#there will be hell to be set lose should i ever meet some shitty fans because i will just start spitting facts like there's no tomorrow

[crow-the-unknown]

part of me is glad i skipped the pens game today lmao (partially cos my avs won)

i hate rangers fans and if i had been there when they were chanting "crosby sucks" i would have personally fought each and every one of those bastards because they have absolutely no clue at all

try winning a cup this century and then we'll talk about him "sucking" huh? or maybe three-

or maybe try becoming one of the top 100 players ever, or try staying as good as you were at the start of your career for 15+ years, try being a genuinely great human and player in general, or-

[luxekook]

prologue.

⇥ pairing: taehyung x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 1.8k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, deception, taehyung with blue hair (aka LETHAL)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

PROLOGUE

Spring of Sophomore Year - 11:52pm

"If it gets any hotter in here, we'd need jackets to enter the fucking gates of Hades."

My stellar observation goes by unappreciated, but I'm not shocked. The music thumps heavily through the house at a deafening decibel and the only methods of communication are screaming or sign language - I had done neither.

Earlier, when my roommate Luna told me about this particular party, I had hesitations for several reasons:

This party is being held at the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) house - a house known for its wild parties, excessive drinking, and dangerously attractive brothers.

I am not a huge fan of the aforementioned features or the trouble that always seems to accompany them.

It's Harry Potter Weekend and I am going to miss the fucking Goblet of Fire for this.

Long story short, Luna convinced me to go with her with promises of pizza and our own Harry Potter marathon tomorrow. Her promises in mind, I square my shoulders and motion for Luna to follow me to the slightly quieter kitchen on the other side of the living room.

As we cross the crowded room, Luna tugs on my wrist and tilts her head subtly towards the corner where four very large, very attractive guys are playing a rowdy game of beer pong, while three (equally attractive) others lounge against the wall watching. Taking a closer look, I notice that the two at the far end of the table seem to be winning. The one with light pink hair takes his shot and curses loudly when he misses. Annoyed, the other shoves him out of the way, lines up to shoot, and pauses. Our eyes meet.

A shiver runs down my spine as his dark gaze rests on me. His jaw is clenched and chiseled, his lips are set firmly but wickedly full. His black t-shirt stretches over wide, solid shoulders and I can almost make out the muscles that ripple beneath. His right arm is still poised to take his shot, and I can't help but notice how his bicep strains the fabric of his sleeve and how his large, tanned hand completely dwarfs the pong ball.

I barely remember to breathe as I realize his gaze is making his own assessment of me. I can feel his dark eyes rake over me, and it makes my skin buzz. His eyes trail over my black crop top down to my ripped black jeans, and blatantly checks out my legs.

Suddenly, his pink-haired partner elbows him, shattering our little moment. Shakily taking a breath, I turn to Luna who has an eyebrow raised at me. She grabs my hand and practically drags me into the kitchen. I sip my drink and fight the urge to look back.

The minute we enter the mostly empty kitchen, Luna whips around to face me, "Were you just openly eye-fucking Kim Taehyung, (y/n)?" I choke on my beer.

"Who?" I croak, still coughing to clear my windpipe of what I'm certain is shitty Natty Light. Rolling her eyes, Luna shakes her head at me like a disappointed parent, "Kim Taehyung. You know, the pledge master for BTS? Was just with his frat brother Park Jimin?"

She pauses dramatically, seeming to be waiting for some kind of response. I stare at her blankly.

Scoffing, Luna continues, "They were the ones playing pong just now, dumbass. The blue-haired one is Taehyung. You know, the one you were mentally undressing-"

"Okay," I cut her off, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't paid much attention to the members of our 'legendary' fraternities."

Pretending like I never interrupted, she resumes, "-with your eyes. Everyone knows who they are. You just live under a rock that you call the library..."

I close my eyes and pray for deliverance as Luna trails off.

"Can I get you another drink?" A deep voice definitely not belonging to Luna breaks the short silence. Opening my eyes, my vision focuses on the voice's source – a cute BTS pledge. His eyes are focused entirely on Luna, who suddenly seems unnaturally shy. She sends me a searching look, and I nod in response. Smiling, she turns back to the boy, "Yeah, I'm Luna by the way, and this is (y/n)."

“Jaehyun," he answers, giving me a head tilt while placing a palm on Luna's back. He slowly guides her from the kitchen towards where the keg was in the living room. Sending a glance over her shoulder, Luna meets my eyes and I wave my phone at her as a silent reminder to update me. She winks and disappears into the living room.

Sighing, I lift myself onto the kitchen counter to give my feet some reprieve from these heeled boots and reapply my blood red lipstick using my phone camera. Satisfied, I check the time.

12:01am. Not nearly late enough for Luna to want to leave - especially now...

Suddenly, a now-familiar buzz sizzles across my skin. Drawing my gaze up from my phone, two unopened cans of beer held by long, strong fingers meet my vision. I drag my eyes up past thick wrists and corded arms. Up goes my gaze past flexed biceps, across a broad chest, and finally my eyes meet his.

He looms over me, all broad and imposing.

"Hey," his husky voice - just slightly deeper, raspier than Jaehyun's - murmurs, "I'm Taehyung. I brought this for you."

Taehyung's intimidating; his stare is direct and unwavering. Heat rolls off him in waves, and if this party was hotter than hell, that must make him the devil.

Our fingers brush as I accept his slightly outstretched offering, and I swear I would feel the reoccurring zings for the next week. "Hey, thank you. I'm, uh..." I trail off, Taehyung's dark eyes staring at me from this close make me seem to lose all power of speech. God, do eyes that color really exist? Apparently, they do – deep brown mixed with flecks of amber, hypnotizing.

I clear my throat and try to force my last two brain cells to work together, "I'm (y/n)."

He's smirking slightly now, the gesture pulling forth the cutest flush of pink in his cheeks, "Nice to meet you, (y/n)." And I swear he says my name like he's caressing it, tasting it for the first time.

Damn, he's unholy. Where is my snarky, inner bad bitch when I need her?

"Did you win your game? Seems like you might have been a little... distracted," I smirk, there she is. I crack open my beer and revel in the emitting hiss.

A flicker of heat bursts through those brown eyes as he leans closer still, enveloping me with his intoxicating cologne. He smells like autumn woods with a hint of fresh lemon; he smells like trouble.

Taehyung sets his beer down and places his arms on either side of me - caging me in. "Things were going just fine 'til this girl came strutting through the room in some tight fucking jeans," his tongue flicks over his lower lip, "So, yeah, you could say I got a little distracted."

"I do not strut," I object, narrowing my eyes at him - daring him to contradict me.

He's undeterred, "Yeah, you do, jagi." His eyes are full of mirth and he's clearly enjoying getting a reaction from me, "It's hot."

I bristle, unsure if I should accept that 'compliment' at face value, "Does this work on most girls? You know, the whole cornering her while you give her lame compliments thing?"

He looks surprised for a second, but then his head tilts back and he lets out one of the most endearing laughs I've ever heard - all unrestrained and unabashed pleasure.

Still chuckling, he tilts his head, eyes darting all over my face - lingering on my lips, "Where did you come from, (y/n)?"

Within seconds we're making out like unsupervised high school students, right in the middle of the damn kitchen. I let out an embarrassing moan when he bites my bottom lip then sucks on it. Expertly coaxing my lips apart, his tongue meets mine in a feverish tangle while his hands grip my waist - pulling me into him.

The way that Kim Taehyung kisses is unlike anything I've ever experienced. It's hot and demandingly deliberate with a possessiveness that sends a ripple of electricity through me. I'm playing with fire, making out with him, but at this moment I can't find it in me to give a single fuck.

Blazing lips suck and bite at the side of my neck and –

"(y/n)?"

The franticly questioning voice draws nearer as I open my eyes and tear myself away from Taehyung's wicked mouth. Luna's there, peering around Taehyung's shoulder, and I can immediately tell that something is seriously wrong.

Shoving Taehyung away from me, I jump down from the counter and stumble - completely forgetting I was in three-inch heeled boots. Taehyung’s hands shoot out around my waist to stabilize me, "Whoa, easy there, (y/n)."

"Get your lecherous paws off her, Kim," my eyes dart to Luna, shocked at her tone but proud of her vocabulary, "(y/n), we have to go."

"What's going on?" I'm at a loss, and I hate it, "Are you okay? Where's Jaehyun? Do I need to chop his dick off?"

Taehyung lets out a choking sound beside me, but I pay him no mind - chicks before dicks, hoes before bros, besties before testes, etc. etc.

"What I'm planning is much worse," Luna mutters with a strange glint in here eye as she pulls me away from Taehyung and levels him with an icy stare, "Listen, Kim, I know all about your little task for the pledges. Seriously, forcing them to get with as many girls as possible before they get their letters? Are you that much of a chauvinistic asshole?"

I whip around to face Taehyung, who seems to have become intensely interested in his beer, "Is this true?" He says nothing. I stalk up to him, shoving a finger in his chest, "Is. It. True."

His beautiful, guilty eyes flicker up to meet mine, and my heart sinks.

"Fuck. You." My words come out as a whisper but are still vicious enough to make Taehyung stagger back.

With that, Luna and I stalk out of the party - heads held high and arms linked.

Returning to our dorm, we make a pact to avoid all frat boys and christen it with pizza. She never tells me how she found out about the stupid pledge task; I'm smart enough to know that she must have had her reasons.

But I wasn't smart enough to stop thinking about Kim Taehyung.

I played with fire.

I should have known I'd get burned.

[vodkassassin]

cucumberplane with sqh defending/comforting sqq instead of the other way around (badass!sqh?)

Someone asked for a FIERCE son???

This one is a little long, at just about over 4k

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence ;3

—

Shang Qinghua is scared.

There’s been plenty of instances, especially in this new life of his, where he has been in fear for his life. Every instance feels like it’s the worst one, in the time that it is happening. In the moment, when his heart seems to freeze, beating so quickly it’s almost like he can’t even hear it in the blood that rushes by his ears. When his breath stutters to a stop, and his stomach drops so sharply that it feels like it’s dug itself deep into the mantle of the earth.

In the moment, when it feels like he’s never been this scared in either of his lives.

Like a cornered animal, pinned down against cold stone marble floors, this snarling demon’s clawed hand encircling his throat with just barely enough pressure to make breathing something difficult. The cold, sharp point of a spear digging ever-so gently into his gut, just to remind him that it’s there.

“I’ll carve out each and every one of your bones,” the demon is crooning into his ear, fingers flexing against his jugular, just barely. “They will make excellent jewelry, a badge of great honor. A boast at how the revered and powerful Peak Lord Shang was felled by my hands.”

Revered? Shang Qinghua has absolutely no idea where this dipshit idiot got his information, but clearly his broker had decided it would be a good laugh to lead him around by the nose, because he is so far off the mark.

It’s far more like Shang Qinghua is barely tolerated. Kept around for his work ethic and quick results. But revered? No.

And powerful? Okay, in order to be a peak lord, Shang Qinghua had to meet certain expectations. There are prerequisites for becoming the successor of your Shizun in Cang Qiong. However, there are twelve peaks, and despite being ranked number four out of all of them, the peak lord of An Ding is hardly considered powerful.

This demon has it all wrong. But! Here he is, spear and claws cutting into Shang Qinghua’s skin, threatening his life.

Usually, Shang Qinghua has precautions in place for this very circumstance. There are so many exits he could have taken before this. Back up plans, routes to temporary safety. Hell, just calling for Mobei Jun gets the job done in a flash, half the time.

Okay, more than half.

But. However. Shang Qinghua had made certain oversights. Because he never, in any of those precautions, accounted for the additional presence of his bro. Shen Qingqiu, who is curled up against the wall across the room, pale and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from a gash in his head.

And so, like a cornered animal would, Shang Qinghua bares his teeth.

It should have been a warning, but the demon just laughs.

“Don’t pretend to be brave now, little cultivator,” he chuckles.

The hand on Shang Qinghua’s throat loosens, before removing itself completely so that those long, wickedly sharp claws can trail up the soft skin underneath his jaw. They press down as they go, just enough that Shang Qinghua can feel droplets of blood start trickling down his neck. The demon traces up his cheek with two claws, gently, and croons.

“I never imagined a small thing like you to be the infamous Lord Shang,” the demal continues. “I really did expect someone at least a little taller. But, small is fun, too! You gave me a good hunt, little one, so at least you lived up to some of the rumors.”

Any other day, Shang Qinghua would really love to know what the demons of the North say about him. Really. He’s dying of curiosity, about as much as he’s certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. If there’s anything that Shang Qinghua is guaranteed to be able to work with, it's being underestimated.

“But, the chase is over now. This one wins, and Lord Shang loses.”

With that, the demon plunges the spear into Shang Qinghua’s stomach.

It’s cold, going in. Terrifying, knowing that there’s something ripping into you. The feeling as your body reacts to a foreign object’s invasion. Not quite at the conclusion that it should hurt, yet. Just… shock.

There’s a brief period of time before the shock makes it hard to move, though. Shang Qinghua knows, from experience, almost exactly how long it will take for his body to realize it’s suppose to be in pain. He has a precious few moments, and his teeth are still bared.

Shang Qinghua has been waiting. He’s good at that. He’s patient. He’s spent most of his life waiting for one thing or another. For plans to come to fruition, for schemes to set. For pieces to fall into place so that he can pull his strings. For this demon to finish his dumbass, dramatic monologue, and make the final blow.

Shang Qinghua is quick — he always has been. At the moment the spearhead enters his flesh, he’s already wriggled an arm forward and grabbed it by the shaft, just below where the demon holds it.

The demon makes a surprised noise when Shang Qinghua uses his grip to pull himself further onto the weapon. It’s the last sound he makes, beyond a wheeze of shock as Shang Qinghua jerks forward into his space and latches his jaw around the demal’s throat.

He sinks his teeth into flesh. It tastes salty. He can feel the point of the spear exiting his back, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He clamps down as hard as he can and thrashes his head to the side and then back again.

The skin under his teeth breaks open. Bloods splurts out, dribbling in rivulets down his chin, and Shang Qinghua bites down even further. Something long and sinewy, stretched like a tube, bursts between his molars, coming apart over his tongue.

The demon collapses, falling away from where he’d been straddling Shang Qinghua’s legs. He crashes to the ground with wide, unseeing eyes, soft gurgles erupting from the demal’s mutilated neck before the sound dies out completely, and Shang Qinghua is left lying there on the cold marble floor, a spear protruding from his midsection.

He stares up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the shock that’s finally settling into his limbs. There’s copper and salt cloying in his mouth. He’s never been a fan of rare steaks, and this is even worse. He feels, distantly, as if he’s going to throw up. But, not now. Maybe in a little bit, after the shock wears off and the pain sets in.

Shang Qinghua experimentally tries to wiggle his toes. He succeeds, and so he moves on to the muscles in his arms, working at them until they contract and retract in the way he wants them to. He lifts up one arm, shakily, and carefully grabs the shaft of the spear that he’s currently impaled upon. He can feel the spearhead pressing uncomfortably against his back, from where it’s exited the wound.

He can’t just pull it out the way that it came in, like he wants to. It will catch, and drag against already torn flesh. The backside of the spearhead is serrated. It will just make it worse.

He has to snap the spear head off before pulling the shaft out.

But, it’s not like a shoddy spear, with a stone head and a wooden shaft. This is a well-crafted weapon, without any seams to serve as a weak point. The spearhead is carved of the same strong metal as the shaft. This was forged by a master weaponsmith, with demonic spells carved elegantly into the detailing.

Shang Qinghua isn’t going to be able to break it with regular, Qi-enhanced strength. He can’t start healing himself until he removes the spear, either. And he can’t push the spear all the way through, since the opposite end is an oddly shaped hilt. Bulky. That would do worse damage than the serrated spearhead.

He’s kind of… stuck. Shang Qinghua isn’t entirely sure how to get the spear out of himself without making it worse. He’ll have to wait until help arrives.

However, he might just bleed out before then!

And, across the room, though his head wound has sluggishly ceased its bleeding, his best friend is still unconscious.

This is fun. Exciting! A real puzzle to solve.

Hey, System!

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Cutscenes? There’s never been cutscenes! This is just another shitty excuse not to help!

I hate you.

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

Shang Qinghua groans, and carefully begins to maneuver himself onto his side.

The pain hits. Thankfully not all at once. It comes in increments, so Shang Qinghua is able to sit up and get his legs underneath him before it really starts making a nuisance of itself, but it does come.

It hurts, dammit. He’s had worse, of course, but it still hurts like a bitch, and there’s a hazy blackness encroaching on the very edges of Shang Qinghua’s vision that won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He shoves the pain to the back of his mind and focuses on standing. It’s an arduous process, but he manages it, and he’s by Shen Qingqiu’s side within thirty seconds of almost drunken stumbling.

Shang Qinghua is very mindful of the spear that still impales him as he kneels in a controlled collapse beside his best friend. He angles his chest away from the other man so the heavy end of the spear points downwards and away from them both. He lifts a visibly shaking hand to Shen Qingqiu’s brow and begins channeling qi into him.

Just because he can’t heal himself with the spear still in him, doesn’t mean he can’t heal his buddy.

It’s a short process. He’s no healer, but he and Mu Qingfang are — close, and Shang Qinghua has learned a thing or two from the very best that their sect has to offer. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are fluttering open within minutes.

“Ow,” the man murmurs, raising a hand to his most-likely aching skull. It lands to cover Shang Qinghua’s, fingers momentarily intertwining with his, and Shen Qingqiu straightens up from where he has slumped against the wall to look over at him.

“What hit me?” he groans, confusion cinching his brow.

Shang Qinghua sucks in a slow, controlled breath. The pain is hammering at his senses insistently, but he shoves it to the back of his mind again. It’s an ongoing battle, like trying to fight off a jumping dog with boundless energy when you’re going off two hours of sleep and are short three cup of coffee. And you have a migraine that makes every single one of your joints feel like there’s a knife stuck in them.

It’s a very specific metaphor. Which might not be a metaphor, but more of an correlation to that one time he’d been roped into dogsitting for his older brother.

That didn’t necessarily hurt as bad as this, per say, but it was like, similarly annoying?

To… being impaled?

Right.

It takes a few moments, Shang Qinghua still focused on channeling his qi, but Shen Qingqiu eventually becomes coherent enough to recall how exactly he’d ended up like this, and he pins him with a sharp look of examination. Which quickly turns to pale-faced horror.

“Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu hisses, eyes wide and terrified. “Airplane, stop! Why are you — why are you healing me? You have a fucking spear sticking out of you, oh my fucking god—!”

They quickly switch positions. Suddenly, Shang Qinghua is the one on the ground, with a panicked Shen Qingqiu leaning over him, hands hovering above the spear but not quite touching it, uncertainty warring with fear on the man’s face. No fan to hide the expression, this time.

Amusement and fondness twists up in Shang Qinghua’s gut, mingling with the internal bleeding that he is most certainly experiencing. He reaches up a hand to clumsily pay at his bro’s face.

“Peerless,” he breathes out. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Bro, you’re so pretty…. I did so, so good…. character descriptions absolutely flawless....”

“Great, you’re delirious.” Shen Qingqiu huffs out, trying to sound annoyed. There’s still that note of fear in there, though, that can’t be mistaken. “Airplane, pull yourself together. How the fuck am I suppose to get this out of you? I need you sober, man.”

“Drunk on paiiin,” Shang Qinghua giggles out in a singsong, and his bro pulls a face.

“That sounds so wrong. Don’t say that. Instead, tell me how to— to unimpale you? Maybe? Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head back. Cold marble presses against his crown. It’s soothing, kinda. He feels like he’s burning up with a fever. The slight chill is… nice. He closes his eyes.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says. A hand lands on his shoulder and gives him a very light shake. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fucking fall asleep! Airplane, please.”

Right.

Shang Qinghua sucks in another slow, careful breath, and forces his eyes open. He fights past the haziness that’s trying to cover his vision, and locks eyes with his martial brother and best friend. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified, eyes wide and damp around the edges.

Awww, he does care!

Shaking the thought away, he reaches out with one hand and slaps his palm against the shaft of the spear. The vibrations travel down its length and into Shang Qinghua, and his entire torso alights with fresh, white hot pain. He stiffens and smothers a cry.

“Shit! Airplane, what the fuck?! Stop!”

He ignores Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua is more awake now, which is exactly what he was going for.

“Bro,” he says. It comes out breathless, more of a wheeze. “We can’t break the spear with normal cultivation.”

“Then how the fuck—?!”

“No, no. Listen. You can’t break it with normal cultivation. It needs an elemental touch, and I’m not about to electrocute myself to death again.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, staring down at him. He blinks.

“But,” Shen Qingqiu says, realization alighting in his eyes. His bro is so clever. “I don’t have a lightning element. Mine is earth.”

“Yep! Bro.”

“Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua swings out his arm and slaps it against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, turning his hand to grab the front of his bro’s robes. He uses his grip to haul himself up into a sitting position, leaning in to speak directly into the other man’s ear.

“Bro, disintegrate the spear. Like, I am begging you here. It fucking hurts.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in order to stare at him. After a few seconds, he shakes his head roughly, eyes wide.

“R—Right!” He says, and reaches out to curl his fingers hesitantly around the spear shaft. His other arm has curled protectively around the small of Shang Qinghua’s back, helping to hold him up as his strength quickly drains away from him.

“Right. Um, just… give me a second. I’m not… um, I’m not really good with elemental techniques….”

“Take your time,” Shang Qinghua says sincerely, before blacking out into his bro’s shoulder.

—

“Hey, Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua glances up from the door of the throne room that they’ve summarily been trapped inside of.

It was a beautiful scheme of their opponent, truly. Using the defenses of the wards that are intended to protect against them. Setting up a grand distraction in the form of a false invasion, drawing away the guards and his king to the frontlines of the battle. Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were trapped within the seat of power of the palace the very moment that the wards had initiated the total lockdown.

Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

It’s a complete, absolute protection — but it can’t do anything to protect them from someone already inside the wards themselves, and subsequently had cut them off from any back up in the form of a teleporting demon king, as not even Mobei Jun himself can break through the ancient wards of his own ancestors.

It was a severe oversight. He’ll have to rectify it immediately, once this is all taken care of and finished.

Loopholes being taken advantage of in such creative ways! Shang Qinghua would be so very impressed, if only they weren’t his wards being made a mockery of.

He looks over at his bro, to find Shen Qingqiu staring down at the corpse of their attacker with an odd look on his face.

Really, Shang Qinghua is kind of embarrassed. For both of them! They could have taken this guy, working together. Neither of them are slackers in the power department, and Shen Qingqiu in particular inherited a pretty strong body to begin with, that he has since only made more powerful. Shang Qinghua himself is, while not exactly super impressive, certainly nothing to sniff at. After all, he is a peak lord, too.

Together, they should have been able to take this guy.

Too bad the dipshit demon had foreseen that, and had worked in the element of surprise. It really had been too quick. Strike down the more powerful of them first, and fight the lesser head on. Shen Qingqiu is unconscious against the wall, and Shang Qinghua is fast, but apparently not fast enough.

Seriously. It’s embarrassing.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Did you….” Shen Qingqiu looks up from the body, glancing at the bloodied mess that is the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes. He points a finger at him, and looks back down at the corpse in clear befuddlement. “Did you, uh…. Um, how exactly did you kill this guy?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his work with the wards. They’re a true beast, really, and he’s gonna need his bro’s help anyway. It’ll take more than just him to dismantle the lockdown. He stands up and wanders over to stare down at the corpse as well.

It’s a fucking mess. The corpse had drained out of the neck until there wasn’t any more blood to bleed, resulting in a massive puddle of deep crimson that has expanded a good five feet in diameter around the demon’s body. The body itself is pale in death, an ashy green color that has become mottled in places due to the absence of blood. The eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at nothing, and the face still bears a slightly slack expression of shock.

It’s disturbing to look at, sure, but they’ve both seen worse. Shang Qinghua is a little confused about why his bro seems so uneasy.

“Uh,” he says, head tilted to the side in thought. “Well, he stabbed me…. hm. Oh! Yeah, so I kinda, like, used the spear to pull him closer so I could, y’know,” Shang Qinghua snaps his teeth in a theatric grimace, and gives his head a slight jerk to the side.

He then smiles brightly at his friend, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t really describe.

“And, yeah,” he finishes, lamely.

“There’s blood,” Shen Qingqiu says. “In your teeth.”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua frowns. He runs his tongue or his teeth, and grimaces for real at the tacky feeling that coats them. Not even going to mention the taste. “Can blood stain, like, bone? Teeth are bone. Do you think it’ll stain?”

“Airplane, did you rip out that guy’s throat with your teeth?”

Shang Qinghua frowns at his friend. “Um, yeah? Didn’t I just say that?”

“Haha, you did.” Shen Qingqiu gives a strange laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “You actually did.”

Shang Qinghua watches in bewilderment as the other man spins on his heel and takes a few steps away from him. His steps bring him closer to the corpse. He stops just shy of his feet kicking into it and stares down at it for a long few moments that feel like they stretch into minutes.

Then, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head slowly, and walks back over to him.

“That’s so fucking metal, bro,” he says, finally. “Like, I’m both terrified and very, very impressed.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua says. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair self-consciously, feeling at where the strands have come loose from his bun. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need a hand with the wards. They can only be unlocked from the inside, and usually I’d be able to just do it myself, but I’m almost spent, dude. Like, I need a fucking nap, as soon as possible. Imma need your qi.”

“Sure, what little I can give of it. I used up a lot on that medical technique for your, uh, impalement. I’m no doctor, man.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. He casts one last vaguely incredulous glance between Shang Qinghua and the demon’s corpse, before following him over to the two, large and imposing throne room doors.

They’re swinging them open about fifteen minutes later, and both of them are forced to duck out of the way as a barrage of deadly sharp icicles comes raining down almost upon their heads.

Shang Qinghua grabs his best friend by the arm and flings him back, raising his other arm up into the air to snap his fingers. He winces at how the movement pulls at his still incredibly sore injury. Thankfully, he’d managed to heel it enough that the wound itself has closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s still got some internal bleeding going on in there.

There’s a light shimmer in the air before them, barely visible, as his qi condenses into a weak physical barrier. Most of the icicles shatter upon contact with it, but some make it through, and Shang Qinghua tugs his increasingly drowsy martial brother out of the line of fire.

Ah, head wounds are so annoying. Guess he’ll have to drag Shen-ge with him to see Qingfang, after all.

“My king!” He shouts, and then raises his voice as another volley of icicles begins to form from the moisture in the air. Being in the cold north, there’s plenty of it. “Mobei Jun! Stop! It’s us!”

The icicles pause, and then fall to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of ice that immediately begin to melt into the floor. There’s no time to appreciate the built-in clean up function born from his beautiful world building skills, however, as a large figure comes striding across the outer hall toward them, intent in every single step.

As soon as Mobei Jun and the retinue of guards spot the two peak lords, they fall to an abrupt stop. The guards all exchange glances, but it’s difficult to make out their expressions underneath the helmets of ice. His king, barefaced as always, looks a little surprised. Not much, of course, but his eyes are a little wider than usual.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and then stops.

“Yes, my king?”

There’s a long strength of silence. Shang Qinghua frowns and turns to his friend, only to find Shen Qingqiu staring at him as well. His fan flutters in front of his face, having appeared out of absolutely nowhere — seriously, does the man keep spares in a qiankun space? — and the eyes that peer over it at him look distinctly amused.

“Shang-ge,” he says, mirth coating every word.

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu watches him for a moment, and then snickers.

“Shen-ge, what?”

“You look like you just ripped someone’s throat out.” Shen Qingqiu comments idly.

Annoyed, Shang Qinghua reaches up and rubs the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He scowls at his bro. “That’s because I just did? Why are you laughing at me?”

Someone coughs. It sounds like one of the guards. Another hurriedly shushes the one, and all the demons in the hall are very still and very silent. It’s kind of eerie, actually. Mobei Jun is still staring at him, too.

Is it because Shang Qinghua has made such a mess? He will clean it up, your majesty, he promises!

“What did it taste like?” Shen Qingqiu suddenly wonders aloud, watching him inquisitively, and Shang Qinghua rounds on him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Gross.” He says firmly. He wipes his sleeve over his mouth once more, for good measure. Blood flakes off of his chin, and he makes a face. “Disgusting. I’m never doing that again. Ugh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flutters, and his friend laughs at him.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, this time more firmly.

