-head looked unphased and went to tell y/n off but not before a brunette girl chimed in.

"He's a huge dick with a huge dick," she chuckled slightly, once again y/n felt her face heat up and in anger, y/n shoved her uncontrollably blushing face into her hands.

"I cannot seem to get this into you guys, he's a fucking douche," y/n spat as she starting to get frustrated with her friends' obvious thirst for Peter. Though she deflected all of her friends' comments, y/n's mind agreed with everything they were saying which made her even angry with yourself.

"I want him to get into me," the brunette spoke again, y/n thought her eyes were going to pop out of her socket as she watched her friends snicker at their comments and the reactions that they pulled out of y/n.

"I've lost my appetite," y/n exclaimed as she slung her bag over her should and reached for a ten dollar note and threw it on the table, she wasn't going to sit there and let her so-called friends make fun of her and her feelings.

She stormed out, lucky for her that the cool air seemed to combat the growing blush on her face. In minutes she stood on a crowded train as it shook and rumbling around. Her loud music dimmed slightly, indicating she got a text.

Are you alright? - Gwen

I honestly don't know - y/n

I hate defending them but they were just teasing - Gwen

y/n hesitated to text back for a moment but another ding cuts her out of her trance.

Be honest with me, do you have feelings for him? - Gwen

y/n's fingers hover over her phone's keyboard as she tried to rack her brain for an answer that was honest enough to conceal the rest of the iceberg. She did want to tell Gwen all her problems that she had with her emotions but y/n wasn't ready, she still hadn't even admitted to herself yet.

It's complicated, I despise his guts but I can't help but feel something else - y/n

That's totally fine, just make sure you don't hurt yourself in the process - Gwen

Love ya - y/n

Gwen replied with a simple kiss emoji. y/n didn't know she needed that, she didn't know that she needed that slight realization that maybe there was something there at least on her end and if was just her that she could protect herself.

By the time she had arrived her desired stop and walked to her front door, it had been 30 minutes since she had left in a huff and y/n felt guilt in her. Maybe she shouldn't have left, at least not like that, she was more dignified to be acting like a rash child.

She went through the multiple ways she could have dealt with the situations as she unlocked the front door, the lovely warm air wafted over her features as she shimmed off her coat and threw it on the rack next to her. "Terri, I'm home," she called out, no response. y/n quirked her eyebrow and stopped her movements "Terri?" She questioned as she directed her voice upstairs at Terri's room. For a second time, Terri didn't respond, y/n sighed angrily as she stomped up the stairs. "How many times do I have to tell you," she was no yelling as she swung open Terri's door and saw the very last person she would ever want in her sister's bedroom.

"Oh, y/l/n you're home early," Peter spoke with a wide smirk on his face as pulled the earplugs from his ears and turned around to face her. y/n couldn't see her face but she knew she was red with anger and her eyes were probably trying to jump out of her head.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" she shouted as she literally ran towards him in a fit of rage, Peter continued to sit unphased in the desk chair. "And in my sister's room no less!"

"Calm those lovely tits y/n," Peter laughed her rage off cooly which only made her more furious.

y/n grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt and brought his co close to her face, she was afraid their lips would touch, "As everyone knows, I'm not dumb so cut the shit," y/n growled "why the fuck are you sitting in my sister's room?"

"I'm her partner for the fair, dipshit," Peter responded with the exact same tone as her, but he stood up from the chair making sure never to pull his face away. y/n stumbled back slightly as Peter grew to tower over her.

"That's a total lie, you just want to get into her pants to piss me off," y/n spat, her anger levels rising the more he open that stupid mouth of his, at the same time y/n tried to control the growing wetness that was slowing forming in between her legs the closer he got to her.

Peter threw his head back in laughter, y/n stared at him in shock. "Ask her yourself sweetheart," he told her, y/n didn't get a chance to retaliate because a familiar voice spoke up from behind her.

"y/n, you're home early," Terri said happily as she walked past her and flopped herself on her queen sized bed. Terri caught sight of y/n's frustrated state, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" y/n chocked out, her attention drifted from her sister to Peter, "You have Peter motherfucking Parker in our house."

"And?" Terri stared at y/n like nothing was wrong like the air was so thick between y/n and Peter that it was basically a fog. y/n stared at like Terri was the dumbest person in the world and to her, she 100% was.

"Why is he in our house?" she asked with sternness in her voice, her eyes still burned holes into the back of his head.

"Oh, he's my partner for the fair, " Terri smiled sweetly. Peter looked at y/n with a wide smile as he watched her stormed out and slam the door behind her.

☆.｡.:*

y/n sat on her messy bed, her loose hair sprawled out and her mind following the beat of a song. Her eyes glanced up to the clock hanging above her tall desk, it had been an hour and a half since Peter intruded.

She sighed heavily, her toes barely touching the carpeted ground. y/n picked up on a door being slammed, most likely the front door. Before she could rush up and make sure Peter tripped on his way out but a harsh knock came onto her door.

Thinking it was Terri, to let y/n know that Peter had finally gone she didn't think twice for opening the door. y/n eyes met with his once again.

"What the fuck do you want, " y/n spat, her arms folding underneath her chest, causing Peter to take a quick glance down.

"Your sister told me, you're having problems with the calculus homework, " the smug asshole wore a proud smirk as he leant against the doorframe.

"Well she's a liar, " y/n retorted with a soft snort as she rolled her eyes at him. Peter felt the familiar annoyance that always made itself know when she was near him, why does she have to be so fucking hard to work with? he thought.

"Don't be fucking difficult y/n," he grumbled, not really in the mood to fight with her for what felt like the 200th time that very day.

"Don't be a dick Peter," y/n bit back as she too felt the rush of anger swell inside her again.

"Don't be a brat," Peter retorted as he took a step closer to her, his emotions acting quicker than his brain.

"Don't be an asshole," y/n, too, took a step towards him. Their faces incredibly close for both of their liking but both were too worked up to even notice the proximity of their boiling skin.

"Don't be a bitch," Their words now getting more vulgar as the longer this heated argument continued. y/n wanted to slam the door in his face after hat he had just called her but she was not thinking properly, like him being near her caused her reasonable side of her brain to completely out of function.

"Don't be a fucking douche," Her eyes now shooting daggers straight at him, her attention watched intently as his focus drifted from her gaze down to her snarled lips, to her flushed skin and finally to her blatant cleavage that Peter thought was begging for him to play with.

Peter took one last look at her enraged expression and took a chance, "Fuck it," he muttered lowly before he leant forward and encaptured her lips with his in a rough movement. y/n stood there motionless, her eyes wide ad her muscles locking in place. y/n felt her brain scream at her to pull away from him but if she was honest her sexual frustration was telling her to pull him closer and confirm all those comments her friends told her earlier.

So she lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders, pulling him in tighter in her grip. Her hands played with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck and drew small circles at the tip of his back, moaning slightly every time her nail would rack over a bump indicating a defined muscle. Peter moved into her bedroom, his palms squeezing harshly on her hips as he guided her to the front of her bed.

Peter's fingers starting playing with the waistband of her loose gym shorts, his digits aimlessly wondering over her pelvic bone. y/n palms drifted higher on his scalp, her own fingers were now entangling the wefts of brown curls. She pulled away breathlessly as she quickly undid the small number of buttons on her already half exposed shirt, "This doesn't mean anything Parker," she barked as y/n disregarded the shirt and made work on her pink lace bra, easily letting it fall to the floor.

Peter didn't listen to her at first, too much in awe of her body. Boys always talked about her, about how she looked underneath the clothing, how much would her tits bounce if she was on top, Peter just got validation for all the rumours about her.

"Of course," he complied, as he soon starting stripping, now he was down to his underwear and matched y/n. She stared down at his toned figure, damn it, they were 100% right. "Even though you are incredibly hot, I'm still extremely mad at you," Peter explained, "Get on the bed."

"Excuse me," y/n coughed out to hide her growing want. Peter stared at her like she was dumb.

"I said get on the bed," he repeated, slower this time. y/n obeyed him, crawling onto the bed and giving him a gorgeous view of her ass before she lay flat on the mattress. Peter climbed atop her, he reconnected his lips with hers again as her hands pulled her arms above her head before clamping her wrists down with one of his hands. y/n simply moaned into his mouth, quite happy as she lay underneath his complete unable to do anything. Peter's tongue racked up against her teeth, he pulled his lips away from hers with a soft pop before placing them on her neck biting at the skin. "Is this okay?" Peter asked through long kisses, y/n nodded her head vigorously.

His free hand trailed down, tickling the bare surface of her belly, playing with the lace trimming of her underwear before he reached into her. His digits rubbing her softly, painting figure eights on her clit as he continued to press kisses to her blushed skin. "Please," y/n whimpered as the short jolts of pleasure wasn't cutting it. Peter stared up at her, his face contorting into a growl.

"You're not going to say a fucking word until I tell you," he pulled away from her complete, y/n felt her heart drop but quickly jump into her throat as she felt his literally rip her underwear in two, the ripped material flung onto the floor. y/n almost lept for the sky when she felt him blow cool air onto her folds. "Your voice annoys the hell out of me."

"Could say the same to you," she exclaimed sarcastically as she threw her head back into the pillows. Her comment was met with one harsh slap to the underside of her ass, y/n stared down at him in shock. Peter didn't give her anything as he continued the tease her hole, his fingers dancing over all the areas she needed him.

"Keep your hands there," was the last thing she said before he delved in. His tongue lapped and expertly circled her swollen clit, his fingers slid in and out of her hole slowly but surely, his lips sucked and her folds collecting her wetness. Peter made sure to never get out of sync, when his digits came out her sucked a little hard and when he dug his way back in he curled his finger upwards causing y/n's back to arch.

y/n desperately wanted to touch him, in any way she could, she just needed her hands all over him as he ate her like a full course meal. She hadn't like this in ages, her eyes rolled back into her head, moans pushing themselves to the brink of her tongue and yet it was someone who she despised who was giving her such much satisfaction. Peter glanced up at her and noticed she was in a train of thought and sped up, pumping his fingers faster and harder and he softly nibbled at her bundle of nerves. y/n felt it building up inside her, the tingling sensation at the very pit of her stomach as it became harder for her to contain her breathless whimpers. Peter also took notice to her approaching orgasm and made sure to give her one last finger fuck before he retracted from her.

"Fuck you parker," she growled as y/n watched him fumble around the room. She wasn't completely sure why he was checking her floor but she took this as an opportunity to finish herself off, so she trailed her hands down her sweating body. Before she could give herself the release she needed, Peter's palm came down hard and fast onto her sensitive cunt making y/n entire body spasm with pleasure.

"What did I fucking say," Peter spoke harshly as y/n heard his tear open a condom packet, her eyes still shut from the sudden pleasure. Peter stared down at her, he smiled wickedly to himself. She had her eyes closed and her eyebrows were somehow cutely furrowed, her tits lay against her chest with small beads of sweat adorning her skin. He did this to her, he made her feel good.

Without saying a word to her, Peter quickly slipped on the condom and dived into her. y/n's legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he lay dormant in between her tight walls. Peter wonders how such a sour girl could have the most sweetly divine pussy, but that wasn't his focus now. He pulled out of her slowly before slamming right back into. Each time he did it, Peter quickened it. His knuckles stabilized him but laying on either side of her as he fucked her.

Peter could stay inside her for days, the way she would jump every time their skin met, the way her walls released him at the perfect time before snugging him back as he slid in, it was heaven. "Holy shit," he chanted as Peter tried to keep his rhythm up but sometimes failing miserably with the overload of pleasure he was obtaining. Peter looked up at y/n, he felt the urge to give her permission to speak, to scream his name. "Tell me how good this feels."

"So-so good," y/n stumbled, her mismatched tone connecting with the pounds of his hips.

"You can do better than that," Peter told her as he started to slam harder into her, he knew he was leaving marks and he loved it.

"This feels fucking fantastic," y/n stuttered as she pulled at the sheet of her pillows. Her face tucked into the corner of her elbow as she tried to contain her what she felt as uncontrollable moaning.

"'Atta girl," Peter complimented. y/n felt his dick slid into her tight entrance only to have his balls stain her skin with red marks after he pounded her back into the mattress. Finally, y/n felt her orgasm riding, the beautiful feeling making its presence known to her.

"Peter, I'm gonna cum," She told him through heaves of pornographic moans. Peter nodded his head quickly.

"I know," he sped up again, the only thing you could hear is the sounds of mixed groans and loud whimpers and hot, raw skin slapping against one another, "I am too."

And with that, she came. Her release hitting her like a ton of bricks, she felt her body tense up and her mouth emit a loud scream of Peter's name. Her vision went black momentarily as she felt the wave of pleasure wash over her. Seconds later, Peter released as his head fell into the crook of her neck as he pours into the rubber. Slowly, he slid out of her, their combined juices almost dripping out of her tight hole.

Peter peeled off the condom and threw it in the nearest bin. y/n watches him saunter away from her, she wonders if they'll do this again. They must, that was the best sex she ever had and she doesn't mind staring at a completely nake Peter Parker. "Are we doing this again?" she pipes up, it's worth a shot. Peter swivels around to face her, he genuinely doesn't know how to respond to her question. He is completely down for another session of getting lost in that paradise of a pussy she's got but he knows that she hates his guts and he thinks the worst of her.

"Do you want to do this again?" Peter responds as he collects his clothing from her floor.

"I do, but that's all it can be," y/n told him, pouting slightly as she spots her ripped underwear, they were her favourite. "Beside the next time we fuck, you need to buy me new underwear," she giggled slightly as she snatched her broken underwear and threw it at him.

"Deal y/l/n."

"Deal Parker,"

☆.｡.:*

i'm so sorry, i rushed the last part of the smut

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hollandsmoose · 6 years ago

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under the mistletoe

A/N: At this point, you might know that I love Niall Horan a whole fucking lot, so when @flickershawn volunteered me to write this, I was more than happy to do it. I also spent ages trying to figure out the layout of Niall’s house, and I think I’ve described it correctly. So here you go, my little reindeer, here’s 1.6k of mistletoe shenanigans and Christmas kisses!

Anon: Imagine you at Niall’s Christmas party and he knows Shawn has a lil crush on you so when you’re talking niall comes and puts a mistletoe above you and Shawn and you kiss and the rest of the night shawns very flirty and cute

The climate of Los Angeles in December is hardly the climate you would usually associate with Christmas. There’s no snow, no ice and no windchill, and you’re not wearing a warm, cozy sweater; you’re wearing a thin, revealing blouse, instead.

Inside Niall’s Hollywood home, it does feel like Christmas, though. There are decorations all around the house, a large tree with twinkly fairy lights on in the big living room where most people are assembled now. Michael Bublé is playing over the speakers, an essential artist on any Christmas party playlist.

Although you’re pretty engaged in your current conversation, your eyes keep flickering over to Shawn, stood in the corner of the room while he speaks to some people you can’t really remember the names of.

Shawn is a friend, and that is truly all you can call him - not that you would mind calling him something more. You should be content with his friendship, but he’s too kind, too handsome and too endearing, and you’re crushing hard.

It’s probably the longest crush you’ve ever had as well. Normally, those things fade out quickly, but here you are, almost a year and a half after meeting Shawn, still crushing.

It only makes it worse when he catches you looking at him from across the room, amused glint in his eyes as they meet yours. Usually, you would be quick to look away and pretend like it never happened, but you’ve had one or two drinks by this point, and you’re feeling bold. Instead, you hold his gaze, offering a smile which he returns. Shawn raises his cup and points it toward the kitchen, and you catch his drift.

Both excusing yourselves from your conversations, you make your way to the kitchen and over to the punch bowl. Without a word, Shawn grabs the ladle and offers to refill your cup.

“Thank you,” you say, holding it out so he can pour the red liquid into it. “Nice party, eh?”

“Yeah,” he agrees and finishes refilling your cup. “Niall’s good with this kinda thing,” He winces a little as he says it, quickly giving an explanation. “Throwing parties, that is.” It’s easy to tell Shawn is a bit flustered, the blush on his cheeks a dead giveaway. It just makes him even more endearing - if that’s even possible.

You grin, placing your hand on his bicep. “I kinda figured,” His flush only deepens, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

He gulps and takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you came to the Rogers show. It meant a lot,”

“Well, I was home in Toronto anyway,” You’re trying to downplay it a bit, trying to make it seem like you hadn’t been more excited for that concert than any other concert in the entirety of your life.

It hadn’t let you down either. You’d seen him live before, but seeing him live in a stadium in his and yours hometown was special. It was most definitely a special night for him too, and him saying that it meant a lot that you came makes you feel a bit giddy inside.

You stand and talk in the kitchen for a while, and you're still very emboldened by the alcohol you've consumed. You're trying to flirt, but it doesn't seem to translate to Shawn who remains polite as ever - although you do catch him glancing at your cleavage from time to time.

Before you can even react to the giggles behind you, you hear Shawn sigh loudly. Turning around, you see a familiar face. Niall is holding something above you and Shawn, and when you look up, you realize what it is. A fucking mistletoe. You know very well what that entails.

“Niall, no,” Shawn protests, cheeks blazing red now. “That's not fair.”

“Oh, come on, Shawnie!” Niall urges, laughing. You know Niall well enough to know that he's at that stage where he's not quite drunk yet, but not only tipsy. “There are rules! You have to kiss!”

Shawn whines again. “We don't-”

“It's alright,” you say and turn to face him, not being able to help the smirk on your face. “I mean, we have to follow the rules, right?” His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. “But if you don't want to-”

“No, no, I do!” Both you and Niall laugh at his words. It doesn't escape your notice that you're gaining quite the audience, people trying to get a glimpse of what is about to transpire.

You reach up and cup one side of Shawn's face. “Just relax,” He gives you a nod and leans in, pressing his lips to your. He only lingers for a second, though, the crowd cheering wildly once he's withdrawn.

You're undeniably disappointed at the brevity of his kiss, but you know you have no right to be. If he even wants to really kiss you, you doubt he would do it in front of so many people.

“Way to go, lad!” Niall hoots, slapping Shawn on the arm. “Told ya I could make it happen, didn’t I?” And before you can ask Niall what he means by that, he’s off again, and you’re left with an embarrassed Shawn, nervously scratching the back of his neck. The crowd disperses again, most going back to the big living room.

Shawn appears to realize that you’re waiting for an explanation, and he grabs your hand, taking it in his own. He guides you from the kitchen and to the smaller, sunken living room at the other end of the room, and he leads you down the little set of stairs, glancing back to see if anyone has followed you here, but no one has. No one is in this room, either. To make sure you’re out of sight, you hide behind the wall.

“I’m sorry about the whole mistletoe thing,” Shawn begins, still holding your hand. You don’t even get to tell him not to apologize before he speaks again. “I may have told Niall that I…” You cross your arms, still waiting. “That I have a crush on you.”

You practically choke on your own spit. “What?”

Shawn blushes anew. “And Niall said he was gonna set us up. I guess that’s what he just did,” You’re speechless, eyebrows raised in surprise, and Shawn seems even more embarrassed now than before.

You don’t really know what to say, so you decide to let your lips do the talking. Stepping forward, you push them on his, and - although shocked at first, Shawn is quick to respond, pushing back. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, and he nudges you backwards until your back is pressed against the wall.

You can taste the punch on Shawn’s lips, berries and vodka coming through strongly. His right hand holds the nape of your neck, the other hand flat on the wall beside your head. Your bodies are pinned together, not an inch between you. He’s kissing you with all his might, and you realize that this is exactly what you’ve been craving for so long.

Shawn moans into your mouth when your hands run into his curls, tugging slightly, and you instantly draw back at the sound, worried someone might hear even though it’s very unlikely.

You’re both panting, both absolutely breathless, and when you gaze into his eyes, you find yourself thinking that you don’t really care about the sounds. No one’s gonna hear, you tell yourself before you start pressing Shawn backwards.

“Sit down,” you giggle, pointing to one of the armchairs behind you. He rushes to it, plopping down, and you move to stand in front of him. “Seems like Niall’s good at setting people up too, eh?” Shawn only nods, grinning excitedly as you straddle him, the position a little uncomfortable for your legs due to the limited space.

It doesn’t matter, though. Especially not as Shawn takes your mouth with his own, fingers digging into your waist, holding onto you so tight that it’s like he never wants to let go. Your hands return to his hair again, and you’re messing it up, but you’re far beyond the point of caring. Your tongues are playing with each other, and neither of you can keep the moans from escaping.

But out of the blue, there’s an incredibly familiar sound from above - the sound of Niall’s laugh. And, sure enough, when you separate your lips and look up, Niall is there, upper half of his body leaning over the wall.