He turns toward his king and folds his hands out in front of him, bowing just slightly enough to show respect. “My king, this one will have the mess cleaned up, do not worry. However, both this one and his martial brother require the assistance of our fellow peak lord after such an ordeal, so if your Majesty would allow us….”

Mobei Jun’s haze sharpens, and he takes a step forward. Always one to read in between the lines of what is being said, he demands answers. “You are hurt?”

“This one was impaled. Healed now, but likely requires further treatment just in case. Brother Shen has a head wound that I would like for our sect doctor to look at.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, annoyed.

He sways slightly to the side, righting himself before Shang Qinghua can reach out to steady him, and gives him an impervious look when he tries to set his hand on the man’s arm anyway.

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Sure, as Shen-ge says. Would you like to tell Qingfang, or should I?”

Shen Qingqiu glares at him.

He turns back to Mobei Jun, who has taken a few steps to the side and is trying to peer around them for a glimpse at the mess on the throne room floor. Shang Qinghua steps in front of him, blocking the view.

His king narrows his eyes at him, and Shang Qinghua swallows down the usual nervousness that tries to crawl up his throat at the look. He is tired, he’s got a headache, his qi levels are at rock bottom, he’d just been impaled, and Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves a fucking nap, okay?

He summons up a polite smile and gives his king another bow. “If my king permits it…?” He hedges once again.

Mobei Jun glowers at him for a couple more long moments, the line of demonic guardsmen at his back unrelenting and immovable.

“The invasion force at the gates,” his king says slowly, eyes once again going to the throne room just beyond their little rendezvous point here. “It was only a bluff?”

“Yes, my king.”

“And the assassin?”

“Dead, my king.”

“.... Hmph.”

Well, Shang Qinghua has no idea what that sound means.

Mobei Jun stares at him some more, before finally nodding his head once. “This king will take you to Qian Cao.”

Shang Qinghua beams at the man. “That would be amazing! Many thanks, my king!”

Mobei Jun lets out a huff and pivots on his heel to face the contingent of guardsdemals instead, his back shown to them.

From Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Shen Qingqiu quietly snorts into his fan.

“Gather a cleaning crew for both the battlefield and the throne room,” Mobei Jun barks out, and the guards scatter.

He turns back to face the two peak lords, and holds out one arm, not even looking at them.

Shang Qinghua wraps one arm around his bro’s waist. From how unsteady Shen Qingqiu still is, he doesn’t really trust the man to hold on for the entire trip. And falling off mid-teleportation is definitely not fun. Shang Qinghua can attest to that.

Mobei Jun is scowling when he reaches out and sets his arm into the crook of the king’s elbow, but he steps into the teleportation before Shang Qinghua can even consider asking him what’s wrong.

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Masterlist, Next Part

Summary: Gavin is tired, so tired. He is tired of being the bad guy, but thats just who he is he's mean and unapproachable. He can't be replaced, he just can't, work is all he has left to tie him to this world. It is the only thing that proves he's not as terrible as he feels.

But when the fancy RK900 unit walks in, along with a terrible string of murders, Gavin is pushed backwards. He can't on this way anymore, but he doesn't think he is capable of change.

This is his last chance, he is Gavin's last chance.

Warnings: cursing

Chapter 1:

Gavin Reed is a mess. A walking tragedy. Rough on every edge and totally banged up. From the scar on his nose to the little marks on his knuckles.

If the scruffy appearance and constant 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t make it obvious then the darker than night eyebags and shitty attitude certainly does.

He looks rough, but he's not a bad guy, at least not internally. He's a man who feels too much and is easily hurt, but he would rather die than ask for help or express himself. The man has more baggage than an airport.

He’s bitter and cold, almost aloof in demeanor. A rabid dog with a muzzle on at all times, marked “dangerous don’t pet” only by fault of trusting too much.

A stray, left wondering all by his lonely self fulfilling prophecy of isolation.

A grade “A” mess.

He drags his sorry ass to the Detroit Police Station everyday and works himself to the bone because that's all he knows. It’s all he is able to do in order to tune out all the thoughts that he knows will drown him.

Not a team player in the slightest, but he's certainly one of the best detectives the DPD has seen in a long time. Stupidly efficient, his brain makes connections in ways that are unparalleled by his human peers. Too bad no one in the building likes him enough to let him know it.

Another consequence of his own actions, he is an asshole and he knows it. The only person he can call a friend is Tina Chen, but even then he feels as though she could do better. They all can. He is mean and cuts people off, unapproachable and snappy. Truthfully he’s surprised she's still around.

If it wasn’t for Fowler's firm hand he’d practically live in the building, it's not like he takes breaks anyway, but alas he has a shitty apartment with two demon babies to get back to anyway.

Bright and early on a Monday morning the man, the myth, the legend himself walks his groggy ass through the doors of the DPD. The caffeine withdrawal headache already encroaches on his brain and he sports a fresh set of bandages over his abused knuckles.

He keeps his head low and heads straight for the breakroom, aiming to get a cup of the worst coffee Detroit can offer. His reputation around the office has always been less than great, but ever since the android revolution his peers have been walking on eggshells around him.

He doesn’t blame them, it's not like he tried to hide his anti-android sentiment. He huffs quietly to himself, why would he care what those assholes think about him.

He prepares his shitty coffee and walks over to his shitty desk in the shitty bullpen. He’s dramatic like that. He doesn’t bother the anticipatory itch he feels deep in his chest that eggs him on to dive straight back into work. Like a craving, a workaholic.

Days are long and hard now that there has been mass losses in employment and crime skyrocketed. Reed just has to solve it all himself. Masochist.

He sits at his desk reviewing the last notes he took at the scene of his most recent case. Double homicide, suspected breaking and entering, but nothing was stolen.

He hears loud belly laughter come from the entrance of the bullpen, in comes Hank Anderson and his sidekick Conner.

Reed glances at the clock and snorts a bit.

Won’t you look at that, Hank Anderson is early for the first time in about a thousand years.

He shakes his head, and goes back to his notes. Normally he would throw out a rude remark or two, but he simply doesn’t have the energy today so he settles for an eye roll.

He is drop dead tired. Insomnia is a bitch and he hardly has an appetite anymore.

“Good morning Detective” Conner calls in a stupidly cheery tone.

“Fuck off” Gavin mutters back, his words lacking their usual bite. He just sounds defeated, deflated.

Conner hovers for a second longer in front of Gavin's desk. A second longer than usual, too long for Gavin’s liking. He moves his head up to call Conner out, but is met with nothing but air.

Whatever.

Gavin goes back to work, shuffling lightly under his desk. He is focused on nothing. Staring blankly at his own words in front of him, unable to comprehend what he is looking at. His mind is somewhere else, caught between nowhere and here.

He looks away quickly and puts his head in his hands.

Breathe in and out. Just focus, you idiot. Focus.

He rubs his eyes harder as the frustration moves like tides within his chest.

This is an improvement from Gavin Reed, if it were a few months ago he would've just slammed his hands on his desk and stalked off to go smoke. Not that anyone cares enough to know it of course.

He breathes in deep again and sets his mind to try one more time before he swears he’ll scream or something,

“Reed! My office now!” A deep yell calls out, breaking his second of peace. Fowler, of course.

He audibly groans. He hasn’t done anything wrong so why the hell would the captain want to see him.

“Ohhh, someones in trouble~” Tina Chen calls out, she’s barely walking into the area. She’s late, again Starbucks in her hand.

Not surprised.

“Bitch” he retorts, making his way toward Fowler's office. Tina laughs lightly and blows him a mocking kiss. Gavin just rolls his eyes.

Conner and Hank rise from their work stations to start after him.

Oh great, fan-fucking-tabulous. Reed huffs some more.

He opens Fowler's door with a hard swing, his patience slips away from him quickly.

The bad buddy cop flick duo follows behind him closely. Gavin elects to stay standing, way too anxious to sit and just accept whatever shit Fowler will be throwing at him.

Hank takes a seat, the other is already taken by Conner.

He does a double take, Conner is right next to him. Two Conners?

The not Conner turns a fraction.

“The fuck is this” Gavin questions and recieves a scathing look from Fowler.

Conner shuffles quietly next to him, the movement capturing his eye as it always does. Why does he look anxious, the fuck is wrong with him.

“Reed shut up and let me speak before you go butting in, '' Fowler dictates before continuing on, “this is RK900 and he will be assigned as your new partner.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t do partners, you know this Fowler. What makes you think I need one, much less that tin can.” Reed is quick to anger, well at least he has some energy now.

Has he not been efficient enough on his own? Fowler can’t just give him some pity babysitter to fix him up like Conner did with Hank.

“You do what I tell you to do, Reed. He is top of the line and you, annoyingly enough, have the best solve rates as of now. So he goes to you.” Fowler is strong with his statements and doesn’t leave room for arguing. Which doesn’t stop Gavin.

“What the fuck! That should mean that I don't need the help of that asshole! Dump him on someone else, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well you better make it make sense or else you can hand your badge over, Detective.” Gavin clenches his jaw, his eyes lit with anger.

“You don’t get any special privileges Reed, especially with your disciplinary file.”

Gavin huffs again shaking his head. “Well that doesn’t explain why these two are here” he gestures to Hank and Conner wildly with his hands. He treads more lightly with his words, he’s an idiot and a dick, but he will not lose his job over something as stupid as this.

“I asked them here in case you reacted poorly to this decision, much like you did” Fowler draws.

Yeah, yeah he's disappointed, when is he not.

“Yeah, quite the show you put on there, Reed” Hank mocks.

Go back to playing house, Hank.

Reed fumes, grinding his teeth. He could be so much meaner, but he holds back. All the energy that the anger gave him rapidly left his body and he’s left with tired resentment. A cold emptiness that leaves him chilly and lacking the will to continue fighting back.

“Are we done here?” He asks in a low tone, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Well yes-”

It doesn’t matter what came after that, Reed saw the green light to leave.

“He‘s not well, Lieutenant”

“Conner it’s…”

He walks faster, escaping the muffled voices.

He sits back at his desk and grabs for his coffee. Empty already, great. He goes to make another cup, desperately wanting to get his mind off of the shitstorm that just happened.

Every other partner Reed has ever had did not last, they just couldn’t tolerate his shitty attitude. Essentially he ran them all off, like nannys to a terrible toddler.

This one will be no different, android or not, no one can put up with him for long. At least that's how Reed reassures himself.

Before he knows it he’s back at his desk, hot coffee in his hand and an absurdly tall knock off Conner in his way.

“The fuck out of the way, tin can” Gavin grumbles not even looking up to meet RK900’s eyes.

He doesn’t move.

“Did you not fucking hear me? Are you deaf, asshole?”

He moves a fraction, and Gavin takes it with a slight shoulder check to get to his seat.

Stupid not-Conner and his ugly fucking white jacket. Was gray not terrible enough?

Another small huff to himself. He’s been doing that more and more today.

He goes back to his notes. 5 minutes has passed and not-Conner continues to stand unmoving in front of Gavin’s desk.

He tries to ignore it, but he can’t stand seeing the stark white shadow in his peripheral vision. Looming like a cage starting to close in.

“Can you not just fuckin stand there like a freak?” Gavin snaps, finally looking the RK unit in the face.

Maybe he isn’t like Connor. RK is sharp and cold with defined cheekbones and pale blue eyes. Connor is warm in demeanor and soft where RK seems impenetrable and well…  intimidating.

“I am assuming that that empty desk is mine to use?”

Even his voice is different, this one is firm and lower in pitch compared to Connor’s.

Reed lags behind a beat, taking in all the information he can from what's before him. RKs suit is clean and pressed, untouched by the qualms of living. He looks shiny and brand new, but the disdain in his eyes says otherwise.

His posture is stiff and the collar on his neck more so, making RK look down with his eyes and a miniature head tilt. It makes him look condescending, physically and metaphorically looking down on him.

Gavin curls his lip, dislike drags within him. “If it gets you to fuck off than yeah, knock yourself out, tincan.”

An hour or two, or three, passes. Gavin manages to transfer his written reports onto his terminal. Using the work to blissfully tune out the presence to his right. RK900 staring blankly at the terminal with a flashing yellow light circling at his temple.

Gavin has so many questions swirling around his head, but has too big of a pride to ask them. Asking would mean being civil and he is NOT going to do that. Instead he’s elected to just simply pretend that his brand new partner doesn’t exist at all. That's all he can manage with the lack of energy he has at the moment.

Besides, it's not like his fancy new plastic counterpart is aching to talk to him anyway. He just sits there with his perfect posture in perfect silence. For once Gavin is thankful for his ability to just fall into his work, because it provides the perfect distraction.

(stay tuned for the next chapter!)

[strawbrieshortcake]

Falling For U

Song: Falling for you-Mxmtoon, Peachy!

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader

Warning: My shot at writing and angst, swearing, fem!reader :)

A/N: Feel free to listen to the song while you read! Happy birthday hajime!

I was hanging with you when I realized I didn’t think it was true, I was surprised 

.

It was the practice match with Karasuno when Hajime realized what he felt towards you. The bubble of feelings that were held strong in his chest everytime he thought about you. Or the clamminess in his hands when you would talk to him, the hitch in his breath when you would get close enough for him to smell of perfume you would put on in the mornings. You were around him all the time, being friends with him and Oikawa, while also being the manager of Aboa Johsai’s volleyball team. It was hard not to feel pulled in by you. It was hard to be far away.

It was confusing for him, really. Brush the thoughts away, continue practicing, win, and continue with the day. This was a normal occurrence for him. You were just a close friend since middle school, nothing more nothing less. But when the feelings get so strong, it’s hard to brush them off. Why can’t you get off my mind-

“Iwa-Chan! Why do you look so mad? Is it because we lost? Aw! It’s okay!-”

“Shut the hell up shitty-kawa” Hajime remarks coldly kicking the rocks beneath his feet on the sidewalk, as Oikawa screeches almost hitting the side of the building.

“Guys! Can we not?” You sigh before continuing to walk just to show your frustration to the two boys in front of you. The walk continues in a comfortable silence (only because you glared at Oikawa, giving him the shut the hell up look), but you pipe up again.

“We may have lost, but it was just a practice! So don’t feel too bad Iwa! We will have them next time!” You chriped, running in front of the boys, the sunset hitting the back of your head giving you a warm aura outlining your body. A goddess Hajime thought as he looked at you as his face flushed in a light pink, painting over his sun kissed skin. Oikawa gave you a genuine smile, then joined you in trying to make Hajime feel better about what they thought was over the loss, but in reality over you.

When I found out I’ve fallen for you

.

I didn’t want to believe my feelings for you

I didn’t want to believe that I could lose you

It was a week after that practice game when Hajime realized how much love he felt for you. It was a normal day, you were hanging out with the other third years during lunch. You were sitting across from him at the table, Oikawa standing behind you, Hanamaki on your left side and Matsukawa on Hajime’s left. Hajime was eating his food, not as engaged in the conversation as you and the others were.

“So what are you gonna do after we graduate y/n-chan?” Oikawa questions while trying to shove Hanamaki so he could sit next to you,slowly twirling his finger around a piece of your hair. Haijme’s eyes meet yours as you think of an answer, and you smile at him. Once again, you made his heart flutter.

“Oh, I’ll probably stay here to help out with the market my family owns, remember?” You say as you continue to eat your lunch. Oh y/n that was one thing Hajime loved about you, the fact you were so kind and considerate. As long as he has known you, you never once changed your mind about what you wanted to do. Your family owned a small market/cafe near the school, you always wanted to make it bigger, more customers so your family wouldn’t be in debt due to all the bills. If only Hajime could be the one who helped you with that dream.

“Aw! Y/n-chan! You’re so cute! Always wanting to help others!” Hajime noticed the way your eyes sparkled, the way your face slightly flushed into a soft pink. He wanted to have that effect on you, but he decided to stay quiet. He won’t lose you, or at least that's what he wanted to tell himself.

If I told you just how I felt

.

But I can’t help it, I’m falling for you,

and I can’t quit it,

‘cause I’m stuck on you

Two weeks after your eyes sparkled, Hajime told himself he would be the person to make you do that. Outside of volleyball of course. Your eyes would sparkle for volleyball,when your favorite artist released a new song, and when you would gush about your favorite show’s new episode. He has never seen a person's words make your eyes sparkle.

Now you were at practice, filling out paperwork on the gym’s floor next to the door. The boys were in the middle, working on the drills the coach assigned.

“Okay, I’ll give you five” The coach left the gym, doing who knows what. I can do it Hajime silently thought to himself before carrying his legs towards you, one stop at a time. Each step was filled with so much force, he felt like he could split the ground to two. Your eyes met his again, but no sparkle.

“Hey Iwa! What’s up?” You ask before sitting up to face your body completely towards him.

“Nothing...just wanted to see what you were doing.” He coughed out before joining you on the ground. He turns his head to face you, before realizing how close he seated himself to you. He could practically feel the warmth your body radiated, but he didn’t mind, only if it's you. He could hear the snickers in front of him, only to give a slight glare to Matsukawa and Hanamaki. You turn your head towards him and you grin.

“Iwa, you’re sweaty and smell bad” You snicker, returning back to your work. But you didn’t move away, Hajime did. You glance towards him once more as he gets up and walks away, his stomach doing flips and turns mumbling a small “shit” under his breath. Only if you knew.

And it might be pathetic

and you might be skeptical

but I just want to be with you

“Are you okay Iwa-chan?” Oikawa laughed at his ace, only to get hit by a volleyball, it made you laugh. Hajime wondered if that laugh was for him.

Please tell me girl, could you get a clue? Or come through cause I just want to be with you

.

I’m scared of telling you how I feel

It was the day before finals when Hajime realized how scary it could be to love someone. How scary it is to love you.

You were giving the team a speech, mentally preparing them for the next day. You gathered them in a circle, Hanamaki on your left, Hajime on your right, and Oikawa next to Hajime.

“Okay, everyone. It’s been a good year for us! I want to let each and everyone of you know how proud of you guys I am. You guys are the best team I have the privilege of managing. It’s definitely not easy to do. You know those crazy Oikawa fans I have to deal with, or to set up practice games with other schools, but I will never regret a single bit of any of it. You all are my boys, and I love you all very so much. Even if it means I have to deal with your crazy shit you guys pull, I would do it forever. So let’s win nationals! Let’s go out with a bang!” You yelled putting your hand in the middle, the rest of the team followed suit shouting cheers. Hajime placed his hands on top of yours, looked at you, your eyes finally sparkled. Maybe he shouldn’t be so scared. Loving was a beautiful thing.

.

After the speech you all went to your family’s shop to get some dinner, a small ritual you would do after practices and sometimes games. Everyone left one by one till it was only Hajime, Oikawa and you. The three of you walked out, under the stars. The boys decided to walk you home, because who knew when the next time you guys had a night out after volleyball practice would be. You all fell under a comfortable silence, you walked in front of the boys.

“Are you guys excited?” You spoke softly, turning around to face the captain and ace. Hajime could see the air come out of your lips due to the cold night.

“Of course y/n-chan” Oikawa smiled at you softly, taking your hands and playing with your fingers, it was a habit for you both to be affectionate, but this was different. It made Hajime’s heart hurt.

“What about you Iwa-chan? Are you excited to beat everyone?” He asked quietly, smiling at Hajime who has now stopped walking.

No. Not like this. I was going to tell you, why couldn’t this wait? Why now? They’re just friends, right? Millions of cruel thoughts raced in his mind, mixed emotions hitting him left,right,up,down but the worst was yet to come. Anger and sadness fueled him now.

“Haji?”... He didn’t respond to you, it was almost like he was looking past you. He was clenching his fist so hard, his knuckles were turning white.

“Hajime? Are you okay?” The concern in your voice is evident. Hajime knew he shouldn’t feel upset, he knew that. But how could he feel when two people he cares for the most are together? It’s not confirmed but anyone a mile away could tell without a second glance what's happening between the setter and manager. He shouldn’t want to punch Oikawa as much as he wants to right now. He didn’t know the feelings he felt towards y/n, so why must Hajime feel like he is the one at fault?

“I’m going home, I’ll see you both tomorrow. Sleep well.” Hajime turned the corner, the yellow lights of the building escaping his vision. If he were to stay any longer, who knows what he would have done, scream his anger away? Punch his feelings out? Or should he just take it out on the volleyball at his house? He drowned out the calls of Y/n and Oikawa.

Maybe it’s better if I just try to conceal the truth,

for me and for you

“Tooru, is Haji okay?” Your eyes widen at the sudden disappearance of your close friend.

“It’s okay love, maybe he had to do something?” Oikawa would be lying if he said he knew what was wrong, I mean who would’ve guessed that the short-tempered ace would ever fall in love with the soft spoken manager of the team?

“Oh, I’ll text him when I get home. Would you like to maybe watch a movie or do you think you’ll be too tired?” you replied, trying to get your mind off of the situation. Oikawa takes your hand fully, bringing it up to his chest, letting you feel his heartbeat.

“One movie should be fine y/n-chan” He smiled, one more before leaning in close to you, closing the small space and taking your lips between his. You smiled grasping his hand and sliding your fingers between his. Little did the both of you know, Hajime stayed at the corner of the building, watching, trying to deny his suspicions. He begged and prayed to be wrong, and in the end he was right. At least he got to see your eyes sparkle one last time, even if they were never meant for him.

I’m still falling for you

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 71

~*~Emma~*~

For the rest of the trip, we relaxed listening to music. Before Sebastian had asked, I’d not thought too much about what I was going to do. Further limiting my time was a given, but I hadn’t thought about what that would look like. Talking about not waking up at “home” with my mom, dad, twin sister, and niece should have bothered me more than it did. That it didn’t, tells me it’s the right decision. One of the side effects of putting up with shit too long is once you decide to stop it’s not that big of a deal. Something inside has been moving in that direction for some time. What Sebastian had said about not sacrificing myself was on target. That I would do what it takes to take care of my sister isn’t in question. It’s been proven.

I texted Angie from the Uber to Sebastian's apartment. We were going to start up at Chelsea and Union Square with Aritzia, Anthropologie, and Free People. Those were sure thing stores, but not always original. We'd weave our way through Chelsea and into Soho. That shop Seb and I found would be last. We'd stop for lunch when we got hungry.

Angie hopped on the subway and headed to Union Square. It would take her thirty minutes and me fifteen from Sebastian’s place. Plenty of time to relax and watch Sebastian gather what he needed to work on. I saw a script, notebook, and a couple of real books. I think I'd find it fascinating to watch his process, but more importantly this time I wanted him to know I had friends and could amuse myself. I didn't care that he needed work time and I wasn’t going to need something from him for ignoring me. Doing things independent of your partner was important.

I grabbed a bottle of water for my journey and made my way to where Sebastian sat. He moved the items in his lap, making room for me to sit down. He supported my back and rubbed along my leg. "What are you shopping for?"

"Whatever I find." I smiled sneakily, "Especially if find something for Paris, our first date, and our live music fun tonight."

Sebastian’s hand made it to my ass, "When I think of live music I picture short, revealing, sexy."

"I love how you think." I ran my fingers through his hair. "Can I bother you for five minutes?"

"Sure" His eyes held questions.

I pulled his head closer, pressing my lips to his until he caught on and joined in the fun.

Our little mini make out session was going to make me late. Assuming Angie left as soon as we texted, walked straight onto a train, and there were no delays. None of these were likely. She'd forgive my lateness anyway. I looped my crossbody bag over my head, "I'll text if it's anything other than seven."

"Ok." He ran toward the kitchen. "Hang on." I heard a drawer slam before he reversed direction and came back. Sebastian held up a key, the slightest smile appearing on his face, "In case I'm in the shower or something when you come back. You remember the code?"

"Yes." I'd punched it in when we got here less than half an hour ago. He was nervous. I admit I had to focus to keep my hand steady as I took his offering. "I love you."

Sebastian opened the door and gave me a quick kiss as I walked out. "Love you, too."

I was a couple of steps away when I heard my name.

"Emma, put it on your key ring so you don't lose it."

The door closed before I could reply. I guess that eliminates any question if the key was a temporary just in case he was in the shower today sort of thing. What made me smile the most was the lack of conversation. If he'd overthought the decision, he didn't feel the need to talk it through. No discussion about what it meant or didn't mean. He may have been nervous, but he wasn't uncomfortable. I seriously doubt he's in the habit of giving out keys to his place, so nervous but not uncomfortable was good.

Angie was leaning against the building when I walked up. We hugged like we hadn't seen each other in months. "Sorry, I’m late."

"Were you having sex? I'll forgive you if you were having sex."

I grimaced with a shake of my head, "Making out."

My best friend huffed out a breath, "Close enough." She held the door open for me, "I got here like two minutes ago."

Aritzia, Anthropologie, and Free People were right in a line. We'd hit them in my favorite order. Aritizia was more comfort clothes for me. Their clothes were more staples than fun. But today I found a gorgeous Sicily sweater and cardigan in a soft heathered cashmere. A pair of tie front pants in purple plaid would look awesome for wandering museums. Anthropologie gifted me with a sequined tunic dress for a night out. A simple black midi dress, a grey-blue fringed and a textured cardi, and a long black wrap jacket. Free People had a colorful mini dress, a definite statement Hyacinth dress, and a fun floral dress. Assorted other things went into my bags too. I went a little crazy, but in my defense, I hadn’t been shopping in a long time and my best friend was egging me on. Plus, there was someone to appreciate what I wore. I had all sorts of cute clothes, but dressing for a boyfriend was different. Especially one who liked to look. I knew what he liked and indulged.

Conversation while we shopped was mostly about the shopping. It's good to have a friend who'll not only tell you something makes your ass look fat but also say, "You look amazing but where the fuck are you gonna wear that more than once?"  Part of the fun was trying on horrifying things. Those things you don't understand how they were ever made. We'd mix those in with good stuff and laugh until we cried. We had a long-standing tradition that whoever found the most "exquisite" outfit was treated to lunch. We were pretty even and had pictures for documentation. Today I would be buying lunch.

"We’ve got a table at two. Alissa's going to meet us."

"That'll be fun. Are she and Will coming tonight?"

"I don't think so. They've got a family thing."

I nodded and we headed toward Chelsea, stopping at the Guitar Store for strings and a capo. We had plenty of time so we stopped anywhere else that caught our eyes. Walking was more private and so was our conversation.

"Anything I should know about before I see you tonight with your boyfriend?"

I sighed in relief. Finally. I bumped her hip with mine, "I love him."

Angie put her arm around me, "This is not news, Emma."

We shared a laugh. "I wasn't sure until I was in the cab leaving his place. Georgia solidified it. Sebastian was so good talking me through all their shit. He and Eli have more in common now. They both hate my parents."

"Eli doesn't hate your parents."

I pulled away, looking at her with raised eyebrows and clear disbelief written on my face. "Try again."

Angie spoke through our laughter, "Eli tries not to, but they make it truly hard. I think he'd be more forgiving if you didn't have us and your Seattle family. Eli loves you like a little sister, best friend, and some weird second wife he's never fucked. He’s protective. He and Sebastian are going to have to figure out how to share."

"They'll arm wrestle or something. Then maybe you'll become Sebastian’s little sister, friend, and second girlfriend. Ooo, we could use you to confuse the fans. If we're out and get seen we can trade off and kiss each other’s dates. Set up a different narrative."

"Good idea.

“It'll be more fun for you. I have kissed Eli, but you don't know about Seb."

"I doubt anything will become so severe that making out with Sebastian is the answer." She smiled, "Not that I would mind."

"You would not mind. He's one hell of a good kisser."

She backtracked, "Who said it first? How did it happen."

"He surprised me showing up early from Canada, watched me cleaning up my classroom for a minute, then told me the song I was dancing along to was about sex. I turned around and he had on those ears. He looked so adorable. He looked at me with his mouth and eyes open wide and said, “Fuck, I love you."

Angie slapped her hand on her chest, "He didn't know until right them." She gasped, "He came in wearing those ears to be cute and winds up telling you he loves you. He is adorable.” She glared at me, "And you said it back."

I nodded, “In Romania."

"What's up with learning Romanian?"

I trusted her with everything. "It's his name. He prefers it in Romanian. I've been learning just enough to add it to his name. It has a very nice effect on him.” I remembered the wall and shook myself out of the memory. “Plus it makes him happy.”

"And you’re happy?"

I nodded, "Incredibly. All the reasons we talked about are still going on. He adores me and it's clear by how he treats me. And I love taking care of him." I knew she’d understand what I meant.

"There is nothing better in the world. I'm so happy you have someone. It had been so long I thought you were intentionally keeping everyone away."

“Just waiting for the right one."  I pulled out my key chain. "I do have a new key."

Angie snatched it, "He keyed you!"

"Looks like it."

"Do you worry this is going fast? I mean it is going fast."

"Yes. It is going fast. There is a risk that maybe this time next year we could be married, have three kids, and signing our divorce papers." I barely made it through without laughing.

Angie snorted, "Sign a prenup so you don’t have to pay alimony when his mid-life crisis tanks his career."

"I talked to Trevor about Sebastian. He knows about my parents, Amy, rehab, and how shitty they can be to me, but he doesn't how about what happened." I stopped walking and looked at her. "I'm starting to feel ashamed for not telling him. That's never happened before." Relationship or friendship. It had never happened. I looked at the most recent member of my secret club. "I don't want to."

She understood, "Why?"

"I don't want him to change the way he looks at me."

Angie smiled, "He won't. You don’t know that yet. It's only been a month. When you know, you'll tell him, and he will look at you just the same or better than he does now. It'll be fine."

"How do you know?" It wasn’t a smart assed clap back. I sincerely wanted to know her reasoning.

"Because he feels different to you and about you. You’re both sharing things neither of you share. That’s the glue for your relationship. You’re adding a little more glue, letting it set up, then adding more. It's getting stronger and eventually, you'll both tell the big secrets and it will be like a layer of epoxy around you that will make you near impossible to break.”

"I like that."

"I speak the truth."

We beat Alissa to the restaurant and ordered a pitcher of margaritas. I was still rearranging and shoving bags into bags under the table when she got there. Angie jumped up and they hugged. I took a step closer, but instead of hugging me, Alissa looked at me warily. “Is it ok for me to be here? Angie said it would be.”

I looked at Angie then back to Alissa, “Why wouldn’t it be?” Oh, what the fuck was going on? I just wanted a nice drunken late lunch with friends after a successful shopping expedition then go home and make out some more with my hot boyfriend.

Alissa grimaced, “I’m sorry for saying all that about Sebastian.”

“Oh!” I laughed and put my hand on my chest. Relieved. I pulled her into a hug, “I’m not upset. Between you and Kirk and the shit Eli told him, we had a somewhat uncomfortable, but really good conversation.”

“Good.” We sat down and Alissa kept talking. “I didn’t mean to be negative. It was just strange. How he was acting and the things you were saying. In a good way. It didn’t come out that way.”

Why is she still . . . oh. “Sebastian said something.”

She cringed, “More of a small group WhatsApp with me and Kirk.”

I laughed again. “Sounds fun.” I sort of wish he hadn’t done that, but I understand why he did. In the end, it was a good thing, but they couldn’t know if I would be scared off by their words.

Angie jumped in, “There’s no way Emma didn’t talk that through.”

Alissa didn’t know me well enough yet to know I wouldn’t let the conversation fester. “Especially with us being a thousand miles apart for the next two weeks. Why is that distance makes time seem longer?”

“I don’t know, but it does. Seb was right to be angry. We could have screwed things up. Neither of us realized how important you were to him. He was worried. That’s more like Seb. Kinda. He’s confusing.”

I think I know what she’s going for. It’s very like him to be worried, but not so much calling out a friend about a girlfriend. From what we’ve talked about and what I learned on that post he’s not had a history of defending girlfriends. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I wasn’t willing to go into that here. I changed the subject. “And then he goes and tells Will to post a picture of us.”

Alissa nodded, “How’d he react to the comment saying he was going to propose?”

Angie started laughing, “She’d say no.”

“I told him not to. He’d need a good reason. Like he’s actually not a citizen and needs a marriage green card. Or maybe health insurance. I have good health insurance.”

That was the end of that and we went on to other topics. Alissa and Will were having dinner with family but would come by Bowery Ballroom if they were done early. Keaton and Eli’s bands were friends and often teamed up to fill a bigger hall and split the money. They usually made more that way than in one of the smaller halls. Both did a full set and even though Keaton was the bigger name they would trade off who opened. Tonight was Eli’s turn.

We split up outside the restaurant. Alissa going back home and Angie and I heading to the boutique by Sebastian’s.  It wasn’t a horrible walk, but we had a lot of bags. In the cab, Angie gave me a look. One I could read perfectly. She wanted to know what I’d avoided at lunch. I like Alissa and I’d say we’re friends. She’s also married to one of Sebastian’s best friends. I didn’t know what the line was. Not for Sebastian. He’d tell me to do what I wanted. The line was mine. Will and Alissa were still enough strangers to me that I wasn’t comfortable with too much information flow between all of us. I wouldn’t think anything of it with Angie and Eli and I was confident that given some more time it would be the same with Will and Alissa. Also, I didn’t know how intimate of conversations Sebastian had with his friends. I’d need to be around more to know.  

I’d told Angie about our conversation after the party. In general. With what Alissa had said I went into a little more detail, filled in holes, and answered questions. I watched her thinking. I knew what was coming and was glad for it. “Are you worried? I’d be worried. Maybe not worried. Concerned. It’s like being a rebound. You’re the first after something else, only the something else is personal growth. You don’t know if he’s going to go back. You know what I mean?”

I did. “If he wasn’t so forthcoming with talking about it, I would be concerned. He’s laid it all out there. What he’s done, not done, feels bad about. He doesn’t act like that with me. If he starts too, I’ll know what's going on.” I told her about the conversation on the deck where he did want to shut down and how we got through it. “Struggling with change doesn’t bother me. All the girlfriend stuff.” I shook my head and shrugged. “We’re going to have to figure out what both of us are good with. I think I’m going to be able to not get sucked into comments or let them get to me, but I don’t know for sure. I know private is ok, but I’m not ok with being denied. I’d feel like a dirty little secret. I could change my mind. Could be next week. No idea.”

Angie took my hand, “I still get hate from Eli’s fans. We had to figure out how to deal. You guys will too. The rest, I think you’re right. If he’d gotten pissy and refused to talk about what Alissa and Kirk had said it would be a problem. Everybody gets a chance to do things differently. I don’t for one second think you’re going in blind or overlooking things because you want a boyfriend. You’d walk away if he wasn’t treating you right.” She got the look she gets when she’s about to tell me something I don’t like. I know that look, because I have the same one. “I’m one hundred percent not saying now. Way too soon. You’re already started to feel ashamed and that’s not going to get better. Might not get worse, but it’s not going to get better. You are the bravest person I know. Don’t let being afraid of your past ruin your future.”

[septembriseur]

You guys know that I’m back to working on Transposition. But it is, frankly, a challenge, and I feel a lot of pressure to put something out there and prove that the story will be finished. So I’m posting what is essentially some AU tidbits, because it’s a draft of part of Chapter 52 that I threw out and totally reconceptualized. It is not particularly good, but here it is!

Telford trades the tel’tak to a junk dealer in the P3S-805 system and ends up in a ratty little cobbled-together half-Kerobottri exoship that shakes when you try to engage its makeshift FTL drive, but, hey, it comes with no questions asked. And it’s not like he has any reason to be picky; he’s just trying to get a couple of gate-trips ahead of Kiva’s people before he finds a spaceport and settles down to get drunk.

The place he ends up in is a shithole clustered around the North Pole of a medium-sized planet in the Formalhaut Debris Ring, about twenty-two light years from Earth. It’s a frozen, sandy desert with a dozen tiny speckling moons above it, and not a single building more than three stories tall. It caters to frack miners running hot crews through the debris ring, which the LA’s First and Second House periodically squabble over, and the occasional Goa’uld war criminal hoping to lay low. That makes it a good place for Telford, even if the liquor is shitty. So he hauls out some of the raw data crystals that he stripped off the Sixth House tel’tak and pays enough to dock his ship, then keeps paying until the barkeeper at the watering hole hands over the bottle.

It’s whatever the latest thing is that the Lucian kids are cooking up out of kassa. It doesn’t really taste like anything; just like ethanol and antiseptic. He hunkers down in his ship and knocks the stuff back without a chaser. And again. And then again. For a while, grimly determined, that’s all he does: limiting his world to the fumes that he breathes out, and the back of his throat, where the mucous membrane is burning.

He doesn’t have a jacket anymore, but he’s got what the bounty hunter threw in with the exoship: a couple of Himalayan-looking blankets made out of knotted-up fibers, and a hooded coat lined with some kind of animal fur. So he puts the coat on, and, after a while, the hood too, then drags one of the blankets over his shoulders and breathes into his cupped hands. He can smell the coat’s earthy leather, and whatever it is that fur smells like. The air smells like naquadah and ozone. He looks out over the bulks of the ships, great beasts sleeping in the desert on every side of the outpost-city, some as tall as the buildings and twice as big. The dim light of the sun, filtered through dust clouds, glints off the shinier of their surfaces, along with the occasional scattered fleck of a moon. They’re like shrapnel wounds, that spray of moons— not quite regular enough to be strafe-marks, but deep enough that you can see the inside of whatever it is that was punctured.

He takes another abrupt swig of the liquor.

He thinks his first step should be to take stock of what he has left. The Hemingway is gone now, and the Dostoevsky. The— assorted personal knickknacks that he hadn’t needed anyway. He took enough shit off the tel’tak to last him a little while if he barters, but when he’d made his elaborate back-up plans, he always assumed he’d be leaving from Earth. So he hasn’t got a whole hell of a lot of assets out here in deep space. He can always sell intel, but that comes with the risk of someone back-tracing the information. Or he can take the sensible option and just turn mere. It’s what a lot of guys did on Earth, anyway, after they’d left the service, if they’d gotten deep in debt or just couldn’t fit in.

He’d tried to imagine it himself, when he was younger: leaving the service. Retiring. Consulting. Security. A house, a car, a wife, a couple of kids. On some level that language didn’t reach down to, the thought had always repelled him. He’d thought that if he tried it, he would end up like one of those guys you heard about who just went missing, just up and walked away from their lives one day. They turned up twenty years later running a tackle shop off the coast of Alaska, or flying prop planes in the South Pacific, or else they didn’t turned up, and stayed question marks forever, strangers who had sealed whatever secret they carried so well inside them that they had taken it, totally unknown, to their graves.

It was possible to do that. It wasn’t a failure. Maybe it even meant that you’d won. Whatever was inside you, you’d kept it: pure and unsullied, a hard bright crystal, a fuel you could burn. It was uncontaminated and yours forever.

He can feel it inside him now: a pain in the region of his chest, close to but not exactly contiguous with the heart.

He drinks and watches cosmic dust catch the amber glow of the distant sunlight.

A cold wind shifts and rattles the sand.

***

An ice storm in the morning, with no rain: only hailstones rattling like pebbles against the walls of the exoship. He wakes from a restless sleep still wrapped in fur and heavy blankets. He feels like God has picked up the box he’s hiding in and shaken it right next to His ear to hear if anything left inside still scuttles. He thinks about Rush explaining Wittgenstein’s beetle. There is something alive in us, though it may be a very singular creature. It may not be what other people thought— hoped— it was.

Still. Something scuttles. Insect legs against the siding.

He erases his travel history in the ship’s computer and swallows down another couple fingers of kassa liquor for breakfast, tunelessly humming Mahler under his breath, then throws it up an hour later courtesy of his hangover.

When he stands, he sees starbursts against the array of evening. It’s not really evening, of course; there’s not really night or day, this close to the magnetic pole of a planet, unless you count the constant half-dim polar twilight. One long night lasting half a year, deranging the little rock’s temporalities like every other kind of measurement was deranged by the location. Get too close to the axis of something, and you lose all sense of how to chart it.

He’s familiar with the problem.

***

Ships come and go like fireflies in a summer time-lapse, their engines burning off into the dusk.

It’s fall on Earth, he guesses. So: no more fireflies, which: fuck ‘em, anyway. They only last a few months before they’re done. Like humans, when seen from an Ascended perspective. Little chips of mica; little specks of dust. You could lose a fistful and not notice, so why should they matter?

He thinks of Rush sinking his hands in the floor up to the wrists, as though he could reach down and reclaim the mineral flecks trapped there for eons. As though the whole universe were just water, none of it yet set in stone around him.

It should’ve been me, Telford thinks. It should’ve been me who—

But he hadn’t had the genes.

Always something missing.

***

He doesn’t speak English out here. He speaks the degraded Babylonian of Sixth House. Or at least that’s what Jackson had always said it was— the bastard child of Akkadian and Aramaic, mixed with the Hebrew dialects of the Asar planets, sort of like what might have happened if the Babylonian Empire still existed. He’d had to learn it from scratch when he went undercover the first time, in case the translation matrix ever encountered a glitch. It was hard work, but he was good at it, at least according to Jackson. Jackson had seemed faintly surprised; Telford had said, “You thought I’d be as dumb as a brick.” “No,” Jackson had said, but his eyes had slid guiltily away. Telford had smirked, grimly pleased by the implied admission. Jackson had said, too hurriedly, “I didn’t. II wasn’t surprised because— I mean, I wasn’t alluding to— obviously that’s not what I meant.”

What he’d meant didn’t interest Telford. At forty-two years old, he’d had every version of that conversation, the one that was all ellipses. The last thing he wanted was to rehash them again with fucking Jackson. So, instead, he’d said, “Aramaic in space. Doesn’t it ever make you wonder?”

Jackson had looked uncomfortable. He’d adjusted his glasses with both hands. “Wonder what?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. If Jesus was— you know.”

“Extraterrestrial, you mean? A Goa’uld? The idea’s been floated.”

“And?”

They’d been sitting in an empty conference room, waiting for some meeting to start; it had been late, Telford thinks now, or very early; there had been this hush, like sound was suppressed. Sometimes late at night there, he’d feel like he was under the ocean: the pressure deforming his eardrums, till all he could hear was the rush of his own blood. Jackson had toyed with a pencil, balancing it on the side of one finger. Unbidden, Telford had been reminded of the Egyptian scale of justice, where your heart was weighed against a feather after you were dead. The image had seemed apt; Daniel, he’d thought, what a fan-fucking-tastic Eternal Judge you’d make, sitting there with your schoolboy pout and your moralizing.

Without looking up, Jackson had said, “Oh, I don’t know. Not really the Goa’uld modus operandi, is it?”

“No? Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s; forget about getting what you deserve, and God’s going to magically provide you with loaves and fishes?”

“That seems like a very thin interpretation of the Gospels.”

Telford had half-laughed incredulously. “You’re going to come over all Christian on me, Jackson?”

Jackson flattened his pout out into a thin line. “I hardly think it has to be Christian to suggest that the impulse behind one of Earth’s major religions, and a full interpretation of its sacred texts, is about more than just the redistribution of resources.”

“So— what, then?” Telford moved restlessly in his chair.

“Divine justice,” Jackson said. He had the air of someone offering a challenge. “The idea that there’s something beyond us, some truth, some ultimate harmony or knowledge. Something that we’re a part of, if we want to be— if we want to be good.”

Telford had felt incredulous. “Knowledge,” he’d repeated. “Ultimate knowledge.”

“You don’t think that’s what God is? Knowledge?” Jackson seemed genuinely curious. His forehead was furrowed.

“Well,” Telford said, “for starters, I don’t think God is good.”

“I can’t tell you how amazed I am to hear it.” Jackson’s mouth gained a sad quirk. He looked down, at where the pencil was perfectly balanced on his finger. “So: not harmonious, but maybe— maybe still knowledge.”

Telford had shaken his head— slowly at first, and then faster, like a round of sardonic applause building. “Don’t get me wrong, Jackson— I know you’ve been a floating space octopus of pure light and shit, and gotten the sublime wisdom of the Ancients, but to paraphrase a much wiser man than myself: kid, I’ve flown from one side of this galaxy to the other, and I’ve seen a lot of strange stuff, but I’ve never seen anything to make me believe that all I need is more information, like a giant celestial textbook is going to make it all make sense.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jackson said.

But he looked hurt; stung, somehow. His face had closed off. He curled his fist around the pencil. Telford had felt a brief surge of triumph; he liked defeating Jackson. At the same time, he had recognized Jackson’s expression. Back then, he hadn’t known why or what it meant. Now, he remembers it and senses some vague association with the dreams in which he tries to find the Chinese room. He wants to trust that there’s a place in which the answers will all be provided. He wants a dictionary that will teach him how to be a man. Unlike Jackson, though, he doesn’t think that one exists. There are no universals. There is no truth that we are trying to uncover in the only way that Jackson would’ve understood— the way an archeologist sifts through layers of dirt, patiently looking for the pieces that were once part of a coin, a corpse, a kettle, before the annihilating storm of history blew through. There’s a churning mass that has never had a meaning. It isn’t moving towards or away from something. It just is what it is.

When he was undercover, speaking Babylonian had helped; he’d felt like a different person. He’d felt like he was moving through a different world, one that wasn’t organized according to the same kind of principles he’d grown up with. There was no right or wrong to it; just a different set of facts. He took to it like a fish to water, once he’d mastered the language. The sense of alienation was familiar to him. When he went back to Earth between assignments, that was the strange part— standing in his own house, his own kitchen.

And now he never has to go back there. Never has to speak English again, if he doesn’t want to. He can move through different languages, different truths, like putting uniforms on and taking them off when you’re finished.

“Shkarum,” he says to the bartender, tapping the bar with two emphatic fingers. “Ak shkarum yahab, vakash.”

His accent is very good.

***

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #331

my head hurts way too badly to think up some intro lyrics, so just g’night.

Have you ever become good friends with someone you never met in person? Oh yeah, I've had best friends over the Internet. Hell, I'm closer to many online friends than I am most irl ones. They know "the real me" more. What do you consider your default mood to be? Stressed, probably. Discontent. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive for? Not long. Proper goldfish husbandry is a very neglected topic, and I sure as hell never knew how to set up its tank adequately. Have you ever been paintballing? No, don't plan to. It looks like it hurts like a bitch. Do you want a large wedding? No. Did you ever collect any sort of cards? I had a very small collection of Pokemon cards. I didn't collect them avidly. What’re the best and worst books you ever had to read for a class? The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton was the best. The worst was some book we had to read in the 6th grade about a kid during some war that moved around a lot... I don't remember the name or who wrote it, but it sucked. What’s the best meal you had at an amusement park, or If you haven’t been to one, how about a good meal at another place like a zoo, aquarium or museum? I don't know. I haven't been to many. Who, whether a person or company, emails you the most? My PHP therapist emails me a check-in sheet and Zoom link every day there's a therapy session. What kind of sound or noise freaks you out the most and why do you think it scares you? Let's seeeee... I don't know if there's a sound that actually freaks me out. There are some I don't like, but none that like, frighten me. At least that I can think of. What’s the strangest art piece you’ve come across? Biiiitch there's a painting in Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs I'm not gonna go into, but shit fuckin wild. What’s the most clever or unique name you’ve come across for a business? I've definitely heard some cool ones, but I don't know about one that really stands out to answer this. If you had to name one of your hypothetical future children after a song, which song would you pick? Maybe like... okay, I'm blanking. Good thing I'm not having kids to name then, right? What’s the last song you heard? "Down in the Park" by Marilyn Manson is on atm. What is your favorite line from a TV show? *shrug* Any current family issues? No. How many hours do you spend online a day? How do you feel about that? I'm doing something on the computer pretty much... always. I hate it, and I hate it a lot. I don't want my life to be tied solely to the digital plane. I want to do more than bounce back and forth from website to website. Do you think that people have the power to make their own lives better? Absolutely, but there are some things they simply cannot change. It's about perspective and how you play the deck you're dealt. What is the biggest problem in your life right now? Right now, the most limiting thing is my physical health, probably. Just walking being torture affects my ability to exercise, and my body is a major reason - if not the biggest, at this current time - for my depression. This also plays a massive role in jobs I can handle. Not to sound like my emo self writing middle school poetry, but my body feels like a prison. Do you feel that you are loved? I know I am by some people, though I have a hard time understanding why a lot. What is the one thing you want most from life? Life satisfaction. Pride in what I've accomplished. A regular state of being content. Birthplace? I'm just gonna say in eastern NC. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, merely infatuation. Love is much too deep for that. Do you think dreams eventually come true? Some can, but usually only if you put effort into making that so. Favorite fictional character? like ummmmmmmm have you heard of this sassy bastard called Darkiplier- Go to the movies or rent? Before Covid, I loved going to the theater. It was something to do, plus a giant screen is nice. McDonalds or Burger King? McD's. I'm not a big BK fan. I only really went there during my vegetarian phase for the veggie burger. Current annoyance? This motherfucking headache. Last thing you ate? I have a meal replacement shake with me right now, if you consider that "eating." I didn't have a proper dinner. The last solid food I had though was some cookies and cream Greek yogurt. Last thing you bought? With my own money, I think I bought Mom and I some cheap McDonald's order semi-recently? Or maybe paying my $100 deposit for my tattoo was most recent, idk. Soonest thing you are looking forward to? For Mom to get her CT scan and find out what's going on in there. What did you do today? It was a pretty average day. I woke up way too early, though. The only thing even semi-unique about today was I played World of Warcraft for a few hours again; I've been quite unattached to it lately, but I went through an episode today of actually having fun playing. Oh, and I've been battling a migraine. It's more of a severe headache now, at least, but it still sucks big time. Do you like to see it snowing outside? Oh yes, absolutely! When you were in high school did you ever have bomb threats? I believe once we did from a very volatile student that honestly caused quite a lot of trouble. He's dead now. Who knows ALL of your secrets? Nobody. Did you have a job before you were in college? No. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a baby right now? That's a terrifying thought, no. Are you on birth control? Yeah, but just because it tames my menstrual cramps. Without it, they could be debilitating some days. Who is your last sent text to? My best fren. Have you ever eaten at Chipotle before? Possibly? Idr. Do you swear often? Excessively. I had a dirty mouth prior, but my swearing got really bad when I started staying at Jason's house a lot. He and especially his mother swear like mad. Do you own any shirts with a peace symbol on it? No. Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? Not at this house, no. Would you ever go to Japan? Oh, yes. I would love to. It's... very morbid, but I would really like to walk the (public) paths of Aokigahara Forest, nicknamed "Suicide Forest" for the horrible amount of, well, suicides that happen there via hanging. Like, you might just casually run into a dead body. I want to just... feel it there, walk in silence and empathize with people who didn't know what else to do and hope so deeply that those departed know they were never alone in their pain. I know with absolute certainty I'd probably be teary-eyed the whole time and cry a whoooole lot, but it's just an experience I want to have. What was the last thing you went to Walmart for? Some basic groceries. What should you be doing right now? Sleeping, given this headache... I just don't want to yet. Are you afraid of getting your heart broken? I'm fucking terrified of that ever happening again, far more than words can properly express. Have you ever been in a choir? Yes, actually; when I was a Catholic kid, my sisters and I were in the church choir for a year or so, idr. Do you have a Twitter? Yes, but only to like Mark's tweets, haha. Oh, and very rarely enter giveaways I'm interested in. Describe your retainers to me, if you have them, that is. I have a permanent metal one behind my front row of bottom teeth to keep those straight. My upper teeth had one of those normal retainers you take in and out, but I didn't wear it enough, so now it doesn't even fit. Would you like for someone to call you right now? No. I'm tired, my head hurts, and I'm enjoying the song I'm bingeing. It's so weird, I rarely ever go on music hunting trips (no real reason, I just... don't), but I've found great shit lately. Do you like to brush your teeth? No; it's a chore. I only do it because I don't want my teeth decaying, falling out, or getting too yellow, and the taste in your mouth and gritty texture on your teeth isn't exactly great when you don't brush. Have you ever had a surgery? Two. Give out your phone number over the internet? I have over private messages. Do you look older or younger than you actually are? Given my wardrobe (like graphic tees and band shirts), I probably look younger in the eyes of especially older people. I personally say I look my age, though. When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? I never plan to be again. What is the last show that you watched a full episode of? Some cooking show with Mom. Nailed It!, I think? Do you know anyone who lives in Utah? No. I love Utah, though; it's actually a place I'd be willing to live in with just how pretty it is and not super populated. Do you get your feelings hurt easily? VERY. I'm probably one of the most sensitive people you can meet. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? Yeah. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? First we took those nasty, chalky Flintstones kinds, but as time passed, Mom moved onto giving us gummy bear vitamins that were perfectly fine. Did you get any compliments today? No. Are you friends with your neighbors? Not "friends," no. What towns have you lived in? Three different ones. That's all you're getting. Have you ever thrown up from drinking? No. Done any illegal drugs? No. I mean I've had some alcohol underage, but I've never done anything remotely hardcore. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been on an airplane without changing flights? Idk. Who have you texted today? My mom and best friend. What time did you wake up this morning? Ugh, like five in the fucking morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. What is your favorite condiment to go with french fries? Ketchup. What do you have a habit of doing when engaging in a conversation with someone? Making shitty eye contact, and I'm one of those people who "talks with [their] hands." I also lose my train of thought a whoooole lot. Have you ever layed in a hammock? Yeah; we had one growing up. Have you ever lost a pet in a tragic way? How did you cope? Well yeah, I've had lots of pets, so thus lost some in particularly painful ways. The most scarring loss of a pet though is as follows: Teddy, my dog, picked up one of our cat's very young, wandering kittens in his jaws in a manner that looked as if he was trying to carry it like Aphrodite (the mother cat) does when she would bring them back behind the couch, where she gave birth/had her little "nest." I absolutely freaked and had to pry the kitten from his mouth, and it slowly died in my hands. I think Teddy accidentally crushed its ribs. I. Was. A. Mess. Then, there was Aphrodite herself. I've told the story before of our former neighbors calling animal control because our cats would wander through their yard, and all of our cats were taken away while I was unaware at school. Came home, and they were all gone. Aphrodite was my baby, so I was devastated. Screaming, sobbing, cursing on the porch for like 20 minutes... It was awful. What type of curtains do you like? I don't... know? I don't know the actual names of any types... What type of quality is a must-have in a friend? I absolutely cannot be friends with someone who thinks they're above everyone else. Are you any good at reading someone's body language? I think I am. What goes good with a nice cold glass of milk? Cookies! Especially Oreos. Dip it in there for around five seconds, and it's perfection. What fruit is too sweet to you? Grapefruit came to mind first. How did you feel after your first kiss? I had butterflies galore and was so giddy and smiley. After the first, I just wanted to kiss him a billion more times. What’s your favorite constellation and why? I don't have one. Shower curtain or door? Curtain. The glass doors are too revealing. Have you ever thought to yourself that you’re the luckiest person in the world? Most deeeeefinitely not. What time of day do you most enjoy looking at the sky? Sunset if there are clouds present, but sunrise if the sky is pretty clear.

[deviant3lover]

Can you do more headcanons for the shitty teen squads? I really love them. Plus I love all of your works :)

Aha! Funny you should ask, because I started working on this one just before I saw your ask!

Without further ado…

Even more trio headcanons!!

Genos, being a regular internet user, is well aware of the various memes circulating the media. However, he doesn’t have much of a close affinity to them, and only really uses them to mock someone online. Saitama on the other hand is oblivious, and Genos occasionally has to explain what a meme means for him to get it.

Never invite Genos to roast you. He will ruin your life. He already does it unintentionally with Saitama with his baldness, but when he does it on purpose? 

Random Bitch: He’s a pretty good lay, though his nose was pretty ugly. He kept going on and on about how much he wanted to marry me- gross shit, I know, but if he keeps giving me the check, I’ll suck up to him and say I love him too.

Genos: *murderous, unimpressed glare* You expect me to believe that there’s someone who’d willingly sleep with you, and not immediately kill themselves afterwards?

Random Bitch:

Metal Bat has one hell of a sweet tooth. He’s got his heart set on chocolate, but he’s also fond of the classics: the aforementioned, vanilla, and cookies and cream when it comes to ice cream. He loves the cola flavoured lollipops, and if he had to get himself a boba tea, he’d go for the Taro flavour: it’s just too good to him. He didn’t care too much for strawberry, but Zenko’s love for it encouraged him to develop a liking towards it. His go-to snacks are Oreos, home made chocolate fudge, and pocky; with the occasional cola lollipop if he’s got to focus on something and can’t afford to get distracted by constantly chowing down on sweets.