“Y’know,” he starts, smug grin on his face. “There are some spare rooms upstairs if you need one.” Shawn hides his face in your shoulder, laughing against you, and you can’t help laughing too.

“I think we’re alright, Niall,” you answer, smiling at him. “For now, at least.” Niall erupts into laughter again, but then he leaves the two of you to it. You know he’s going to go back and tell everyone what he saw, the alcohol clearly removing some of his inhibitions.

“He’s never gonna let us live that down, is he?” Shawn asks with a chuckle, leaning back, and you shake your head. When you take in his appearance, you feel a pull in your lower stomach, a recognizable heat spreading there. His hair is all messed up from your treatment, his skin a little flushed, and his lips are swollen. He looks a bit too good. Maybe we do actually need the room now, after all.

You brush some of his curls away from his forehead. “I bet he's feeling real proud of himself right now,”

Shawn grins. “I think he deserves to,” You mirror his expression, leaning down to press a kiss to his nose.

“Couldn't agree more,”

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @shawn-mendes-thirst @fallininyou @bluerroses @nervousroses @shavvnmendcs @lou-and-me @cutieshawnmendess

#mine #text #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fluff

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helshades · 5 years ago

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Hard to deny that we live in an age dominated by the superhero. That classic Superman chestnut, “Look up in the sky!“, feels as apropos as ever when you can’t drive down a major road without Tony Stark’s mustachioed mug or Clark Kent’s Kryptonian biceps flexing down at you like judgemental gods. They rule the box office, they rule the pop culture conversation, they rule the graphic t-shirt real estate at every coffee shop. We’re about one particularly effective after-credits scene away from fandom spilling over into actual worship—pull up any video from inside Hall H if you don’t believe me—which means there’s no better time to ring up The Boys.

Adapted by Seth Rogen, Evan Goldberg, and Eric Kripke from the Dynamite comic series by writer Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson, the eight-episode Amazon series has a wickedly sharp eye for what an actual modern age of superheroes would look like. Costumed vigilantes come with an army of publicists to craft public apologies. Major media corporations schedule the crime-stopping “team-ups” that would drive the optimal amount of social media engagement. And there’s the possibility that the superheroes themselves, so shiny and glossed in front of a camera, are the type of A-list TMZ trash-monsters in their private lives who might smash a man’s skull during a particularly aggressive round of analingus. This is an actual thing that happens in The Boys. A lot of wild things happen in The Boys. But underneath all that superpowered ass-murder is genuinely one of the most timely TV series I’ve seen in a long time.

Our way into the mayhem is “Wee” Hughie Campbell (Jack Quaid), a completely normal A/V salesman living a completely ordinary life until a super-fast superhero named A-Train (Jessie Usher) literally runs through his girlfriend Robin (Jess Salgueiro), turning her into a cloud of blood and guts. A-Train is essentially untouchable as a member of The Seven, the world’s premiere superhero team, along with aquatic fish-talker The Deep (Chace Crawford), silent ninja Black Noir (Nathan Mitchell), the invisible Translucent (Alex Hassell), superstrong ass-kicker Queen Maeve (Dominique McElligott), and the squad’s Superman-esque leader, Homelander (Antony Starr). Quieted with a half-assed apology and ironclad Non-disclosure Agreement, Hughie’s thirst for revenge leads him straight to Billy Butcher (Karl Urban), former leader of an under-the-radar squad that worked to keep the “supes” in check: The Boys.

Running parallel to Hughie and Butcher is the story of Starlight (Erin Moriarty), The Seven’s bright-eyed and optimistic new recruit who quickly learns she’s joined a team of corrupt corporate suits, perverts, and murderers. The two plots intertwine, and soon a grand conspiracy emerges surrounding the mysterious super-steroid “Compound V” that could completely destroy the superhero game and the mega-corporation that funds it, Vought.

The Boys operates on a few different levels, all of which the creative team nails on one level or another. It’s your classic gettin’-the-band-back-together story, as the Compound V conspiracy convinces Butcher to track down the rest of the retired Boys, Mother’s Milk (Laz Alonso) and Frenchie (Tomer Capon), who are eventually joined by the hyper-violent killing machine known only as The Female (Karen Fukuhara). It’s also a pretty dang intriguing mystery tale dressed up in tights and capes, as well as a pitch-black comedy filled with enough flying guts, exploding dolphins, and C-4 shoved into a person’s unholy crevices to keep even the sickest of you puppies squirming.

But where the writing staff really excels is in the world-building. They’ve kept large chunks of the comic book story intact while also stripping away a bit of the X-Treme Edginess—I like Garth Ennis a lot, but Garth Ennis is occasionally too Garth Ennis for his own good—and setting it firmly in a setting that’s both comic-book elevated and so perfectly 2019. Superheroes argue not about the number of lives saved, but their cut of the merch and box office sales raked in from the Vought Cinematic Universe. ESPN runs 24/7 coverage of a race between speedsters. SEO experts and video editors cut together image-boosting clip shows of The Seven interacting with the common folk. (Possibly my favorite joke in the entire show is the fact newcomer Starlight’s segment is placeholder text that just says “Starlight relating to people.”)

And with that comes a really dark, unique relatability to the material that’s completely different than any on-screen comic book series out there. Though we don’t live in a world of actual superpowers, we do live in one filled with supremely shitty people in extraordinary positions of power and wealth. Tune into literally any news outlet of your choice—or just log on to Twitter dot com—and you’re bombarded with the latest government figure or Hollywood elite who was caught and/or just outright said the depths of their sheer shittiness. It makes you long for the days when a celebrity’s name trending meant they were just dead, not a sexual deviant. The Boys, similar to the comic series, leans hard into this idea: What if the rich, powerful fraudsters and public masturbators of the world were actually sitting in the position of the gods? It’s the darkest material on the show, but the story approaches it unflinchingly. There’s a real stomach-churning familiarity to a high-ranking member of The Seven dropping his pants in front of Starlight and asking how badly she wants to be a part of a superhero team. But even the worst parts come with a sense of wish fulfillment; as awful as it is to see and recognize a world run by all-powerful assholes, it’s thrilling when you realize The Boys is really about how ordinary people can fight back.

As Starlight, Moriarty shines brighter and brighter with each episode, a fantastic foil to Quaid’s increasingly twitchy Hughie. The cast is pretty electric across the board—especially Karl Urban out there throwing around c-words like his name is Cookie Monster—but there are two performances in particular that really make the story tick. Antony Starr is terrifying as Homelander; he plays the main supe like a petulant child given the strength of a nuclear bomb—a Shazam who also burns people’s faces off—and it’s chilling how quickly the actor switches between Homelander’s toothy-smiled choir boy image and the stone-cold persona below. Standing behind him is Elisabeth Shue as Madelyn Stillwell, Senior Vice President of Superhero Management at Vought. The Oscar-nominee is perfectly icy in the role, and low-key the most terrifying character on the show. As the mass murders and war crimes pile up around her, Madelyn is just booking the dates and scheduling the meetings, proving there’s nothing more horrific than a suit who signs lives away with a smile.

If there’s a complaint to be had about The Boys, it’s that its first eight-episode run ends awkwardly, right in the middle of the narrative with several loose threads dangling and a few key characters left forgotten in the home stretch. You have the sense the creators were pretty confident given the fact casting announcements started to pop up before a season 2 was confirmed. [UPDATE: Which it was, just now, at Comic-Con.] But the roller-coaster ride to that abrupt end is something you must experience. Like Alan Moore‘s Watchmen in the late-80s, TV series has the chance to be the superhero deconstruction of our time. Less a peek behind the curtain, and more a seedy glimpse behind the social media likes and box office numbers, a story that manages to be heartbreakingly relevant while still finding time to have Karl Urban kill a room full of goons with a super-powered baby.

Oh shit, did I not mention Karl Urban kills a room full of goons with a superpowered baby earlier? Yeah, man. Watch The Boys. A lot going on there.

#the boys #t.v. show #a resplendent gem of a series

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beauvoyr · 7 years ago

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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 13

flowering | child of cosmogony

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, Asphyxiation, Murder, no beta we die like men, pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV WARNING: This chapter contains murder and violence. Chapter Rating: M Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: White, too, can be corrosive, just like acid.

what happened to mother? you can’t say, for you do not know.

she fades into a distant blur, one of the many paintings hung in the halls of your head. sometimes, your mind is a treacherous friend playing tricks on you. you’d hear her last scream, hidden behind a door. you never dared to open it; if you do, you know you are intemperate, letting your feelings best you at this game for two. so mother remains, at most, locked behind the door. schrödinger’s cat, both alive and dead at the same time.

should you ask byron to quench your thirst?

no.

father’s lesson is still etched on his skin in long, raised lines you memorized under your fingertips. twelve on his front, five on his arms, and many more on his back. you’ve ruined him, you know. the remnants of these angry red lines have faded off into pale pinks on white over the years, as though branches of cherry blossoms bloomed on his skin. something so grotesque shouldn’t be so beautiful, even as you gingerly run your fingers across the patterns. whenever you do, byron stiffens under your touch like he’s afraid you’d dig your nails into the hatch welts.

he doesn’t know your touch is reverential, each brush an apology too late to be given.

and the lingering guilt in your heart paves way into something else.

“YOU AND NOCT REPENTED YET?”

Gladio is a merciless master. In this training room, he is the commander of the battlefield. Noct being a prince doesn’t mean shit to him, as long he knows how to dodge a blow and barrel into safety behind the Shield. Hardy as he is, he’s still got a weak spot somewhere in his heart when the feral glint in his amber eyes softens, coming across you and Noct, sitting together on your knees after getting banished to the farthest end of the hall. Your expression is certainly sorry enough, having repented to Hell and back as you rub your raw knees, and Noct is. Well. Kinda still working on the whole ‘repenting’ part.

“I can do three hours,” Noct grits out, deliberately cocking a brow in challenge. “You up for it?”

And Gladio’s casual smile morphs into something along the cynical lines of you little shit.

Just as quick, your hand flies out to smack him square in his bicep with an affronted, “Prince! Stop! I’m already sorry enough that I’m late…don’t drag me into this.”

Noct’s answer is a light elbow to your side, his grin taking on a criminal edge. “Your fault. Three hours should be good, hmm?”

“Spare me…I can’t even feel my legs anymore, is this normal?” Gladio catches your murmurs buried by your face in your hands. Your voice is certainly apologetic and he knows you’re not the type to piss him off on purpose, but Noct is just the devil sitting on your shoulder. An unrepentant, filthy devil wielding a trident for a spork.

Noct smirks, flippant. For some reasons, he looks oddly triumphant of himself, like he’s reveling that he can last longer than you. Which is technically cheating, in Gladio’s books, ‘cause Noct’s got years of punishment to back his credentials—and this is only your first day, for crying out loud. “It’s only normal when you can’t feel anything from waist down,” Noct says, his smirk turning savage. “If you can’t feel your legs, that means you need one more hour.”

There is a high note tucked somewhere in your following groan. “No, stop, please. Gladio, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I made His Highness late, I’m sorry we’re late—“

Honestly, you’re kinda pathetic like this.

With all due respect, you could still be King Regis’ illegitimate child or secretly some poetically forgotten Astral and he’d still think you’re pathetic. All the years you’ve been doing with your books developed none of your muscles. Gladio squints a little, hoping to find something to prove him wrong. Nope, not an inch. Ah well, he can’t blame you, not when your situation’s a bit weird like one of those stereotypical romance novels of noblewomen held captive since birth, just waiting for roguish warriors to rescue them. And now that you’re all ‘rescued’ by none other than nth-time Champion of Punishments, Prince Noctis, well—now what?

“Suck it up,” Noct drawls, lips all lazy smiles. “You’ve got 54 more minutes to go.”

Mumbled between your fingers, you resign your fate to the greedy prince. “Gods, I—I’ll do my best, Prince. I think.”

That gets him gloating more than ever, always a sucker for people obediently obeying his command, feeding his Ravatogh-sized ego. “Good.”

Well—now, Gladio guesses, it’s high time to put you out of your misery. “All right, knock it off. Noct, quit bullying the new kid on her first day.” He claps his hands, subjected to a moody glare from the little punk ass prince since Gladio obviously ruined his fun. “Architect guy, listen up: First rule, don’t be late. Noct can demonstrate what happens when you’re late, since he’s pro at this.”

And Noct, the pretentious prince who thinks he's hot shit, rolls his eyes. “Seniors are pros anyway.”

“Whatever.” Gladio’s way beyond holding up the conversation every time Noct gets all mouthy, being the smart-ass he is. He only holds up two fingers for emphasis. “Second: Don’t expect me to go easier on ya just ‘cause you’re a girl, got it? I’ll adjust your training regimen to start off with the basics, like building on your stamina and strength and flexibility. Nothing too hard, just somethin’ to get those muscles to work. Work hard and you’ll be as good as Iris in no time. All clear?”

You head bobs up and down fervently, wide-eyed. “Got it.”

He nods his approval. Good. You’re off to a pleasant track record if you keep this up, since you’re obviously preinstalled with strong self-discipline, ignited by your own initiative to better yourself for Noct. You look like a decent student in the long run, already managing to survive through two hours on your knees—and then there’s Noct, who’s already stretching out his legs and attempting to massage some life through them. He gets you to unfold your legs too, receiving all pained grunts and suffering moans when Noct taps your thighs, just being the asshole he is. Provided you don’t follow Noct’s bad influence, Gladio supposes you’ll survive through your training regimen with all your limbs intact.

…which brings him to rule number three.

“Third rule.” He clears his throat, drawing your attention to him once more. “If Noct’s being an ass, just punch him.”

“So if you’re being an ass, she gets to punch you too?” Noct asks, sounding all the more impressed with himself for thinking that up. “‘cause I’m pretty sure it goes both ways.”

“Can it, Prince Charmless.”

Little Prince Charmless scoffs at the injustice, nudging you in the rib, even if there’s an awkward reddening of his ears. Yep, he’s trying hard not to show Gladio’s jibe got under his skin, but the proof is right there. You only emit a long-suffering sigh, burying your face deeper in your hands. Nope, too damn late to escape your fate if you’re looking for a way out. Once someone gets involved a little too deeply with Noct, they’re usually stuck in the ride for the long haul, and then some. Noct, the very definition of guiltless and unrepentant right there in the dictionary, hasn’t shown you the fullest extent of his arsenal of assholery yet—oh, Gladio can’t wait for the day you’re gonna be moaning into your hands again as you lament your fate to the Astrals, ‘cause the good stuff is just starting with a bang.

“All right, kids, enough of that talk.” Gladio thumbs over his shoulder where the steel brackets display an array of daggers, swords, broadswords and polearms masterfully crafted from hardwood. “Noct, go do your warm-ups. I gotta have a little chitchat with our resident Architect right here. Now scram.”

Oddly, Noct doesn’t move. He’s regarding Gladio coolly under hooded blue eyes, arms crossed. “About what exactly?”

Unfazed because he’s the bigger person around here, both literally and figuratively, Gladio whistles low under his breath, sassing Noct’s huffy arm-crossing thing. “Didn’t know I needed His Highness’ express permission to talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Noct asserts, like the sky is blue and chocobos can’t fly and you’re all his. “I brought her down here so she’s my responsibility.”

Responsibility, what was that again? Gladio feels his eyebrows shooting up fast enough to launch into outer space. Noct being irresponsible is an ancient prophecy everyone and their grandmas heard of, but Noct being responsible is definitely not written anywhere in the Cosmogony, nope, not even a little footnote tacked at the end of the last page. What is he, some sort of feudal-era dad marrying off his daughter or something? The absurdity of the mental image gets Gladio chuckling a little.

“Responsibility is a big word, Noct, gotta be careful with that,” he points out. “You sure you wanna take responsibility over her paperwork, about two or three whole stacks of ‘em?”

That gets Noct decolorizing faster than expected and he’s all too happy to jump to his feet. “Gonna go get my warm-ups done. See ya.”

And that’s that. Noct betrays you just as easily, stalking off in the direction of the weapons. Gladio’s chuckling dissolves into barking laughter, colouring Noct’s nape with that same awkward red from earlier. Dropping on the polished floor, he snorts at Noct’s direction. “Heh, he freaks out on the big stuffs all the damn time. Chickens out the moment someone says the R word. Don’t let it offend ya, kid.”

“Not offended at all, don’t sweat it,” you answer, plain. There’s a bit of an improvement though, your tone is no longer as monotonous as a machine, sometimes ending in a breathier note, or dropping significantly whenever you’re distressed. None of that robotic rubbish whatsoever, probably thanks to Noct’s constant meddling in your life. “I know His Highness is a busy man, even if he looks all irresponsible. I just wanna be there to support him and the kingdom. It’s my duty as an Andronicus anyway, so it’s no biggie.”

Gladio huffs under his breath and scratches his cheek at the bit on the Andronicus. And that’s another matter altogether when it comes to your lineage. “Yeah… about that, I wasn’t joking about the paperwork. We’ve got whole stacks of them, standard security stuff on your background.” He sees you readying a rebuttal, all the more ready for your responsibility, and he holds up a hand to stop you from going further. “Hold your chocobos. Your situation’s a little difficult than the rest of the usual stuff we’ve got. Y’know what I mean?”

Of course you do, he knows you’re smarter than the average brat out there. The placidity in your eyes is deceptive, gazing unflinchingly into his. With each syllable, your lips curve, adopting a change in your languid lilt. “I’m aware of my unique predicament. I’m always doing things behind father’s back anyway, so it’s not a surprise if he finds out sooner or later. He can’t stop me.” Almost to yourself, your eyes trail aside and you murmur, “He’s long lost the power to control my life the moment I came to the Citadel. He knows he’s losing this war I waged. We’re now playing against time, that’s all.”

That’s—well, a little unnerving to hear.

Slack-jawed, it takes a moment for Gladio to dissociate the groaning, moaning mess curled up apologetically earlier from this conniving creature splayed before him. All lashes lidding low, examining a raveling thread on your thighs with the apathy of a queen, despite having uttered words an average twenty-something wouldn’t dream of a lifetime. How easily you switch depends on the matter, going from the ungainly girleen into this Machiavellian lady in mere seconds. As much as you paraded yourself as a harmless being, there is no denying the Andronicus inside.

And the Andronici are some of the most impersonal, inhumane nobles serving the Lucii Kings.

Gladio shuts his mouth with a hard click, getting his head in the game. He leans forward with a look meant to daunt those who’ve heard of the Amicitia, but you remain unconcerned. “What makes you so sure you’re gonna serve Noct?” he presses on. “What if your dad overrides your decision to become the next head of Andronicus, kid? You got backup ideas ready?”

Something about your illusory indolence feels off, gets his gut feeling roiling inside. “I already have plans in store,” you say. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t involve His Highness in my own mess, you have my word.”

Always answering things in a vague, roundabout way like what Noct complained when he first came across your existence, huh. Unless he resorts to brute force, he doubts he can wring anything from you without breaking an arm or two. Or ringing alarms somewhere else in their pentagonal friendship cycle. Still, as long as you’ve got Noct’s wellbeing as the number one priority in that pretty little head of yours, you’re entitled to your own secrets. You can deal with Quintus however you deem fit, since it’s your domestic problem to begin with. Stepping into someone’s familial crossfire isn’t exactly outlined in his job scope as Noct’s Shield anyway.

Putting an end to this, Gladio pulls himself up and points at you to stay. “Well, your document’s gonna be highly confidential stuff since we’re working against your dad here, so I’ll just bring it up to my old man, Clarus Amicitia, in case you don’t know who he is. Be prepared if he wants to meet you.” He pauses, then finding it appropriate to tack on a grin just for the sake of fucking around with you. “Personally.”

He doesn’t expect you to laugh but you do, a small, high sound that catches him off-guard with the brilliance of your smile.

LATER ON, Gladio chances a glance at your sealed envelopes. All six stacks bear the same name, marked at the top right hand corner in a careful cursive. Andronicus, and nothing more.

“the prophecy speaks of a king,” quintus utters, low. “a king who vanquishes eos’ illness. the true king.”

seated behind his impressive desk, against a curtain of crimson, he is the very picture of an imperator. well, byron supposes people do call him quintus the compeller for the very same reasons. standing near a suit of armour, byron pours some gourmet tea as he tries to tune out quintus the same way he tunes out a scream: by stabbing until the scream turns to squelches. he fashions his expression into one of apathy when he brings over the tray, setting it on the edge of the carved desk.

quintus does not wait for him to usher a cup at his direction; he takes as he pleases, tinkling china against china harshly after a deep sip. “what good will there be for a true king to emerge when niflheim is more than ready to snuff us out come tomorrow? rather than worrying about the impending darkness, i’d rather if his majesty would renew his efforts on reestablishing the military.”

this, byron inquires with careful curiosity. “reestablishing the military, sir?”