His metabolism isn’t as nearly insane (practically inhuman) as Garou’s or Genos’s, but it’s more than fast enough to make him avoid gaining weight from them. Paired with his delinquent persona, (and buying sweets incognito from cutesy sweet shops the same way that King buys video games) most people are often surprised when he has a strong liking for them.

Since Genos uses intense firepower, he also has a hydraulic cooling system to cool him down. The only times where he steams up is during or after a fight when he’s used his fuel intensively, and the steam primarily comes from his arms, the jets from behind his shoulders, and occasionally his mouth if the arms use far more firepower than usual. For the times where he’s really, really worked up emotionally (mortified, furious, etc) bits of steam can be seen coming from his mouth, but it’s never extreme enough to get his whole body to follow suit. Apart from battle, his body is usually safe to touch due to how efficient his cooling system is: that includes the times when he’s angry, but not getting ready to fight. (I will die on this hill for this headcanon. >:0!!)

When it comes to people he respects, Genos deliberately lies or hides anything relating to him that might trouble them. That also includes his true thoughts on what you’re enamored with, his private disgust at your gross habits, and redirecting attention away from potentially offensive topics towards something that might catch your interest. Any mortifying but true things said about yourself has him in silence, unsure of how to navigate the topic without offending you.

Contrary to popular belief, Genos is actually pretty levelheaded when people insult Saitama online. He’s seen everything that people have to say about Saitama, and knows that fighting every fight- both small and huge- on the Internet isn’t worth it, since there’s always going to be horrible things said about him by people he’s unlikely to ever meet in person. Besides, no one would listen to some random user saying that Caped Baldy isn’t all that bad, and he’d rather not use his popularity as Demon Cyborg to attract unwanted attention to the both of them by praising Caped Baldy when they have better things to do. (*cough* shopping for discounts with his precious sensei *cough*) He deletes his history when he’s done browsing and subtly tries to steer Saitama away from sites that he knows are saying horrible stuff about him when his Sensei gets interested. It’s when people insult Saitama directly (e.g. In person, a fan letter that Saitama reads) that makes him angry.

Genos hates the thought of being inexperienced or having his attempts end in a failure, but he loathes it if Saitama bears witness to it. He’s far more passionate and attentive whenever his teacher is involved in any way to what he’s doing, in the hopes that perhaps, seeing his disciple taking his role seriously and not missing anything/using his time to slack off, Saitama would take him more seriously in return and tell him the true secret to his strength. (Which he already gave, poor Genos.)

When he’s caught off guard and rendered to near death by his opponents, it wasn’t because he underestimated them: it was because Genos overestimated his own strength, thinking that it was enough to kill them. He treats any and every threat seriously, no matter how weak or strong looking they are. From the meek, gross looking toilet monster, to the horrifying titanic threat that is Elder Centipede, Genos will engage his opponent with the intent of eliminating the threat by any means. He knows that weak looking monsters can house unimaginable strength as a surprise attack, and strong looking monsters could have unexpected powers that could catch him off guard. He’d never laugh or smile during a fight, knowing that his opponent is inherently dangerous and likely to endanger countless lives if they’re not eliminated.

(This is dark, but: he’s also the only member in the trio that’s killed people before, if not the most willing if push comes to shove.)

While he doesn’t care too much about his popularity, he does know that his fan clubs can be a powerful resource and will occasionally (and subtly) cater to them. His main way of doing so is buying himself clothes to make him look handsome (which he does more frequently thanks to the money he gets as an S-class,) and to keep up the ‘mysterious, alluring Cyborg Prince’ persona by refusing interviews and close relations with his fans: basically, by being himself. (Which he is more than willing to do.)

Genos, despite clearly stating his opinions on hero teams, (summary: he thinks they suck) doesn’t actually mind teaming up with other heroes on occasion. He knows that some heroes are capable of doing tasks that he wouldn’t do too well at, or would be able to do at all (especially if it’s ensuring the welfare of a group of people,) and will willingly team up if he thinks it’s for the best. It’s when those heroes make teams that they continuously depend on that he starts losing respect for them.

Inspired by this. One of his favorite clothing brands is Grin and Bears, particularly their men’s hoodies section. Alongside Amai Mask, Genos has occasionally been offered to be sponsored by several clothing brands due to how well he wears his designer clothing.

Genos has a good reason for liking oiled sardines. The food in particular was part of his old life where his family couldn’t afford much, and bought canned food more often than not. Vegetables and breads are nice and cheap, but are fairly bland. Oiled sardines is far more flavorful, and it was one of the first foods that he had tried that wasn’t the former two: unsurprisingly, he soon after became a fan of them.

Garou prefers hearty, nutrient rich foods. While he doesn’t have one favourite meal in particular, well rounded meals that involve vegetables and meats will have him wolfing it down. That includes steaks with nice veggies like potatoes and carrots and salads: it’s fairly balanced and there’s plenty to eat, hence his choice to go to a steak house to replenish his strength.

Don’t give Garou caffeine. He’s batshit insane and bloodthirsty when he’s high on it, and he’s far more irritable than he usually is when he crashes.

Genos doesn’t have fond memories of his birthday. His parents loved him, but would overwork themselves to get him a gift and it made him feel guilty every time, even though he insisted that they don’t go through the trouble. He never made plans to tell Saitama, but that information was included in his registration sheet to the H.A. and it was broadcasted on every talk show and website: needless to say, he caught wind of it. Like the festival, Saitama insists that they celebrate, and while Genos can’t completely shake off his bad experiences of it + fully engage and understand why Saitama is doing this, he’s slowly (somewhat reluctantly) getting more curious on what experiencing a good birthday is like. Saitama got him a cake on sale with a few coupons, and it looks kind of basic and a little corny with the decorations, but Genos still thanks Saitama for it and eats it all the same. Genos doesn’t have a particular favourite flavour in regards to sweets. At least, not yet. 

Badd remembers his birthdays somewhat bittersweetly, remembering his younger days: the times where he was surrounded by his family and watching YouTube videos/live sport matches with his friends, digging into fast foods like fish and chips and eating watermelon and ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Those days were gone now, but Zenko and the few friends that stood by his side even when he was swamped with work usually band together to give him a nice day off from fans, school, and the HA to celebrate his birthday. It’s a smaller circle than before, but he still cherishes those who he came to love as his found family and enjoys them, looking back on his past with a hint of nostalgia. His cake is always chocolate with Oreos. 

Garou… his birthdays were lonely, and he remembers them bitterly. There was one time where he invited everyone in his class to his party and no one showed up. 

This occasion actually happened prior to Tacchan, so while young!Garou was heartbroken, he tried to be optimistic and justified the incident to himself. It’s probably because he doesn’t know everyone that well… Maybe others are busy? Tests were coming up soon and everyone had to study: it’s okay! It makes sense why no one could come! That is, of course, until the obvious happened, and he lost faith in the people around him. Garou never told Bang when his birthday was, and Bang never pried, seeing the bitterness and determination in Garou’s heart to become stronger, and respecting his decision not to tell him. To this day, Garou treats his birthday like any other day, if he still remembers when it was.

Special Request by @rayadraws. How do Garou, Badd, Tareo, and Zenko react to Saitama?

I’ve actually loved her headcanon for Garou being wary and slightly afraid around Saitama at the start! So I believe that’s what he’ll initially be like around him. As time goes on, he’ll slowly relax and be subtly curious about him. Garou will crack jokes and teases from time to time, and while he does think it’s funny when Saitama sulks and complains about the trio teasing him for his baldness from time to time, he can’t stop the brief spike of fear that makes him freeze on instinct when Saitama is visibly angry. It’s an ambivalent situation for Garou: he’ll say no to Saitama asking if he can get something from the store, saying that ‘your tincan disciple can get it himself,’ but the serious, slightly furious face that Saitama puts on has him in silence for a few moments, before letting (forcing) out a seemingly lazy and nonchalant sigh and heading out the door to get it, his heart rate faster than it was a few moments ago.

His dreams can involve Saitama buying the most hideous pair of crocs and sporting a dopey face full of happiness at finding such a great discount, Dream!Garou groaning in disgust and walking away from him to do something else.

His nightmares can involve the feeling of rubber on his neck, slowly choking him as the bald man looks him straight in the eye above him, eyes startlingly dead and empty, daring him to make a move. His face could be replaced with that of a blank faced mannequin and hardly a difference can be seen. Nightmare!Garou remembers escaping somehow, jumping high enough to land himself in the cold, dark, suffocating expanse of space, and thinking to himself that he’d rather die up there rather than come back down to a desolate, barren earth: a lone man waiting to kill him as soon as he enters its atmosphere.

Garou’s relationship with Saitama, at first glance, is a seemingly normal one with the former lazing around his house and eating his food like an inconsiderate houseguest; but his feelings are anything but. As much as he pretends to not care much about Saitama, he’d listen carefully to what he has to say if he’s serious, and is a little more well behaved and observant around him. If Saitama imparts some of his rare pieces of advice, Garou would, on the outside, make a dull and uninterested note of it, but in reality he’d carefully consider his words in private.

- Badd knew that Saitama and Genos are a package deal, but when he found out that Saitama is Genos’s teacher, he’s incredulous. 

‘You serious, man? This guy? What’s he even gonna teach ya?’ 

Seeing Genos’s glower and hours of him chewing out Badd while lavishing praises on sensei’s strength, wisdom, and humility drove home the point to Badd, who was practically groaning in exasperation and telling him that he gets it, just to get Genos to stop berating him. Seeing Saitama’s power finally makes him understand. 

He’s somewhat more polite around him now, knowing that this is someone Genos respects, and Badd seeing Saitama living life and just generally being a good guy makes Badd’s opinion of him slowly grow. He sympathises with Saitama’s baldness, and out of the trio, is the least likely to tease him for it: deliberately or not. Badd himself shudders at the thought of losing his beloved pompadour, so he’s usually the one to say ‘quit it, you’re bumming him out’ to Genos whenever he’s unintentionally hurting Saitama’s feelings. Or a simple ‘holy shit Garou, stop’ when Garou makes a melodramatic re-enactment of Saitama’s offended reaction to Konbu’s supposed ‘benefits’ that Genos had informed him of. (Genos mentioned the event, and now they know all about it.)

Tareo, at first, doesn’t recognize him since he usually focuses on the cool heroes. When he finds out Saitama’s hero name, he’s taken aback. ‘You’re the Caped Baldy??’ He asks, with what sounded to be awe. 

Apart from internally cringing at the name, Saitama is briefly (and pleasantly surprised) and was about to say yes, before Tareo ran over to Garou and whispered to him (quite loudly) to ‘be careful ojisan! That bald guy over there is bad news!’

(Saitama’s blank face was screwed on for a good 10 seconds.)

He’s wary of Saitama, asking questions such as ‘didn’t you steal credit from other heroes when the sea monsters attacked?’ for some time. It’s through Garou’s, Badd’s, and Genos’s good opinion of the man that Tareo slowly begins to trust that Saitama is a good person. ‘If uncle and his friends thinks he’s nice, maybe he’s not so bad…’

Same with Garou, Tareo refers to him as ‘ojisan.’ ;)c

Zenko… man, the main reason why I took so long creating this post is because I wouldn’t know how Zenko would react until I thought about it carefully.

Like Tareo, she’s wary and slightly antagonistic towards him once she realises who he is, though less so than Tareo since it’s a little difficult to steal credit from an S-Class like him: Metal Bat is one of those heroes who can take down most monsters by himself, so I imagine Zenko wouldn’t be too worried about Caped Baldy taking the credit, but rather, she’d be wary of him trying something else to drag her brother through the mud.

She may not cuss him out, or even outwardly call him a Baldy, but she can be just as strong willed as her brother. Her initial relationship with Saitama can be seen mostly as this:

She does know that while Badd has a hot temper, can be forgetful, and stirs up trouble sometimes, she also knows that he harbours a serious hatred for cowards and self centred cheats that put themselves over others. The fact that Badd isn’t threatening Saitama to (fuck off) leave him and his sister alone reassures her to some extent into believing that maybe the rumors aren’t true: she’s had her share of getting angry on Badd’s behalf when the news or gossip columns twist the truth about her brother, especially in a bad light, so she carefully observes him to see if he’s the person that most people make him out to be.

Like her brother, her opinion of him slowly grows. She’s assertive, but not rude. She won’t call him a Baldy or old man like Tareo or Tatsumaki, no matter how angry she gets. There’s just some buttons you don’t press, and Zenko doesn’t want to become a mean spirited person.

She does get sort of grossed out by some of his clothing choices and will confront him on it sooner or later, saying that ‘Mr Saitama, your clothes look ugly’ and that maybe he should start looking for better ones.

(This is also the perfect opportunity to get her to drag him shopping with her: clothes for the both of them! And she’s definitely going to pick out some clothes for Saitama. 

I imagine that at the beginning, her fashion senses were still developing, and while she has her heart in the right place, it was a hit(?) or miss at the time. It gets way better later on, and she’s a little fashionista! Makeup and clothing are sure to look good on you when she picks them out herself~ But for this headcanon, you can decide if her fashion senses are more polished, or are still in development. Saitama’s fate of looking good/bad is up to you. ;3c)

Shared Traits

Badd doesn’t use any sort of weird quirk for how he texts. His source for punctuation is autocorrect and never exactly uses full stops unless he’s having a serious conversation: but even then, it’s fairly uncommon.

But he does use words and slangs like ‘dude’ and shortened words like ‘y’all.’

His swears are more relaxed in text, but only because you can’t hear his rough voice saying them; either way, he usually isn’t actually trying to intimidate you. When he gets angry, however, you can definitely feel the threats, the intimidation, and the tightly leashed anger dripping off of his words just as much as when he says them in person. If he’s angry, you’ll know it.

If he has time and is invested in a conversation, he likes using the occasional gif or emoticon but isn’t obnoxious with it.

Sometimes when he’s busy and doesn’t care, he uses all caps because he doesn’t want to deal with his words being autocorrected to something else. This is usually seen when he’s about to get into a fight.

When you ask him where he is when he’s out, he’s equally likely to text you the name of the place, or send you a photo of where he is.

When it’s a photo of Zenko, especially if it’s her with a prize or a trophy or a doll and she’s being cute, he spams hearts and praises of her.

Genos has perfect punctuation and grammar.

You know that annoying moment when the person you’re texting seemingly is texting a long ass message, only for it to come out as something like ‘ok’? Yeah… Genos never does that. (Unless he wants to say something important (and likely very personal) but is too reluctant to say it, and opts for something more mundane.)

He sends entire paragraphs if he’s explaining something or debriefing someone on some information.

His sentences are curt if he’s busy. It’ll come off as cold and rude to most people when they read them.

His recent emojis section has all the ones he can just text quickly if he’s far too busy to make sentences. Handy if he only has one arm or taking a breather from a monster fight.

Garou does not use autocorrect.

He’s obnoxious when he texts.

Memes, gifs, I wIlL bEaT tHe HeRo HuNtEr (With the spongebob meme template: specifically designed to mock heroes and wannabes who think they can take him down), spamming ‘answer me bitch’ to his poor recipient over and over until they reply, using so. Many. Emojis. For the sole purpose of annoying you.

If he’s texting Tareo, he’s pretty casual.

Hey lil turd I got some coupons for ice cream

I hate ice cream

Take them or im throwing them out

The no brainer: Genos and Garou are masters at eating competitions. Garou wolfs it all down quickly, whilst Genos is more dignified about how he eats, if the super spicy udon competition he had with Saitama is any indication. Badd can keep up, (mama didn’t raise no quitter!) but he’ll be struggling to get a grip on himself and stay awake.

If he wanted to, Genos can keep on eating for an extended period of time, limited only by the capacity of his fuel engines. (Which, by our stomach’s standards, is practically infinite for how much he can eat in so short a time and still keep going for hours.) His body can essentially turn the foods and drinks he ingests either into nutrients for the brain, or fuel for his firepower: continuously keeping his engines active will digest what he eats on a semi-fast level.

If the trio do end up becoming friends in canon, I imagine that they’d pick up on each other’s traits subconsciously. Badd’s and Genos’s smirks are faint facsimiles of Garou’s. Badd and Garou take after Genos’s protectiveness over items on sale at the supermarket, knowing how rare the occasion can be to get discounts for some in particular. Genos and Garou say ‘haah?’ in an intimidating manner, on instinct, to people they don’t like thanks to Badd. And of course, all three swear more often, usually under their breaths whenever something goes wrong, or to quietly insult someone without causing a scene.

It’s pretty obvious that Genos prefers slim fitting clothing. Anything too baggy will catch/snag and tear on his surroundings and hinder his ability to use his weapons. Badd prefers slightly loose clothing since he’s pretty hot tempered and he gets worked up for fights pretty easily, and clammy clothes aren’t exactly comfortable. Garou is a mix of both: when it comes to clothing, it’s either the clothes are light and form fitting enough to be second skin so he doesn’t have to worry about it snagging, or the clothes are just the right amount of loose to make him look decent, but not like he’s wearing painted on clothing. He’s alright with either option. Emphasis on form fitting. He canonically hates clothes that restrict his movements, and his usual shirt is made of normal, lightweight fabric, so Garou won’t be too keen on the idea of wearing a skin tight bodysuit made of latex or leather.

[quicksilverlightning]

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CaptainCelb09 So, I've met All Might before. I just didn't know it was him.

It wasn't a big deal or anything - I tripped walking home one day and this really tall skinny guy stopped to make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed someone saw me and brushed him off, practically ran away. Now I'm sitting here with my face on fire cause I tripped in front of ALL MIGHT and he tried to help me up and akslhsdfouashefgoawu I cannot fucking believe this I should have taken his hand

070809 Pudding Cups

Time - 6:53 PM

Scene - Shofu Park

Your Narrator - crying on a bench

My girlfriend had just broken up with me. Through text. Like, ouch, right? Anyway.

I'm just kinda staring at my phone, blurry eyed, kicking at maple leaves, wishing I could text her back cause she just blocked my number when this tall blond guy shuffles up and takes a seat at the other end of the bench. Doesn't say anything, just sits, placing his grocery bag beside him. It's a public park, whatever right?

I'm wiping my eyes, putting my phone back in my pocket and suddenly there's this white thing in front of me - blond guy is offering me a napkin, Still doesn't say anything, just smiles a little. I take it and wipe my eyes, blow my nose, try to get it together cause apparently I look bad enough that this complete stranger is worried about me. I'm stuffing the napkin in a pocket when he holds something else out - a chocolate pudding cup, one of those with the little spoons in the lid.

I'm kinda like wha? but take it anyway and he takes another one out of his bag, he's got a six pack of them in there, and he tears off the lid and starts snacking and I do the same cause fuck it, right? I eat the whole thing and he gives me another one, like we're old friends or something and I'm halfway through it when he finally speaks.

"Bad day?"

And I can't help but laugh. It's so dumb. I'm single and heartbroken and eating pudding cups with this stranger on a public park bench as it gets dark and I don't know what to feel anymore. I tell him what happened and we eat the whole six pack together, shootin' the shit until the street lights come on. He calls me "young man" and claps me on the shoulder and it's so dumb but it cheered me up. He puts all the trash back into the bag and tosses it in the bin and tells me he needs to get going and hell, I do too.

I didn't even get his name. I thought about that encounter a lot though. I have a new girlfriend and she's great. We were together when All Might's last battle happened, watching everything go down on the TV at a bar and we're all losing our shit and I lose it even harder when the smoke clears cause that's the guy I ate pudding cups with what the hell

The last three years, any time I'm having a bad day, I go to the store and get some chocolate pudding cups. Whenever the world was just a shitty place, I'd think about that blond guy, shuffling through the park and making things better as he went along.

And I guess it figures that man would turn out to be All Might, cause that's what All Might has always done - moved forward and made things better.

spite-and-aesthetic my dumbass cat

small might plucked my stupid cat out of a tree wtf kinda cliche is this guy

AM_FAN0112 i cannot BELIEVE

TWO YEARS. TWO FUCKING YEARS ALL MIGHT HAS BEEN COMING INTO MY SHOP ARE YOU SERIOUS WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL TOSHINORI

I'M DEADASS SERIOUS HE COMES IN EVERY FEW WEEKS AND BUYS A BOOK AND SOMETIMES WE CHAT ABOUT MANGA AND HE ALWAYS ASKS HOW SCHOOL IS GOING AND HELPS WITH MY ENGLISH HES SO NICE AND TOLD ME TO CALL HIM TOSHINORI IS THAT HIS REAL NAME?? A CODENAME?

I GOT HIM HOOKED ON SUGAR SUGAR CAT CAFE ITS THE DUMBEST SYRUPY SHOUJO ROMANCE AND WEVE BEEN READING IT TOGETHER FOR OVER A YEAR WHAT IS MY LIFE

Sexi-tery Long post is long

Lemme set the scene; it's raining buckets, and I'm on my way to a job interview in the ritzier part of town. I've got my best clothes on - nice, crisp suit jacket, smart-looking skirt, a decent-but-could-be-shinier pair of heels. I've just left lunch with a friend and I've got an hour before the most important interview of my life.

That's when a bus rolls by and drenches me in the greasy puddle-water of downtown Tokyo.

Y'all, I was trying not to hyperventilate. I don't have time to go home and change. Even if I did, these were my best clothes. I'm screwed, no one is going to hire me looking like a sopping mess, *I* wouldn't hire me looking like this whatdoIdo

Someone picks up my umbrella. I didn't even realize I'd dropped it. I'm still freaking out. Someone is pulling me, I'm not even on this planet right now, someone is talking to me, I have an interview, where are my anxiety meds?

There's this blond guy hunched over, trying to bring me back down, telling me to breathe, calm down, you'll be okay. He's breathing with me and it's working and I think I might be crying but my face is so wet I can't tell.

He gets the story out of me once I'm back on planet Earth, and gets this determined look on his face. Drags me across the street into a clothing store. A really, really nice clothing store. Outta-my-budget, outta-my-lifetime sort of clothing store. Pushes me to the racks, tells me to pick out whatever I want.

I don't even question it - I may be back on Earth, but I'm still in the upper atmosphere somewhere. I grab a few things to take to the dressing room and fit myself into an extremely nice pantsuit. An attendant comes in to help, gets the tags off so I can wear the clothes out, bags my soaking wet puddle of fabric and blond guy pays for it all without even blinking.

He leads me back out, hails a cab, and I'm like, what now? And we pull up to a salon and he gets my hair dried and done, I KNOW he must have tipped the hairdresser a crazy amount to get me in and out that quickly, and the cab is idling outside the whole time, waiting to take me to my interview when we're done. All the while, blond guy is smiling, cracking jokes, and just being all-around charming. I'm wondering what I'm going to owe for this, what he wants, maybe he's some sort of creeper? But he seems so nice?

And when we're done, he prods me over to the cab, but doesn't get in. Doesn't ask for anything, just wishes me good luck. Like, who even is this guy? Who does all that for a total stranger?

All Might, that's who. Holy crap you guys, All Might got me to my interview on time and it's the best job I've ever had. I'd still be pushing pencils in a miserable office if he hadn't been there that day.

 Kirasagwa74

A train ride

I remember a time before All Might. I remember when the Yakuza worked out in the open and villains took what they wanted without fear.

I'm old, is what I'm saying. These bones ache and creak every time the weather even thinks about changing. I don't complain too much; I'm used to it. I'm used to being out of the loop and lost in the shuffle. It's alright - I have my routines and I stick to 'em.

One of them is riding the train to a favorite cafe. They have an excellent coffee blend. I've seen All Might on that train many times, though I never knew it was him until a little while ago. He's a good man with kind eyes. If it was crowded, he would let me have his seat. Chat about the good ol' days, heroes from another generation. I haven't seen him on the train in a while. I miss him.

SingleSuperMom31 Carried Home

This was pretty recent - just a few months ago. Long post up ahead.

Context: I'm a single mom. My ex didn't want kids, so I've raised Aya by myself. It's been a little difficult lately thanks to a broken arm, but I've managed.

Anyway, I took Aya to a local park a few months ago. It's a few minutes walk from the apartment, and I wanted to grab some things from the store anyway, so I took her out to let her burn off some energy. Her Quirk is Photosynthesis, so she has a lot of it!

When we get there, the first thing Aya wants to do is get on the swings. She's almost three and my arm is broken - I don't want to put her in a regular swing in case she falls, so I'm trying to maneuver her into one of the strapped swings with one arm. Aya isn't heavy, but I'm still struggling to manage when a thin man with blond hair walks up.

"Ma'am? Would you like some help?"

He's tall, super super tall, and gaunt, but he has a kind smile. Aya likes him right away and helps her into the swing and pushes her a little while she screams to go higher.

He was so, so nice to my little girl. He let her call him Toshi and played with her for over an hour, lifting her on the monkey bars and holding her hands on the balance beam since I couldn't manage it at the moment. He sits with me when some other children come to play, and we talk a while, about Aya, about how my arm got broken (it's quite a story), about being a single parent.

It's hard, you know? I love my kid, I'd die for her, but it's still hard, and it's even harder with this arm. He was just so nice - he had this presence, like you could tell him anything and I did. I told him about my ex, that he left, that he didn't want to be a part of Aya's life. You could tell he was really listening, not just being polite. I've gotten a little teared up, and he just smiles and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. He's quiet for a little bit, watching the kids play. Then he turns back to me, and I know I'll remember this for the rest of my life, word for word -

"I don't have any family of my own, so perhaps it doesn't mean much coming from me," he looks a little awkward. "But for what's it's worth, I think you're doing a fine job. One day, Aya will be old enough to appreciate what a strong, lovely mother she has."

Aya sees me crying and comes rushing over, hugging my knees and I'm a mess and maybe a little bit in love. He's just so kind and Aya has crawled into my lap and hugs my neck. It's sunset, so her Quirk is finally slowing down and she falls asleep while I'm still reeling over the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

I'm apologizing, it's late, I still haven't gone to the store, Aya is asleep on my lap and I'm trying to figure out how I'm gonna get her home with this broken arm and he offers to walk us home. He lifts Aya up and puts her head on his shoulder and I know she's drooling a bit, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He radiates this goodness and warmth and safety; I don't even hesitate to invite him in for a cup of tea. He comes in long enough to put Aya on the couch, but doesn't stay. He wished us both well, and that was it. I took Aya to the park every day that week, hoping to see him again, but I didn't.

Until two weeks ago - I was making dinner and Aya was watching cartoons. I thought it was cartoons anway, when she yells -

"Mommy! That's the man who carried me home!"

And that's definitely him, there's no mistaking it. I shouldn't be letting a three year old watch this, but I can't look away either. All Might played with my Aya. All Might told me I was a good mother. All Might carried my daughter home. All Might is fighting for his life on my television right now.

I didn't know what love was until I held Aya in my arms. I didn't know what heroism was either, not until that night. Not until I connected two people together and realized they were the same person. I didn't know what a hero was until I realized that "hero" wasn't a title All Might put on and took off, it's something he IS, 24/7, on and off the clock. I'd live the rest of my life with a broken arm if I could have half of the strength and kindness that exists in this man, if I could be even a fraction of the person he is.

I think about him every day. I got an All Might keychain, so I'd always have something close by to remind me that heroism isn't always about punching villains and holding up buildings; sometimes, heroism is about talking to a stranger. Sometimes, heroism is about pushing a swing.

Sometimes, heroism is about carrying a little girl home.

[wigwurq]

WIG REVIEW: HILLBILLY ELEGY

I ACTUALLY WATCHED THIS MOVIE Y’ALL. I promised I would watch some Oscar movies instead of prestige TV shows with bad red wigs so I sorta did that: I watched Oscar bait. Because lordt knows this movie is not winning any Oscars (and if it does, it is truly the asterisk Oscars). THIS YEAR YOU GUYS. There is so much to discuss in this movie. Yes, the wigs too. Also there are lots of spoilers but here’s the thing: THIS MOVIE IS AWFUL AND YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT WATCH IT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES AND INSTEAD JUST READ THIS REVIEW. I WATCHED THIS HORROR SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO! YOU ARE WELCOME! 