“he believes it to be futile effort.” quintus clicks his tongue, ridiculing the king’s trite choice of words. he sets down his teacup so sharply until it chips at the edges. “i respect him but i beg to differ, as this is a matter of life and death. our people are dying outside the old wall. daemons, mts, monsters, you name it, we have it. dissolving the military and rebranding it as the crownsguard is a foolhardy move executed by none other than the late king mors’ father. are the people beyond the walls not the people of lucis as well? they, too, deserve the lavish sense of security insomnia affords. if we cannot provide them the crystal’s protection, then we can surely offer them the reassurance of our military’s strength, no matter how little we may have. by ignoring their plights, by letting the imperials run free on our lands, we have abandoned them—no,” he bellows, tensing, “we spat on their faces.”

interesting. byron hums under his breath, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his sentiment. quintus seems content enough to continue his spiel of spite after refreshing himself with polishing off the lasts of his tea, and it has byron all too pleased to pour another cup.

“the kingsglaive may exist to handle our external crises, wars, riffraff, but tell me: how will we survive without them? those serving under our banner are none other than commoners with an aptitude in magic—they live outside the walls, yet, the king forsakes their villages, their tiny towns, just to keep insomnia safe. if we do not protect them, who will protect us once the last glaive dies? no,” quintus shakes his head, fingers laced tightly together, “i will not stand for this any longer. what my ancestors have failed to finish, that is to grant the outsiders equal rights to safety and revolutionizing their technology, i will strive to accomplish during my reign as the head of the andronicus, down to my very last breath.”

how moving. is this the very same man who left his speech on byron’s skin in long, red lines? spoken like a true man of the battlefield, one who operates insomnia the same way one operates a cadaver. he is attempting to reanimate lucis’ corpse by removing its decaying internal organs and swapping them with cables and switches. all the problems infesting lucis will be systematically tackled in stages, starting from the advancement of the army, right until the protection of its people. yet the problem lies with the king and his councilmen, and it is an obstacle quintus cannot resolve without challenging the king himself.

one cup turns to two, and two turns into three. with each cup, byron finds his thoughts swimming deeper and deeper until the dregs are all that’s left in the pot.

“YOU SEE, I DON’T LIKE MESS.” Byron begins, all conversational as he pulls latex gloves over his hands. The elastic snaps when he ensures they are snug around his wrists, and he smiles in satisfaction. “Whenever I see something messy, I get migraine. Long, horrible migraine, like someone sawing my brain. Do you ever feel that?”

A muffled cry.

Byron’s eyes crinkle into crescents at the pathetic sound. “Wonderful, I’m glad you understand. You must forgive me for my crude methods, of course, because it makes for easier cleanup when I’m done. Saved me from another migraine, good chap.”

There is a certain container wedged between blocks of steel that Byron calls his own. Nobody comes to these abandoned industrial dumpsites because who wants to deal with all the acrid stench and squelching maggots underneath their boots? Rusted cars missing their engines and wheel-less trucks are stacked one atop another, a brown stream of waste constantly seeping through decaying bags. Noxious fumes permeate the air, a permanent reminder of his origins: The streets, the sewers, the tin roof for Percival’s hideout and moldy, peeling walls.

Plastic crinkles under his weight, step by step to the table.

In here, everything is clean and white. White plastic tacked to the metal walls, white plastic over steel surgical trolley, an array of knives with white handles arranged in too-straight line. White is easy to stain. He’d know this very well, of course, since he’s been blessed with the very same whiteness. White is beautiful, pristine, the very shade representing purity. Yet, with just a fleck of colour, white stains.

Another muffled scream, and Byron raises his head.

Strapped on a rickety wooden chair, a weasel-looking forty-something man appears to be struggling in his binds. The Informant is trying to escape. Oh dear. He can’t have that, can he?

“It is ill-advised to escape,” Byron breathes out, tipping his chin. Too stoic, too blunt, and too smiling. “You know I’ll come and find you wherever you are, and I’ll make it more painful in our next meeting. Please, for your own good, stay quiet. I dislike rowdiness.”

Goodness, that gets the man thrashing more than he expected, the cloth gag barely muffling all the please and no and stop stop stop stop. Eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, sweat raining his receding hairline, he looks at Byron in what seems to be a mixture of contempt and terror. Really, he should decide on an emotion and channel it properly instead of delivering this half-assed excuse of an expression. Even his apathetic keeper managed better than that.

Byron heaves a heavier sigh, shoulders drooping at the sight. Something pulses faintly at the back of his head. “I gave you your warning, and you chose to disregard it. Very well.”

In theory, cleaving a human involves a body and a knife. Two simple objects readily found anywhere with varying levels of difficulty. In practice, it gets a little more complicated than that. It starts with the selection of tools, finding the best fit for the job. A screwdriver is to stab as an axe is to decapitate. But before all the excitement turns his nerves into jitters, he wants answers. And he wants them now.

“There is a certain dog I’ve taken to feeding, you see, for it is such a wretched, pitiable thing until I can’t bear the sight. In return, this dog carries news for me from far and wide. It’s been the utmost help, of course.” Byron reminds him, latex fingers squeaking over the stainless steel of the trolley. “However, I realized that this certain dog keeps running with his tail between his legs between two masters. A dog certainly has to be loyal to only one master, don’t you think so too?”

He catches the man vocalizing a quiet fuck from his throat.

Ah yes, bingo. Byron’s smile is painfully static as he traces absentminded circles on the tray, watery greys in his eyes turning molten steel. “You didn’t think I’d catch on, did you?”

More cursing, and the man thrashes harder, shaking like he’s got a seizure from just sitting in a chair. His perspiration is rank and Byron has half the mind to skin him just to get rid of the smell, but playing with food is very bad manner for a butler like him. Everything has to be done with clean precision, since he loathes leaving a mess behind.

“How long have you been in this business again?” Byron poses a rhetorical question, knowing the answer better than the man himself. “More than two decades, am I right? You’ve clearly underestimated the people you worked with. They might’ve not noticed your transgressions, but,” he bends at the waist, staring straight into the ruddy redness of the man’s eyeballs, bopping him lightly on his grimy nose, “I did.”

The Informant howls in his face, shivering, tears dampening the gag around his mouth. Awful sound, Byron can’t imagine what it’d be like without the handy cloth muffling his cry. The man breathes hard through his nose, lapsing into hysteric fits and kicking his bound limbs as if they’d come loose like a charming soap opera on the television. It’s useless, he knows that much, but maybe he held a faint hope in his heart that Byron’s overlooked something critical in a moment like this, like the knots are loose or the rope is frayed at the edges. Hope, he can keep hoping all he wants before Byron cuts his life out of him.

Straightening, Byron considers his choices, alternating glances between the knives. Should he go for the standard kitchen set, or the heavier butcher’s piece? Of course, each tool comes with its pros and cons. One is delicate, suited for carving initials into skin, and the other holds only one purpose: To hack meat into cubes. Coming to a decision, he hums and selects the latter. Cold and hefty in his hands, the perfect weight in its build. He runs a thumb over its blade, letting it glint under the fluorescent light.

Please please please stop is scattered between pleas for mercy and cries of apology, and the poor soul might run dry from tears if he keeps yowling like this.

Unfortunately, that is not an answer.

“Careful,” he cautions, lifting the blade to the light, examining its make under blinding whiteness. “The more you cry, the harder I’ll make it for you to die.”

As though Byron’s warning is a hammer to his chest, The Informant heaves and sputters, choking under the gag, swallowing all the noises he made with great effort. The container drops into silence, an overall improvement to the situation, save for stifled sniffling. Good. He likes it better this way. Dropping to his knees, Byron casually drags the knife up the length of the man’s feet—ah, he’s gone ahead and flinched from the cool metal, and now the knife nicked itself right in his flesh. Blood wells up and runs down the plastic. The Informant whimpers, biting off his cry in desperation.

“Have you heard of the death by a thousand cuts? No? That’s okay. Here, I’ll show you, though—“ Byron stops short with a soft laugh, “mine will contain a slight variation to accomplish my mission. Do forgive me for being unable to stay true to the original.”

A butcher’s knife is not meant to saw through meat. There’s no harm in trying anyway, so Byron sets to work. He drags it up and down across the little toe like he’s playing a violin, streaking steel in scarlet. At the back of his head, someone screams. A mindless hum, so he ignores it. The flesh gives way so easily under his ministrations, slowly but surely, and soon enough, there’s a satisfying friction once the blade reaches the bone. Here, Byron supposes, is where his experience tells him to hold enough pressure just to get it to yield. Tedious job, murdering someone. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone searching for a pretty Credit.

Putting his bountiful knowledge to the practice, Byron grips the hilt tighter and applies just enough pressure with every push and pull of the knife. A raw scream, eyeballs rolling back, jerking with every grate. Please no is back again, this time punctuated by heavy sobs tearing out of his chest of how I’ve got a wife and my kids are gonna starve without me and bla bla bla, Byron’s heard this shit before, heard this too many times on the dull phonograph, seen the heavy wife scolding two scoundrels drawing on one of the many walls near the squatters, and then she gathers them into her arms with a weary sigh and—

—a satisfying crack, and the little toe rolls on the plastic.

Oh. He must’ve applied more pressure than he thought. That won’t do.

Fuck it hurts rips from the man’s throat, Martha Joseph Alvin is recited as final prayer, and Byron feels the pulsing in his head budding into the beginnings of a migraine and why does the damn man care so much for his family when Percival never gave a fucking shit whether Byron’s got anything left in his hands? No fucking mother to coddle his cries, no fucking father to catch his back, no fucking friend to care if he’s not breathing six feet underneath Duscae, turning into fertilizer for the wildlife. Nobody gives a fucking shit about him, not even Quintus, not even—

He raises the knife high and brings it down, a butcher and his meat.

Crimson all over the plastic, such satisfaction, but it’s not enough. Half of a foot is on his chopping board, the white of the bone peeking through meaty red. It’s not fair Byron’s going through this shit alone. Should he amputate the man just so he’d suffer Lavinia’s fate in Titus Andronicus? Cleave off his tongue, sever the joints of his arms and legs, leaving only his torso behind? Someone should suffer the same fate, shouldn’t they? Someone tangled too deeply in the Andronici’s mess deserves to live through the very same tragedy, don’t they?

Yes, he decides in morbid fascination, they should.

The knife is raised high once more.

WHITE, TOO, CAN BE CORROSIVE, just like acid.

o'er rotted soil, under blighted sky a dread plague the wicked has wrought. in the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought. from the heavens high, to the blessed below, shines the beam of a peace long besought. "long live the line, and this stone divine, for the night when all comes to naught."

cosmogony: 15:2, nadir.

YOU ARE SORE ALL OVER thanks to the brutal beating of your first day. So sore from your third rep until you marvel at how dedicated Noctis can be, never breaking out of his stance as he took on Gladio in training. By the time you’ve wrapped up your set of push-ups, vision blurring and head spinning, he’s still parrying Gladio’s unforgiving strikes, quicker on his feet to match Gladio’s hulking brawn. He bursts in and out of the fight—warp-strike, he calls it—as flickers of magic drift around him like shards of broken mirrors, illuminating the floors in fractured blues.

Now, seeing him sprawled over the stretch of your bed sheets and comforters, he is an entirely different being from the aggressive prince prowling the training halls. Here, he is the lazy prince, one who conquers sixty percent of your land and demands more than fifty percent of your pillows. A conqueror through and through. If you listen hard enough, you can hear a small buzz in his breathing. His beautiful, expressive eyes are closed, dark lashes a stark contrast against his porcelain skin. Arm half-raised over his head and another resting on his chest, the comforters long gone and kicked off his body, tangling around his ankles.

Limber limbs, agile body, an unrelenting strength.

Your king is a pretty, pale prince, all ink spattered on snow.

Sitting up halfway, you unravel the twists and turns of his comforter and gently draw it over his body, letting the familiar heaviness cocoon him. It falls in the dips between his legs and arms and neck, but you’re careful enough to smoothen the fabric in all the nooks and crannies to ensure nothing’s exposed. It won’t do to have him catching cold limbs in your workspace, hindering all his princely progress if he falls ill. You’ve barely finished tugging the comforter over his feet when he shifts under you, rustling the sheets.

“Mmmh?” A voice thick with sleep. Noctis struggles with holding up his head, the hand over his hair catching a long yawn. “What’re you doing…?”

Patting the finishing touches to his feet, you drop onto the last forty percent of your land with your pillow. Comfort can be subjective when it comes to layered sheets playing the part of a makeshift mattress, but Noctis hasn’t complained thus far. The thought has you burrowing deeper into your own nest. “Nothing, Prince. Go back to sleep.”

Sleepy as he is, he still studies you how one reads a menu, head all full of delicious thoughts—and perhaps still basking in the afterglow of delicious dreams. The beautiful blue of his eyes are the skies across Galdin Quay, resting heavily on your face. So beautiful, you catch your fingers almost touching perfection. “You sure it’s nothing?”

No. You lick your bottom lip to divert the thought, ducking your head when Noctis drops his gaze to the flit of your tongue, staring at your spit-shiny lips. All traces of sleepy blue are erased, waxing interest in its stead. Interest that you are unwilling to entertain, lest he demands your thoughts. “A thousand times yep.” Shoving your discomfort into the distance, you turn your back to him. Face buried in your pillow, you await suffocation to claim you into slumber. “Gonna get some sleep, see ya.”

“Hey.”

Noctis is saying something, inexplicably intent on preventing you from having the last word.

You pretend you’re fast asleep, emulating an even breathing just to get him to stop. What other choices do you have left? This is bad. You should sleep. Sleep always rids you of your apprehension the same way Byron rids you of your nightmares. Sleep should soothe your aching calves and twitching thighs, a restful balm meant to rejuvenate those who are weary. Sleep should distract you from this—whatever it is you’re thinking, whatever it is the prince wants to do with you.

“Hey,” he tries again, a touch louder this time. “Your hair is in my face.”

You give a start—really? Only to realize a second too late that he’s nowhere near your hair, nowhere close enough to breathe down your neck. What he’s looking for is the startled jerk just to see if you’re awake, and you fell for it. Drat. Knowing he’s bested you this time, you clear your throat and tighten your hold on the pillow. “Turn the other way round then, Prince.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says, voice gone quiet. “You turn around.”

That’s unfair. That’s unfair because he knows you can’t say no to him. Who are you to deny what the prince wants?

Resigning to your fate for the second time today, you finally turn again. Noctis is still where you last saw him, lying on his side, the comforter you pulled hanging off his shoulder. It gets your fingers scrambling for your own, tugging the weighty cotton over your head, leaving only a loose gap around the edges of your face. Trying to find something to distract you from thinking about the weight of his gaze, or the lazy drag of his eyes from your lips to your neck. Trying to string a sentence or two about something—anything, as long as he doesn’t look at you like this.

After a while, he snorts inelegantly. “You look like an egg.”

A what?

“An… egg?” The words are already out from your mouth before you’re consciously filtering them.

Noctis mimics what seems to be wrapping his head from a blanket of air, a live demonstration of his meaning. “Yeah, an egg,” he explains matter-of-factly, dropping his hand to the sheets once more. “Y’know, hard-boiled egg. That stuff. Your comforter’s all white and your face is just—“

“—the yolk,” you finish for him, almost incredulous, almost borderline wanting to smother him under your pillow if you could. Here you are, worrying if he’s read your thoughts, and he comes up with this? “Really, Prince? An egg?”

“Yep.” Remorseless, curling his bottom lip, nodding all the same. “Got a problem?”

Incredible. All you can do is to gawp at him, wordless. An egg, really? An incredibly specific egg—a hardboiled egg? With your face for the yolk? Precisely at that point in your life, you realize Noctis can be quite trying at times. Is that why Gladio was grinning all morning long? Just waiting for you to be suckered into his same experience? You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, seeing how your morning routine tumbled into a disaster with him by your bedside, hauling you to an unannounced training session, and then tapping your thighs when you experienced excruciating pins and needles from sitting on your knees for too long.

If today’s a sneak preview for your future, who knows what’s in store many more weeks after?

Trying to gain a semblance of rationality, you nod—then shake—before settling on a nod again. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve got a problem. Your comment failed to crack a smile on the Egg Queen's face. That was ineggscusable. Good night, Prince.”

“What.” Noctis deadpans, obviously not expecting that to backfire on him. “Want me to snap a pic for proof? You gotta see it to believe it.”

Yanking the rest of the comforter over your face, you decide it’s best to spend the rest of your evening with a nap.

“Go to sleep, Prince. If you'll eggscuse me, I bid you a very good night.”

[tbc.]

Notes:

this chapter isn’t particularly my favourite and a few things felt awkward/misplaced, but i think my editing skills have gone down the drain and i couldn't particularly make anything work. ( ´△｀) i’m sorry sometimes my writing just goes down under and doesn’t wanna come back up. i’ve been awake for the past 31 hours now and i’m absolutely planning to pass out after this.

but yes, thank you for still sticking around and reading this update! and thank you for sending in messages and asks on my tumblr about my current job, even though i couldn’t reply much on time (especially with the asks) while i was away abroad. it’s been really nice chatting with some of you readers and you kind anons as well ❤ i’ll be called for another flight sometime soon seeing how november/december schedule is really packed (holiday season actually stands for…horrible season), but i’ll still do my best to have a consistent update (or update you readers on the status on my tumblr).

i hope life treats you well ❤ here’s a preview on the next chapter!

PREVIEW:

As usual, Noctis doesn’t seem to exist in the equation. Not that he’s surprised, he’s long classified Byron as one of those cynical bastards thriving on treating others as though their collective intelligence is on par with five-year-olds. Scoffing under his breath, Noctis folds his arms over his chest and follows you this time around, letting you lead the way to your room. Byron is all fancy bows as though he’s mocking Noctis for some reasons, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish and shutting it behind him once they’re all safely inside.

°˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ ° and also just because i was editing chapter 23, have a super-future preview of chapter 23 as well!

PREVIEW | 23:

“You wanna tell me what it feels like to have someone else on top of you?” Noctis murmurs.

#Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #final fantasy xv fanfic #noctis #gladiolus amicitia #Gladio #the next chapter will have byron vs noctis #and it's pretty much one of the chapters i laughed while writing #yeah those were the days #thank you for sticking around dear readers!#lazy people

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jungkookienoona · 7 years ago

Text

The Meme and His Tutor

Part 20: The Day The Tutor Visited BigHit

Co-written with @tragicshadows

Recommended Song: Baby by Astro

|All Chapters|

Summary:

It was happening. You were going to see where the magic happens! And Jungkook continues to be a distracting little shit.

Genre: Fluff, comedy

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 17496

Length: 20/?

For the second day in a row, you woke up to warmth. Warmth and... humming. You didn't recognise the tune but you certainly recognised the voice. It was Jungkook, humming as he ran his fingers through your hair with you tucked into his side. You couldn't help nuzzling your face into him as you tried to fight your way through grogginess. The humming stopped and his hand stilled.

"Good morning, Kitten."

You made a noise of acknowledgement and his small chuckle reverberated through his chest that your cheek was pressed against.

"Sleep well?"

You nodded then pulled back to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

"Good, you have a long day ahead."

You made grabby hands across him towards the desk and he passed you your glasses. Once on you looked up at him and noticed he looked like he had been awake for some time already.

"How long have you been up for?"

"A little while."

You pouted, "Why didn't you wake me?"

His hand found its way back into your hair, threading through it slowly.

"You looked so peaceful I couldn't bring myself to disturb you."

That was so sweet... but what had he been doing while you were asleep and what had he been humming?

"What were you humming, BunBun?"

You felt him shrug beneath you.

"Just something I've been working on."

This piqued your interest and you lifted your eyes to his.

"For the new album?"

A look of contemplation settled on his features, biting his lip as he appeared to think about his answer.

"No. You know how Namjoon-hyung sometimes releases songs on Youtube? I'm going to try that."

You smiled up at him, "The tune sounds good."

"Thank you, Kitten, but I still need to figure out a strum pattern for it..."

A tiny gasp slipped through your lips.

"You're playing guitar?!"

"Learning. I'm learning guitar." An arm left your hip to scratch his cheek. "I want to be able to play it properly so Jin hyung has been giving me some tips."