We begin in Kentucky 1997. AND EVERYTHING IS JUST SO KENTUCKY 1997. All landscapes/cars/people are beige and broken and depressed. We meet JD who is good at biking and saving turtles and spending the summer with his messed up family. HE IS ALSO A TERRIBLE ACTOR AS IS THE OLDER VERSION OF HIM. Important note: I did not read this book and the real JD is an awful Libertarian asshole and nothing about his story, his book, or this movie should be supported. I AM HERE FOR THE WIGS, Y’ALL. MOVING ON!

As promised, Glenn Close as JD’s grandma MAMAW (YES THAT IS HER CHARACTER NAME) looks exactly like Gene Shalit. A friend of mine made this comparison and I cannot unsee it. Amy Adams, straight off (ok maybe several years off?) deglamming for Sharp Objects is just completely frizzed (and kinda strung) out. These wigs are truly abominable as is this film. Anyway, they leave Kentucky and go back to Ohio where they live and where it is somehow more depressing than Kentucky. 

But ok the wig, y’all. Amy Adams hair is is as shitty and unmanageable as her character which might have been a choice? Still, this wig is a tangled, dried out nightmare that cannot be defended (nor can this character’s child abuse and drug problems). Within moments of returning to Ohio, Amy Adams scolds her child for allowing a gifted dog to pee on her wall to wall carpeting and then the cops have to break up a car slap fight (of her slapping her child!) that spills out into a neighbor’s house. SHE MIGHT BE THE WORST MOM IN HISTORY BUT SHE SHOULD DEFINITELY BE ARRESTED FOR WIG CRIMES.

ONTO GLENN CLOSE - SHE LOOKS LIKE GENE SHALIT. THE END. Whoever approved this wig is a huge fan of American film critic Gene Shalit sans mustache. It is the only possible explanation. AND THIS PATCHY MAKEUP. I CANNOT YOU GUYS. I realize that everyone was aiming for deglam Oscars but they went too far. 

ANYWAY. This film flashes between 1997 and 2011, where older JD (again also a terrible actor) is somehow in law school at Yale (OK?) and dating Freida Pinto who this film claims is normal law school age (FUN FACT: she’s 37). Older JD kind of has his life together other than the fact that all the snobs of law school cannot deal with this hillbilly kid who doesn’t know what a salad fork is. And then JD’s sister (played by Haley Bennett aka offbrand Jennifer Lawrence who I actually prefer more) calls and says that MOM IS IN TROUBLE PLEASE RUIN ANY LAW PROSPECTS AND COME HOME EVEN THOUGH MOM IS ABSOLUTELY THE WORST. AND HE DOES YOU GUYS!

Amy Adams’ 2011 wig/makeup/everything is probably the visualization of 2020? I assume this wig was made from leftover parts from Glenn Close’s Gene Shalit wig grafted onto a Halloween fright wig. It could very easily work for a swamp witch costume if you didn’t care about the quality of your swamp witch wig. IT IS THE WORST AS IS SHE. So she was in trouble because she overdosed on heroin...of course she did. After driving all night to get to Ohio, JD gets a call for a second interview at an important law whatever and just HAS TO GET BACK TO NEW HAVEN in the next like 6 hours which still feel like 600. The whole time he’s dealing with Amy Adams and her fright wig, it is a race against time to see if he’ll make it back and secure his future. I guess this is the plot of the movie? I could honestly not tell you. Basically the whole film (if you can call it that?) is strung together vignettes of strung out Amy Adams and yelling Glenn Close that never really add up to anything? BUT THERE IS SO MUCH YELLING ALWAYS. It’s like the opposite of a slow burn - it’s just constant flames and not the cool gay kind.

In any case, we flash back to the ‘90s where Amy Adams’ wig is basically everything Tonya Harding ever hoped and dreamed for (other than that Olympic medal...also Amy Adams would have been a much better casting choice in I, TONYA which had vastly superior wigs BUT I DIGRESS). We see how this drug habit developed - Amy Adams was a nurse and hoarded pills! This leads to the most truly outrageous film sequence I have seen in a long time where high as hell Amy Adams roller skates through the halls of the hospital where she works in her damn nurses scrubs and obviously immediately gets fired. Also her dad dies! Also she tries to kill herself and ends up screaming bloody murder (also covered in blood) in the middle of street and then goes to rehab (rehab doesn’t work). And then gets married to some rando. And then she gets some new job and needs JD to lend her some pee so she can still be a nurse. This all happens in the course of like 10 minutes.  Like I said, this movie is constant insane vignettes - it’s like 100 plots at once and also no plot at all.

And then JD - definitely out of nowhere - develops a gang of terrible drug addicted teenage friends (sure!) who steal/crash cars and make everyone super pissed at JD. ALSO! For reasons unknown or ever explained, Glenn Close ends up in the hospital herself and then has the realization that only she can save JD from his effed up life AND TEARS ALL THE IVS OUT OF HER ARM AND STORMS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL WITH NO CONSEQUENCES OR EXPLANATIONS AS TO WHY SHE WAS THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE! YOU GUYS. 

Also! JD tries to steal a graphing calculator for school from Radio Shack (this is for sure the most 90s sentence I’ve written in a while!) AND GLENN CLOSE IS PISSED! She lays down the law and also buys the graphic calculator herself even though that means they have to live off meals on wheels. BUT! Then he gets the best grade of the entire class on his math quiz and I DEMAND TO KNOW HOW HE KNEW HE HAD THE BEST GRADE IN THE ENTIRE CLASS AS THIS IS NEVER EXPLAINED OR SHOWN AND I NEED ANSWERS! Regardless, the graphing calculator not only saved JD’s grade point average but maybe set him on the path to Yale??? The concept that consumerism is the only thing that will help you as a “hillbilly” is really troubling and bespeaks the issues with this work of non-fiction as a whole. Anyway this movie really want you to know that GRAPHING CALCULATORS SAVE LIVES!!!

There is also a wig battle royale between Amy Adams and Glenn Close wherein there are absolutely no winners (but we, the viewer, definitely loses most!) It is honestly unclear to me how this fight ends (or how any fights end in this movie) because every interaction turns immediately into a fight and when said fight reaches its zenith, the movie cuts away to another vignette! Regardless, the wigs are complete garbage AS IS THIS MOVIE.

Back in 2011, Amy Adams refuses to be admitted to a rehab facility and older JD drives her back to her druggie boyfriend’s house which looks like this and I was like...hold up where have I seen this house before?

The answer is: 2010′s THE FIGHTER ALSO STARRING AMY ADAMS DEGLAMMING HERSELF FOR AN OSCAR SHE DIDN’T WIN! Ok actually in comparison, these houses aren’t that similar other than they are depressing houses with multitier front porches BUT STILL. 

Anyway, JD leaves Amy Adams and her sad swamp witch wig at some random motel where nothing is resolved between them at all and then he drives all night back to New Haven whilst talking to Freida Pinto on the phone (SHE NEEDS TO SLEEP TOO, DUDE! HOW DO YOU THINK SHE IS PLAYING 14 YEARS HER JUNIOR! SLEEP!) And then...he does get to the interview and....the movie ends!! WHAT!TRULY AND FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART: WHAT DID I JUST WATCH AND WAS IT A MOVIE? I STILL DON’T KNOW!

There is an epilogue of pictures of the real people and you guys: MAMAW LOOKED NOTHING LIKE GENE SHALIT. Also why do I even care about these real people???? Yes the real JD made something of himself....he wrote the book on which this movie is based and became a Libertarian asshole and worked with Peter Theil?!?! OK??? I guess the full story is in the epilogue? But this movie absolutely begins and ends nowhere and in between we are treated to a lot of nonsensical yelling and terrible, awful, no good wigs. I IMPLORE YOU: DO NOT WATCH THIS MOVIE!!!!!! MAYBE WATCH SOME YOUTUBE CLIPS OF GENE SHALIT INSTEAD! 

VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ

[luxekook]

kings of campus compilation

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 31.k+

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic energy, poly relationship, switch!reader, dom!joon, switch!jin, switch!hobi, sub!yoongi, sub!jk, sub!tae, sub!jimin, PUNS, pick up lines, arguments, nerd tingz, smut [thigh kink, noona kink, marking, oral (m + f receiving), dom/sub themes, spanking, breast worship, etc. etc.]

⇥ banner: heathy uwu @shadowsremedy​

[this will be a reposting/working document for those of you that cannot access my KOC chapter links right now uwu] [hope this works] [you can also read on ao3]

PROLOGUE

Spring of Sophomore Year - 11:52pm

“If it gets any hotter in here, we’d need jackets to enter the fucking gates of Hades.”

My stellar observation goes by unappreciated, but I’m not shocked. The music thumps heavily through the house at a deafening decibel and the only methods of communication are screaming or sign language - I had done neither.

Earlier, when my roommate Luna told me about this particular party, I had hesitations for several reasons:

This party is being held at the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) house - a house known for its wild parties, excessive drinking, and dangerously attractive brothers.

I am not a huge fan of the aforementioned features or the trouble that always seems to accompany them.

It’s Harry Potter Weekend and I am going to miss the fucking Goblet of Fire for this.

Long story short, Luna convinced me to go with her with promises of pizza and our own Harry Potter marathon tomorrow. Her promises in mind, I square my shoulders and motion for Luna to follow me to the slightly quieter kitchen on the other side of the living room.

As we cross the crowded room, Luna tugs on my wrist and tilts her head subtly towards the corner where four very large, very attractive guys are playing a rowdy game of beer pong, while three (equally attractive) others lounge against the wall watching. Taking a closer look, I notice that the two at the far end of the table seem to be winning. The one with light pink hair takes his shot and curses loudly when he misses. Annoyed, the other shoves him out of the way, lines up to shoot, and pauses. Our eyes meet.

A shiver runs down my spine as his dark gaze rests on me. His jaw is clenched and chiseled, his lips are set firmly but wickedly full. His black t-shirt stretches over wide, solid shoulders and I can almost make out the muscles that ripple beneath. His right arm is still poised to take his shot, and I can’t help but notice how his bicep strains the fabric of his sleeve and how his large, tanned hand completely dwarfs the pong ball.

I barely remember to breathe as I realize his gaze is making his own assessment of me. I can feel his dark eyes rake over me, and it makes my skin buzz. His eyes trail over my black crop top down to my ripped black jeans, and blatantly checks out my legs.

Suddenly, his pink-haired partner elbows him, shattering our little moment. Shakily taking a breath, I turn to Luna who has an eyebrow raised at me. She grabs my hand and practically drags me into the kitchen. I sip my drink and fight the urge to look back.

The minute we enter the mostly empty kitchen, Luna whips around to face me, “Were you just openly eye-fucking Kim Taehyung, (y/n)?” I choke on my beer.

“Who?” I croak, still coughing to clear my windpipe of what I’m certain is shitty Natty Light. Rolling her eyes, Luna shakes her head at me like a disappointed parent, “Kim Taehyung. You know, the pledge master for BTS? Was just with his frat brother Park Jimin?”

She pauses dramatically, seeming to be waiting for some kind of response. I stare at her blankly.

Scoffing, Luna continues, “They were the ones playing pong just now, dumbass. The blue-haired one is Taehyung. You know, the one you were mentally undressing-”

“Okay,” I cut her off, “I’m sorry to say that I haven’t paid much attention to the members of our ‘legendary’ fraternities.”

Pretending like I never interrupted, she resumes, “-with your eyes. Everyone knows who they are. You just live under a rock that you call the library…”

I close my eyes and pray for deliverance as Luna trails off.

“Can I get you another drink?” A deep voice definitely not belonging to Luna breaks the short silence. Opening my eyes, my vision focuses on the voice’s source – a cute BTS pledge. His eyes are focused entirely on Luna, who suddenly seems unnaturally shy. She sends me a searching look, and I nod in response. Smiling, she turns back to the boy, “Yeah, I’m Luna by the way, and this is (y/n).”

“Jaehyun,“ he answers, giving me a head tilt while placing a palm on Luna’s back. He slowly guides her from the kitchen towards where the keg was in the living room. Sending a glance over her shoulder, Luna meets my eyes and I wave my phone at her as a silent reminder to update me. She winks and disappears into the living room.

Sighing, I lift myself onto the kitchen counter to give my feet some reprieve from these heeled boots and reapply my blood red lipstick using my phone camera. Satisfied, I check the time.

12:01am. Not nearly late enough for Luna to want to leave - especially now…

Suddenly, a now-familiar buzz sizzles across my skin. Drawing my gaze up from my phone, two unopened cans of beer held by long, strong fingers meet my vision. I drag my eyes up past thick wrists and corded arms. Up goes my gaze past flexed biceps, across a broad chest, and finally my eyes meet his.

He looms over me, all broad and imposing.

"Hey,” his husky voice - just slightly deeper, raspier than Jaehyun’s - murmurs, “I’m Taehyung. I brought this for you.”

Taehyung’s intimidating; his stare is direct and unwavering. Heat rolls off him in waves, and if this party was hotter than hell, that must make him the devil.

Our fingers brush as I accept his slightly outstretched offering, and I swear I would feel the reoccurring zings for the next week. “Hey, thank you. I’m, uh…” I trail off, Taehyung’s dark eyes staring at me from this close make me seem to lose all power of speech. God, do eyes that color really exist? Apparently, they do – deep brown mixed with flecks of amber, hypnotizing.

I clear my throat and try to force my last two brain cells to work together, “I’m (y/n).”

He’s smirking slightly now, the gesture pulling forth the cutest flush of pink in his cheeks, “Nice to meet you, (y/n).” And I swear he says my name like he’s caressing it, tasting it for the first time.

Damn, he’s unholy. Where is my snarky, inner bad bitch when I need her?

“Did you win your game? Seems like you might have been a little… distracted,” I smirk, there she is. I crack open my beer and revel in the emitting hiss.

A flicker of heat bursts through those brown eyes as he leans closer still, enveloping me with his intoxicating cologne. He smells like autumn woods with a hint of fresh lemon; he smells like trouble.

Taehyung sets his beer down and places his arms on either side of me - caging me in. “Things were going just fine 'til this girl came strutting through the room in some tight fucking jeans,” his tongue flicks over his lower lip, “So, yeah, you could say I got a little distracted.”

“I do not strut,” I object, narrowing my eyes at him - daring him to contradict me.

He’s undeterred, “Yeah, you do, jagi.” His eyes are full of mirth and he’s clearly enjoying getting a reaction from me, “It’s hot.”

I bristle, unsure if I should accept that 'compliment’ at face value, “Does this work on most girls? You know, the whole cornering her while you give her lame compliments thing?”

He looks surprised for a second, but then his head tilts back and he lets out one of the most endearing laughs I’ve ever heard - all unrestrained and unabashed pleasure.

Still chuckling, he tilts his head, eyes darting all over my face - lingering on my lips, “Where did you come from, (y/n)?”

Within seconds we’re making out like unsupervised high school students, right in the middle of the damn kitchen. I let out an embarrassing moan when he bites my bottom lip then sucks on it. Expertly coaxing my lips apart, his tongue meets mine in a feverish tangle while his hands grip my waist - pulling me into him.

The way that Kim Taehyung kisses is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s hot and demandingly deliberate with a possessiveness that sends a ripple of electricity through me. I’m playing with fire, making out with him, but at this moment I can’t find it in me to give a single fuck.

Blazing lips suck and bite at the side of my neck and –

“(y/n)?”

The franticly questioning voice draws nearer as I open my eyes and tear myself away from Taehyung’s wicked mouth. Luna’s there, peering around Taehyung’s shoulder, and I can immediately tell that something is seriously wrong.

Shoving Taehyung away from me, I jump down from the counter and stumble - completely forgetting I was in three-inch heeled boots. Taehyung’s hands shoot out around my waist to stabilize me, “Whoa, easy there, (y/n).”

“Get your lecherous paws off her, Kim,” my eyes dart to Luna, shocked at her tone but proud of her vocabulary, “(y/n), we have to go.”

“What’s going on?” I’m at a loss, and I hate it, “Are you okay? Where’s Jaehyun? Do I need to chop his dick off?”

Taehyung lets out a choking sound beside me, but I pay him no mind - chicks before dicks, hoes before bros, besties before testes, etc. etc.

“What I’m planning is much worse,” Luna mutters with a strange glint in here eye as she pulls me away from Taehyung and levels him with an icy stare, “Listen, Kim, I know all about your little task for the pledges. Seriously, forcing them to get with as many girls as possible before they get their letters? Are you that much of a chauvinistic asshole?”

I whip around to face Taehyung, who seems to have become intensely interested in his beer, “Is this true?” He says nothing. I stalk up to him, shoving a finger in his chest, “Is. It. True.”

His beautiful, guilty eyes flicker up to meet mine, and my heart sinks.

“Fuck. You.” My words come out as a whisper but are still vicious enough to make Taehyung stagger back.

With that, Luna and I stalk out of the party - heads held high and arms linked.

Returning to our dorm, we make a pact to avoid all frat boys and christen it with pizza. She never tells me how she found out about the stupid pledge task; I’m smart enough to know that she must have had her reasons.

But I wasn’t smart enough to stop thinking about Kim Taehyung.

I played with fire.

I should have known I’d get burned.

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I’m pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

“Come on, bitches! Let’s get some drinks,” Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?“ She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion… He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona,” he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey?  We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung…

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I’m gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot…

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat.

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year…”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

Chapter Three

“It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

We’re going to date the shit out of you.

We’re. Going. To. Date. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.

Those words play on a constant loop in my head for the rest of the week. After Namjoon had dropped that bombshell on me, I’d kind of freaked the fuck out, faked an immediate illness, and ran at full speed.

When I had told Luna about it later that night, she had been just as shook as me. Surprisingly enough, she had also given her full support of whatever I decided to do but “would have her banana slicer on standby and would order six more if need be”.

It appears that she had drunk-ordered a banana slicer off Amazon when the last boy she talked to pissed her off. I had apparently drunk-approved the decision. Rad.

Jenni’s reaction had been even better. We’d been in the library on Monday and her screech of “he said what!?” had led to multiple events:

An abundance of shushes from every student within a 50-yard radius

Her continued rant: “Your own personal harem! Can you say goals? Maybe I should infiltrate EXO and collect my own…”

Us getting kicked out by our ancient librarian

For the rest of the week, I had Luna and Jenni both giving me shit about the BTS boys. It had helped that I hadn’t run into them at all on campus between classes. But I had known it wouldn’t be long before my luck would run out…

Quinn Library – 2:31pm

Typically, I don’t spend my Friday afternoons deep within the stacks of the library’s quiet floor. Yet, here I sit typing frantically due to my incapability to stop procrastinating. My fingers fly over the keys of my aging MacBook in hopes that whatever spur of productivity I had going on is captured in its fullest.

General education classes could burn in the pits of hell as far as I’m concerned. If I wanted to be a psychiatrist, why did I have to take – and pay for – an art elective that I would likely never utilize in the workforce? Plus, the only class within the category that fit my schedule ended up being “Writing About Dance”.

Yeah, I’m still a tad bitter, but in all honesty the class isn’t that bad so far. It mainly consists of watching different dance performances and learning how to write about them in different styles.

Today’s assignment is to write critical commentary on videos of the university’s dance team that the professor provided for us. Sighing, I finish my review of the second to last dance video provided by the professor, take a quick second to stretch, and then open the link to the last video on the assignment page.

“Park Jimin – Final Performance Solo, Spring 2019”

Slack-jawed, I fall into wonder as Jimin moves through his routine flawlessly. He dances like it’s easier than walking to him. His movements are somehow precise and fluid all at once. I barely realize a few tears have run down my cheeks until the video cuts off, signaling the end of Jimin’s performance.

Jesus, (y/n), get it together. I laugh lightly as I dig in my backpack for a tissue. How could I possibly capture the ethereal beauty that Jimin exuded into words? Am I even worthy of commenting on such exquisiteness?

Definitely fucking not. And before I can second guess myself, I type: “Park Jimin is art in its purest form. Watching him dance is like watching the sun rise over the ocean – raw beauty accompanied by the hopes brought with a new day. His performance left me wanting for nothing except an encore.”

Boom. Submit Assignment.

As my email pings with the confirmation that my assignment is turned in, my eyes widen in realization. Park Jimin of BTS is a dance god, and he – allegedly – wants to date me? That is just ridiculously unfathomable.

Namjoon must be off his rocker.

Closing my laptop, my phone suddenly vibrates with an incoming notification from snapchat…

President_RM has added you!

Before I can even comprehend the absurdity of Namjoon adding me, my phone bursts into a series of buzzes. Cursing, I switch my phone to silent and check my screen.

minsuga93 has added you!

jhopeworld_ has added you!

handsomeJIN has added you!

JKookie97 has added you!

vantae_BTS has added you!

95jiminie has added you!

Are they serious? How did they even get my SnapChat username?

vantae_BTS has added you to a chat!

Curiosity wins out over aggravation as I swipe to open the chat.

Heart pounding, I fight the urge to chuck my phone into the depths of the bookcases winding around the room. What did those idiots want with me?

(y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 9:45pm

“What do those idiots want with me?” the decibel my voice has risen to is shocking even to my ears.

Luna cringes, accordingly, “I can’t tell if that’s a rhetorical question…”

I steamroll onwards, “And don’t even get me started on how they could have even gotten my snapchat. It’s a complete invasion of privacy!”

“You could just ask them,” Jenni’s voice cuts through my rambling tirade.

I pause, “No, I couldn’t—”

…Or could I?

Turning on my heel, I rush into my room and head straight for my closet. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and pair of leggings, I tug them on and then grab my keys from my nightstand.

Whirling back into the living room, I storm past a dumbfounded Luna and Jenni, “Be right back.”

Opening the apartment door, Luna shouts, “Wait! Where are you going? You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Whoops. I glance at my feet and note that she is, in fact, correct.

Jenni bounds over to me holding my Doc Martens, “Here, babe. You’re going to the BTS house, aren’t you?”

I nod grimly and salute my two best friends as if I’m going into battle. “I won’t be long. I just have a small errand to run.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Luna declares, pulling on her sneakers.

Jenni snorts and shoves her feet into her beat-up Converse, “No way am I missing out on this action.”

As we head out the door, I link arms with Luna and Jenni, “Have I mentioned I love you both recently?”

“Right back at you, bitch,” Luna laughs.

Greek Row – 10:17pm

Ten minutes later, we reach Greek Row. Fraternity and sorority houses dot the street on both sides. Personally, I think of this street as home to the chaotic rich, and I tend to avoid it at all costs – except tonight.

The line to get into BTS is so long it wraps around the block. Students dressed in the latest fashions converse as they wait, huddling together in their groups. I glance down at my outfit of a worn university hoodie and leggings.

“Well, shit. We’re underdressed, huh,” Jenni deadpans, causing all three of us to burst into laughter, “Do you think they put you on the list, (y/n)?”

Pondering that thought, I shrug, “Maybe,” and begin marching past the line of waiting students towards the front door of BTS, “But I sure as fuck am not waiting in that line.”

“Hey, there’s a line here!”

“Yo, bitches! What are you doing?”

“What the fuck?”

Paying the hecklers no mind, I saunter right up to the BTS pledges guarding the door, “Hi, I need to talk to Kim Namjoon.”

The pledge on the right rakes his gaze over me incredulously and then makes the same assessment of Luna and Jenni, “You know this is a party, right?”

I don’t deem that comment worthy of a response and instead cross my arms over my chest. He shrinks under the collective glare of me, Luna and Jenni.

The pledge on the left awkwardly clears his throat, “Names, please?”

My answer barely escapes my lips before the pledges visibly straighten, looking at me with new eyes, “You’re (y/n)? Why didn’t you just say so?”

And before I can answer, the front door swings open for us.

People are everywhere. A haze of smoke looms in the air, and rap music blares from the speakers. The bass is turned up so loud that the beat seems to take over the rhythm of my pulse. That cannot be healthy.

Turning to my friends, I do my best to communicate, shouting, “I’m going to find them! Are you going to be here?”

Luna and Jenni exchange a look and nod. Jenni shouts back, “We’re going to get some drinks. Might as well capitalize on free booze! Text us when you’re ready to go.”

And with that, we part ways.

Maneuvering around the sea of gyrating bodies in the main living room area, I scan around for any signs of my seven menaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that my future wife?” The deep voice booms from behind me.

I sigh, recognizing the voice, and turn around.

Kim Taehyung is striding towards me with his arms outstretched, smiling like the damned fool he is and looking like he just stepped off the runway for Gucci. “Come to daddy.”

An idea forms. I smile sweetly and walk to meet Taehyung halfway. His boxy grin widens and just as he thinks I’m going to let him wrap his arms around me, I grab him by the ear.

“Ouch!” He cries, “Devil-woman!”

Ignoring him, I drag him behind me towards the stairs.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked—OW!”

My hold on his ear tightens as we arrive on the second-floor landing, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know, n-noona!” Somehow the honorific coming from Tae sounds divine, but I file that thought away for another time.

Removing my hold, I corner him against the wall of the hallway, “Okay, Kim, here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to point me in the direction of your room, go find your six idiot brothers, and then report back here so I can finally understand what the fuck is going on. Got it?”

My chest heaves as my directions conclude and I realize how close together we are. Taehyung stares at me with an indecipherable expression before breaking into a slow smile, “Noona is bossy.”

“Noona is going to shove her foot up your ass if you don’t get moving,” I growl.

“Kinky,” he laughs, backing away from me and my brewing anger, “Last door on the left is my room. I’ll be back with the six idiots.”

As he thumps back down the steps, I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to steel my nerves and rein in my anger. When I open them, my eyes are met with the amused gaze of Min Yoongi.

Slapping a hand to my heart, I wait for my pulse to settle from being scared out of my wits, “Motherfuck—how did you even move that silently?”

“It’s a skill,” Yoongi drawls, nodding towards to end of the hall, “So, group meeting in Tae’s room?”

Shooting him the best side-eye I can muster, I stalk past him, steadfastly ignoring the chuckles and light footfalls that follow behind me.

Throwing open the door which Taehyung indicated was to his room, I pause, taking in the horde of photos and art taped to the four walls. The light blue wallpaper barely peeks through the absolute massive amount of artwork.

“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” An angelic voice shyly breaks through my reverie, “Tae likes to collect pictures and things he finds beautiful.”

“Ah, so that’s why we’re friends.” The joke is followed by a laugh that can only be compared to the sound of a windshield wiper squeakily moving back and forth.

I shift my eyes from Taehyung’s walls and onto the two newcomers – Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin.

Meeting Seokjin’s gaze first, I cannot help but agree that he is a very, very beautiful man. With pushed back dark hair, mischievous brown eyes and impossibly broad shoulders, Seokjin can easily be mistaken for an idol. And, oh fuck, I’m still staring.

Shooting my eyes back up to his, I crinkle my nose at his shit-eating grin. Before he can even comment, I turn and lock eyes with Jimin.

“Your dancing is gorgeous,” I blurt out and immediately want to crawl under a rock and live out the rest of my life as Patrick Star.

Yoongi and Seokjin are cackling as Jimin’s face lights up at my embarrassing compliment, “You really think so?”

“There’s no shutting him up now,” Yoongi is in tears, “Watch out, (y/n). Jimin loves his fans.”

“Shut up, Yoongi-hyung!”

Jimin looks ready to swing, but luckily Taehyung chooses the right moment to return, “What have we missed? Why is Jiminie about to fight Yoongi? I’ll put $10 on hyung.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jimin sits on the edge of Tae’s bed and pouts.

The rest of the boys file in behind Taehyung as he flops down onto his bed and reclines like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, (y/n). Good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon greets me with a slight bow, a crooked smile and wicked eyes.

He’s followed closely by Jung Hoseok, the only BTS boy I hadn’t met thus far, “(y/n)! It’s so nice to meet you in person! Wow, you look so pretty tonight!”

“Noona always looks pretty,” Jungkook cuts in, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, “She’s bae.”

A collective groan arises from the rest of the boys. “Sit your ass down, JK,” Yoongi grumbles, “(y/n)’s going to break up with us before we even start dating.”

“Dating—!” I break off that train of thought. Other matters need to be attended to first, “No, I didn’t come here tonight to say ‘hi’ or to be your ‘bae’. I came here to get answers.”

I take my time making eye contact with each boy.