You sat up and faced him, bouncing slightly in your upright position, "I'm learning guitar too!"

He leant forward slightly with a chuckle.

"Really? Why?"

"Because I wanted too... and because a guy I thought was cute was helping me to learn... but it turned out he was a douche! He stood me up 3 times!"

His brow furrowed and the hand that had been in your hair squeezed your hip.

"That's not very nice."

"I know! Hence why he's a douche." You sighed and flopped back onto the pillows. "It doesn't matter now anyway."

He joined you on the pillows and turned to face you, "Why?"

"I have no interest in him anymore."

He nodded then booped your nose with a finger.

"Good."

Your lips lifted in a small smile which he reciprocated. The two of you lie like that for a minute until your gaze drifted to the door that had remained closed ever since waking up.

"It's quiet."

"Everyone left not long before you woke up."

You bolted upright and looked down at him wide eyed.

"They left already?! Then we're running late!"

He slowly sat up, arms wrapping around your waist and head coming to rest on your shoulder.

"It's okay, they thought it would be best if you arrived in the afternoon after warm ups and stuff."

"But-"

"I rarely get to sleep in like this." The feel of his warm breath against the shell of your ear sent a tingle down your spine. He chuckled, "Five more minutes. Please~?"

You cocked a brow, "But you were already awake before I woke up."

He nuzzled your shoulder and you felt your heart rate increase and your palms start to sweat.

"It's nice to be able to relax like this. Please, Noona~?"

You gave in just like you always did. He might as well have you wrapped around his little finger at this rate. It barely registered that he had pressed a kiss to your cheek until you felt a warmth creep up your neck and stain your skin.

"Thank you, Kitten."

You became a spluttering mess. Way to hide your feelings. Great job. Pat on the back for sure. While you were distracted with your thoughts Jungkook used his grip on your waist to pull you down onto the bed with him. One hand stayed wrapped around your waist as the other traced up your back to gently cup your head, tucking it under his chin. He began humming again.

Your mind began to drift from thought to thought about how you didn't think you'd ever be able to accept this as your reality. But it was.

Yet, once again, something felt odd. As much as you loved being in his arms and hearing him call you Kitten, it didn't feel enough. The longing you felt at home behind a screen was bad enough making this a thousand times worse. You were falling. Hard. You gulped. That week may have been the last time you got to enjoy being held by him like this. Between then and the next possible time was a space of MONTHS, that was enough time for some pretty idol girl to get his attention. Chubs had to be insane to think you had a shot. But... he was unusually... affectionate.

The hand holding, the occasional forehead and cheek kiss, climbing into bed with you, the nicknames, not correcting people when being mistaken as a couple... The list of things that confused you kept growing and growing, and you weren't sure how much more you could take.

Hiding your feelings had been both to save your embarrassment and his because no way would he ever reciprocate them. Or would he? Was it the answer to his jealousy?

Another forehead kiss. What was with him? Why all the kisses? You blinked a few times to try and clear your head, becoming aware your face was being pressed against his bare chest and your hands rested low on his abdomen.

"M-m-maybe we should have breakfast."

As if on cue you felt a rumble beneath the palm of your hand.

"Good idea. I'll make us something."

You untangled your legs from his, not realising you'd done so in the first place, and finally got up.

An ache set into your arm and you turned to remind Jungkook you needed painkillers when you were met with the blessed view of him bending over in nothing but boxer briefs. You tried to tear your eyes away, but his behind looked so firm and his thighs so thick. You were pretty sure you had stopped breathing at the sight.

"K-k-k..."You cleared your throat, "Kookie... your clothes..."

He pulled on a pair of sweats and turned to you, "Hope you don't mind if I wear these until we have to get ready to go. I want to stay comfy but don't want to get food on my onesie from you."

He was being sweet yet you wanted to curse him for not warning you or asking you to leave the room. Didn't he know how you adored his thighs?!

"Uh, t-that's fine."

Just to torture you a little more, he opted for a vest rather than a t-shirt revealing his biceps in all their glory. But it was better than having him walk around shirtless. You felt like you might have died if that had happened.

You followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table as Jungkook went around grabbing the ingredients he would need. You throat went dry when you saw how his arm muscles flexed as he reached into cupboards. Shit, you needed to get your thirst under control.

"BunBun, could you get me some water please?"

He filled a glass with a jug from the fridge which you couldn't have been happier about. After resolving your thirst you pressed the cool glass to your cheek, sighing at the relief it brought you.

Jungkook cast you a look over his shoulder, concern set in the furrow of his brow.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Just a bit warm. Nothing to worry about."

You found your attempt at reassuring him seemed to have the opposite effect since he abandoned prepping his work area to bend in front of you and place the back of his hand against your forehead.

He frowned, "You do seem warm... Jin-hyung once told me painkillers can help reduce temperatures and fevers." He gave you a small smile.

"You better get cooking so I can eat before taking them."

He resumed what he was doing while you unzipped your onesie to the centre of your chest for ventilation. How did he manage to make chopping vegetables look so attractive?

"What's on the menu?" You asked when he cracked one of three eggs into a bowl.

"Gyeran Mari, or rolled omelette in English. Lots of protein and healthy veggies. Is that okay?"

"Wanbyeok (Perfect)"

He used a small whisk on the eggs then went about chopping up the few remaining vegetables like scallions, Asian chive, radish and others he thought should go in there. Was it normal to like how a guy handled a knife when cooking? Seriously.

While a pan was preheating on the stove, Jungkook set out two plates and gave you the cutlery.

As the eggs began to cook, you didn't know what was more mouth watering; the smell of breakfast, or the sight of Jungkook wiping a bead of sweat from his temple with the hem of his shirt. Why was the Lord testing you like this? Did Jungkook forget how insanely good looking he is?

You watched as he used a spatula to roll the omelette then poured in some more egg mixture. He kept doing that until the mixture was gone and the omelette roll was a decent thickness. Turning off the heat, he used a knife to cut the roll in half before transferring it to the plates and cutting it into slices. He placed your plate in front of you with a smile and took a seat opposite.

It looked delicious, and your stomach rumbled at the sight so you took a bite only to curse when it burnt your tongue. Jungkook chuckled and pulled your plate closer to him and began to cut the pieces in half so they would cool down quicker. He speared some and held it to your lips.

"Blow."

"Are you seriously going to feed me again?"

He just raised a brow and waved the omelette piece again. You sighed, blowing on it before leaning forward and took it into your mouth, trying not to think about his bed hair.

"Good?"

You nodded and gave him a double thumbs up, momentarily forgetting about your arm. You winced and Jungkook offered you another mouthful.

"The quicker you eat the quicker you can have your painkillers."

You nodded again and had the offered bite.

"Why do you keep moving your arm?"

You swallowed, "I keep forgetting it's broken."

He paused in raising the next bite, staring at you with his famous 'shook' expression.

"How do you forget you have a broken elbow?"

"When I don't use it, it doesn't hurt. And my body seems to be starting to adjust to the pain. But I still have another 4-5 weeks of healing to go."

He screwed his face up while chewing his own omelette.

"Will you be okay flying home?"

"I managed to get here okay. And I always ask for an extra pillow to support it."

He nodded and the both of you went back to eating. Bringing up your flight home had made your stomach drop a little. You only had three full days left until you left him. Time was going too quick.

He held the next bite up to you, "Go 'aaah' Kitten."

You couldn't help the excitement that coursed through you as Jungkook pulled into the BigHit car park. It was happening! You were going to see the inside of the company! How many fans would sell an organ just to have the opportunity to be in your shoes?

He pulled into a space and helped you out of the car. There was no need for disguises so you were a little nervous when he took your hand and led you into an elevator that would take you into the building. You were practically bouncing on your feet when the doors opened into what seemed like a huge reception area.

"The members are in one of the practice rooms but it's mandatory you have a visitors pass in case you manage to get lost."

Still hand in hand, he led you over to the desk where a well-kept lady sat typing away. When you reached the desk Jungkook cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Ah, Jungkook-ssi, eotteohke dowa deulilkkabnida? (Ah, Jungkook-ssi, how can I help you?)"

He gave her a charming smile, "Sonnim-eul deungloghago sip-eoyo. Geunyeoui ireum-eun L/N Y/N-eoyo. (I'd like to register a guest. Her name is L/N Y/N.)"

Her gaze drifted to yours and she nodded with a kind smile.

"Nega ondago deul-eoss-eo. Mannaseo bangawobnida, L/N-yang. (I was told you were coming. Nice to meet you, Miss L/N.)"

You assumed Namjoon had informed them of a visitor and returned the sentiment. She asked for a quick signature then slid a lanyard over the counter. You thanked her while Jungkook hooked it over your neck.

You pouted, "I could've done it myself."

"I know," he bopped you on the nose, "now let's go find the others, Kitten."

Then he set off with you in tow. What ever happened to good old respectful 'Noona'?

You found them in a dance studio on one of the lower floors. As Jungkook pushed the door open, the first thing you saw was Yoongi sprawled across the middle of the floor, legs on top of Hoseok who sat sipping from a water bottle. The latter caught your eye and waved.

"Geudeul-eun yeogi iss-eoyo! (They're here!)"

"Deudi-eo! (Finally!)"

"Annyeonghaseyo Oppa."

They all looked at each other and there was a beat of silence before Jimin spoke up.

"Uriga jung eoneu jjog-i geunyeoneun yeonseolhago issna? (Which one of us is she speaking to?)"

Jin groaned, "Geunyeoneun maknae-ui beoleus-eul gochigo issda. (She's picked up the maknae's habit.)"

"Mueos hanssang. (What a pair.)"

There was a chorus of chuckles. You firmly believed their next title track could just be them laughing and their album would still sell out and win countless music shows.

You followed Jungkook and took a seat against a mirror beside Namjoon who was watching something on his phone.

"Urineun jigeum yeogie issdaneun geudeul-i geos-eul ije sijaghal su iss-eulkka? (Can we start now they're here?)" Taehyung said from the floor beside Jimin.

Namjoon put his phone away and got to his feet.

"Jungkook, gaseo ttatteushage hae jwo. Jin-hyung, eum-ag-eul bunlyuhae bwayo. (Jungkook, warm up. Jin hyung, sort the music.)"

Jin waited for everyone to get into place before pressing play and rushing to his own spot. As soon as you heard the beginning notes of the song, your stomach dropped. You knew this song. And you knew it for its choreo. 'I Like It Pt2: In That Place'.

Jungkook turned around, hand pointed at you as the words 'pretty girl' fell from his lips. Your heart was hammering against your ribs already and it was barely twenty seconds in.

He flashed you a smile as he counted down then faced the wall, Yoongi coming forward to rap. You were fine for most of Yoongi's verse... until it got to the point where all the members turned around and did a body roll of sorts.

Then his verse ended and the pre-chorus came in with Jungkook taking centre, a smug smirk on his features. Jin's part came next and you felt your cheeks heat as Jungkook pointed at you before sliding his hand down his chest while doing slower body rolls.

You braced knowing what was coming and pulled your legs up to your chest just in case you needed something to bury your face in to hide the blush that was threatening to show.

His hand went to his crotch, the other pointing at you while his hips moved in that sinful way. Did he really have to put his hand there while pointing at you?! It wasn't normal to do suggestive shit while singling out your friend!

He bit his lip when both his hands came to rest on his belt and god damn he was pinning you down with his famous intense gaze. It was like a car crash, you wanted to look away but you couldn't. The sequence was repeated and not once did your gaze waver. The other members could have been wearing clown suits and you wouldn't have noticed.

He sent you a final wink before turning around, giving you the perfect view of his broad shoulders through his white t-shirt. And not to forget the Jungbooty. His jeans were...snug and you forced yourself to look away and give some attention to Namjoon who was using Jimin's hand as a phone. The little interaction was cute as Jimin shyly smiled at Namjoon, apparently, he would never be used to being a phone. Then came the staggered step sequence that was arguably your favourite part of the choreo. However, Jungkook could have found a better place to rest his hand. You weren't some pervert, you didn't want to look at his... downstairs but HAND PLACEMENT!

You quickly fixed your gaze on his face, not wanting him to notice you staring directly at his lower half but it was too late. His head dropped to the floor and you watched a smirk slip on his lips as he met your eye.

You were tempted to grab Hoseok's water bottle and dump its contents all over you but that wouldn't stop him from licking his lips and narrowing his eyes, sending shivers down your spine.

The pre-chorus came back and Jungkook was in the back row this time. You tried so hard to concentrate on Tae and Jin, but the stupid maknae kept stealing your attention with little effort on his half. It felt like your heart stopped when the chorus came. Jungkook covered his eyes, biting his lip smirking at the same time, his hand sliding down from his belt as his hips moved. Jesus Christ, you needed holy water. Stat.

Never had you ever been more grateful for Hoseok than when he took centre, not even when he reassured you after injuring Jungkook's finger. He made you giggle by waving and pulling a silly face as he stepped forward.

But then that was over and Jungkook spun to a stop in front of you. He was so close that your eyes could only focus on him. On how smoothly he executed the moves required. How the material of his clothing constricted around him, showing the contours of his body, with each action. You were only snapped out of your daze when Jungkook crouched down directly in front of you and booped your nose with a grin, the final notes of the song fading.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and Jungkook fell back onto his butt, arms supported behind him.

"Yah! Niga majimag bubun-eul mangchyeossjanh-a! (Yah! You ruined the end!)" Jimin shouted as he made his way over to you. He slapped the back of Jungkook's head before flopping down beside him.

"Naega eotteohke gyeolmal-eul mangchyeossjieoyo? (How did I ruin the end?)" He looked at Jimin, cocking a brow in curiosity. You were amazed at the fact he wasn't as out of breath as the others. But then you remembered watching a video somewhere where the members said Jungkook had the most stamina.

"Neoneun pojeuleul chwihaji anh-ass-eo. (You didn't pose.)" Jin said and flicked the maknae's ear as he passed.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and turned his attention to you.

"What did you think, Noona?"

"How dare you attack me like that you little shit!"...was what you wanted to say. However, instead, you managed to stutter out a "g-great!" and made grabby hands for the water bottle Taehyung handed him. Your thirst was real.

He opened the bottle and took a swig first before passing it to you. Bottle in hand, you were at a loss. Should you wipe the lid to remove the residue from his lips or would that be considered rude?... Fuck it. He'd caused your hot flush so he could deal with it. You'd drank from the same place on your mug on your first trip to the cafe, this shouldn't be any different. You took a sip then handed it back. Unfazed, he drank from it again then capped the bottle and set it aside.

Jimin shuffled closer and nudged Jungkook, "Neoui neuj-jam-eul jada eottaess-eo? (How was your lay in?)"

In that moment you witnessed the duality of a man as Jungkook who, minutes before, had been doing some rather suggestive and sinful dancing started to blush and stutter while trying to respond to his hyung.

"J-j-joh-ass-eoyo.(I-it was n-nice.)"

"Geunyang ‘jalhae'rago? (Just ‘nice’?)" Yoongi cocked a brow earning himself a foot to the shoulder which sent him to the floor. "Yah! Nal geod-eochaji ma! (Yah! Don't kick me!)"

You sniggered and caught Jungkook's eye as he sent you a wink.

"Ije Y/Nilang gaeinjeog-in yudaegam-eul ssah-eul su iss-eulkka? (Can we have individual bonding time with Y/N now?)" Taehyung said, laying his head on your shoulder. You noticed Jungkook's eye twitch before he took a deep breath through his nose.

Reluctantly he gave a slight nod then stood, "I'm going to the bathroom, I won't be long."

You watched him disappear out the studio doors then turned to Taehyung who was engrossed in a game on his phone.

"Neoneun museun bidio geim-eul hago iss-eoyo, Tae-oppa? (What video game are you playing Tae-oppa?)"

He shrugged, head still leaning on your shoulder, "Naneun geugeos-i mworago bullineunji ij-eo beoryeossda. (I forgot what it's called.)"

You narrowed your eyes at the screen where a neon yellow bike flipped off a glowing ramp and shattered into pieces as it collided with a wall.

"Hyung~! Neomu eoryeowoyo! (Hyung~! It's too difficult!)"

Jin suddenly plopped down the other side of you and Taehyung passed him the device.

"Bogo baewo. (Watch and learn.)"

Taehyung quickly crawled around you to watch Jin play. With him no longer by your side, Hoseok butt shuffled over to you.

"Y/N, chumchul su iss-eo? (Y/N, can you dance?)"

"Kkog geuleohjin anh-ayo. (Not really.)" You grimaced and Hoseok chuckled.

"Neoneun teullim-eobs-i hal su iss-eo. (I bet you can.)" He got to his feet and called out to Namjoon to put some music on.

The leader obliged while Hoseok held out his hand and gave you an encouraging smile. You took it and he gave you a pull to help you up. Listening carefully you recognised the song to be Bang Bang Bang by BIGBANG. As if hearing the call of G-Dragon, Jungkook came racing back into the room.

"Ttag je sigan-e! (Just in time!)" Hoseok shouted to Jungkook while clapping in time to the song. "Y/N-ga ulil wihae chum-eul chul geoya. (Y/N's going to dance for us.)"

Jungkook came to a stop a few feet away, arms folded. "Are you now?"

"I told them I couldn't dance. The most I can do is wiggle my butt."

He and Namjoon laughed while the others looked on in confusion.

"Nawa. Chum. Urineun neoreul wihae chum-eul chueossda. (Come on. Dance. We danced for you.)" Yoongi was sprawled across the floor facing you.

Heat invaded your cheeks, "Jeoneun cheongjung-eul gajneun de igsughaji anh-ayo. (I'm not used to having an audience.)"

The verse cut in and Hoseok began shifting his weight from foot to foot, in tune to the choreography. His movements were sharp, shoulders locking and popping. You took a step back in an attempt to retreat unnoticed but a pair of hands were suddenly on your waist.

"It's easy Kitten, just lose yourself to the beat."

Jungkook's breath tickled your ear. He used his grip on your hips to spin you around to face him. A smirk was on his features.

"Like this," he immediately started bouncing while pumping a fist in the air.

You slowly raised your good arm and copied his movements. It felt ridiculous, especially with half the members watching, but you ignored the anxiety bubbling away in your tummy and focused on trying to enjoy yourself.

There was a whoop from the sidelines and you saw Taehyung and Jimin get to their feet out of the corner of your eye. Jimin was popping like Hoseok was doing, obviously, the dancer in him would not let him look ridiculous. Taehyung did not have those reservations. He went full meme in a matter of moments.

You spotted Jin doing his iconic traffic light dance next to Namjoon who was... cruncking? Yes, that's what Hoseok had called it. Though he looked to be in pain.

The chorus kicked in and you raised a finger gun at Jungkook, pretending to shoot him. He dramatically pretended that you were actually shooting at him. He acted as if he had been shot in both shoulders and with the final 'bang' he fell to the floor with a spin.

"Noona, how could you?!" He cried, clutching his chest with a pout.

"Da kkomjjak mara, da kkomjjak ma! (Nobody move, nobody move!)" You sang, swinging around and aiming at Yoongi who was watching you all from the floor chuckling to himself. You pretended to shoot him on the next three 'bang's but he managed to dodge every bullet with a smirk.

"How come Yoongi-oppa could dodge my bullets but you couldn't?" You asked the fallen maknae.

His pout turned into a frown before raising his legs into the air and swinging them back down, using the momentum to stand upright again.

"Hyung has been alive longer."

You opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off, "Noona said she'd dance. So far you fist bumped the air then shot two people."

He resumed his bouncing and grinned at you. "We don't judge. Come on."

You felt anxiety bubble up once more and tried to push it down. But just as you tried to hide it you were made to face the other members who were dancing. One of Jungkook's arms wrapped around your waist while the other took hold of your good arm, waving it about. Was this how your younger siblings felt when you controlled their arms? Taehyung doubled over in laughter when he saw you and you could feel the rumble of Jungkook's chuckle reverberate through his chest.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder to whisper-shout over the music, "You're enjoying this far too much."

"Noona makes a good little puppet. I wouldn't be doing this if you would just dance."

You could practically feel his grin.

"This isn't the kind of music I dance to."

He stilled, your arm in mid flail, "So what do you dance to?"

"Do you have any KARD?"

He quickly ran over to the speaker where Namjoon's phone was connected and changed the song. There was a chorus of whines, but they soon turned to cheers when KARD's ‘Hola Hola' came on.

Jungkook approached you with a mischievous grin.

"No excuses now, Noona."

"Shit."

Of course, the change in song didn't help as everyone stopped to stare. But the beat had your hips naturally swaying side to side. Curse your love of Shakira when you were a child. You found yourself beckoning Jungkook over.