Taehyung is still spread out on his bed and Jimin has now joined him. Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook are sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Namjoon and Yoongi slouch against the opposite wall of the bedroom facing me.

“Alright,” Namjoon lifts his chin, meeting my stare head on, “What do you want to know?”

Chapter Four

Taehyung’s Room, BTS House – 10:49pm

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

Namjoon’s question fills the room. The boys all stare at me with anticipation, leaning forward with furrowed brows.

I ponder my course of action for all of two seconds before launching into my well-practiced rant, “I want to know what sort of sick prank you think you’re playing, because I am not falling for it. I mean – all of you wanting to date one person? Date me? Seems fake, but okay.”

Some of the boys move to interrupt me, but I thrust up a palm, “No, please let me finish. I know I don’t really have the right to make judgements about you guys, but I have seen some misogynistic behavior from your frat. So, I feel like it’s not that far-fetched for me to think that you’re probably playing me.”

“Messy gymnast behavior? What’s that?” Jungkook whispers to Hoseok who just shrugs, looking equally as baffled.

“Misogynistic, Kook, not messy gymnast,” Namjoon pinches his nose in frustration, “It means prejudiced against women.”

Seokjin and Jimin descend into fits of laughter. Hoseok still looks mildly perplexed, and Yoongi takes a large sip of soju from a bottle he procured from god knows where within the last few minutes.

Covering his face, Jungkook dives behind Jin in hopes of further hiding his embarrassment.

“I think I know what she’s talking about.”

The room quiets at Taehyung’s interjection. He reluctantly sits up from his relaxed position on his bed and explains, “When we met at our party last semester, she found out about our old pledge tradition.”

“Oh, damn,” Jimin sighs, “So that’s why you motioned to remove it from the chapter’s history at the last meeting.”

“Yeah,” Tae looks me in the eyes, “We voted removed it, (y/n) … A little too late though, it seems.”

Jungkook peeks his head out from behind Jin’s shoulder, “We’re sorry, noona.”

Trying not to internally melt in response at the youngest’s display of classic puppy-dog eyes, I slump against the wall and slide into a sitting position on the floor. “Look, I’m not going to say that ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not. But I do appreciate that you removed it.”

The boys hang their heads, looking properly chastised.

“That’s fair,” Namjoon finally says quietly, “We know as a frat we fucked up. We’re not perfect. We make a lot of mistakes. But we’re trying to get back to being respectable and move on from here.”

“We’re trying to get back your respect,” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, looking at me with wide eyes and more attentiveness than I’ve ever seen from him.

“But that’s the other thing,” I look away, pulling at a random thread fraying off of the sleeve of my sweatshirt, “Why does it matter so much that I respect you? Why are you all so invested in me all of a sudden? In all honesty, I haven’t said more than two words in conversation to half of you.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really matter,” Namjoon shrugs, shifting to lean casually against the wall.

My eyes narrow, “How can it not matter?”

“Because we date as a group, (y/n)-noona,” Jimin smiles down at me from his perch on Taehyung’s bed, all squishy cheeks and crinkled eyes, “Tae thought we’d all like you, and then Jungkookie and Joon-hyung agreed and—”

Hoseok excitedly chimes in, arms swinging wildly, “And finding someone who we all like hasn’t happened in so long, and I’m so happy!”

“Yah, Hobi!” Jin reaches over Jungkook to shove the bouncing boy, “We’re supposed to be playing it cool. We have to woo her.” He winks and blows me a kiss.

Instinctively, I swat it away and then giggle at Seokjin’s indignant gasp.

“I take it back! She’s mean!” Launching into a passionate rant complete with head shaking and wild eyes, Jin continues, “Consider that kiss null and void. I have never been so insulted in my entire life, you know!”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I collapse from laughing alongside the rest of the boys. Namjoon’s dimples are out in full force as he drawls, “Hyung, that’s what you said yesterday when I beat you in Overwatch.”

Seokjin splutters over the now-renewed laughter of his younger brothers, “I thought I told you to never speak of that again!”

Trailing off in mumbles of how he needs new friends and how disrespected he is as an elder, Jin resorts to pouting in the corner.

“You’ll have to excuse Seokjin-hyung, (y/n),” Taehyung smirks at me with raised eyebrows, “He’s skated by solely on his looks up until now.”

Seokjin’s pouting intensifies.

“He is handsome,” I instinctively respond, fully focused on the beauty of Jin’s pouty lips. And when those lips break into a huge grin, I cringe at my lapse in judgement for the thousandth time that night.

“My faith in humanity has been restored!” Jin ambles back to his original spot next to Jungkook and thrusts a paper heart that he apparently had been carrying on his person for quite some time in my direction.

“Hyung,” Hoseok eyes Seokjin with a concerned frown, “Where did you even get that from?”

“That’s one secret I’ll never tell.” Jin barely finishes that sentence before a flurry of pillows, water bottles, and other miscellaneous items are thrown at him from all angles.

“I thought we agreed no more quoting Gossip Girl, Jin-hyung!” Jimin cries as he continues to hit Jin with a pillow from Tae’s bed.

Miraculously still even able to speak under the assault from the other boys, Jin replies with complete sincerity, “XOXO.”

Chaos reigns.

Watching all seven of them in - presumably - their most natural state, I sigh in amusement, “Y’all are too much.”

Somehow the boys hear me, because they all turn to face me once more with various expressions of playfulness and mirth. Jin still lies under the pile of them laughing slightly as they slowly shift off of him.

“Nah, I think we might be just enough for you, noona,” Jungkook pipes up as he plops down on the edge of Taehyung’s bed.

“Yeah? And how do you know that?” A sudden thought occurs to me, “Wait, why do you all even date one person anyway? Don’t you realize like half the campus is in love with each of you?”

“You’re included in that half, right?” Taehyung grins and then shrinks under my withering glare, “I mean, it’s a long story?”

“Oh, hold on,” I check my wrist, which noticeably has no watch, “Mhm, that’s right. It’s story time.”

Jimin snorts and then burrows under the covers in mortification.

“Cute,” Hoseok sighs, staring at me, “I want to keep you.”

And there’s something about having Jung Hoseok’s full attention and adoration that brings me to peak devastation. I pull my hood up over my head and burrow into my sweatshirt.

“Aw!” Various yells rebound around the room. I flip them all off.

“Hobi,” Yoongi teases, “I think she likes you.”

I peek out of the safety of my sweatshirt to eviscerate him with my eyes, but Yoongi just raises one brow coolly and calls me out, “Well, am I wrong, jagi?”

All eyes are on me, and the room is suddenly so quiet that all I can hear is the muffled party downstairs and the beating of my heart.

“… I want my lawyer,” I finally declare, re-emerging from the depths of my sweatshirt and crossing my arms.

“Oh, come on, noona!” Jimin shuffles across the room and kneels in front of me, causing me to descend into a panic, “You like Hoseok-hyung, right? Well, what about me? Do you like me?”

Jimin peers down at me, pink hair tussled and eyes shining. How could I ever say no to that beautiful face? That angelic human?

Must.

Deflect.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Why do you all date the same person when each of you could have anyone you want?”

Jimin deflates and sits back on his heels, frowning at my non-answer.

“But we do already date everyone we want,” Hoseok cuts in, giggling, “Well, almost.”

They’re already dating people? My mind wracks through all my knowledge of the seven boys sitting before me, but no evidence of them dating anyone pops up. “Wait, I’m confused. Who are you all dating then?”

I can’t help but feel like I’m on the outside of an inside joke as the boys all exchange looks that are all too smug for my liking.

“Seems like we did a good job, boys,” Namjoon chuckles, “People on this campus are pretty oblivious.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, “They just choose not to see it. They want us all to be fully available.”

The lightbulb finally flickers on in my mind.

“Oh my sweet baby Jesus,” I whisper, “You’re all dating each other, aren’t you?”

Various nods answer that question. Jin, of course, being Jin, wipes an imaginary tear from his eye as he dramatically laments, “And she’s smart, too? How did we get so lucky, boys?”

“Yoongi,” I say calmly, “Please pass me that soju before I commit murder in this very room.”

Without a word, Yoongi hands me the bottle before settling down in the space next to me against the wall.

Suddenly hyperaware of my positioning, I realize I’m sitting in between Jimin and Yoongi. Jungkook, Taehyung and Hobi now sit together on Tae’s bed, while Jin remains on the floor surrounded by various pillows and debris.

Namjoon is still leaning against the opposite wall, looking way too intimidating and perfect that I’m forced to look away.

That is, until he starts to speak. “(y/n), the seven of us have always been close. We grew up together; and, somehow, we just work as a unit. We work together. It may seem odd or untraditional. Maybe it is. But, it’s who we are. And it’s how we love.”

Namjoon continues, “We don’t want to lose what we have together, this dynamic we’ve spent so long building. But, we’ve been feeling like something has been missing from our relationship lately. We’ve been looking for someone to help complete us.”

“And you think that person is me?” I suck in a jagged breath, “You really want to share me? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“There are crazier things,” Yoongi shrugs, taking back the bottle of soju from my grasp, “Like how Namjoon has an IQ of 148 but can’t seem to live one day without breaking something.”

Namjoon, looking affronted, opens and closes his mouth, but ultimately settles on just smiling bashfully. My heart almost explodes at such a display of cuteness.

“It’s really not that crazy, (y/n),” Taehyung interrupts my internal fawning, “You seem like a girl who’s intimidated by no one and nothing. We really, really like that. And we figured since you kissed me and Jungkook that you might be interested.”

Embarrassment washes over me. I steal back the soju from Yoongi, who just smirks knowingly.

“Besides, polyamory is actually more common than you think,” Hobi smiles in that pretty heart-shaped way of his.

He has a valid point. Who am I to be the judge of what love looks like? Who am I to criticize these boys who clearly love each other and just want one more person to love? Who am I to deny myself the opportunity to be loved by seven people?

“Can I think about it?” I ask, still fighting the inevitable for whatever reason, “I’m not saying ‘no’. I just need a bit of time to think it over.”

“Take all the time you need, baby,” Namjoon murmurs, looking like I just handed him the keys to the entire world.

“No,” Jimin groans, burrowing his head in the crook of my shoulder, “Please, please, please don’t take all the time you need, (y/n)-noona! I can’t wait that long!”

I reach up to stroke my fingers through his pink hair in an attempt to soothe the poor angel.

“Do we have permission to continue to woo you during this ‘thinking’ period?” Jin inquires, casting a look of jealousy at Jimin who is now nestled even further into me.

“Continue?” I ask, “When did you start?”

“Yah!” Seokjin exclaims, “Why does she keep roasting me?”

“I think it’s hot,” Jungkook grins at me with stars in his eyes.

“That’s because you’re a masochist, Kook,” Taehyung cackles from his perch on the bed.

“Ah, hyung!” Jungkook jumps on Taehyung in an effort to silence him, “She doesn’t need to know that yet!”

“I mean, it is pretty obvious,” I pause dramatically, dropping the pitch of my voice, “Baby boy.”

Jungkook yelps and takes off out of the room.

“Shit, was that too much?” I ask, staring at the door thrown open in Jungkook’s wake.

“No,” Tae replies, still laughing, “I think he just needs a second to calm down. I’ll go see where he went.”

Taehyung gets up from the bed and shuffles out the door in search of Jungkook. The open door allows for more sounds from the party to seep into the room.

Namjoon sighs, “I should probably check on what’s happening down there, shouldn’t I?”

“Good luck, man,” Yoongi tears the soju back out of my hand and lifts it up in cheers to Namjoon. Chuckling, Namjoon ambles over to where Yoongi, Jimin and I are crowded together and grabs the soju.

After taking a long sip, he crouches down in front of me and grasps the hand that remains unoccupied by Jimin. Bringing it to his lips, Namjoon places the lightest kiss on my knuckles. “I’m so happy you showed up tonight, baby. I can only hope that my future holds more of you in any way you choose to give me.”

Pressing his lips to my palm this time, Namjoon smiles in that completely devastating way of his and then saunters out of the room. Still gaping, I realize I never even got to say a word to him in response.

“You are so whipped for him already, jagi,” Yoongi says lowly, lips brushing my ear.

I blink. My senses are on overload. Jimin is still curled into my side, with my hand stroking his hair and his lips accidentally grazing the skin of my collarbone every so often. Now, Yoongi is closer than ever. I can feel his breath against my neck and his stare focused on my lips. Meanwhile, Hobi and Jin are slowly but surely shuffling closer to where the three of us are bunched together.

“So what if I am?” I finally answer, “Aren’t you all whipped for him, too?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jimin mumbles into my shoulder.

My mind explodes.

“She’s not ready for that yet, Jiminie,” Jin giggles, “I’m pretty sure she’s still half convinced I worship Satan in the basement.”

“Well, I wasn’t before, but now I am,” I jokingly eye Seokjin up and down with an amused smile.

He grins back at me. I melt. And he knows it.

“Can I kiss you?” Jin asks, the slightest smirk curving his lips, a look of hunger burning in his gaze, like he could just eat me up, “Please?”

I swallow and his eyes latch onto the movement of my throat.

Before I can reconsider, I remove myself from my sitting position against the wall, much to Jimin and Yoongi’s dismay, and straddle Jin’s lap, immediately capturing his lips with my own.

The effect is instantaneous. Various groans echo around me as Jin smiles against my mouth. His hands find their way under my sweatshirt and squeeze my hips, dragging my body even closer against his.

The way Jin kisses is life-ruining in its unhurried, yet passionate deliberateness. He kisses me like he’s claiming me, and the possessiveness of his actions send a ripple of excitement through my body. Releasing my mouth, he works his way down the length of my exposed neck, and I gasp in response.

Suddenly, I feel another pair of hands twine around my body from behind as Hobi pleads into my ear, “Can I kiss you, too, (y/n)?”

I nod wordlessly, wondering what I did in my past life to deserve such affection in this one.

“No fair,” I vaguely hear Jimin pouting, “I want to kiss noona.”

“We’ll have our turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi’s voice causes a shudder of anticipation to race down my spine.

“Oh, she likes that idea,” Jin laughs, obviously having felt the tremor that shot though me in response to Yoongi’s suggestion, “Come get a taste.”

“Only if that’s what she really wants,” Yoongi says, meeting my eyes, “Don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, kitten.”

“Kitten?” I growl, eyes narrowed sharply in his direction.

“Yep,” Yoongi’s answering smirk is slow and antagonizing, “All cute and cuddly with a hint of claws.”

“I’ll show you claws,” I say darkly, getting up, “Stand up.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Why?”

“I won’t ask again,” I move closer to him and Jimin.

Yoongi pulls himself to his feet, acting like it was the most physical activity he’d ever done.

When he’s finally done with the dramatics, I move closer until he’s backed right up against the wall, “Min Yoongi, I’m going to shut you up now.”

His breath stutters as I slowly move my mouth closer to his. “Please do—” I cut him off.

Kissing Yoongi is just as intoxicating as kissing Jin, but in a different way. Yoongi tastes like soju and spearmint. His body melts under my touch, completely fine with letting me lead. An idea springs to mind and I slide my hand into his hair and tug lightly. He jolts with a moan.

Bingo. I smirk before kissing him deeper. My other hand winds around him to scratch my nails down his back. This time, I’m awarded with a small whine.

The fact that I’m wrecking this boy is simultaneously wrecking me. That impact doubles when I feel a small hand begin to wind its way up my calf towards my thigh. Tearing my mouth away from Yoongi, I open my eyes to see Jimin smiling up at me, “Can you kiss me like that, too, (y/n)-noona?”

“Why couldn’t you wait your turn, Jiminie,” Yoongi sulks adorably, sensing that my resolve against any request from Jimin was nonexistent.

“Well, aren’t you supposed to be showing me the perks of dating multiple people?” I joke, “Jin and Hobi just shared. Can’t you two?”

Jimin springs up off the floor faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, “Yes! We can share!”

“Good,” I reply, turning in Yoongi’s arms so that my back is pressed against him. He hisses in a breath. “Come here, Jiminie,” I open my arms to the eager boy who all but leaps into them.

“You’re so beautiful, noona,” Jimin sighs, pupils dilated, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

“So are you, baby,” I sigh, bringing a hand up to brush his cheek fondly, “So are you.”

I kiss Jimin gently, treasuring the feel of his plump lips against my own. I trace the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip and his mouth opens in a silent gasp. I use the chance to slip my tongue inside to twine with his.

Through my thoroughly fucked-out haze, I feel Yoongi’s hands settle onto my hips, grinding me slowly against his crotch. I moan into Jimin as Yoongi’s mouth sucks on the side of my neck, surely for the sole reason of marking me.

“Well, shit, JK,” Taehyung’s voice shatters the bubble of pleasure I had been residing within in the middle of four beautiful men. My eyes flutter open to take in the sight of Taehyung holding a box of pizza and a case of beer, with Jungkook right behind him. “Looks like the party started without us.”

Chapter Five

Taehyung’s Room, BTS House - 11:57pm

“Well, shit, JK. Looks like the party started without us.”

An hour ago, I would have shoved Jimin off of me and shimmied out of Yoongi’s hold. But, now? I definitely am in too deep to back down from Taehyung.

“Hmm,” I make a show of pushing my hips slightly against Yoongi’s as I turn to face Taehyung and Jungkook more fully, “Yes, it did. And you know why? Because you weren’t invited.”

Yoongi chuckles into my neck as my words detonate and land on Taehyung, who gapes in disbelief. “Don’t piss her off, Tae,“ I feel Yoongi’s grin against my neck before he places a quick kiss behind my ear.

“Yeah, Tae,” I taunt, “Don’t piss me off.”

“We leave for ten minutes. Ten! And she’s already got you like this?” Taehyung stomps over to his bed and sits in a huff, "Can I at least get a kiss, too?”

"Oh, I don’t think so,” I purr, “You see, only good boys get kisses.” Turning to Jungkook, I smile wickedly when I’m met with the cutest wide-eyed stare complete with bottom lip sucked behind his two front teeth.

“Jungkookie,” I shake Jimin and Yoongi off me and slowly turn to face the youngest, “Have you been a good boy?”

He nods frantically and gulps when my hand slips up his black t-shirt. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

“D-do I get a kiss, noona?” He asks in the tiniest voice imaginable.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Kim Taehyung rages from his four-poster bed, “Jungkook was just thirsting over you in the hallway!”

“Shut the fuck up, Kim,” Jungkook growls, muscles bunching under my touch. I bite back a grin over how the boy’s duality really jumps out when he’s provoked.

“Hmm, is that so, Kookie?” My hand glides into his hair at the nape of his neck to pull his gaze back to mine, “Tell me what you said, and I might still let you have a kiss.”

“What?” Taehyung cries.

“At this rate, she’s not going to touch Taehyungie for 84 years.” I hear Hoseok say, snickering. Seokjin’s squeaky laughter and Jimin’s high-pitched giggles ensue. I’m also almost certain I hear Yoongi let out a low chuckle.

“Tell me,” I order Jungkook, who immediately caves like a house of cards during an earthquake.

“I j-just said that you were cute-”

"Bullshit!”

Jungkook shoots a livid glare over my shoulder at the blue-haired boy, “And, I said that I wanted to p-play with your nipple piercings… That I bet they make you look even prettier, noona. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, baby,” I say, stroking his reddened cheeks, “You know what? I think I just might let you.”

“Really?” Jungkook looks like his birthday had arrived early.

“Really!?” Taehyung sounds like his birthday had been cancelled indefinitely.

“Really,” I confirm, whipping off my hoodie. The various curses and groans reach my ears as I toss the hoodie right at Taehyung’s slack-jawed face.

“Fuck, baby,” Seokjin hisses a breath through his teeth, "You weren’t wearing a bra this whole time?”

“Huh?” I glance down only to be greeted by my bare skin, “Oh, shit.”

“You came here. To this house. Without a bra?” A commanding voice sounds from the doorway, “Oh, babygirl, that’s a dangerous move.”

I face Namjoon, with my hands on my hips, nipples shamelessly pointed straight at him, “Dangerous? For me or for you?”

He cracks a slow smile, “Both.” God, he looks to die for tonight - black cargo-pants, tight black t-shirt, black boots. My eyes latch onto the silver chain clasped around his neck and wonder if he’d let me pull him closer with it.

An impatient hand tugs on mine. “N-noona, will you still let me touch you?” Jungkook diverts my attention from the depths of Namjoon’s dark eyes.

“Of course, Kookie,” I link my fingers through his and turn to address the problematic king on the bed, “Taehyung, move over.”

A flicker of hope sparks in Tae’s eyes as he immediately shifts to make room. I make my way over to the bed, dragging Jungkook with me.

“Jungkook, sit with your back against the headboard,” I turn to Taehyung, “You, no touching.”

“But-!”

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you stay,” I shoot him a glance, inwardly cursing at how tempting he looks sprawled out and gazing hungrily at me. Why did he have to be so insufferable?

Shifting to look at the boy practically bouncing on the bed with anticipation, I smile, “Can I sit on your lap, Jungkook?”

"Fuck yes,” he breathes out, tongue darting to wet his lower lip.

A completely diabolical and sadistic idea pops into my brain. I slowly walk to the foot of the bed. The room quiets as I lean forward and climb on the bed. On all fours, I slowly crawl towards Jungkook, holding eye-contact.

He swallows hard, eyes darting every so often to my chest. Finally, I settle onto his lap and smile victoriously at the thick bulge I feel there.

“So unfair,“ Jungkook sighs, tilting his head back with his eyes squeezed shut, "You make me so hard, (y/n)-noona.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” the corners of my mouth quirk into a small smile, “Now, do you want to play with me? Or should I ask someone else?”

Jungkook’s mouth latches onto my left nipple and sucks. His hand moves up my back and then eases around my body to cup my other breast in his hold. I jolt as he pinches my nipple without warning, a surge of pleasure swells from deep within me.

“Mmm, Jungkook,” I hum and grind my hips down onto his, craving more friction. His tongue swirls around my piercing, and my breath catches.

“Fuck,” I hear one of the boys choke out.

My eyes shoot open in search of the source and widen once I find it. Namjoon’s head is thrown back as Jimin kisses and sucks on his neck. Namjoon’s eyes remain heatedly on me as he murmurs, “Such a good boy.” Jimin and I both shiver as Namjoon’s words drip like honey off his tongue.

“Now, Jiminie,” Namjoon latches a hand through Jimin’s pink hair and tugs him away from his neck. The younger boy pouts. Namjoon ignores him, continuing, “Why don’t we show (y/n) how Kook likes to be kissed?”

At the mention of his name, Jungkook ceases his worshipping and whines, “Hyung, that’s not fair!”

“Not fair?” Taehyung’s indignant cry is immediate, “You just had (y/n)’s nipple in your mouth,  and you think this is unfair?” I look over at the irate boy, who looks thoroughly wrecked despite not having even been touched. His light blue hair is a mess, red bandana long since removed. One ring-adorned hand is pressed solidly over the bulge in his jeans. The other is thrashing wildly in the air as he articulates his point.

“Taehyung,” Namjoon growls, “Enough.”

Taehyung wisely shuts up.

A timid knock breaks the tense silence. “Hey, Pres?” A hesitant voice calls through the solid wood, “We have a situation downstairs.”

“God-fucking-damnit,” Namjoon curses and turns to me, “(y/n), baby, I have to go deal with this.”

I shrug and reach for my discarded sweatshirt next to Taehyung, “I should get going anyway. My friends are probably waiting for me.”

“But Noona!” Jungkook’s grip tightens on my hips as I tug on my top, “When will we get to see you again?”

“Jungkook, honey, this campus is only so big. Besides, you all have my SnapChat.” I cock my head, “How did you get that by the way?”

“Well, would you look at the time!” Jin lurches to his feet, “I need to go get ready for bed.”

“Kim Seokjin, I swear to god,“ I shimmy off of a pouting Jungkook, "If you step one toe out that door, I will burn your plushie collection.”

“Yah,” he exclaims, “How do you know that I even have plushies?”

I shoot him a deadpan expression and point to one of the many pictures of Seokjin on Tae’s walls. This particular Polaroid displays a sleeping Jin amongst a plethora of plushies that all seem to be the same alpaca of some sort.

“Taehyungie, you little shit!” Jin sprints to the photo and tears it from the wall. Shoving the picture in the culprit’s face, Jin rants, "When did you take this? Why did you take this?”

“Last week,” Tae answers and shrugs, looking thoroughly unapologetic, “I thought you looked cute.”

Jin huffs, “Well, that’s a given.” He turns to me, “Please leave my babies out of this.”

“Don’t worry, big boy,” I grin up at his handsome face, “I’ll just think of something else… something much, much worse.”

He purses his full lips in a mock-pout. I melt. “Aw, you’re so cute.” I reach up and squish his cheeks together.

“Don’t fall for it, (y/n)!” Hoseok yells, spurring yet another argument amongst the boys.

“Honestly,” I shake my head in bewilderment, “How do y’all even successfully date?”

“I ask myself that every damn day,” Min Yoongi smiles up at me from the floor.

Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the door. “Come on, baby,” Namjoon reaches a hand out towards me, “I’ll walk you down.”

I accept his hand and stare as it completely envelops my own. Namjoon sees my attention and gives my hand a quick squeeze.

“Alright,” I call over my shoulder to the rest of the group, “I’ll see y’all around, I guess?”

I’m faced with six grown-ass babies with varying degrees of puppy-dog eyes.

“Remember to think about what we said, noona!” Jimin begs, “Consider going out with us, okay?”

“I’m not likely going to forget that seven dudes asked me to date them,” I smile wickedly, “That only happens to me occasionally.”

With that, I walk out the door with Namjoon and revel in the chaos I left behind me.

“Occasionally?” Hoseok cries.

“I’m going to do some recon. These rivals must be eliminated.” Yoongi seethes.

“Noona wouldn’t pick another group over us, right?” Jungkook pauses, “Oh my god, she would.”

Namjoon slams the door behind us and laughs, “You’re such an instigator.”

“You right,” I nod.

Namjoon and I trail down the hallway after the jittery pledge who had interrupted us. Descending the staircase, I survey the crowd below and fail to notice anything that would qualify as a ‘situation’.

Namjoon seems to agree. “Eric, if you dragged me down here for no reason, getting an infraction will be the least of your worries…”

Eric the pledge gulps, “Pres, I swear, they’re outside.” His gaze shifts to me for a split second before returning to Namjoon, “They said they aren’t leaving until they speak to one of you. Alone.”

I huff, “I can take a hint, Eric. This is obviously ‘frat business’ or whatever.” Namjoon hides a smile behind his hand at my use of air quotes, and I do not appreciate him finding my annoyance humorous. I shoot him a murderous stare before locating Luna and Jenni from across the room.

“Bye, Joon,” I salute him and turn to head towards my friends. I barely make it one step before his hand catches my wrist.

His mouth brushes my ear as he says softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” He gives my hand a squeeze and then disappears into the crowd with Eric.

Goddamnit. I had forgotten about volunteering. These boys are slowly but surely infiltrating my life, and I’m not at all sure on how I feel about it. My feet drag across the room until I reach my friends.

“Ready to go?” Luna questions, linking her arm through mine.

“Ready to be interrogated?” Jenni smiles evilly, assessing the mess that I am.

“Yes and no,” I groan, pulling them both outside. Starting our trek home, I field questions from both my friends. Somewhere far behind us, a girl shrieks something about being lettered, and I thank the stars that someone else has drama besides me…

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 8:45am

The infuriating sound of my phone vibrating with a number of incoming texts jolts me awake. Who the fuck dares to wake me up before my alarm? I grab my phone from its resting position on my nearby nightstand and almost fall out of my bed in the process.

“I’ll kill him,” I mutter darkly as I read the name displayed across my screen. It radiates an offensive mix of terrible grammar and narcissism.  

Worldwide Handsome 3 New Messages

“This better be fucking good.” My fingers angrily swipe at the notification, opening the messages. I knew exactly who these messages were from. When did that bastard even get to my phone and add his contact information? How did he bypass my password? What kind of sorcery?

Worldwide Handsome 8:45am: “You up, beautiful?” 8:45am: “We’re picking you up in 20!!” 8:46am: “Wear something cute!!!! ;)”

(Y/N) 8:46am: “…Did you say WE???” 8:46am: Also, when and how the fuckity fuck did you get into my phone?” 8:47am: “ACTUALLY, NO – HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET MY ADDRESS?”

Worldwide Handsome 8:47am: “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

(Y/N) 8:48am: “You are NOT a magician, you dweeb.”

Worldwide Handsome 8:48am: “Abracadabra, bish.”

(Y/N) 8:49am: “I can’t stand you.”

Worldwide Handsome 8:50am: “15 minutes!!!”

(Y/N) 8:50am: “15 minutes until I strangle you with my bare hands!!!”

Worldwide Handsome 8:53am: “Strangle? Sounds kinky… I’m into it.” 8:55am: “I’m bringing you coffee. What kind do you want?”

(Y/N) 8:55am: “Did I say strangle? I meant *hug you tightly and shower you with praise*!!!” 8:56am: “The largest size possible, please! Black.” 8:56am: “I’ll pay you back.”

Worldwide Handsome 8:56am: “That’s more like it!!” 8:56am: “And don’t even think about it… Papa Seokjin provides all.” 8:57am: “See you in 10.”

Egad! I spring out of bed and get dressed at the speed of light, grabbing the nearest t-shirt and pair of jeans. Shoving my feet into my trusty work-boots, I stumble into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

‘Man, I look rough today’ is the first thought that pops into my brain as I look in the mirror; but I quickly correct that bad thought with: ‘Bitch, you look fine. Stop hating.’

Ever since I learned about cognitive restructuring in my Behavioral Psychology class, I have been attempting to practice it in my own life. The process of challenging my negative thoughts has been so fucking hard, but it’s definitely helped my self-esteem and stress.

Throwing my hair into a messy bun, I hear my phone buzz. Shit, that must be Seokjin. Who even knew why that fucker had decided to come along to volunteering with Namjoon and me. I wasn’t going to turn down an extra set of hands though… For volunteering purposes, of course.

Six subsequent buzzes demand my attention.

Worldwide Handsome 9:08am: “We’re here.” 9:09am: “Get your sweet ass out here.” 9:09am: “You better not have fallen back asleep…” 9:09am: “Don’t make me come in there!” 9:10am: “If you aren’t down here in 30 seconds, I’m drinking your coffee.” 9:10am: “(Y/N).” 9:10am: “THAT’S IT. SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR COFFEE.”

That last text has my ass in high gear as I book it down the steps and out the front door. Barely remembering to lock it behind me, I come to an abrupt halt as I come face to face with an all-too-put-together-for-9am Seokjin.

He leans against Namjoon’s infuriatingly gorgeous black Tesla looking like he’s about to shoot a cover for Men’s Health – Construction Edition. My eyes narrow in on the large coffee cup in his hand and narrow further when he slowly brings it up to his full lips.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I warn.

He sips it.

“You’ve just declared war,” I announce and stride over to him. Attempting to pull the coffee out of his palm and failing, I decide to take drastic measures.

Slowly rising to my toes, I act as if I’m going to kiss his cheek; but at the last second, I turn and bite his earlobe.

“What the fuck!” Seokjin yells way too loudly for the peaceful early morning. Victoriously, I grab my coffee, back away from him, and take a giant sip.

Yes, that sweet, sweet caffeine…

Seokjin rubs his ear and laughs slightly, “Babe, you’re really fucking scary before coffee.”

I nod in affirmation.

“Come on,” he gestures to his car and opens the passenger door for me, “Namjoon will have my ass on a platter if I take too much of your attention, and I know you’ll be heartbroken by the loss of such perfection.”

“You’re insufferable,” I reply, fighting a smile and losing.

“I know,” he grins and leans over the open car-door between us to kiss me. “Morning,” he murmurs in greeting against my lips.

I smile and kiss him again in reply. And then I remember my coffee.

Seokjin pouts at the loss of my lips as I take a cherished sip of the best part of my morning.

As I slide into the front seat, I hear him muttering about how he never should have bought that coffee. Grinning to myself, I buckle my seatbelt and look around the Tesla. Namjoon smiles at me from the driver’s seat, and I automatically swoon under the power of his dimples.

“Buckled?” he asks, as he adjusts the mirrors and flicks on the Bluetooth radio. The distinct sound of Kendrick Lamar fills the air. I nod and watch as he puts the car in drive, his muscles flexing.

His right hand extends across the console to rest on my left thigh and gives it a quick squeeze. I’m thoroughly distracted as I fixate on the hand that has now taken up residence on my leg.

“Hi, noona!” A chorus of two cries from the backseat. My body jolts.

“Ah! Stop, I could’ve dropped my coffee!” I steady my drink before turning to investigate the backseat that I had mistakenly (READ: tragically) thought would be empty. Taehyung and Jimin grin back at me from the seats beside Jin.

“Well, why didn’t you just bring everyone,” I drawl, raising an eyebrow at Namjoon, who just sighs in defeat.

“I mean… I kind of did,” he aims a glare through the rearview mirror, “I’m taking these losers, and Jungkook, Hobi and Yoongi are meeting us there. They refused to miss spending ‘quality time’ with you.”

“I’m going to kill someone,” I mutter under my breath, “Probably Taehyung.”

“At least wait until we exit the vehicle, please,” Namjoon chuckles, “I just got new seats.”

Habitat Worksite – 9:25am

When we finally arrive at the worksite, we step out of the car and head over to where Eddie is currently handing out tasks to different volunteers. I smile at a few familiar faces I see as we draw closer.

“(Y/n)-doll!” Eddie booms and walks over to greet us, “Came here with this one, did ya? And who are these boys?” He gestures towards my harem.

“Yes, sir,” Namjoon grins, quite unbothered by Eddie’s papa bear act, “A couple that carpools together stays together. Go green!”

I shake my head at his idiocy as Eddie splutters to come up with a response. “Don’t listen to him, Eddie. He’s full of shit. We are all just friends. Now, what can we help with today?”

“Yes,” Eddie clears his throat, shooting Namjoon dark look, “(y/n), I need you out front to help me orient a group of volunteers scheduled for one of those work retreat days…”

Fuck. The last group that I helped orient was a nightmare. They were supposedly here for a day of service and team-building, but all they did was fuck around and fuck up the siding. The men in the group refused to listen to my instructions on how to properly do things.

According to their mouthy ringleader, the fact that I had a pair of tits and a vagina made me incapable of knowing the tiniest bit of information about construction, whereas their dicks apparently came with an encyclopedia of knowledge on the subject.

I had almost decked him in the face, but I settled for placing a nice call to his place of employment later that day with an unsavory report on his behavior.

Eddie notices my glowering face and quickly looks away, “Namjoon, I need you to help out Matt and Paul inside to mix and pour some cement. The rest of you can follow me.”

The boys all give varying answers of agreement.

“Grab some gloves and glasses, you two. (Y/n), meet me back out front. Namjoon, Matt and Paul are already inside. They’ll show you the ropes.”

With that, Eddie beelines away from us before I can protest my assigned role. Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung trail sadly behind him, shooting jealous glances over their shoulders at Namjoon.

Namjoon ignores them and eyes my homicidal expression. He cautiously asks, “What’s wrong?”

“The goddamn patriarchy is what’s wrong, Kim,” I grit out through my clenched teeth and stalk towards the supply trailer.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he trails after me, “My mom says that toxic masculinity always ruins the party.”

“God, I love her,” My mood elevates instantly, “Please marry me so I can be her daughter-in-law.”

He laughs, looking through the bin of gloves for a pair large enough for him while handing me a smaller pair. “Where’s my ring?”

“You already have like seven rings. Pull an Ariana and give some away,” I hand him a pair of protective glasses, keeping one for myself. “Anyway, please don’t forget that you’re my ride and leave without me.”

“Forget? Babe, you’ve taken up permanent residence in my mind since Tae pointed you out last semester.”

“Oh, stop,” I dismiss him, waving the pair of gloves in his direction.

He suddenly steps into me. The my small of my back hits the edge of the makeshift work desk latched to the trailer wall. “You know, I’ve noticed you really don’t take some of our compliments seriously…” He looms over me, lips pressed to my throat, “I guess I’m gonna have to change that.”

Namjoon scoops me off the floor by my waist and balances my ass on the edge of the desk. My arms circle his shoulders on instinct and his grip tightens on my hips. When he glances down at me, he lets out a rough breath which sounds like I’m torturing him.

He kisses me, his tongue playing with mine, twining around it, enticing mine to follow. Gravity tries to drag me down off the desk and our mouths separate. Namjoon hoists me up higher with a firm hand on the back of my thigh.

His mouth slams back over mine, and I swear the way he kisses can be felt all the way down to my bones. His wide palm curves around my waist, pulling me further into him. “Damn,“ he pants, resting his forehead on mine.

BANG. A knock sounds from outside the trailer, “You better not be up to no good in there, you two!” Eddie’s rumbling voice jolts us apart and my head snaps against the wall of the trailer.

A series of obscenities pours from my mouth as I grasp the back of my head. “You good?” Namjoon asks as he lifts me off the desk and back onto the floor.

“I’ll live… barely,” I lament.

He just shakes his head in amusement, “So dramatic, babe. Come on, let’s go do some service.”

Chapter Six

Habitat Worksite – 11:25am

The rest of the morning goes by pretty smoothly much to my surprise. The group that I help Eddie orient is from a pub in the neighboring town. They’re so much nicer than the last scarring group I had to deal with, and they’re actually listening to my directions.

I’m pretty sure I have tears in my eyes as I supervise them cutting plywood like professionals – but that could just be the sawdust.

When I become confident that no one is going to injure themselves with the power saw, I recruit some other volunteers to help me transfer the cut wood inside.

As we walk into the house, I almost drop the plywood onto my foot. Jungkook is shirtless, mixing cement together. When had he even arrived? I stare unabashedly at him – The height. The build. The broad shoulders. The veined forearms. The ridged stomach. The tattoos…

Tay, the middle-aged mother of two helping me, follows my line of vision, “Oh my… please tell me you’re hitting that, darling.”

“Tay!” I hiss, my eyes darting around to see if anyone heard her. Sure enough, Jungkook is looking at us and smirking like he was just crowned king of the fucking universe. “I am not hitting anything, thank you very much.”

She makes a derisive noise, “I might be old, but I’m not blind. He’s looking at you like you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

Jungkook hands off his mixing duties to Matt and saunters over to us, “Hey, noona. You look nice today. Do you need any help?”

“Not hitting that, my ass,” Tay mutters and shoots me a triumphant look as she walks back outside.

I roll my eyes at her antics and turn to Jungkook, “Hi, Kookie. What happened to your shirt?”

Jungkook blushes, “I may have taken it off, and then it may have fallen into the cement.”

My eyes wander around the room until they fall on a sad lump of fabric and semi-dried cement in the corner. My lips twitch.

“Noona-a,” Jungkook whines, “Don’t laugh!”

My body doubles over, shaking with laughter. Tears stream down my face as I try in vain to catch my breath.

“Is she okay?” I vaguely hear Hobi ask before I feel his hand run soothing circles on my back, “(y/n), are you crying?”

I straighten, wiping my tears, “H-he… cemen-nt… sh-shirt…” My cackles resume.

“She’s lost it, hasn’t she?” Yoongi enters the house with eyebrows raised, “It was only a matter of time. Jungkook has that effect on people.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook punches Yoongi in the arm.

“Am I wrong, Hobi?” Yoongi turns to the other boy, who’s hand is still firmly on my back.

Hoseok shoots Yoongi a dirty look, “Don’t drag me into this. The last time I tried to argue with the two of you I almost got a concussion.”

Jungkook smirks, looking way too pleased to receive such an accusation, “I seem to recall you liking it, Hobi-hyung. What was it you were screaming?”

Yoongi snickers as he leans into Jungkook, effectively teaming up on poor Hobi, “I believe the phrase was ‘harder, oh my god, harder!’” He and Jungkook collapse onto each other in fits of laughter as Hoseok turns an amusing shade of magenta.

I turn to face Hobi. “Is that how you like it?” I murmur, tilting my head to stare up at him, “You like it hard? Rough?”

Hobi swallows as his pupils dilate. His hand on my lower back suddenly clenches, crumpling my shirt within his fist. “Yes,” his voice comes out deeper than I had ever heard it.

Vaguely, I notice the other two boys have stopped laughing. Good. No one would tease my sweet Hobi in front of me and get away with it.

My decision solidifies. “Well,” I say, “Then that’s how I’ll give it to you.”

“No one will be giving anything to anyone until we finish this project,” Namjoon’s voice booms, breaking up your little moment with Hoseok.

The four of you swing to face him, blinking owlishly.

Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Jeon Jungkook, for the love of god, where is your shirt?”

An hour later, I found myself stuck in the backseat of Jungkook’s black Range Rover. After Hobi, Yoongi, and Jungkook had loudly voiced their opinion in front of the entire worksite that it was their turn to drive me, I had quickly jumped into the car to avoid further humiliation.

Now, I sat wedged in between Hobi and Yoongi who both refused to sit in the front next to Jungkook and also forbade me from doing so. I only agreed because I was not one to miss an opportunity to be pressed up between two hot guys. Sue me.

Glancing down at my thighs, I marvel at the way both of the boys have placed possessive hands on them. “This is so lame,” Jungkook complains for the hundredth time as he glances at the three of us in the rearview mirror. “I want to touch noona, too!”

We ignore him.

Yoongi’s slim fingers dig in slightly into the softness of my inner thigh, “(y/n),” his hushed words ghost over my neck, “Come home with us?”

“Please,” Hobi echoes from my other side. His hand is more brazen in its placement. His pinky just a fraction away from the apex of my thighs.

Perhaps I could close my legs like the proper lady my grandma wanted me to be… but fuck that. I would woman-spread however I damn well please. “Hmm,” I pretend to think about it, “No.”

“But why?” Hobi pouts, making puppy-dog eyes in my direction, “You said you were going to give it to me.”

I shrug, noncommittally, “I never said when.”

Jungkook sighs from the driver’s seat, “Ah, I love it when noona is evil.”

“We fucking know, Jungkook,” Yoongi groans, “You only bring it up a thousand times a day.”

“Hey!” Jungkook whirls around in his seat, “Stop exposing me, hyung!”

“Eyes on the damn road, JK!” Hobi grips the 'oh shit’ bar as the car begins to veer into the bike lane. Jungkook whips back around and quickly rights the car. Meanwhile, Yoongi smirks like the little shit starter he is.

“Looks like I’m not the only evil one here,” I roll my eyes, “You’re a menace, Min Yoongi.”

“Yes, I am,” the boy puffs up his chest and grins that gummy smile that he knows makes me melt, “But I’m your menace.”

“Ah, gross!”

“Ew!”

Jungkook and Hobi yell as I try not to smile at Yoongi’s rare display of cuteness and fail miserably.

“Stop trying to butter me up so that I’ll come home with you, Yoongs,” I smile and thread my fingers through his.

“Why?” He leans into me, “Is it working?”

“Not at all,” I breathe, eyes darting to his lips as his tongue slips out to wet them.

“Liar,” Yoongi moves in closer. My eyelids lower in anticipation.

Jungkook slams on the breaks and jolts the three of us forward, “We’re here!” Grumbling, I pull my seatbelt away from its death grip on my body.

“Well played, Jungkook, well played,” Yoongi comments from beside me.

“Tell that to my fucking neck,” Hobi moans as he massages the front of his neck where his seatbelt must have dug in.

“Aw,” I take pity on the poor boy and offer half-jokingly, “Want me to kiss it better?”

“YES!” Hobi’s hand flies off his neck at the speed of light and thrusts his neck out in my direction.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he is adorable.

I place the lightest of kisses against the growing pink mark on his skin and revel in the shudder his body emits.

“Bye, Hobi,” I place one last kiss on him and slide out of the car, using the door that Yoongi vacated from.

“Bye, angel!” Hobi cries out after me, waving furiously. So damn adorable.

Once I exit the car fully, I am faced with a pouting Jungkook and an annoyed-looking Yoongi.

“What now?” I eye them warily.

Yoongi gives Jungkook a dark look, and the younger boy backs off slightly. Turning back to me, Yoongi steps forward. “Bye, (y/n),” he says lowly, brushing a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. A light dusting of pink floods his cheeks at his own soft actions. I bite the inside of my cheek to contain my innate reaction to shower him with affection.

That time would come later, I’m sure.

“Bye, Yoongi,” I press my mouth his cheek, “Keep your menacing ways to a minimum while I’m not around, would you?”

“No promises,” Yoongi drawls, before hopping back into the car.

And just like that I’m left with one tall bashful boy.

“Oh, Jungkook…” I walk towards where he is propped up against the front of his car. His lean body slouches against the hood as his left leg props itself up on front tire. He still has yet to put another shirt on.

“I’m sorry, noona,” he speaks to the pavement in the tiniest voice, “I got jealous that I wasn’t getting to be that close to you.”

I lift his chin up with my finger, “Baby, you were the only one who had my nipples in your mouth last night, and you’re jealous of them?”

He swallows hard before grinning, “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I give into the urge to trace the muscles of his stomach. They bunch up under my touch and I smile at his responsiveness. “You know,” I continue, “You’re going to have to get over this jealousy thing if I do decide to date you all.”

“I know, noona,” the pout returns, and this time it’s paired with a devastating pair of imploring doe eyes. “I just like you. A lot.”

"Well,” I smile, “It’s a good thing that I also happen to like you. A lot.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s neck snaps up at an alarming rate, “You do?”

“Yes, you giant idiot,” I grip the back of his neck, “Now, kiss me goodbye.”

He kisses me. His teeth pull at my bottom lip in a faint bite, and goosebumps spread across my body. I bite him harder in retaliation, but it only seems to urge him closer against me, body hard, warming me everywhere we connect. His fingertips drag down my skin until they reach my waist. His hands slide up under my shirt, and he rests his palms against my skin, fingers splayed down over my hips.

His hold is undeniably possessive. And that would not do.

I lean up and kiss him harder, digging my nails into his back as I tug him against me, feeling every inch of his body respond to my touch. A groan rumbles deep from within his chest.

“Do you think they’re going to come up for air soon?” An amused voice cuts through our make-out session.

Jungkook rips his mouth from mine, “Fuck off, Hobi.”

I open my eyes and blink a couple times before focusing on the smirking faces of Hobi and Yoongi. Their heads are sticking out of the open back window of the Range Rover as they cackle in amusement.

“Hobi,” I say sweetly, “Do you need another mark on your neck today?” My hand flexes tauntingly in his direction.

Hoseok’s eyes widen, “N-no! Bye again, (y/n)!” He retreats back into the car as Yoongi continues to chuckle before rolling up the window once more.

“You can mark my neck, (y/n)-noona.”  Jungkook’s voice jolts me from my second thoughts on not going home with them.

This boy really is shameless, I think to myself as I shake my head.

“Maybe next time, Kook,” I grin at him, “It’ll give you something to look forward to.”

“For as long as there are next times with you, noona, I will look forward to them.”

My heart swells. “You’re such a sweetheart, baby boy.” The nickname has its desired effect as Jungkook’s cheeks blush and his smile widens.

“I’m baby,” he nods.

“Yes, you dork, you are,” I place a swift peck to his cheek and head into my apartment before I get any more tempted to jump back in his car and initiate a foursome.

God, what were these boys doing to me?

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 4:15pm

A few hours later, I am deep in an argument with Luna over who the best Queer Eye guy is when my phone buzzes.

[Unsaved Number] 2 New Messages

Luna notices my confusion. “Who is it?” she asks, leaning over to look at my screen.

“No fucking clue,” I reply, swiping open the messages.

[Unsaved Number] 4:15pm: “Hey, babe! It’s me! Namjoon!” 4:15pm: “Want to meet at Hannigan’s tonight? Just the two of us!?”

“What the everliving fuck?” My eyebrows rise at the completely obvious way that someone was poorly attempting to impersonate Namjoon.

“That’s how Namjoon texts?” Luna sits back, “What a letdown.”

“I don’t think this is even Namjoon,” I mutter and save the contact before swiping over to SnapChat. “Let’s see if I have this person’s Snap.”

“Oh, your mind!” Luna exclaims, running to go grab a bag of pretzels from our tiny kitchen adjacent to our also tiny living room, “That is some top sleuthing right there.”

“Why thank you, my good sir,” I nod at her playfully before focusing back on my screen. Opening the 'Add Friends’ tab, my eyes immediately hone in on the imposter.

“Oh, that little shit,” I cry, chucking my phone onto the other end of the couch.

“What? Who is it?” Pretzel crumbs spew out of Luna’s mouth as she ambles over to where I had just thrown my phone. She picks it up, turns it over, and lets out a long whistle. “Oh, fuck. What are you going to do?”

Luna hands my phone back to me, and I reopen the messages to respond.

Me 4:21pm: “Hi, Namjoon. I’ll meet you there.” 4:21pm: “9pm.”

It’S mE! nAmJoOn! 4:22pm: “Yay! It’s a date!” 4:22pm: “See you at 9!!!”

“Well,” I lock my phone and set it down on the coffee table, “It looks I’ll finally get the chance to teach Kim Taehyung a lesson.”

Luna springs up from the couch, “I’m calling Jenni. Let’s do this.”

Hannigan’s - 9:09pm

I’m nervous with anticipation.

Why?

Oh, that’s right – motherfucking Kim Taehyung thought he could pull one over me by impersonating Namjoon, and, so far, he’s nowhere to be found.

I grasp my beer tightly as I slouch lower on my barstool. Since arriving about twenty minutes ago, I had set up camp in the corner of the bar. Luna and Jenni had immediately ditched me upon arrival, claiming that they were meeting friends.

I would have believed them if I hadn’t noticed that they just relocated to a table within vision of me and were scouring the room for any signs of Taehyung. I pull out my phone and once again debate texting him.

Fuck it. I’m just about to construct a text when my phone pings with messages from the group chat:

Bee Gang 9:10pm, Luna: “HE’S HERE” 9:10pm, Jenni: “HE LOOKS SOOOO GOOD KSKSKS” 9:11pm, Luna: “HOLY SHIT I THINK HE JUST SAW YOU” 9:11pm, Jenni: “TAEHYUNG IS LOOKING AT YOU LIKE YOU’RE THE HOTTEST THING HE’S EVER SEEN. HE’S GONNA FUCK YOUR SHIT UP I’D BET GOOD MONEY!!!” 9:11pm, Luna: “NAH DUDE *SHE* IS GONNA FUCK UP *HIS* SHIT” 9:12pm, Jenni: “OMG U RIGHT” 9:12pm, (y/n): “1) YOU BOTH SUCK AT HIDING, 2) NO ONE IS FUCKING ANYONE UP, 3) MAYBE THE SECOND THING IS A LIE”

I lock my phone and place it face down on the bar.

Looking up to see where Taehyung is, I immediately lock eyes on him. He’s slowly making his way towards me with people constantly pausing him to chat. Taehyung’s all smiles, but I can tell he is a bit annoyed. That strikes me as odd – I thought he loved the attention?

The boy emerges free from the crowd, and I finally get to take him in.

Damn, he does look so good. His tight white t-shirt emphasizes his toned stomach while his overlying black leather jacket makes his shoulders look a mile wide. My gaze drops lower and take in his black pants with a black belt cinching the waist. I have to fight the urge to grab it and use it to pull him into me.

He’s almost to me when he turns his gaze to the bartender and flicks up two fingers. And just like that two beers and an annoying but hot-as-sin man appear in front of me.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” he says as his greeting, sliding me one of the new beers. He shoots a look at the group of boys occupying the stools next to me and they immediately make themselves scarce.

I arch an eyebrow, “You do realize I had all of your SnapChats to double check the number with, right?”

“God-fucking-damn,” Taehyung plops down in the barstool next to mine, “No wonder it was so easy to convince Joon to let me do this.” He shakes his head and glances up at me beneath his blue fringe, “You still came? Even though you knew it was me?”

I roll my eyes at his cute actions, “Yes, I figured you had something important to say if you went through all that to get me here.”

He blinks, clearly still caught off guard that I wasn’t surprised to see him. “I do,” His voice cracks and he flushes deliciously, “I mean, yes, I have something to say.”

“Okay,” I nod and sip from my beer, “So, tell me.”

His fingers fiddle with the label on his beer bottle as he begins, “I know I’m not your favorite person… I’m loud. I’m bratty. I know that. But I just have to know if you felt anything that night last semester; because, I did, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I know that you probably haven’t. It’s been killing me to see you with everyone else that I love, and I just need to know if there’s a chance you might want to be with me like that, too, and-”

I clamp a hand over his mouth. His eyes snap to mine.

“Baby,” I sigh, “Is this what’s been making you act out?”

Taehyung’s head bobs as he nods swiftly.

“Now, that just won’t do,” I murmur, my mind whirring as I think of all the times I had thought he wanted to annoy me when all he really wanted was my attention.

“Listen,” I continue, pulling my hand from his mouth, “I don’t know where you got those ideas stuck in your head from, but they’re wrong. I do think about that night last semester. All the fucking time, Tae. And, yes, you’re loud, and you have a tendency to be a brat… But, it only makes me more interested.”

Taehyung’s eyes burn into mine as I lean closer, “It only makes me want to teach you some discipline.”

I watch as Taehyung’s knuckles go white as he clenches his beer. Concerned that the glass might shatter in his grip and hurt him, I slowly place my hand over his, “Relax, baby.”

“You can’t just say things like that, noona!” Taehyung moans, shifting in his seat.

“And why not?” I tease as he takes a long sip of his beer with his head tilted back and his throat muscles moving in a way that made me want to do bad things.

I blink, “You know what? Forget it. Let’s just start over, okay?”

Taehyung bites his lip, “Okay, sure.” He gestures to the bartender for another round, “Let’s play a game.”

My response is automatic. “Alright, Jigsaw. What kind of game?”

“Just a nice harmless game of ‘Never Have I Ever’, (y/n). Nothing untoward, I promise.”

My eyes narrow at his way-too-innocent smile and his archaic use of ‘untoward’. “Fine,” I arch an eyebrow, “But I have a few stipulations.”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t, noona,” he scoots his stool closer to me, “Lay ‘em on me.”

Oh, I will, my inner hoe responds.

Out loud, I reply, “The game can be stopped at any time, and you have to explain your answers if the other person asks.”

“Done,” he grins, “Never have I ever gotten my nipples pierced.”

“That’s targeting!” I exclaim indignantly, “You’ve seen them, you prick.”

“I haven’t tasted them. At least, not yet,” his eyes squint at my boobs which are currently well-covered by a jean jacket. “Jungkook has… That fucker,” he mumbles under his breath.

These boys and their jealousy… I shake my head. How had they managed to stay in a relationship with all of this possessiveness they clearly had going on? It’s truly a mystery.

“My turn,” I grin, “Never have I ever dyed my hair blue.”

“This is really more of a teal-ish green, noona!” Taehyung tries to argue, and I scoff.

“Fine,” he relents and mumbles under his breath, “Should have brought my paint swatches.” After taking a sip of his drink, he switches gears, “Never have I ever wanted to date a frat boy?”

I sip my drink. He immediately demands clarification. I grin, “Those EXO boys are fine.”

His jaw clenches. Ooh, he does not like that answer.

“EXO?” he snarls, “Over my dead body.”

My eyebrow quirks up, “Well, that’s a bit dramatic. They seem like nice boys.”

“Nice boys?” Taehyung cocks his head, “Noona, those aren’t your type.”

He’s right. I push him further, “And what is my type then, Tae?”

“Boys that challenge you.”

He’s right again, but I’d rather not give him the satisfaction of knowing it. His ego is already inflated enough. I smile inwardly and say, “You think you have me all figured out, Kim.”

Taehyung surprises me as he breaks into a loud laugh, “No, not even close. But I’m a persistent boy so maybe I’ll get there one day.”

Just then I realize how close to one another we’ve gotten. Our sides are touching, and his hand has apparently been gripping my thigh for who knows how long. I stare at it, examining the adorning rings on his pointer and index fingers.

Are those fucking Gucci?

He must notice my gaze on his hand because he squeezes my thigh, and I smily at him. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Taehyung looks at me like I’m something precious, something divine. I want to shatter that image. I want to ruin it. I want to ruin him.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, noona?”

“Kiss me.” And he does.

Taehyung kisses me over and over. I’m honestly a bit overwhelmed it. His mouth is tender on mine, and with every exhale, he lets out the slightest moan, which almost seems like a plea for more.