He shuffled closer, telling the members to resume their dancing on his way, and stopped to watch you with an impressed smile. You grabbed his hand, instantly putting you more at ease, and sang along to Somin's verse. His hands came to rest of your hips, swaying with you, smiling. When BM's verse came all the other members started dancing once more.

You felt the subtle tighten of his grip and his head lowered to your ear, "Neowa maeilmada kkaegopa nan. Neoye hyanggi baen du pallo gama. (I wanna wake up with you every day. Wrap around you with my arms that smell like you.)"

But then you were being pulled away by a grip on your good arm. You turned to find Jimin pulling you to dance, using your arm to spin and lead you, yet not placing his free hand on you.

"Kookieneun oneul uriwa hamkke dangsin-eul nanugoja hal yejeong-ida. (Kookie is meant to share you today.)"

He lifted his arm for you to twirl beneath. The two of you burst into giggles when your fingers got caught as you spun.

"Nan jal mos haeyo. (I'm not very good.)"

He shook his head, "Na yeogsi geuleohji anhda. Hobi-hyungwa Kookiedo naboda nasda. (Me neither. Hobi-hyung and Kookie are better than me too.)"

"Hobi-oppaneun jeonghwaghan daenseoida. Kookieneun ganglyeoghan daenseoida. hajiman yeoleobun-eun heuleumgwa jayeonseuleoun uaham-eul gajigo iss-eoyo. (Hobi-oppa is a precise dancer. Kookie is a powerful dancer. But you have flow and a natural grace.)" You gave him a small but genuine smile.

His blush was unmasked by his make-up free face and you wished Chubs was here for she was a sucker for mochi Chim.

"Gomawo, Y/N. (Thank you, Y/N.)"

"Chumchul su iss-eumyeon johgess-eoyo. (I wish I could dance.)"

"Neoneun chum-eul chul su iss-eo. (You can dance.)"

"Nae pal-eul heundeuneun geosgwa nae eongdeong-ileul heundeuneun geos-eun chum-i anida. (Waving my arms and shaking my butt isn't dancing.)"

His head tipped back as he laughed, and then he was turning around.

"Y/Neun chum-eul baeugo sip-eo haeyo! (Hobi-hyung! Y/N wants to learn to dance!)"

Hoseok immediately ran over to stop the music, the members groaning again.

"Y/N-dongsaengeun baeugil wonhae? (Y/N-dongsaeng wants to learn?!)" Then he fiddled with Namjoon's phone until ‘Fire’ started blaring from the speakers, "Igeos-eun geunyeoga anmuleul baeul su issneun wanbyeoghan gog-ida. (This is the perfect song for her to learn choreo to.)"

You pointed to your arm, "Kkaejin. (Broken.)"

"Han pallo hanbeon deusyeo bosigess-eo? (Can you try with one arm?)" He demonstrated the key point of the dance, keeping one hand tucked to his chest. Hoseok somehow managed to make the dance look good with just one arm.

And so he went through it with you step by step as the other members watched on. With the guidance and slow pace that he was teaching you, it seemed easy. But that changed when he felt you were ready to dance to the song at full speed.

You didn't even get halfway through when you tripped over your own feet. Jungkook was over and catching you before you could brace for impact.

"Shit! Are you okay?!"

You did a quick damage assessment. Your arm didn't hurt, apart from the dull ache you always had, and your feet didn't seem to be in any pain. "Yeah, I think so."

The members didn't share his concern, finding your blunder to be comical.

"Nuga deo nappeunga gung-geumhaeyo, Najoon-hyung, Jin-hyung, Y/Niyo. (I wonder who's worse, Namjoon-hyung, Jin-hyung or Y/N.)" Taehyung laughed.

Yoongi perked up, "Nuga naegileul kkeoligess? (Who's willing to place bets?)"

"Na! (Me!)" Taehyung raised his arm followed by Jimin and Hoseok. You felt a hand disappear from your waist and saw it rise beside you.

"You're going to bet on this?"

"To win, to win." Jungkook reassured you. "Just don't fall."

"I have a broken arm and they've been doing this choreo for over a year! This isn't fair at all!"

He cocked an eyebrow, "Who's whining like a child now?"

You huffed and the room echoed with laughter.

"Urin neol pyeonhage hae jul geoya! (We'll go easy on you!)" Jin shouted and Namjoon gave you a thumbs up.

"Fine. But if I win I want a prize."

"And what would that be?" Namjoon asked.

You put your hand on your hip since you were unable to cross your arms.

"I want to spend time with each member. Alone... well... with Jungkook there in case of communication issues."

They all nodded, "Deal."

Jungkook took a seat against the mirrored wall and you took your position between Namjoon and Jin.

"Junbidwaessna? (You ready?)"

Hoseok counted you in and pressed play. You tried your hardest and it paid off. You won. Jungkook happily counted his winnings.

"I knew you could do it, Kitten."

You had collapsed onto your back by his feet and noticed his phone by his leg. It was open on the camera app and you immediately sat up.

"Did you film it?!"

Jungkook looked up in alarm. "No..."

He quickly snatched his phone off the ground.

"Lair!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Prove it!"

His eyebrows furrowed together, "How about we get on with your prize? Who do you want to spend time with first?"

"Yoongi-oppa. He hasn't done much today."

The rapper scowled at you from his reclined position. "Swigo iss-eo. (I'm resting.)" But he got to his feet nonetheless. "Je seutyudioreul bogo sip-euse? (Do you want to see my studio?)"

"Naega hal su iss-eulkkayo? (Can I?)"

He nodded and you scrambled to your feet causing him to roll his eyes.

"Maknae, come."

"Maknae, come." Jungkook mimicked, scrunching up his nose as he followed you and Yoongi out of the dance studio.

A short walk away you stopped outside of a door with 'SUGA' printed on the frosted glass. Yoongi deftly input a code and pushed the door open.

"This where magic happens."

You walked into the studio and straight away noticed the two giant screens. One had Netflix up. He really watched Netflix in there? Your eyes dropped to the mess that was his desk. Papers littered the surface, an open notebook sat atop them with scribbles across the spread.

There was a tsk from behind you, "Noonaga dochaghagi jeon-e cheongsohal su eobs-eossnayo? (You couldn't clean up for Noona?)"

Yoongi took a seat in his desk chair but made no move to tidy up.

"Nan mwos jom haneun jung-iya. (I'm in the middle of something.)" He grumbled then turned to you, "Geu-ui bang-eun deoleowossda. Geuneun neoleul wihae cheongsohaessda. (His room was dirty. He cleaned for you.)"

"Sonnim-i osil ttae bang cheongsoleul haneun geos-i ilbanjeog-in yeuiga aningayo? (Isn't it common courtesy to clean up your room if you're expecting a guest?)"

He shrugged but you noticed Jungkook was scratching the back of his neck, ears turning pink.

"Eojjaesdeun, (Anyway,)" Yoongi reached over the papers to wiggle the mouse, the other screen coming alive. "Igeos-i uliga gongsigjeog-eulo giloghagi jeon-e manh-eun teulaeg gaideuleul giloghaneun gos. (This is where we record a lot of the track guides before we officially record.)"

You nodded along and watched him load up a file on the computer in an editing software.

"Yeoleobun-eun 'Bomnal'laneun geochin mal-eul deudgo sip-eusinga? (Do you want to listen to a rough version of ‘Spring Day’?)" Yoongi asked.

"Uh… Ne, mullon-ijyo. (Uh… Yeah sure.)"

He hit space bar and music started to play. About thirty seconds in, you broke out into a huge yawn. Not used to dancing like you had been, you felt drained of all energy even if you had slept in.

Yoongi paused the track and spun around to face you.

"Neoneun pigonhae? (Are you tired?)"

You nodded while yawning again, then elbowed Jungkook when he muttered 'cute'.

"Narang gat-i naj-jam jallae? (Do you want to maybe take a nap with me?)"

Both you and Jungkook looked surprised at his offer. He wanted to nap with you? He pointed to a black leather sofa that was situated against a wall.

"Urin geogiseo naj-jam-eul jal su iss-eo. Koseu bandaepyeon-euro. (We could nap on there. Opposite sides of course.)" He sent a look to Jungkook before giving you a glimpse of a gummy smile.

"Hwagsilhaeyo? (Are you sure?)"

He nodded and headed to a tall cabinet, pulling out two blankets and gave you one.

"Pyeonhi swise. Eum-ag-eul teur-eo noh-eurge. (Get comfortable. I'll put some music on.)"

You took a seat on the sofa and Jungkook draped the blanket over you then proceeded to tuck you in like a burrito.

"Why are you tucking me in? I'm not a baby."

He went over and grabbed Yoongi's desk chair, rolling it over so it was by your head before taking a seat.

"Try telling me that when you're not curled up in a cute little ball."

You pouted, "I'm doing it to leave room for Yoongi-oppa."

Yoongi had already curled up on the other side of the sofa.

"Dagchyeo, Kookie. Hyung-gwa noonareul dugo jage hara. (Shut up Kookie. Let the hyung and noona sleep.)"

Jungkook sighed and you peered up at him, making sure to whisper when you spoke.

"Aren't you leaving?"

"In a minute. Close your eyes."

The feather light touch of his knuckles ghosting across your cheek caused them to shut of their own accord. You felt his fingers starting running through your hair again, making you relax with a content sigh. He started humming again but this time you recognised the song. It was Lost Stars, a song he once covered. He was humming it in a lower octave than the original but it made the tune more soothing. It didn't take long before you succumbed to sleep.

A nudge to your calf woke you. There was a mutter of 'Sorry' and you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you sat up. Yoongi was stretching and must've accidentally disturbed you with a kick.

"Jigeum myeoch siyeyo? (What time is it?)"

"Lunch time!"

You flinched at the bright voice and squinted in the direction of the desk. Shit. Where were your glasses? You knew you fell asleep with them on.

A hand gently grabbed your chin and turned you to face a blur of a person, but then your glasses were being slid on and Jungkook was giving you his bunny grin.

"I took them off after you fell asleep. Couldn't have them marking such a pretty face now, could we?"

You opted to look over at the desk instead of replying to him. There by the desk was Jin, smiling at you.

"Jeomsim sigan-irago haessnayo? (Did you say lunch time?)"

"Geugeos-eun yaggan geojismal-ieossda. Neoreul jubang-eulo delyeogago sip-eo. (That was a bit of a lie. I want to take you to the kitchen.)"

You shrugged the blanket off and got to your feet.

"Jeoreul eumsig-e delyeoda juseyo.(Please take me to the food.)"

Jin didn't hesitate in heading to the door, but just before you followed him out you turned to Yoongi.

"Neowahamkke naj-jam-eul jage hae jusyeoseo gamsahaeyo, Oppa. (Thank you for letting me take a nap with you, Oppa.)"

He gave you a sleepy smile, "Najung-e bwa. (I'll see you later.)"

Jungkook trailed behind you, catching up to hold your hand.

"Urineun wae bueok-e gayo? (Why are we going to the kitchen?)"

"Geuraeseo neoneun jeomsim-eulo mueos-eul wonhaneunji seontaeghal su issda. (So you can choose what you want for lunch.)"

You came to stop at a set of elevators, Jungkook and Jin greeted the staff that got out before you could enter. There were a few curious glances thrown your way but they were quickly replaced with smiles and a hello.

"Moduga neomu chaghaeyo. (Everyone is so nice.)" You said once it was just three of you in the elevator.

"Mullon geudeul-ida. Geudeul-eun BigHit-ui jig-won-igo neoneun geu geonmul-ui sonnim-ida. (Of course they are. They're BigHit staff and you're a guest to the building.)" Jin said matter-of-factly with a smile.

"And you're my guest and friend," Jungkook added, squeezing your hand.

You got out on the ground floor and followed the signs to the cafeteria. Jin guided you past the main double doors and through one a little further down the corridor marked 'Staff only'.

He strolled in as if he owned the place, and announced his arrival with a clap.

"Wa! Mwonga mas-issneun naemsaega nayo! (Wow! Something smells delicious!)"

Some of the chefs stopped what they were doing to cheerfully greet Jin which was then extended to you and Jungkook when they noticed you two were accompanying the eldest member. Some eagerly beckoned him over to take some of their creations. Jin joined them while Jungkook pulled you around the other side of the counter to a different chef who was stirring something in a large pot atop a stove.

You asked what he was cooking.

"Miyeokguk (Seaweed soup.)"

"Nae Noonaga mas-i jom iss-eodo gwaenchanh-eulkkayo? Jin-hyung-eun jeomsim-eulo mueos-eul wonhaneunjileul bolyeogo geunyeoleul deligo wassda. (Do you mind if my Noona has a taste? Jin brought her here to see what she wants for lunch.)"

The chef shook their head no and stepped to the side, giving Jungkook a spoon. He dipped the spoon into the soup and offered some to you, his hand going under the spoon to stop any from spilling onto the floor. You let him feed you, a pleased sigh slipping from your lips at the wonderful taste.

"It's yummy!"

Jungkook's eyes lit up after having his own taste.

"Our chefs are very talented."

The chef gave Jungkook's shoulder a squeeze and said something to him too low for you to hear over Jin and the other's chatter.

"What did he say?"

"He wants to know if we'd like to go sit at a table for them to bring the food to us."

You looked to Jin for approval and he said he wanted you to try some more dishes first.

The chef nodded in understanding and went back to work.

You joined Jin's side, peering around him to see what he was frying; the chef who had been cooking was busy cooking vegetables the other side of him. Jin instantly pushed you back slightly, warning you of spitting oil.

"Eotteon yolileul mandeulgo iss-eoyo? (What are you cooking?)"

"Tangsuyuk. (Sweet and sour pork.)"

You scrunched up your nose never having been a fan of sweet and sour dishes or pork. As is sensing your mild disgust, Jungkook approached you with another spoon.

"Gamja jorim (Soy sauce braised potatoes.)"

You eagerly accepted the spoon and gave him a thumbs up.

"That's good. Very good."

He chuckled around his own mouthful, "Everything here is good. They treat us well."

"They really do."

You felt someone tap you on the shoulder, it was Jin who told you about one of chefs cooking potato pancakes.

"Man-yag niga geugeos-eul joh-ahandamyeon, neoui jeomsim sigsaleul wihan banchan-i doel geos-ida. (If you like it that'll be the side dishes for your lunch sorted.)

You nodded and headed in the direction he pointed. The chef there must have heard him because they offered you one. It was delicious. You gave the chef a thumbs up.

At the next station, a chef was rolling meat and rice in lettuce. You grimaced but then Jungkook was sidestepping you and asking the chef if a vegetarian option was possible. He kindly obliged, making you one sans meat.

"You didn't have to do that."

He kissed your forehead, "I know but I wanted to."

Your face felt like it was on fire. Did he really just do that in the middle of a busy kitchen? In front of Jin?! You mumbled a thank you and accepted the ssambap from the chef, turning away to take a bite and shield your red cheeks from view.

Once you'd finished the wrap, Jungkook went about telling a chef what you both would like for lunch; meanwhile, you chatted with Jin.

"Geuneun neoreul jal dolbwa junda. (He looks after you well.)"

"Eung. Naneun geuga geuga gajin modeun chingudeul-eul dolbwa jul geolago jangdamhan-ayo. (Yeah. I bet he takes care of every friend he has over.)"

Jin looked to Jungkook then back to you, "Geuneun gyeolko jinjeong-eulo chingudeul-eul gisugsalo delyeooji anhneunda. (He never really brings friends to the dorm.)” He explained how it's hard to spend a day together with idol friends because of their hectic schedules. Hence why Jungkook tends to go out and meet them.

Your face fell, "Seulpeuneyo. (That's sad.)"

Jin shrugged, "Seulpeujiman sasil-iya urin aidol-ijanh-a ulineun maesa-e josimhaeya handa. (Sad, but true. We're idols. We have to be careful about everything.)"

Your eyes scanned his face, noting the slump of his shoulders and firm set of his mouth.

"Naneun daehag sijeol-e bangmunhalyeogo nolyeoghal geoya… Man-yag Jungkook-i geuttaekkajineun gwangyega eobsdamyeon. (I'll try to visit during my uni holidays then... if Jungkook isn't in a relationship by then.)" He gave you a puzzled look, not understanding why Jungkook being in a relationship would stop you from visiting. "Amado geuga yeoja chinguleul sagwindamyeon naleul jigjeob mannago sipji anh-ass-eul tende. (Because he probably wouldn't want to see me in person as much if he gets a girlfriend.)"

Realisation dawned on his features.

"Geuttaen geogjeonghal ge amugeosdo eobs-eo. (You have nothing to worry about then.)"

You were about to ask what he meant when Jungkook shouted your name, waving you over.

"Oppa, uliwa jeomsim sigsahasineun geongayo? (Oppa, are you eating lunch with us?)"

Jin raised the chopsticks he was using to move the meat about the pan and pointed to the doors.

"Naega neohante eumsig-eul gajyeoda jwo. Kookiewa hamkke sigtag-eul chaj-a. (I'll bring your food out to you. Go find a table with Kookie.)"

Doing as he said, you headed over to Jungkook who took you by the hand again and led you to the cafeteria area. He must have spotted the others because he dragged you to a table and all the members, bar Jin, were sat there already.

"How often does Jin help out in the kitchen? It seems like the chefs in there know him well."

"Quite often. A few of the assistant chefs are his age and he sometimes goes out for drinks with them."

"It's nice he has people to go out with." You said with a small smile thinking about what Jin had said about Jungkook not having many friends that weren't idols. Namjoon had said something similar on your first night at the restaurant, about how he's happy Jungkook has someone to spend money on.

After a few minutes of general chatter, it was decided that after lunch you would watch Jimin and Hoseok practice their dance moves, followed by hanging out with Taehyung and finally visiting Namjoon in his studio before Jungkook took you on a tour of the building. Jin came out of the kitchen with two trays. One was yours and by the way, he sat down, the other was his.

You looked down at your meal: a bowl of seaweed soup with sides of those delicious braised potatoes, pancakes, and vegetable wraps. It was far too much for you to stomach at lunch, but you were willing to give it your best shot.

There was a whine from beside you as you sipped your soup.

"Nae geos-eun eodie iss-eoyo? (Where's mine?)"

Jin gave Jungkook a pointed look, " Nuguhante tudeoldaeneun geoya?! Naneun nega bulpyeonghal su issdolog yuknyeon dong-an neoleul gyeoglyeohaji anh-ass-eo! Aish! Gaseo jasin-ui eumsig-eul eod-eusibsio! (Who are you whining to?! I didn't raise you for the past six years so you could moan! Aish! Go get your own food!)"

He pouted and got up and headed over to what appeared to be a serving station. He was soon heading back with a tray full of food and two glasses of orange juice. He sat down next to you and passed you the extra orange juice and a bowl of rice.

"It's not a proper meal without rice."

"Thank you, Kookie."

There was a titter from the other end of the table and you lifted your gaze to Taehyung who was giggling into his hand.

"'BunBun'ege museun il-i il-eonassneunga? (What happened to 'BunBun'?)"

You rolled your eyes and Jungkook launched a pea at him.

"Nongdamhaneun geolamyeon Noona-reul jib-e delyeoda julge. (Any teasing and I'll take Noona home.)"

Another titter but from Jimin, "'Kitten'iraneun tteus aninga? (Don't you mean 'Kitten'?)"

Jungkook threw some rice at him.

"Geunyeoreul geureon ireum-euro bureuji maseyo! Geunyeoege jeonhwahaneun geos-eun nae ireum-ida. (Don't call her that! That's my name for her.)"

The members shared a look.

Hoseok was the one to step in, "Ije dwaess-eo. Deo isang-ui ireum-eun eobs-eo. Deo isang eumsig-eul deonjil pil-yoga eobsda. (That's enough. No more names. No more throwing food.)"

The idle chatter started back up as soon as it stopped, but Jungkook was especially quiet, pushing rice around his bowl without sparing you so much as a glance. You stabbed an untouched potato pancake and placed it on his empty plate.

"It's good. You should try it."

He looked up at you with his bunny grin which soon became mischievous.

"Feed it to me."

In the background, Namjoon choked on his drink and started coughing. You ignored him in favour of staring at Jungkook in shock.

"You want me to feed you?"

He tore the pancake into bite-size chunks, "Yep," he then pushed his plate towards you.

You hesitated then speared a piece on your fork and raised it to his mouth.

"With your hands."

You shot him an incredulous look and pushed the pancake against his lips more forcefully so they would part. Reluctantly he ate the piece and you smirked. Eating with your hands was bad manners, especially since you were in public and a guest. He hummed in approval at the taste making you giggle.

Taehyung whistled while Yoongi muttered, "Get a room."

You wondered how much English he actually knew. Jungkook cast you a sorry look but you smiled and offered him another piece of pancake.

The teasing didn't bother you. Especially when you knew they were just doing it to wind him up since he was the youngest. It didn't mean anything.

"You sound cute whenever you make those little noises."

His lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile, "I know. I've seen the comments on my vlive broadcasts."

You laughed and fed him another bite. He made an exaggerated humming sound, eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Hm," you booped his nose. "Adorable."

His nose scrunched and you couldn't help but 'aw'. Once you finished feeding him, Jungkook picked up your trays and took them to a dirty tray rack. The members then went up one by one. You all took a steady walk back to the studio so Hoseok and Jimin could let their food go down before they showed you any moves.

After a short break, they went about warming up.

You were sat against the mirrors slumped against Jungkook's shoulder when an idea came to mind. You got out your phone and pressed record as music started playing and Jimin took centre on the floor. You recognised the sound of Bruno Mars' voice but didn't know the song.

The smiling mochi who had been quietly stretching was nowhere in sight as he skipped forward to the beat, high-fiving Hoseok on his way.

Even the human embodiment of literal sunshine had swapped his grin for a smirk.

Was being able to switch from cute to sexy in a matter of seconds a requirement when becoming an idol? Were they taught it as trainees? Maybe that was why their fans were so protective of them.

You felt Jungkook shifting beside you before his arms went around your waist and under your legs. With a yelp, you were lifted off the ground and deposited between his spread legs, your back against his chest and both arms now around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder.

All the commotion was bound to have made the video shaky.

"Kookie! I'm filming!" You angrily whispered.

"Why are you filming?"

You hoped the music was loud enough to mask your talking.

"I'm going to send it to Chubs as payback for what she said about you calling me Kitten."

You phone shook as his laughter jolted your filming arm. "My Noona is evil."

"I know. So tell Jimin to dance sexier. I want her to have a heart attack."

"Yah! Jimin-ssi! Segsihan bangbeob-euro chum-eul chuseyo! (Dance in a sexier way!)"

You giggled but stopped when the elder of the two listened, his movements becoming more sensual. You tried to remember what Jungkook had shouted.

"Oppa! Deo segsihan bangbeob-euro chum-eul chuseyo! (Please dance sexier!)"

Jimin's head rolled in your direction and you noticed his pink cheeks. Bless him, you thought; he was embarrassed.

The members were casting you glances as you and Jungkook cheered him on with more suggestions. Eventually, he fell to the floor in a pile of laughter and giggles, returning to being adorable mochi. You stopped recording and laughed along with the members. Though you were cut off when something lightly grazed the junction between your neck and shoulder. You had to stop yourself from doing a turtle impression. Maybe... maybe it was just Jungkook's nose as he nuzzled into you. Yeah. That had to be it.

"You're so ticklish." Jungkook murmured. You flinched when something poked your hip.

"No, no, no!" You tried to shuffle away but his grip was too strong. "Please don't! Not here!"

He immediately stopped and you breathed a sigh of relief. Thank fuck.

"Y/N," you shifted your attention to Hoseok. "Wae uril chwal-yeonghasyeoss-eo? (Why were you filming us?)"

You briefly told him about Chubs, how she was a Jimin stan and that you met her at the BTS concert in your country.

"Geunyeoneun simjieo fansignhaengsa-edo chamseoghaessda. (She even went to the fansign event.)"

Jimin scooted over to you and took hold of your arm, "Neoneun geunyeoleul bonael su eobs-eo! (You can't send her that!)"

"Wae an doenayo? (Why not?)"

You thought his excuse would have been something to do with legalities and being shared online, but Jimin pouted.

"Jeoneun byeollo jalhaji moshaess-eo. (I didn't do very well.)"

Protests filled the room, reassuring him he did just fine. Hoseok wrapped his arms around the dancer and ruffled his hair, "Chubs-ui ban-eung-eul hanbeon bolkkayo? (Let's see Chubs' reaction, shall we?)"

"Jungkook, what's the wifi password. I can't send the video over text."

He took your phone from you and quickly typed in the password then gave it back. You opened KaKaoTalk and grinned evilly as you sent the video. You checked your dual clock and laughed when you saw it was still the early morning back at home. If you were lucky, she could be up making it one of the first things she saw.

Jin was in the thick of telling a story when your phone buzzed. You tapped Jungkook's knee to get his attention and opened the message. As expected it was in all caps- all caps and enough exclamation marks to shame a tween.

'ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME???!!!!!!!!!'

You typed back a simple 'Mwahaha!'

The response was immediate.

'PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S AN OLD VIDEO YOU DUG UP FROM SOMEWHERE AND THAT YOU WEREN'T JUST A FEW FEET AWAY FROM A HIP THRUSTING PARK FUCKING JIMIN!!!'

'Brand new video.'

'ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!'

Your grin grew and Jimin came over to see what you were smiling at. Jungkook read out the messages, translating for him.

His eyes went as wide as saucers and you fell back against Jungkook in a fit of giggles when she proceeded to list how she was going to make your life a living hell when you arrived back home.

Your phone was snatched out your hand and Jungkook navigated to the camera app.

"Hyung, Chubshante malhago sip-eun ge issnayo? (Hyung, anything you want to say to Chubs?)"

Jimin hesitated at first but then finally began to speak. The fact he was put on the spot must have made him nervous because he rushed through his message, only pausing to think about what he wanted to say next. And he appeared to have slipped back into satoori making it harder for you to understand him since you were used to ‘Standard Korean’ or Seoul satoori. Jimin was finished with a wave before covering his face and crumbling to the floor. Luckily Jungkook translated for you by typing out the English version of the message.

‘He said and I quote: Hi there Chubs. I heard you're a fan of mine and a friend of Y/N. I'm sorry about the video, I told them not to send it. That it wasn't good enough. Maybe you should visit with Y/N one day and watch us live. Thank you for supporting us! Fighting!’

You sent the video message along with a translation and got a reply in minutes.

'OH MY FUCKING GOD! PARK JIMIN MADE A VIDEO MESSAGE FOR ME! PARK FUCKING JIMIN!'

You cackled evilly and accepted Jungkook's high five.

Jimin asked if she’d seen it, peering up over your knee.

"Geunyeoneun michin deus-i hwaga na iss-eoyo. Neoneun amado geunyeoleul jug-yeoss-euljido mollayo. (She's freaking out. You may have killed her.)"

Your phone dinged again this time with a picture. She'd taken a selfie against her bedroom wall which was covered in posters and photocards, the majority of the latter being Jimin.

"O! Geunyeoya! Naneun geunyeoreul ar-a! Geunyeoga fansign haengsa-eseo nae eolgul-eul seukwisi gass-eo! (Oh! It's her! I know her! She squished my cheeks at the fansign!)"

"Geunyeodo mal an haess-eoyo? Naneun geunyeoga yeonseubhaneun geos-eul boass-eoyo. (Didn't she say something too? I saw her practising.)"

He bit his lip, "Uh, geunyeoga naege museun mal-eul haessneunji malhae juji anh-assni? (She didn't tell you what she said?)"

You shook your head no.

"Waeyo? Changpihaessnayo? (Why? was it embarrassing?)" Jungkook teased.

You watched as his blush spread down to his neck, "Geunyeoneun naega gajang gwiyeoun mochirago malhaessda. (She said I was the cutest mochi...)" You awed but he cut you off, "Geurigo geunyeoga nareul jab-ameog-eul sudo issdaneun geol… (And that she could eat me up...)"

You awed again while the members burst out into another fit of laughter and Jimin covered his face.

"Noonareul mannass-eul ttae geunyeoneun na-ege yeppeun nungwa ibsul-eul gajyeossdago malhaessda. (When I met Noona she told me I had pretty eyes and lips.)"

There was an 'aw' from Jin while the rest laughed harder.

You twisted to face a grinning Jungkook. "Stop~ You're giving them more to tease me about!"

His smile grew impossibly wider, "You don't want them to know how handsome you think I am?"

"I think all of you are handsome in your own way."

He pouted, "But I'm your bias. Obviously, you think I'm handsome in a way you find more appealing."

You were about to respond when Hoseok interrupted.

"Yah yah, naega chumchul chalyeya. (Yah yah, it's my turn to dance.)"

He got into position and pressed a button on a remote. Boy Meets Evil started playing. You relaxed back against Jungkook. Butterflies danced around in your tummy for what felt like the hundredth time that day when you felt something brush against the crown of your head. Another kiss? Was this really happening?

You couldn't help your curiosity and ended up whispering to him, "Why do you keep kissing my face and head?"

He squeezed around your waist, "I... I... just feel like it. I thought you would be okay with it since you kissed me on the cheek." He paused for a second then added, "I can stop it if you want."

You placed a hand over his, "I like it. It's sweet."

As much as the action confused you and made you feel things you probably shouldn't, the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. Even if he was just being friendly.

"I'm glad you like it, Kitten. I like being able to be like this with someone."

Someone. Not just you. Just someone. His actions weren't specific to you. You were lucky he couldn't see your face for it had fallen. Taking your hand off his you swiped his water bottle and took a long sip while keeping your eyes trained on Hoseok for the rest of the song.

He finished without a fault, and you made sure to whoop and cheer since you couldn't clap for him.

"Jeongmal insang gipgun-yo, Oppa. (That's very impressive, Oppa.)"

"Gomawoyo, Y/N. Amado neoui pal-i deo naa jil ttae eoneu nal boda deo manh-eun anmuleul galeuchyeo jul su iss-eul geos gat-ayo. (Thank you, Y/N. Maybe I could teach you some more choreo one day when your arm is better.)"

Your stomach dropped. More dancing. Oh god. You told him you weren’t suited to dancing like he was, making him laugh.

"Man-yag niga Kookie-ui chinguramyeon eonjenganeun chum-eul chul geoye. (If you're Kookie's friend you're going to have to dance some day.)"

"Eonjenga meon husnal-e, huimangkeondae. (Someday far in the future, I hope.)"

Taehyung's head suddenly appeared around Jin's shoulder.

"Jiruhaeyo. Jega Y/Nege jogeum da manh-eun BigHit-eul bo-yeo jul su isseulkkayo? (I'm bored. Can I show Y/N around some more?)"

Namjoon lifted his head and said something to him before turning to you, "Taehyung has a fitting in the wardrobe department so you could go with him and see hair and makeup if you want."

"Okay."

You used Jungkook's shoulder to pull yourself up with him rising up swiftly behind you to help your balance. His fingers entwined with yours as he led you over to Taehyung, telling him to get up since it was his turn to finally spend time with you.

Taehyung sprang to his feet and took the lead out of the room. If the floor was gravel he would have been kicking up dust as he sped around a corner only to backtrack when you weren't right behind him. He reminded you of a puppy.

A short walk later and Taehyung was pushing open a door to what looked like the biggest closest you'd ever seen. Clothes were hung against one wall, shoes and accessories on shelves opposite.

You really couldn't believe how many outfits there were- more than in your older sister's! And it was all designer... Oh god... the legendary leather trousers... so many pairs.

It seemed to be organised by date: the oldest items, stretching back to No More Dream era, on the highest rack whereas Jungkook's black and red bomber jacket worn for Not Today was closest to you.

"It's like a museum in here." You murmured.

A female voice drew your attention to the far end of the room where Taehyung stood with a middle aged woman, a tape measure draped around her neck. She spotted you, smiled, then beckoned some other girls into the room and pointed to you. The girls smiled at you too before some headed off in one direction and others approached you with their own tape measures.

"Oh no..." Jungkook muttered.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and he gave your hand a squeeze and apologised although you weren't sure what for.

"Jungkookiega oneul chingureul deligo ondago uri deul-eoss-eoyo, (We heard Jungkookie was bringing a friend today,)" One of the girls said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "hajiman urineun nega urireul bangmunhalji mollass-eo. Deudieo neoreul mannani johgun-yo. (but we didn't know you'd be visiting us. It's nice to finally meet you.)"

You said it was nice to meet them too before turning to Jungkook, "What did you mean 'oh no'?"

He scratched the back of his neck, stepping out of the way of more approaching female staff members.

"BigHit has no female trainees... you're the first girl to walk in here in a very long time..."

A second girl took hold of your arm and pulled you forward with a bright smile.

"Neoneun uriwa hamkke hal sigan-i iss-eoyo? Urineun yeogie manh-eun namseongdeul-ege dulleossayeo iss-eoyo. Urineun uriui mogsorie sinmul-i nayo. (Do you have some time to spare with us? We're surrounded by so many men here we get sick of our own voices.)"

"Nan...eum...Tae-oppagarang gat-i sigan-eul bonaeryeogo wass-eo… (I... uh... I came here to spend time with Tae-oppa...)"

The girls that disappeared earlier came back with stacks of clothes. If they had no female trainees then where did all of those come from?

The youngest of the girls, possibly around your own age, raised an eyebrow and said something about the members spoiling you since you were the second youngest. Your cheeks warmed when you thought about how they’d gone shopping for things that would make your visit more comfortable before you arrived. Were you spoiled?

Another girl pulled you out of your thoughts, “Namja syeocheu ib-eoss-eoyo? (Are you wearing a men's shirt?)"

Jungkook explained how you had been wearing his clothes because of your broken elbow.

The girls nodded in understanding and one turned to the racks behind her, rattling off something about Jungkook and...donating?

Noticing your confusion, Jungkook explained how they were letting you help yourself to shirts he had outgrown, “They’ve been too busy to donate them. Take your pick, Noona.”

You stared in wide-eyed shock as they pulled shirt after shirt off the rack and piled them on top of Jungkook’s arms. They could sell for so much. Did they not know how much fans would be willing to pay for the priceless memories?!

Jungkook measured one up against your back while one of the stylists did the same to your front.

"Man-yag geudeul-i bissago yeojeonhi sangtaega yanghohadamyeon urineun geugeosdeul-eul onlain aulles-e panmaehan-ayo. Hajiman ileon, (If they're expensive and still in good condition then we sell them to online outlets. But ones like this,)" She pulled out a plain light blue shirt- the cotton dull compared to others, "uri geosdeul-eun jaseon danchee gibuhaeyo. (We donate to charity.)"

You noticed some girls must have collected makeup too because one approached you with a lip brush and some lip tint.

"Jungkook... think of a way to get me out of this..."

He politely collected the shirts from the women and bowed, thanking them for their generosity followed by an excuse that you were on a tight schedule.

They sighed but didn't push any further.

After giving Jungkook a bag for the clothes, you said goodbye to them and left Taehyung to his fitting.

"That was close."

"Makeup isn't your thing?"

You screwed your nose up, "How could you tell?"

He retook your hand, "You called me Jungkook instead of BunBun, Kookie or little shit."

You looked at him puzzled, "Do I refer to you by your name that rarely?"

He nodded and led you down various corridors until you were outside a door with the sign 'Mon Studio'. He knocked on the door.

"Yah! Hyung! It's your turn to spend time with Noona!" He shouted then turned to you, "Since he's fluent in English, I'll leave you with him for a little while."

He raised his hand, and you thought he was going to ruffle your hair until he pinched your cheek.

"Catch you later, Kitten."

He gave you a parting grin and you turned just as Namjoon pulled open the door.

"Hi, Oppa!"

He peered around you into the empty corridor. "Where's Jungkook?"

"He left me. Is that okay?"

He smiled wide enough to reveal his dimples, "Of course, come on in."

He held the door open so you could step through then pulled out a seat for you.

"Have you enjoyed your time in Korea and the dorm so far?"

You gladly sat down and smiled, "I've loved every second. Thank you again for letting me stay."

He nodded, waving a hand through the air dismissively, "No problem. Although if I knew I'd be dragging Jungkook out of bed with you every morning I might not have agreed so quickly."

"You've only had to do it twice. But yeah, I wasn't expecting that either."

He nodded, "I'm sorry for his behaviour. The kid has a bit of a learning curve when it comes to the opposite sex, such as what is appropriate."

Had he noticed Jungkook's little kisses? Did he consider them inappropriate? You felt like asking him, yet at the same time, you didn't want to.

Jungkook, the guy you had rapidly developing feelings for, was willingly showing you affection and being open with it despite the members telling you that he wasn't overly keen on skinship and the like. That had to count for something, right? You wanted to be selfish for at least a little while longer until you had to go back home. Who knew if you would ever receive that kind of affection from him again. You had to admit that with each kiss he placed the more you felt the urge to just grab him and kiss him yourself... Maybe kissing him on the cheek would help to alleviate that want...

"Would you like to listen to my original draft of Young Forever?"

"Sure!"

He clicked about on the computer for a minute until sound started to drift through the speakers. You cocked your head, not recognising the beat or the words Namjoon was singing.

He noticed your confusion and lowered the volume, "It's completely different, right?"

"How did you get from that to what Young Forever became?"

"A lot of drafting and redrafting. Bang PD-nim wanted it to have a lighter feel to it."

You nodded in understanding, as someone who considered themselves to be creative you knew how over time things don't turn out as originally intended.

"I think it's a brilliant song. My friend, Chubs from earlier, says it makes her cry."

Namjoon chuckled lightly, "I cried writing it. It hit home harder than I expected. And knowing it has the power to make others feel the same makes me proud."

"You should be," you said honestly, "You work at your craft and it shows in the quality of your content. And us ARMY are proud of you all too."

He smiled and ruffled your hair, "I almost regret not sticking around in the tutoring sessions. I feel like we could've become good friends if I hadn't left. But Kookie needed that extra push to learn."

You returned his smile.

"All because we didn't have the opportunity to become friends sooner doesn't mean we can't be good friends now."

He nodded, "Maybe we can go to lunch together next time you visit us. That's if Jungkook lets us."

Your smile widened, "That sounds nice. He'll learn to share me eventually."

"I think he's already learning. He left you alone with me didn't he?"

Good point. You were glad Jungkook was already trying to correct his behaviour.

You decided to flip the topic onto him; asking him how the new album was coming along. He couldn't go into great detail for obvious confidentiality reasons, but he let you in on a few concept ideas and inspiration for Bangtan's new sound.

The two of you had been talking for almost an hour when there was a knock at the door. Namjoon called for them to come in and Jungkook poked his head in.

"I've come to take Noona on the last leg of the tour."

Namjoon nodded and both of you got out of your seats. He ruffled your hair again and said he would see you later.

Just as you stepped out the door to join Jungkook, your phone vibrated. It was a Tumblr notification. Chubs had tagged you in something. You opened it and saw it was a selca by Jungkook.

You heard his footsteps halt when he noticed you weren't following him. "Noona?"

"What's this?" You showed him your phone and his hand instantly went to scratch the back of his neck.

"A picture...of you."

"I'm sleeping! You posted a picture of me sleeping on Tumblr for everyone to see!"

"You were so cute... I couldn't help myself."

You glared at him, "I'm not cute! What if I was drooling?!"

"It would explain why my chest felt wet. Don't worry Noona, I won't blame you for drooling over me."

A mutter of 'little shit' slipped past your lips as you took a final look at the picture.

"It's embarrassing."

"It's cute. You look peaceful." There was a poke to your side making you yelp. "Did you dream of me?"

You had but you wouldn't admit to it, not wanting to inflate his ego. But you felt your cheeks heat up.

"As if. Why would I dream of a muscle pig like you?"

He took your hand with a smirk, "You seem to like my muscles when you're sleeping. I think the thing that made me wake up today was you stroking my abs."

Your eyes went wide, "Really?"

He nodded. Oh god. You just kept embarrassing yourself.

"It tickled."

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

He stopped walking which made you stop, let go of your hand and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"You scratched me at one point, wanna see the proof?"

Just as his t-shirt reached his navel, a squeak slipped from your lips and you yanked his shirt back down into place.

"It's o-okay. I believe you."

He fought against you with a mischievous grin, "Don't you want to see how you hurt me? I might scar, Noona!"

"My nails aren't that long!"

He laughed, taking your hand from his t-shirt and led you through the building. You made a quick stop at 'Hope World' so you could see Hoseok's studio. After that, he showed you the areas of the building you hadn't seen yet. Walking into a recording booth felt surreal. You couldn't help but admire all the equipment that had been used to produce song after song that topped charts and won awards. Jungkook was good to answer any questions you had, even letting you experiment a little.

You were admiring the framed albums hung on the wall when Jungkook's phone rang. He looked at the callerID before answering.

"Annyeonhaseyo Bang PD-nim."

He nodded as you heard the muffled sound of the CEO's voice. The conversation was brief and one-sided with Jungkook saying a quick goodbye.

"Noona, this tour is taking an unexpected turn."

It took a second for your brain to click into gear, the realisation making your face fall and your palms sweat.

"Does he...?" Jungkook nodded, "He wants to meet me?"

Another nod then he broke out into a grin.

"Don't worry Noona, Bang PD-nim may seem grizzly bearish but he's actually a teddy bear." He held out his hand and gestured to the door, "Come on, he really wants to meet you."

You subtly wiped your hand on the back of your pants before taking his and exiting the studio.

"Why does he want to meet me?"

"He heard you were in the building. He wants to meet the lovely Noona who taught me English without wanting anything in return."

You got to talk to Jungkook every week, what more could you have wanted? He tugged on your hand prompting you to follow him through a series of corridors and into an elevator. The highest floor of the building was all offices separated into departments. Jungkook popped his head through a few doors and shouted greetings to staff as you trailed along behind him.

He finally stopped outside a set of double doors and placed a hand on your cheek, running his thumb across your cheek.

"You'll be fine, okay? He's fluent in English himself so no need to worry about translating."

He faced the doors and raised a fist to knock on them. The sound seemed to echo through the area, making your stomach fall in dread. Though a swift kiss to the temple help to ease the tension that had settled in your bones. There was a muffled shout and Jungkook pushed the doors open, standing aside for you to enter.

The office was sleek and modern like the rest of the building, yet there was just the right amount of clutter on the desk and bookshelves to appear lived-in. Bang PD-nim clearly spent a lot of time at the office.

The man looked up from his computer, mouth quirking into a smile as his eyes fell on you.

"You must be Jungkook's Y/N-songsaengnim. Nice to meet you finally, I'm Bang Shihyuk."

You tilted your head to the side in confusion, "Finally?"

He gestured for you to take a seat and you did so, Jungkook taking one next to you.

"Our resident Golden Maknae here talks about you a lot."

The said Golden Maknae's cheeks turned pink which in turn made a heat creep up your own neck. Did he really speak to his superiors about you that often?

"Thank you for letting me visit, it's a real honour."

He chuckles, "I had too. All the staff wanted to meet you too. Sadly the trainees weren't available, they wanted to meet their hyung's noona."

You fidgeted in your seat and from the corner of your eye you saw the pinkness in Jungkook's cheeks spread to his ears.

The PD looked between the two of you and chuckled to himself, "Maybe next time you visit us."

You nodded, not having the heart to tell him that you couldn't afford to visit anytime soon.

"Next time she's here, I'll make sure she meets everyone PD-nim."

Your attention snapped to Jungkook who spoke up for the first time since entering the room. He gave you a warm smile and reached over the gap between your chairs to squeeze your forearm briefly.

The PD-nim cleared his throat and Jungkook snatched his arm back.

"Anyway, now you're here, Y/N, I wanted to thank you."

"T-thank me?"

"You've successfully taught Jungkook English. And since your first trip to Korea, the other members have shown an interest in further studying the language past a basic school level."

You didn't know that... "Really?"

The man nodded, "Namjoon has taken back up studying to expand his vocabulary. And Jimin and Taehyung have both signed up for online courses."

You could practically see a light bulb appear above Jungkook's head. But all he did was smile.

A wave of pride washed over you causing you to break out in a smile, "I don't think I can take credit for their interest."

Bang PD-Nim waved a hand through the air, "They said it themselves, they're jealous of Jungkookie."

"Jealous?"

"He's able to talk to more fans now that he is bilingual."

That made sense.

"So thank you." He added with a nod.

You ducked your head, stealing a look at Jungkook to find him giving you his signature bunny grin.

Bang PD-nim looked at his watch and sighed, "I'm going to have to end this little chat here. It was lovely meeting you Y/N."

He held out his hand for you to shake.

"The feeling is mutual, PD-nim."

Jungkook took the man's hand before leading you out of the room.

Once the doors were fully shut you let out a deep breath, "That wasn't so bad."

"See, I told you he was a teddy bear."

"Yeah, I guess... So what should we do now?"

Jungkook thought for a moment then smirked.

"I have an idea. But we need to go home to do it."

God have mercy on your soul because what came to mind did not belong there. "O-okay." Fuck. You needed help.

"I'll text the boys and tell them we're heading back so not to wait up for us."

He whipped out his phone and sent the message to their group chat, the response an immediate 'okay'.

As Jungkook drove back to the dorm, you noticed him smiling to himself while humming a little tune.

"You seem happy, BunBun."

He glanced at you briefly, "I am happy. Everyone liked you."

"Is it really important that they all like me?"

"Of course it is Noona."

You arrived at the dorm somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. Jungkook unlocked the door and held it open for you.

Ideas of what Jungkook might have planned for you niggled away at your thoughts in the back of your mind. You shuffled behind him into his bedroom.

He pointed to the bed, "Sit down and I'll be right back."

You watched him walk out of the bedroom, mind reeling with questions. What was he doing? And why were you suddenly nervous?

He returned a few minutes later, two bottles of water in one hand, a large toilet bag in the other.

"What exactly do you have planned Kookie?"

He went over to his shelf and grabbed a box from there. He then cleared and organised his desk to create space for his box and toilet bag.

"The noonas today made me realise I've never seen my Noona in makeup... I wanna know what you look like with some on." He grabbed the back of the desk chair, spinning it around to face you. "Is that okay?"

Makeup wasn't your idea of fun. The thought of slapping...stuff...on your face wasn't remotely appealing. It seemed time-consuming, not to mention expensive. But it didn't mean you weren't willing to have some fun. It had been a while since you had any makeup on and couldn't help but wonder how you'd look.

"Sure. Make me look pretty."

You got off his bed and sat in the chair. He turned it so you were facing his shelves.

"Noona is always pretty."

He opened the box to reveal a camera, one of many within the box by the looks of it, and set it up on the shelf, facing you.

"What's with the camera?"

"I'm documenting a historic moment."

"Are you putting this on Tumblr too?"

He hummed distractedly, unzipped the bag and began taking out products. Holy shit...he had a lot.

"Is all this yours?"

"Kind of. The makeup Noonas give us lots of samples which we throw in here to share." He took out a large set of brushes and sponges. "Jimin hyung bought a few things when we first debuted like eyeliner and eyeshadow too."

You stared at the rapidly building pile of cosmetics and equipment in anxious awe. You had no clue as to what over half of the items laid out were for.

"Some of it is my own too. I like makeup."

Once the bag was close to empty he repositioned the camera and pressed record.

"You like putting all this on?"

He shrugged and brushed some of your hair away from your face, pinning it back with a clip.

"It covers the ugliness."

"What ugly? I've woken up to your face two days in a row and I have seen no ugly. It's a rather nice face to wake up to."

He paused in... whatever he was doing, you couldn't really see because he had his back to you after clipping your hair back. He turned to face you once again.

"Not bad, ay? I'll take what I can get... For now."

He had his palms up although you couldn't see anything on his hands.

"It's primer so it's clear. I washed my hands before hand, do you mind if I...."

You gave him the go ahead and he gently swiped his fingertips across your cheeks, chin and forehead, then began rubbing the so-called primer in using light circular motions. Oddly, it felt nice; a little like he was giving you a face massage.

"So, what's this for?"

"To make your foundation go on smoother and last longer."

"Do you even have foundation that matches my skin tone?"

"Probably in the samples."

He cleaned his hands with a makeup wipe then began holding up the sample bottles of foundation up to your jaw. Once settling on a shade, he dotted some about your face then dabbed it in with a bright pink sponge.

Not knowing where else to look, you kept your eyes trained on his face and quickly became fascinated with those little gestures to signal he was concentrating. The way his eyebrows furrowed, his bottom lip captured between his teeth, it was an attractive sight. But a part of your brain asked a vital question. Was he going to put foundation over your lips like you had seen some girls do? Because you had a habit of biting your lips... a lot...

The tip of the sponge brushed your lower lip but he made no move to blend it over them. You breathed a mental sigh of relief.

Another minute later and he finally stood straight, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your features.

"How well do you normally sleep at home, Noona?"

That was an odd question.

"Not great," you admitted, "I've had some of my best night's sleep here. Why?"

He made a noise of disapproval while unscrewing the lid of concealer.

"You have dark circles. Noona needs to go to bed earlier."

You hesitated before answering, "It's difficult to get more than 4 hours sleep most days. I have insomnia. I'm actually surprised I've been able to fall asleep here."

He looked confused.

"In... som... nia?"

"Bulmyeonjeung (Sleeplessness)."

He dabbed the applicator beneath your eyes with a frown, "But you sleep fine here?"

"I think sharing a bed helps." You were grateful when he asked you to look up when he began blending as it meant you didn't have to make eye contact while you confessed to liking it when he stroked your hair, a habit he'd picked up.

"Most people sleep better when there's company from what I've heard. I have to admit, having Noona here has made me sleep better. I'm normally up late gaming."

"Seems like we're good for each other." You mumbled more to yourself than him, but from the quirk of his lips, you guessed he heard.

He placed the concealer and sponge aside in favour of a large fluffy brush and a compact. He explained the purpose of setting your makeup with powder. At first, you hated the idea of another layer of stuff on your face, but you couldn't deny how your features began to relax with every swipe of the brush.

You caught his hand when he stopped, "Keep going."

"But I'm done."

You gave him your best puppy dog eyes and pout and successfully earned another minute of gentle swipes across your skin. You couldn't help but sneeze when he used the brush to tickle your nose. He awed.

"Noona is so cute."

"... That's it, I'm going to expose you on Tumblr."

He stepped back with wide eyes, "Expose me?"

You dropped your voice, aware of the camera barely a meter away, "You don't want everyone knowing about your Marvel underwear collection do you?"

"Noona!"

You cocked a brow and watched him gulp while side-eyeing the camera. "Call me cute again and everyone will know. Okay?"

"Yes, Noona."

He turned to the desk and began rummaging through the small mountain of makeup. He faced you with a small pallet and made quick work of filling in your brows 'to give your face shape'... whatever that meant.

And then he finally moved onto eye shadow, selecting a larger pallete and a smaller brush.

"I've been told darker colours suit me best."

"I'll be the judge of that, Kitten."

You shut your eyes upon his instruction, keeping them like that until he told you to look at him.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes darting from side to side as he judged his work. Fuck...your mind began to wander down a dangerous path. No. This was not appropriate.

"Noona?"

Your eyes fluttered open, "Huh?"

He giggled, "You screwed your face up. I'll mess up if you don't relax."

Right...relax. That was becoming easier said than done. You took a deep breath, held it for four seconds before exhaling through your mouth for another four. It was a technique you were taught to help you handle anxiety attacks and emotional breakdowns. You figured it should help you relax in the situation you were in.

"Should I even attempt eyeliner?"

"I can barely do my own without becoming twitchy."

He looked torn. You never knew doing someone's makeup could make him so serious.

"If I use pencil I can blend it out. The Noonas say that's what makes eyes look sexy."

SEXY?! Was Jeon Jungkook actually trying to kill you?!

He picked up the pencil and delicately cupped the back of your neck.

"Stay still for me, Noona."

Stay still? How the fuck were you supposed to do that when he had a leg between yours, allowing him to step closer as the task required a steady hand.

"I-I-I d-d-didn't know s-s-sexy was the look you were going for." You stuttered out causing him to frown at you.

"I said stay still Noona."

You immediately froze at the sudden authority.

His fingers flexed against your neck as he angled your head so he'd have better access to your other eye. He was so close you could feel his breath ghost across your cheek and it took a lot of mental cursing to keep yourself still.

The presence briefly disappeared only to return after you heard the clinking of makeup brushes. You assumed he'd began the blending meaning any minute now you'd have to open your eyes so he could check.

"Okay, Noona open them."

You did as he told you, your eyes fluttering open. Your breath caught in your throat at his intense stare, his pupils dilated. Your gaze dropped to his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Maybe it was the light or your lack of glasses, but you could have sworn you saw him blush.

He finally looked away, giving you the chance to compose yourself. What was that? Did you just have...a moment?

When he turned back, he was holding a weird clamp looking thing.

"An eyelash curler," he explained, "You need to stay very very still for me now."

He called it an eyelash curler, you called it a torture device. He wanted to put that thing near your eyes?

Noticing you pulling back he chuckled, "It doesn't hurt. Promise."

You didn't quite believe him but he wasn't giving you an option to back out.

"Rip my eyelashes out and I'll follow through on my earlier threat."

He warned you to sit still again and you closed your eyes.

It was an odd feeling, but thank god it was painless and quick.

"I'm almost done, Noona. Just mascara, blush and lipstick to go."

You swore you almost had war flashbacks to when your older sister tried to put mascara on you. You had to admit you weren't used to the feel of your eyelashes being covered in the thick substance since you rarely wore the stuff, even when you did decide to put on some makeup. Your mother had always told you, you didn't need the it because you had naturally beautiful eyelashes.

Jungkook's mind seemed to be following down a similar path. He told you how he'd never noticed their length before because of your glasses, but they were apparently long and pretty like Taehyung's.

He swapped the mascara for a blush compact and lightly dabbed the puff applicator over the apples of your cheeks, then set it aside. Thank God you were almost finished.

He seemed to deliberate over lipstick colour. Why did he have lipstick? You thought that the Make-Up Unnies only used lip stains, lip gloss or tinted lip balm. But then again, lipstick wasn't an exclusively female thing. Maybe one of the members brought some for themselves.

"Ah," he said, uncapping a dark tube, "Let's try this."

You caught a glimpse of the berry coloured lipstick which seemed untouched.

"Who's is this?"

"A company sent them to us. We don't really wear lipstick but I thought why not see how it looks on you." So you were his experiment. "Open your mouth slightly, Noona."

You opened. You sometimes wore lipstick but couldn't really be bothered with it. Which is why you only had one tube of lipstick.

He lightly took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and instead of swiping the product across your lips, he chose to dab it like he would with a lip tint.

Your eyes once again drifted across his own features, noting the slight flush to his cheeks and how he repetitively wet his own plush lips with his tongue as he concentrated. But then he was pulling away with a pleased grin.

"Ah! My masterpiece is finished."

He grabbed his phone, snapping a picture of you, before handing you a handheld mirror so you could see his handy work. You looked...different. Not a bad different, you just weren't used to it.

"Do you like it?" He asked and unclipped your hair. You brushed it back into place and took another look.

It was undeniable that he did a good job. Everything was well blended and you had to admit, the eyeliner did make your eyes look sexier, more mysterious.

"I... wow..." You had to stop yourself from reaching and touching your face, afraid that you would ruin what he had done.

"I'll take that as a yes," He was smirking, "It was fun doing yours... maybe you'd like to try putting some on me."

Your eyes blew wide.

"I only know how to do eye makeup!"

He chuckled, "I'm not expecting you to be as capable and experienced as the Makeup Noonas."

You looked at the spread of makeup on the desk.

"You'll have to help me."

He nodded and you swapped positions so he was sat in the desk chair.

"Primer first, then foundation."

You frowned at him, "But the foundation that's normally used on you is too pale. I like your natural tan skin better."

His cheeks tinted pink.

"Y-y-you can s-s-skip the primer and foundation if you want."

You nodded and reached for the eyeshadow. But you found a problem. To get close enough to his face you would have to... climb onto his lap.

You sucked in a deep breath and squared up to him before quickly lowering yourself onto his lap. His hands instantly went to your hips, holding you in place.

"W-what a-are you-u d-doing?!"

"Getting closer so I can see. I don't have my glasses on." You explained, "Now close your eyes."

"I-I can get your glasses-"

"And ruin all your time and effort? I can suffer for a little while."

He stared at you for a moment, as if processing and contemplating what you had said before sighing and closing his eyes.

You tried to remember what little you knew about doing eye makeup. Was is metallics, green and blue that looked good for dark eye? With no other answer coming to mind you picked up a pallet of dark metallic colours.

You scanned the array of makeup brushes and picked up a small fluffy one. It would do.

Dipping it into the eyeshadow you remembered a saying you'd always tell yourself when either baking or cooking: you can always add but you can't take away. You guessed the same applied to makeup.

You went with blue in the end and brushed a light dusting of it over his lids. It wasn't a bright blue but a deep ocean blue that contrasted nicely with his skin tone.

Now for eyeliner. Which you were dreading because you were going near his eye with something pointy.

"Okay BunBun, open your eyes."

His eyes fluttered open and you were awe struck with how the blue brought out the colour of his eyes.

"What?" He asked when you didn't say or do anything.

You mentally shook yourself out of it, "Blue looks beautiful on you."

His eyes widened slightly, "T-thank y-you."

You reached over the desk to find the eyeliner pencil, Jungkook's hands shifting to your lower back so you wouldn't fall.

You faced him with a grimace, "I'm sorry in advance if I poke your eye out."

"I trust you, Noona."

You took a moment to try and relax. If you stayed nervous your hand would shake and there would be a casualty. You brought the pencil to his eye and got to work, amazed with the fact he wasn't flinching or twitching. He must be used to it from being an idol.

You pulled back to see if the two were even. A small yelp left your painted lips when his thighs suddenly parted beneath you, making you clutch onto his shoulder in fear of falling on your butt.

"Don't scare me like that!"

He opened his eyes, a crease forming between them.

"Sorry, I had to stretch." He glanced away and cleared his throat, "Is the eyeliner done?"

"Yeah...are you okay? I can stand if I'm making your legs go dead."

"No I'm fine," his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs to adjust you, "Time for the last part since you're going for a minimalist approach. Lips."

You felt your heart rate pick up at that. You looked over the selection and picked out a rose tinted lip balm. After cleaning your hands you opened the container and got some on the pad of your finger.

"Noona... w-w-what-" he cut himself off.

You ran your middle finger over his plush bottom lip, spreading the colour. He pursed his lips a little, making it easier to apply to his top lip.

You'd lost count by now of how often your train of thought had diverted into dangerous territory. It would be so easy just to close the gap and... His grip on your thighs tightened. Your gaze travelled from his lips to his eyes, his irises had become a thin ring around his pupils, your hand moved from being positioned over his mouth to cupping his jaw. The only sound in the room was the sound of both of your breathing getting steadily deeper. You looked at his lips again, they seemed closer than before.

You felt your eyelids grow heavy, threatening to close. Neither of you moved a muscle for what felt like an eternity until a loud buzzing filled the silence followed by a sigh.

And just like that, it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water all over you.

Jungkook removed a hand from your leg to grab his vibrating phone, and you took the chance to scoot off his lap and busy yourself by putting all the makeup back in the toilet bag. Jungkook muttered almost angrily to himself as he unlocked his phone.

"It's a text from Jin-hyung. They'll be back at the dorm soon."

You turned back to him with your own phone in hand, "Can I take a picture?"

"Sure Kitten."

You snapped a picture and showed it to him.

"Ah, I'm so handsome."

He went over to the camera and stopped the recording, immediately taking it over to his laptop and inserting the memory card.

It was after dinner, and you'd gone back into Jungkook's bedroom to find your phone. You found it on his desk beside the toilet bag and nearly had a heart attack when you saw the hundreds of Tumblr notifications on your lockscreen.

Navigating to the app, a gasp left your lips when you saw all the messages and asks in your inbox. What the fuck?

A new notification popped up, and you immediately clicked on it when you recognised it as Chubs.

'SO JUNGKOOK UPLOADED A VIDEO OF HIM DOING YOUR MAKE-UP AND YOU UPLOADED A VIDEO OF YOU DOING HIS MAKE-UP! THE SHIP TAG HAS GONE MENTAL!'

'HOLY SHIT! WHY ARE PEOPLE GOING BAT SHIT OVER JUST A VIDEO??!!'

Her reply was instant: 'TWO WORDS. SEXUAL. TENSION.'

'...What?'

'IT WAS SO THICC IN BOTH VIDEOS! JESUS CHRIST! WHICH US WHY YOU SHOULD NOT GO INTO THE TAG UNTIL I'VE FINISHED WHAT I'M DOING!'

You took a seat on the edge of the bed, a frown taking over your features.

'Why can't I go in the tag??'

Thank God she was a quick typer.

'Just...don't...okay? I've just messaged Jungkook warning him but he hasn't replied. Can you tell him the same?'

'Okay.'

You had to admit you were curious but instead, you went into the living room where Jungkook was sat on the sofa wearing a look of surprise as he stared down at his phone.

"Kookie?"

His head snapped up, "Noona!" His voice cracked, "D-Don't go in t-t-the t-t-tag!"

You took a seat next to him, "What's going on?! Chubs just told me the same thing."

He locked his phone, placing it on the arm of the sofa.

"Nothing!"

You unlocked your phone only for it to be snatched out of your grip, "Jungkook!"

You crossed your arms and pouted until you remembered that his laptop didn't have a password. A sigh escaped your lips as you pretended to give up.

"Fine. You win."

You got off the sofa and 'sulked' back to his room where you promptly opened the laptop and went to the tag on Tumblr.

"Fuck..."

You wanted to rub your eyes to make sure you were seeing things correctly, but you caught yourself, remembering you had a full face of makeup on.

The first post was a piece of fan art of presumably you and Jungkook...kissing. Beneath the digital art was a screenshot, from the video you posted, of you on his lap.

The next piece was a gif. The maker had cropped the video so that it cut off at Jungkook's hands on your hips. And with the way you shifted it looked like- Oh God. There was a caption that read 'You know she was enjoying those thighs'.

If Jungkook saw that...no wonder he looked so alarmed.

You bit your lip as you scrolled further past more gifs and drawings of a similar nature. Someone had even gone to the lengths of analysing your body language and speech, coming to the conclusion that you and Jungkook were 'totally fucking'.

You even came across some more... graphic... fanart. Jesus Christ these people were making porn of you! So that's why Chubs told you not to go into the tag. Another post almost made you laugh. It was a simple text post in all caps saying 'HOW DID HE NOT GET A BONER FROM THAT?!' But you didn't because the post next to it had a screenshot of when he was holding the back of your neck. 'I KNEW HE WAS A DOM!'

There was a fluttering in your tummy you hastily pushed aside. Thinking about Jungkook like that made you no better than the people turning an innocent video into something not.

You didn't know what to do. Chubs had mentioned something about 'cleaning the tag'. Did that mean she was getting rid of all the NSFW posts and didn't want you to go in it until she had wiped it clean? But how would she even do that?

Just as you were about to type in Chubs' URL, Jungkook entered the room. He immediately saw you were on his laptop and what site you were on. He rushed over to you with a dramatic shout of 'No!', a hand coming to cover your eyes while the other shut the lid of the laptop.

"Naughty Noona. I was trying to keep your eyes innocent."

You pried his fingers off your face and pouted, "Innocent? I'm older than you!"

"Age means nothing." He grumbled, stepping back until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He fell onto the mattress with a sigh, both hands covering his face.

He said something but you couldn't hear him so you went over and sat beside him, peeling his hands off his face which was scarlet.

"I can't believe you saw what they did."

"I can't believe they did that either... but then again I should've expected such behaviour from them." You grimaced as you remembered seeing the inappropriate tweets Bangtan received every time they tweeted something.

"I bet you won't be able to look at me in the same way again!" He seemed genuinely upset about the thought.

"BunBun," you said carefully, "Look at me."

He whined, rolling onto his stomach with his head turned away from you. He could deny it all he wanted, but he was a big baby at times.

"Jungkook, I don't see you any differently because of this. It's no different from the type of stuff I used to see before you met me."

He turned his head to face you, cheek against his folded hands. His face was a mixture of lingering sadness and confusion. With a sigh you led down beside him, "You've said before that you've read my old tags on Tumblr."

"About my thick thighs and washboard abs." There was the trace of a smirk on his lips that told you the sadness was lifting.

"Yeah...people on Tumblr talk sexually about idols a lot. They write smutty fiction and draw NSFW fanart and make inappropriate audio files. Whatever it is, I've seen it."

"You've seen it all?"

"Most. I don't go anywhere near the shipping material. Now if you don't mind, I feel tainted and in need of a shower."

With that, you kissed him on the cheek, leaving a dark lipstick stain, and got off the bed. Then you hurriedly grabbed the Pikachu onesie and undies, and headed towards the bathroom which you knew would have towels in.

A/N: SORRY WE MISSED A WEEK AND THAT THE CHAPTER IS NEARLY AN HOUR LATER THAN SCHEDULED BUT WE’VE BEEN REALLY BUSY! Also this chapter had 132 bits of Korean to translate (We had to cut some out otherwise it would’ve been later). Before people come after me for it I AM AWARE OF THE BAD GRAMMAR AND THE MISTAKES BUT I AM A BEGINNER AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO CORRECT IT YET!

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

#boop #tmaht #jungkook #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jeongkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan scenario

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sending-the-message · 7 years ago

Text

Atonement for Water by survivalprocedure

They say great minds think alike. It’s an anecdotal cliche spouted by two people who are about to say or do something similar. It’s an empty expression, though. Because great minds do not think alike. Not at all. That’s not what makes them so great or unique. Great minds will see the paths others failed to consider. Only ordinary minds think alike.

Great minds work differently. And I’m left wondering whether the mind of Thomas Jenkins was a great one or a heinous one. His mind was not like yours or mine.

My first encounter with Mr. Jenkins was not what you would call “favorable”. He sat in his hospital bed with a blank stare of anguish directed at me. If I had met him on the street I’d assume he was a lost man with a few loose screws in his head and try to maintain a safe distance.

“Cut if off.” It was one of the first things he said to me. His voice shook with reluctance, yet there was still a hint of conviction behind his tone. “It’s the only way she’ll love me again...the only way I can atone. I’ll do it myself if you won’t.”

The bizarre request upset my foundations of reason. It isn’t uncommon for hospital personnel to witness some rather outlandish cases of medical marvel. A rare disease; survivors of horrific injuries; even the humorous cases where obscure items became lodged where the sun doesn’t shine. Just yesterday a patient was admitted after her husband insisted on having intercourse through her stoma. Day in and day, nurses and doctors see it all.

But this...this I had not seen before. None of us had.

“E-excuse me? You want me to amputate your arm?” Using his right index finger, Mr. Jenkins drew an imaginary line across his left bicep. “Right here. See this line? That’s where the cut should be.”

Ordinarily a situation like this would lead to the conclusion of either a mentally imbalanced patient or a neurological disorder. I immediately thought of apotemnophilia as a potential explanation for the rash desire I observed in my patient. It wouldn’t be my first case handling the urge to cut off one’s own limbs. A young couple had previously came in after deciding to simultaneously bite off the first joint in the others’ pinky finger in a sexually motivated stunt.

Mr. Jenkins, however, did not exactly fit the bill. Most reverends wouldn’t. And it wasn’t just his request to be mutilated. Originally he had been brought to the hospital to have his stomach pumped after ingesting an entire bottle of painkillers. He was clinically dead for three minutes during the entire ordeal. Bringing him back was a challenge.

Actions such as these were not expected from a man of God.

I squinted back at him as he sat with that cold, cemented stare. “Is there something wrong with your arm? Are you in pain?” “No pain.” He shifted his head and stared longingly out the window as his eyes welled with tears. “‘...whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’" “Is that from the bible?” Jenkins nodded. ��John 4:14.” He inhaled deeply through his nose; his snot-filled nostrils blocking the flow of air and erupting into a moist commotion that filled the room. “I’ll never get to drink that water if I have this arm.” “Would you...like to speak with someone?” “You mean a shrink?” “A psychiatrist, yes.” Jenkins’ face turned stern, his voice raising in volume. “I’m not crazy!”

The sudden outburst clouded my thoughts with uncertainty. How should I proceed with this? A man once filled with such enthusiasm for life was abruptly showing signs of mental deterioration. A man who aided many families in overcoming hardship was now viewed as the town villain. Beating your wife in her sleep will do that to you. It doesn’t matter how many people you’ve helped in life. One night can forever alter the perception society has on someone. The years Mr. Jenkins had helped others were now distant memories of a completely different person than the one who sat in the hospital bed today. He was no longer seen as kind and gentle. He was a wife-beater who had tried to kill himself, and now he was asking to be mutilated.

The number of times we help others in life becomes meaningless when we need help ourselves. And no one wanted to help Revered Jenkins. His value to the world was gone. The community tossed him aside like stale bread, feeding the languished remains to birds as they shoved their beaks into him and ripped him apart.

“I think it might be best for your mental health to speak with someone.” “I don’t need that! I need you to cut my arm off!” “I’m afraid I don’t visibly see any reason for amputation. You need mental care, not physical.” Jenkins slouched back into the bed, defeated, his voice calming. “I met him...in the afterlife...before you pumped my stomach...I met him. He whistled at me.” He stopped speaking and mimicked a whistling noise, first holding a high pitched tone for about two seconds before dropping the pitch an octave and holding for another two seconds.

Wwhhhhhhhiiiiiii wwhhhhhhhooooooo

“Just like that. I think he was trying to intimidate me.” “Who was this man?” “He calls himself Patrick.” “And who is Patrick?” Mr. Jenkins lightly tapped the right side of his head with his right index finger. “Right here. On this side of my brain. The right side is his. He’s the other man that lives inside of me. Inside my head. That’s who Patrick is.” I masked the internal feelings of pity with a coy smile at the reverend. “I see. Are you familiar with multiple personality disorder?” Jenkins furrowed his brow and spoke sharply, “It’s not multiple personality disorder.” “It would appear that way to me.”

The left arm draped over Jenkins’ lap twitched, jerking around as though he were trying to alleviate a numbness. It flopped like a fish out of water momentarily before promptly raising itself and casting the obscene gesture of a middle finger pointed directly at me.

The Revered immediately expressed regret for the action. “I-I’m sorry, doctor.” His hand lowered and draped itself over its owner's lap once again. “That was Patrick. Not me.” “It’s quite alright. I’ve had patients do far worse.” I buried my face in the patient chart and documented his actions. “We’re going to keep you overnight for observation. I’ll send someone to speak with you shortly so we could get a more precise diagnosis.” “You believe me, don’t you doc? You have to cut my arm off before Patrick emerges again!” “Don’t worry about Patrick, Mr. Jenkins. You’re in great care. Just let us do our job.”

I spun and ignored his cries as I walked out. After I closed the door to his room I could still hear his muffled cries from the hallway. “Patrick is real! Patrick is real!” he shouted over and over. The words faded as I walked away, heading straight for Dr. Quinn’s office, the hospital psychologist.

Later in the day, despite my attempts to shake Mr. Jenkins from my mind, his condition piqued my interest and remained in my thoughts for the remainder of my shift. What could possibly drive a normal, God-loving man to such extremes?

”It’s not your problem,” I’d tell myself. ”There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Perhaps it was my previous studies in neurology, or perhaps it was the slight scar I noticed under his hairline, but Thomas Jenkins found a cozy little spot to set up camp within me. Patrick was surely just a figment of his imagination. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. It was Mr. Jenkins’ mind that engaged the braquial plexus nerve and primary motor functions to give me that middle finger.

The image of that finger stuck with me even after I had left the facility and went home for the evening. Something just didn’t quite fit. Why had his left arm twitched the way it had before giving me that finger like it was struggling? Like it had a mind of its own?

Mr. Jenkins had tapped the ride side of his head with his right hand when he proclaimed that specific side as the area where Patrick resided. It was the left hand that had twitched and shot the middle finger at me. The right hemisphere of our brains control the left side of our bodies. Not many people were aware of that fact. Was it a pure coincidence that Mr. Jenkins tapped that side and then gave me the finger with his left hand, or had he done some sort of research beforehand? Could he really be that desperate to convince someone to amputate his arm to thoroughly study neuroscience?

I went to sleep that night still thinking of the reverend, promising myself to look more into his case the next day.

But when I arrived for my evening shift that day I was met with a rather grim situation. I remember first seeing the carpet in the lobby being completely stained with blood upon my entrance through the sliding glass doors.

The event was later played back to me on security camera footage. Mr. Jenkins had been discharged in the morning, went home for some time and came back to the hospital with an electric knife, the kind you would use to cut the turkey at Thanksgiving dinner. He walked into the lobby of the emergency room with his shirt off, pulled the knife from his pocket, plugged it into a nearby outlet, flicked the switch and immediately dug the blade into his left bicep, sawing away at his own flesh in front of horrified families all waiting to be seen

I was told his screams were so intense that his vocal cords went into paralysis. But it didn’t stop him from cutting away as much as possible before the saw began to struggle cutting through the bone. He twisted the blade around, desperately trying to completely sever the limb. When it became clear to him that the blade was not strong enough to finish the job he began cutting through tissue vertically down the length of his arm, ripping through the flesh from his bicep all the way to the tips of his fingers in jagged zig-zags.

Eventually a security guard was alerted and took action, tackling Mr. Jenkins to the floor to prevent further damage. But by then it was too late. There was simply no saving the mangled remains of his left arm. It had been turned into a useless lump of meat. He was rushed into the operating room where surgeons completed the amputation.

While the whole ordeal was odd and frightening to watch, what really caught my attention was Mr. Jenkins’ face and his actions moments before he was tackled. During the process his face was filled with agony, but at one point something changed. The agony washed away and it was replaced with a burning hatred. He stopped cutting his arm and glared at everyone in the room as though he were about to turn the knife on an innocent bystander.

But, he was taken down before anything else could happen. Ultimately, I suppose you could say Mr. Jenkins got his wish. His left arm was now gone.

“Why do you think he did this here?” Dr. Quinn asked me, her voice shaky with uncertainty as the two of us looked through a window into the room where Mr. Jenkins was sedated and resting peacefully while a nurse checked his vitals. “Why didn’t he do this at home?” “Probably knew he was going to need immediate medical attention,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on Mr. Jenkins. My focus landed on the subtle scar in his hairline once again. “Did he ever have brain surgery?” “I believe so. Had some sort of procedure done to treat epilepsy around ten years ago, if I recall.” My eyes narrowed, squinting at Mr. Jenkins. “So he’s a split-brain?” She shrugged. “I have no idea what that means, Kenny.” “A split-brain. You know...to treat epilepsy the corpus callosum is severed, leaving both the left and right hemispheres in the brain independent from each other.” “Oh, well, why does that matter? That doesn’t have anything to do with his mental state.” “Well, actually...it does. Sort of. Studies have shown that split-brain patients experience a second personality, so to speak. The right hemisphere controls the left side of the body and will act independently from the left hemisphere, which controls the right side of body. At times the two sides will disagree with each other. There were cases where the left hand would swat away food it apparently did not want to eat. In one case doctors had trained the right hemisphere to answer questions by pointing at words laid out on a piece of paper. The left hemisphere, our conscious, vocal selves, answered on a different piece of paper with the right arm. The man was asked simple questions and provided mostly the same answers with each hand, until they asked whether the subject was male or female. The right hand pointed to male, while the left pointed to female.” Dr. Quinn shot me a menacing glare. “So you’re saying his procedure ten years ago birthed a whole new person?” I gave a frown. “I don’t really know. No one does for sure. There’s conflicting conclusions drawn from the experiments conducted on split-brain patients. Some say the idea is nonsense and that the two hemispheres are a collective, single person. Others tend to think that there’s always another person or soul or whatever you want to call it attached to the right hemisphere...that the mind houses two separate people at all times...and that the corpus callosotomy procedure somehow unleashes the right hemisphere as though it were a caged beast dwelling within our whole lives.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You observed him yesterday. What do you think?”

I recalled the events from yesterday - the twitch in his left arm, the middle finger he gave me, the tap he placed on the right side of his head. The truth was hard to deny.

I finally took my eyes off Mr. Jenkins and turned to meet the gaze of Dr. Quinn. “Patrick is real,” I declared.

Our discussion was interrupted by a scream inside the room. Dr. Quinn and I quickly turned our attention inside to see the nurse bent over the bed at the waist. Mr. Jenkins had buried his head into her neck. The nurse struggled and screamed again, frantically flailing her arms around in a frenzied panic. In one swift jerk, Mr. Jenkins pulled his head away. Hanging from his mouth was a thin slab of skin that dangled in between his teeth. Its red texture glistened in the flourescent lighting above as he leaned over and spit the skin out, projecting it forward onto the floor beside the bed.

The nurse rolled over onto her back and instantly a stream of blood shot upwards as though it was propelled by a super soaker. Repeated surges of blood squirted into the air with each beat of her heart, quickly painting the blankets in bright red gore.

There was only one reason for blood to shoot like that. Mr. Jenkins had bit into the nurse’s carotid artery. If we didn’t immediately help her she would soon bleed out.

I rushed into the door, eager to aide my fellow medical co-worker. Her screams persisted as I reached her side, pressing my hand against her neck.

“I need to stop the bleeding…” I advised, hoping it would calm her and keep her from squirming like a worm cut in half. “Hold still...please...oh Jesus…”

Wwhhhhhhhiiiiiii wwhhhhhhhooooooo

Whistling. The second pitch an octave below the first. Just as Mr. Jenkins had described.

I looked up and found Mr. Jenkins standing over us on the opposite side of the bed in his hospital gown that was now drenched in blood. He looked down at us both with a raging fury in his eyes, making it abundantly clear he intended on causing further harm.

I quickly grabbed the nurse by her arm and began dragging her towards the door. We needed to get to safety, and I had no intention of leaving this poor nurse alone to be devoured. As I pulled the nurse away, I heard the whistling again.

Wwhhhhhhhiiiiiii wwhhhhhhhooooooo

The location of the noise had moved slightly. I looked up and saw Mr. Jenkins was walking towards us slowly, stepping with left foot first, then dragging a stiff right leg behind him. The remaining stump of his left arm raised itself as though he were reaching out to us. His right arm retaliated, balling its fingers into a fist and thrusting itself into Mr. Jenkins’ face. His breathing labored and he began taking short, quick gulps of air.

The right hemisphere of ours brain is not capable of controlling speech. Although a few hospital personnel would later argue that he whistled because of his vocal cord paralysis from earlier in the day, I knew the real reason. It was the only way the right hemisphere could communicate. Patrick was announcing himself to us.

Mr. Jenkins was clearly no longer in charge. The will of Patrick had somehow taken over. I was seeing an internal struggle where the right side of his brain overpowering his left. It was Patrick, frustrated by the removal of his arm that was now acting out. And all Mr. Jenkins could do to fight this monster was to keep his leg stiff and beat his own face in, hoping it would slow Patrick down.

Dr. Quinn rushed into the room with another doctor she had hailed down. Together the three of us pulled the nurse out and placed her on a gurney. I pulled the door shut behind as we exited and after watching the other doctor wheel the nurse away I looked back at the room and saw Patrick standing right up against the window looking back at me and Dr. Quinn. The anger that had shaped his face was now replaced with frustration. Without a working hand, there was no way for Patrick to turn the knob and exit the room.

“P-Patrick? Is that you?” I asked, hoping to confirm my suspicion.

He didn’t whistle this time. Instead he widened his eyes like a madman and curved the left side of his mouth into a small smile.

Maintaining the mad look on his face, he pulled his head backwards and then violently thrust it forwards into the window. The blow cast a spiderweb of jagged cracks in the window and sent the piercing sound of broken glass echoing through the hallway. He repeated the act again. And again. And again. Rapidly he bashed his own head against the window over and over, each blow spreading more cracks through the glass. Blood began to flow out of numerous laceration in his forehead, covering his entire face.

With one powerful blow the glass finally shattered. Patrick’s momentum sent him tumbling through the new opening and crashing against the tile floor. He lay there, unable to pick himself up with just one working leg. Instead he rolled onto his stomach and began pushing himself forward with his left leg, slowing inching his way towards me, breathing heavily with his mouth open wide, all too eager to sink his teeth into another person.

I stood frozen, unsure if I was believing what I was seeing until a hand grabbed my shirt and pulled me backwards.

“What’s happening to him?” Dr. Quinn urgently asked me.

A team of police officers rushed into the hallway from around the corner. They pulled their weapons and aimed them directly at Patrick, but before they could say or do anything Patrick abruptly stopped. His body went limp and his heavy breathing ceased. An uncomfortable silence took over the scene, all of us standing over the body in awe.

“Mr. Jenkins is gone,” I said, answering Dr. Quinn.

We have a long history of associating evil with left handed people. In biblical times it was considered a sign of moral compromise. Matthew 6:3-4 reads, But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.…

For Mr. Jenkins, his left hand cost him his life.

The official cause of death was a ruptured brain aneurism, the result of severe head-force trauma. The area of the aneurism was on the right hemisphere which leads me to speculate as to whether Mr. Jenkins had somehow caused the aneurism from within.

Since that day a lot of questions have been asked by many people, some of which believe that Patrick was real, and some that refuse the notion. The most intriguing so far has been where split-brains end up in the afterlife if one hemisphere is considered worthy, and the other is deemed evil. Would they both go to heaven? To hell?

I can’t answer that for certain. I can only hope that Mr. Jenkins got his wish. I hope he achieved atonement for his water.

And most of all, I hope the strangers dwelling inside us all won’t prevent us from doing the same.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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