He’s gentler than I remember. His mouth is warm and soft; his caresses are leisurely and unhurried.

I pull back slightly to look him in his eyes. They are dazed, unfocused.

My lips brush his ear as I whisper, “Be a good boy and meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.”

With that, I saunter away towards the back bathroom which usually tends to be cleaner due to its slightly hidden nature.

Knocking on the door, I strain my ears for any sign of a reply. Nothing. I enter the dim room and immediately catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My hair is everywhere, and I immediately grab the hair-tie around my wrist.

I pause, a sinful idea coming to mind.

A knock sounds. “Noona?” A deep voice calls, and I open the door, grab Tae by the collar, and tug him inside.

“Noona, you’re feisty tonight I-” I cut him off with my mouth.

I don’t hesitate as my mouth consumes his and my body presses him against the wall. My tongue finds his as my hips grind into him. He whimpers, and it’s such a beautiful sound.

After feeling him throb through his clothes, the thought I had earlier returns.

Stepping back, I grab my hair-tie and tug my hair up into a ponytail. Taehyung whines as I slowly sink to my knees before him, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Is this okay?” I question, gazing up at the beautiful boy above me, “Do you want my mouth, baby?”

“Shit, yeah,” Taehyung wraps my ponytail in his hand and lightly pulls me closer.

Does he think he’s suddenly in charge?

I flick open his belt before tugging his pants down. His cock strains against his silky black boxers and I give into the temptation to suck on it through the fabric.

“F-fuck, please, noona,” the stuttered curse comes from above, and I smile.

I pull his boxers down, grasping his cock and stroking lightly.

And, without warning, I take the head of his cock in my mouth and suck. “Goddamn,” Tae hisses, fingers sliding into my hair. He pulls my hair-tie out and replaces its hold with his fist.

I take him as far as I can, blowing him and stroking the parts of his cock I can’t get to with my mouth.

“Shit, fuck, please,” he begs, looking down at me with wild eyes and a fucked out expression, “Don’t stop, (y/n).”

Stop? Never. The power trip is too delicious.

My mouth bobs on his cock as he bucks, trying to fuck my mouth. My hands grab his ass to control his movements as I slide my mouth off of him.

“Do you want to come in my mouth, baby?” I tilt my head to the side as one of my hands resumes its ministrations.

“Y-yes,” The boy gasps above me, his breath coming in pants, “Please, I’m so close, noona.”

“Hmm, are you going to be my good boy, Taehyung-ie?” My hand halts, and he whines, his hips straining to keep moving in my hand. I squeeze him, “Well?”

“Yes!” He moans, repeating, “I’m your good boy. I’m noona’s good boy.”

“That’s what I thought.” My mouth closes around his cock again and sucks him hard.

“Fuck.” I watch enraptured as Taehyung’s head falls back against the wall, and then he’s coming.

His body convulses above me as I swallow ever last bit of him. After he finishes, I pull my mouth away to kiss the underside of his cock, his balls, the insides of his thighs. Above me, he’s muttering my name like a prayer.

“You can let go of my hair now, Tae,” I laugh, my voice slightly hoarse. Reaching up, I lightly tug his hold from me and slide my discarded hair-tie off of his wrist. Standing, I pull my hair up into a messy bun and turn to face him.

He’s tugging his pants up and staring at me with a darkening expression, his nostrils flared. “Let me taste you, noona. Ride my face.” The tenor of his voice washes over me, tempting me with its rough words.

“You haven’t earned that yet.” I start towards the door, but Taehyung darts in front of it, effectively cutting me off.

“I just want to please you, babe. Come on,” his begging only solidifies my resolve.

“You already have pleased me, Tae,” I swipe a thumb across his cheek as he pouts.

“But I could please you even more with my mouth!”

This boy. I grab his neck lightly, “Listen, baby, I’m going to say this once. When I ride your face, you’ll be tied up across my bed at my mercy. Got it?”

His body becomes pliant under my words and my light grip. I gently shift him out of the way of the exit. “Now, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, my good boy.”

The parting smile I send him is absolutely lethal, and it only grows bigger when I hear him blurt out a grumbled “holy fuck” as I strut away from him.

Chapter Seven

Quinn Library – 3:54pm

The end of September passes in a blur of studying, partying, volunteering, and spending time with friends. The month’s conclusion also includes the increasing presence of seven boys in my everyday routine.

Since giving Taehyung the suck of his life in the bathroom of Hannigan’s, I have been basically fighting off the seven of them for a moment to breathe. But, sometimes breathing is overrated when being smothered by affection.

Going from being single to essentially dating seven people is quite the adjustment. I found myself growing attached to them – something that both excited and scared the shit out of me. We haven’t discussed labels or anything, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. The boys have apparently been planning an elaborate first date for this upcoming weekend, and I feel like they’ll probably ask to make it official then.

My stomach erupts in butterflies at the thought, and I take a calming breath. No need to overthink such things.

While it might be unconventional by some societal standards, polyamory is simply a way to love. Why should love come with confines? With binary expectations? The saying ‘love is love’ gets thrown around a lot, but I believe it bears repeating.

Jenni and Luna have been nothing but supportive to me over the past two weeks. They even came with me to volunteer this past weekend because they - and I quote - wanted to ‘check out our vibe’. But, I wholeheartedly expect that the real reason had actually been for them to feel out the boys’ intentions.

Why did I suspect this? Well, because Jungkook had come up to me within the first fifteen minutes at the worksite quivering in fear over how ‘scary my friends were’ and how ‘Jenni had cornered him to interrogate him while Luna hovered behind her, menacingly holding a nail-gun’.

I had never felt more loved and supported by my friends.

My phone dings, and I quickly hasten to put it on silent, shooting an embarrassed and apologetic look around the library. It seems like most people have headphones in, and I let out a sigh of relief. No one wants to be that one loud person in the library.

Checking my notifications, I smile when I see it’s a SnapChat from Hobi in the group chat the boys created a few weeks ago. My thumb swipes it open, and I barely contain myself from announcing to the whole library how vibrantly handsome one of my potential boyfriends is.

I quickly send a SnapChat back of me and my stack of books in the library with the caption ‘send help in the form of coffee’.

Immediately, Taehyung sends a flurry of heart eyes emojis in the chat, Jungkook sends a ‘noona is so cute’, and Yoongi sends back a picture of a black screen with the caption ‘come nap with me’.

God, I would love to nap with Yoongi right now… Alone time with the older boy is so elusively precious. One day last week at their house, I had mentioned wanting to learn piano. Yoongi had just grabbed my hand and tugged me to his room. We had spent a couple hours together in the small corner of his room playing on his keyboard.

Well, he had been playing; I had been fumbling around like a buffoon - half uncoordinated in general and half flustered by how good Yoongi looked playing. His hands had been so nimble as they flew over the keys, crafting melodies I could only assume he had composed. His focus had been so fucking hot as he nodded slightly along to the tempo in his head, his eyes shooting over to look at me every once in a while.

My hand kink? Activated.

My willpower to not kiss the shit out of Yoongi? Nonexistent.

When Yoongi had paused in between songs, I may or may not have grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him. His blushing attempt to dodge me had been so cute; and when I had stopped trying to kiss him, he had pouted and then kissed me instead.

What a cutie…

A giggle draws my attention from my reminiscing. At first, I pay it no mind, taking it as a directive to dive back into my studies. But then, the whispering starts.

“I heard she’s fucking her way through the whole house.”

“Isn’t there a term for that?”

“Yeah, a frat rat.”

I slam my 500-page textbook closed and stand, leveling the duo of gossiping girls with a glare that could make grown men cry. It had before when I had to properly eviscerate my uncle in defense of feminism at our last family gathering. What a time that had been.

“Is there a problem?” I force the question through gritted teeth, stalking over towards their nearby table. I relish in the way they gape at me, eyes wide and pupils quivering, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid my complaint jar is at capacity. Please don’t try again later.”

The girl on the right gulps, “No-nope, there’s no problem! We were just leaving. Right, Janika?”

“No,” The girl who had called me a ‘frat rat’ just moments before crosses her arms and stands, “I do, like, have a problem.”

“Janika,” The other girl tugs on the sleeve of the one standing, “Don’t.”

“Yeah, Janika,” I smile, “Don’t.”

I can see the moment she snaps.

“You’re, like, such a fucking bitch! I don’t know what they all see in you. Oh wait, yes I do. You’re fucking easy.”

I consider myself to be a patient person, but having to endure this type of rant against my character - and against women’s sexual freedom in general - has pushed me well past my limits.

“Now, listen here, Janika,” I take another step forward, “You can keep talking your shit. I really don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me. But I really advise you to google ‘how to stop slut-shaming for dummies’ because it seems like you need a crash course.”

Janika’s face darkens, “Whatever. They’ll get tired of you anyway.”

“Yeah,” I let out an amused laugh, “I’m sure they’ll get real tired of me choking on their dicks every night.”

Letting out a gasp, Janika whirls back around to face her silent friend, “Let’s go. I don’t want to, like, be around her any longer.”

“Buh-bye now,”I wiggle my fingers in their direction as they shuffle out of the library.

Smiling in satisfaction, I head back towards my table. Without hesitation, I gather my books and belongings and head upstairs to the quiet floor. Any more distractions or confrontations would probably make my blood pressure pop off the charts.

The quiet floor, as one of my safe havens, is home to several small private study rooms. Peering into each, I start to lose hope that any would be available. Finally, the very last room proves me wrong, and I swing open the door and almost in tears over the sweet, sweet solitude.

This particular study room is tucked away in the very far corner of the library’s second floor. Not many people are aware of its location, and it seems that paid off for me today. Plopping my things down across the table in the center of the tiny room, I follow suit and drop down into one of the two chairs adjoining the table.

What a clusterfuck of an afternoon… This sadly isn’t the first time I’ve heard some comments being made about my association with the BTS boys, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Yet, part of me knew all along that this would be the trade-off.

After all, what are a few irrelevant opinions to seven gorgeous and loyal partners? Inconsequential - in my opinion. That is the reason why I haven’t breathed a word of the backlash to anyone.

Sighing, I flip open my textbook to where I had been before being rudely interrupted.

The amygdala plays a key role in emotion and behavior…

“Noona?”

I jump a half-mile out of my chair, slapping a hand over my pounding heart. Jimin had somehow managed to enter the room without my knowledge. Had he fucking teleported?

Holding a giant iced coffee in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other, Jimin beams at me and ignores the fact he just scared the living shit out of me. “Hi, noona! I saw your SnapChat while I was in class, and I came here as soon as I could.”

I stare dumbfounded at the angel before me. Jimin is slightly out of breath with reddened cheeks and a sweaty brow. His black track-pants are slung low on his hips, his long-sleeve white t-shirt clings to his torso, his black duffle bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He must have run over straight from dance class.

Standing abruptly, I stalk over to where Jimin is still posted up by the doorway to the study room. Toe to toe with him, I blurt out while still half in a daze, “You really brought me coffee and food?”

He eyes me warily like I might suddenly jump on him at any moment. Shifting his weight back and forth, Jimin hesitantly replies, “Um, yes?“

I take the coffee and cinnamon bun from his hands, place them on the table, and then tackle him with the biggest hug. "You absolute sweetheart!” I murmur into the crook of his neck, “This made my day. Thank you, Jimin-ie.”

His hands tentatively wrap around me, pulling me closer. “You’re welcome, noona. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, baby,” My lips brush over the crevice of his collarbone and relish in his shudder. Bringing my head up to face his, I smile widely at him, “Can I kiss you, Jimin-ie?”

“Yes,” He sighs out, eyes already closing in anticipation. I press my lips to his, still smiling softly against his mouth. His lips are plush under mine, velvety soft. My tongue swipes across his bottom lip and— Is that coffee I taste?

I pull back, “Jimin, did you sip my coffee on your way here?”

The boy looks rightfully alarmed, “I– y-yes. But only a little, noona!”

Cute.

“Hmm,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “I guess I’ll make an exception for you this time since you were the one to bring it for me.”

Jimin relaxes slightly, but his expression is strangely disappointed. I stare at him quizzically, and he blushes.

“What is it?” I lean against the table, facing him.

He clears his throat, staring intensely at the ground, “You can still punish me if you want, (y/n)-noona.”

My eyebrows shoot upwards at his offer, and then I let out a slight chuckle, “Oh, Jimin… That would be a favor to you, wouldn’t it? My baby boy wants to be punished, hm? Did dance practice make you all hot and bothered? Jungkook tells me that has been happening to you lately.”

Jimin’s face explodes in color as he mutters, “That little bitch will pay for this.”

Suddenly, the door swings open with a resounding thud, nearly clipping Jimin in the shoulder.

“Your savior has arrived!” Kim Seokjin announces loudly in spite of the studiously silent atmosphere of the quiet floor. His hands hold two steaming hot travel mugs, which I can only guess are filled with the elixir of the gods (aka coffee).

Seokjin’s eyes glance around the room as he takes in the fact that I’m not alone as he obviously had expected. “Wait, Jimin-ie? What are you doing here?” Jin’s eyes flick down to the coffee and cinnamon roll that lay on the table. “Goddamn it!”

“You were too slow, hyung,” Jimin smirks happily as he takes a seat in the chair I had previously vacated. He slouches smugly as he stares up at the fuming older boy.

“Too slow?!” Jin roars.

“Jin,” I chastise, circumventing around him to shut the door.

“Sorry, babe,” Seokjin says while still glaring daggers at the all-too-pleased Jimin. Suddenly, his expression changes into a sneaky look that makes me both want to run and jump his bones. “Well,” He waves the two coffee mugs around in the air, “I made these myself - with love. I didn’t buy that generic shit; I brewed it, baby.”

It’s Jimin’s turn again to look disgruntled, and I can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Any and all coffee is appreciated and loved by me – the more the merrier. So, thank you both,” You say, taking one of the travel mugs from Seokjin. Kissing his cheek, you turn back to sit opposite Jimin at the table.

“She kissed me on the lips!” Jimin bursts.

“Park Jimin!” I cry as Jin splutters some sort of incoherent rant about fairness and equality.

Jimin holds eye contact with me, still leaning back in his chair like he’s the king of the fucking universe. But, he’s not; I am.

My chair hits the wall behind me with a bang as I stand, planting my hands on the table to loom over Jimin. “Do you think it’s fun to push your hyung, Jimin? Does it amuse you to be a little shit?”

I can see the moment that Jimin decides to be a brat. His eyes heat up in a challenge, and he firmly answers, “Yes, noona.”

“Get up.” The change in my tone is apparent. Jimin gulps. Getting to his feet, he stares back at me expectantly.

“Jin,” I address the older boy while still maintaining eye contact with Jimin, “What kind of punishment do you think I should give our Jimin here?”

Seokjin rounds my other side, grinning, “Well, (y/n) darling, I believe he should get spanked.”

“Interesting choice,” I murmur, turning to face Jin, “That’s what you’re going to get then.”

“What?” Jin squawks, arms waving rapidly around in the air, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Nothing is what you should have done, Jin,” I push him against the wall, “You know better than to let Jimin rile you up like this.”

Those plump lips of his pout dramatically as he whines, “But, (y/n)…”

“But nothing,” I say and then whirl around to face the other boy. He’s still standing where I left him with his eyes glued to the pair of us. “Jimin,” I hold his gaze, “You’re going to watch. You’re not going to touch yourself, your hyung isn’t going to touch you, and I’m not going to touch you.”

His eyes widen comically, “No! That’s not fair!”

“Do you want to be gagged, too, baby boy?” I ask, cocking my head slightly. Seeing his emphatic head shakes, I grin. “That’s what I thought. Now, stay.”

Turning back to Jin, I smirk slightly as I ask, “Punishment now or later?”

Seokjin’s eyes scrunch cutely in confusion, “What?”

“You see,” I move closer to him, my body brushes his, “I think you earned a punishment, but I think you also earned helping me punish Jimin.”

A wide grin crosses Jin’s face as he glances back at the corner Jimin is stewing in. “I would be honored to help you punish him, babe.”

“That’s what I figured,” I smile briefly at him before slowly sliding my hands up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck. Holding them there, I press the lightest of kisses to the corner of his lips.

Jin’s breath hitches in his throat.

I run my tongue against the seam of his mouth, taking my time and savoring the sweet taste of him. His lips part to let me in, my tongue sliding across his. I grind against him as we kiss, moving my hips in such a way that makes him groan and lean back harder against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Ripping my mouth from Jin’s, I turn to face the newcomer.

Namjoon stands in the doorway holding yet another cup of coffee, his face thunderous. "What do the three of you think you’re doing? This is the goddamn library, you heathens!”

Seokjin jumps out of his skin in fright, pushing me away faster than I can anticipate. Stumbling back, I crash into Jimin – who apparently had ventured out of his assigned corner. Brat.

“The shades were open!” Namjoon continues to rant as he flicks the aforementioned item down to cover the door’s window, “Did you want people to see you?”

He reads the expression on my face correctly, “Oh, but you did, didn’t you, (y/n)?” Namjoon approaches where I’m still captured in Jimin’s embrace. Glaring down at me, he taunts, “So quick to stake your claim; but, make no mistake, they were mine first.”

Shaking out of Jimin’s hold, I straighten, raising my chin to meet Namjoon’s gaze full-on, “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize you were so lenient with your partners.”

Jimin makes a choking noise behind me. Jin stands behind Namjoon, waving a hand in front of his throat to clearly tell me to stop talking. I keep going, “Perhaps I need to teach you how to discipline.”

Namjoon flips me around, shoves Jimin out of the way, and bends me facedown across the table.

“Jin,” He says, his voice growly, “Stand in the hall and let me know if you can hear us.”

The sound of the door opening and closing alerts me that Jin followed Namjoon’s instructions without a word.

“Jimin,” He continues, “Hold (y/n)’s hands out in front of her.” Jimin ascquieces, staring apologetically down at me as he tugs my hands towards him.

“This is cute,” I say, “I always love holding Jimin-ie’s hands.”

Thwack. The stinging imprint of Namjoon’s palm on my ass burns deliciously. I arch my back, looking over my shoulder at him with a half-smile. “Do it harder, daddy.”

A breath sucks in between his lips as I utter the word I know will get him feeling as hot as me. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby girl,” Namjoon grits out, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Oh, daddy,” I say, “Don’t you remember? I’m the fucking Queen.”

“Was that a chess pun? Nice.” A muffled voice followed by a squeaky laugh sounds through the door.

“Seokjin,” Namjoon seethes, flying over to open the door and drag the older boy back inside, “I thought I told you to let me know if you could hear us.”

I tug out of Jimin’s gentle hold, straighten back up, and then situate myself into a sitting position on the table.

I watch amusedly as Jin shimmies his way out of Joon’s grasp, “Yah! It’s not my fault I get intense FOMO. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Besides, I only heard you because I had my ear pressed to the door.”

Jimin stifles a giggle. I let out a full-on laugh. Namjoon mumbles what sounds like a plea to some higher power under his breath.

“See what I have to deal with?” Namjoon turns to me, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to sign up for this?”

“That depends,” I swing my legs back and forth as I stay perched on the table, “Are you going to keep spanking me?”

The boy who had just unhesitatingly bent me over to punish me now blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, probably? You have quite a mouth on you, baby.”

Hopping off the table, I laugh, “Good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Woo!” Jin cheers, “Nice job on the House Points, Joon-ie!”

“I am in love with idiots,” Jimin sighs.

Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I let out a slight yell as I read the time. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I scramble to shove all of my textbooks back into my bag.

“What is it, noona?” Jimin worries, appearing next to me. “Are you late for class?”

“No,” I cry, “It’s so much worse. I’m late for my weekly Animal Crossing discord chat! Heath is gonna kill me…”

“Heath?” Jin scowls, “Who is this Heath you speak of?”

“Chill, fam,” I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and stare contemplatively down at the three different coffees. “You can’t get jealous every time I mention a new person. What’s next? You’re gonna come for Tom Nook?”

Namjoon - who must play Animal Crossing - stifles a laugh as Jin pouts. “She has a point, Jin.”

“And so does a pencil. Big whoop,” Jin scowls with his arms folded.

“Aw, Seokjin-ie,” I coo, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t be mad. You’ll get to spend all day with me on Saturday after volunteering! What are we doing, anyways?” I level Joon with my best side-eye as I ask that question, knowing he is more likely than not the mastermind behind our planned date.

“It’s going to be great, noona!” Jimin pipes up, hugging me from the side, “You’re going to love it…You’re going to love us.” He murmurs the last part, probably not meaning for me to hear; but, I do.

God, I do.

“We’ll pick you up before volunteering,” Joon says, “Just bring yourself and a change of clothes.”

“What?” I decide - fuck it - and attempt to grab all three coffees, “No overnight bag?”

Jin, who had just taken a sip of his own coffee, spews it everywhere. “Pack one,” He gasps out in between coughs.

Laughing, I walk to the door, which Jimin kindly opens for me. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Ah, I’m so late. Jimin and Jin, I’ll punish you at a later time. Joon, you can try to punish me at a later time.” Living for their astonished expressions, I wave as best I can with three coffees in hand, “Bye, babes! Text me-e-e.”

As I make my way out of the library, it hits me that I only have one more day to prepare for this date. Fucking hell…

Chapter Eight

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 8:38am

I wake to the sound of thunder and groan as my eyes strain to focus on the rain pouring down outside my window. Hastily, I grab for my phone and scroll through my notifications. Yup, my friend Brianna - the president of the Alphites - had emailed to say that Habitat is cancelled for the morning.

What did this mean for my date? Swiping over to the group chat, I quickly type a message to the boys.

Queen (y/n), Worldwide Handsome, and 6 Peasants

8:40am, (y/n): “Yo, dweebs. No volunteering today because of the rain. Looks like our date is cancelled, too…”

I laugh evilly as my phone consequentially blows up with a series of question marks and exclamations. Just as I’m about to put a stop to the madness I’d caused, my phone screen darkens with the telltale chimes of an incoming FaceTime.

Not even bothering to shift out of bed, I swipe to answer. “Hi, Hobi,” I grin at my sunshine who looks a little pouty this morning. The metaphorical rain cloud over his head lessens marginally at my smile.

The puffy, bare-faced boy sighs and runs a hand through his wild hair. Obviously, Hoseok had just woken up, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him.

“(Y/n)? Did you hear me?” Hobi chuckles, bringing my attention back to my phone. “You weren’t serious, right? Our date is still on? We have the whole thing planned! The rain doesn’t even affect it! And—”

“Is that (y/n)?” A cry of uproar sounds from the background on Hobi’s end of the line. A thundering of footsteps commences; and, suddenly, I am faced with seven slivers of faces all crowded together.

“(Y/n)!” Jungkook rips the phone from Hoseok’s grasp and takes off out of the room. The background blurs as he runs. Faintly, I can make out blurry figures giving chase behind him. “(Y/n)! Please still come over. We have everything set up! Saturdays are always full of noona, and I don’t want to break the tradition.”

Letting out a laugh at the fluffy haired boy, I smirk, “First of all, let me just say that I’m glad you don’t subscribe to the whole ‘SaTuRdAyS aRe FoR tHe BoYs’ toxicity. And second of all, you do realize you just gave away the date plans, right?”

“Jungkook!” The shout from what could only be an enraged Seokjin echoes across the connection.

I watch in amusement as the background once again blurs. As the feed refocuses, Jimin’s beaming face greets me, and I roll my eyes at the realization that Jungkook must have tossed him the phone. Probably playing a game of ‘Monkey in the Middle’ with their eldest brother, I assume.

Deciding enough is enough, I retake control of the situation with the tried and true method of the shock factor™. “Hey, I’m naked.”

Silence falls.

Then comes the seven pairs of eyes crowding the screen that I had hoped for.

Disappointed huffs resound from the collective as I cackle, trying my best to ignore their indignant cries.

“Noona’s not even naked!”

“Why, there’s not even a boob to be seen!”

“She’s got us lookin’ like boo-boo the fool, boys…SMH!”

“Jin, did you just say ‘SMH’?” The boy opens his mouth to respond, but I decide there’s no time to discuss acronyms right now. Shaking my own head swiftly, I clear my throat, “No, never mind. Now that I have your attention, I need someone to tell me what the plan is. Am I getting out of bed today? Are we still doing the thing?”

“You can get out of your bed and into mine,” Taehyung’s words barely escape his mouth before he is pushed out of frame by at least four of the others.

“Tae, are you trying to get your name added to my punishment list?” I smirk as two boys in particular gulp, “Jimin and Jin already have the distinct honor. Isn’t that right, boys?”

“You can add my name, noona!” Jungkook gasps out, lunging once again for control of the phone. He is shoved out of the way by Namjoon.

“Oh, my little Kookie,” I laugh, “That would practically be a reward for you.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your own punishment, (y/n),” Namjoon stares me down from the other end of the phone.

“I mean, you can try it,” I shrug, “But I’ll probably either like it or turn it around on you at some point. Just saying…”

“Sounds good to me,” Joon grins, his dimples popping out, “Now get your sweet ass over here so I can spank it.”

“Right now?” I double check the time, “It’s still not even nine fucking AM. What is this going to be? Some sort of all day extravaganza? Y’all better be feeding me.”

“Yah, do you know who I am?” Jin butts in from his small corner of the screen, ”You are in the presence of Worldwide Handsome Chef Extraordinaire Kim Seokjin! Of course you’re going to be well fed - both with my visuals and with food!”

“I have no words,” I say.

Jin forges on, “Speechless, eh? I’m used to it.”

“Could the two of you stop your gross flirting for one second so that we can actually convince (y/n) to come over?”

Yoongi’s scowl appears on screen as he takes control of the phone. Jin can be heard squawking indignantly in the background.

“Gross?” I raise an eyebrow, “That’s not what you were saying when you were teaching me piano.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Taehyung yelps.

“I think so,” Jimin answers darkly.

“Wait, what’s a ‘you feminism’ again?” Jungkook mumbles from somewhere in the room.

“Oh my god,” Namjoon moans, sounding completely done, “(y/n), I am begging you to hang up and call my phone so that I can actually let you in on the plan.”

“Bet,” I say, “I’ll call you in an hour. I’m going back to sleep.”

I hang up, abruptly cutting off their whiny protests. Boys can always wait. Extra sleep, however, must seized at every opportunity.

Sinking back into the bliss of my comfy bed, I smile as I flip my phone over and promptly fall back asleep.

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 11:57am

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!”

“(Y/n), for the love of Jared Padalecki, get your ass up!”

Groaning, I wave Luna off with a limp arm, still half asleep. “Go away,” my garbled words prove to be futile as she pulls the covers right off of me.

“Your entourage is here,” Luna hisses, grabbing my ankle and attempting to tug me off the bed.

“My what?” I kick at her hold, “Stop going all horror movie on me!”

“You haven’t seen horror! Horror is waking up to the furious sound of fists pounding at the front door and thinking your dark past of downloading music off of sketchy websites has finally caught up with you! Horror is pulling open the door in just your Harry Potter onesie only to be faced with seven hot and all-too-put-together dudes!”

My brain slowly wraps its away around the meaning of her words. “Oh, fuck.” I launch out of bed, flailing around for my phone.

111 Messages

34 Missed Calls

14 Voicemails

“Good god,” I toss my phone back on my bed and stalk past Luna into the living room where my ‘entourage’ is gathered.

“Okay, what the fuck,” I cross my arms over my chest as I stare down at the seven boys spread out across our second-hand sectional.

“Noona, you’re here!” Jungkook springs up from his seat and tackles me in a hug.

“Where else would I be? I fucking live here,” I mumble into his chest, annoyance slipping away with each breath.

“I told you she just overslept,” Yoongi mutters from the couch, sounding very much like he was dragged here against his will.

“Finally,” I say, pulling away from Jungkook to beam down at Yoongi, “An intellectual. Now, what about the rest of you overreactive imbeciles? Did you just come over so that you could snoop around where I live?”

As I say this, my eyes narrow on Namjoon. The boy is inspecting the teacup I had forgotten to put away last night like it’s a new archaeological find. My words fluster him, and he fumbles with the cup before it falls from his grasp to shatter on the floor.

“I am so sorry!” Namjoon yelps. The rest of the boys look on with disappointment but not surprise.

“That was my great grandmother’s teacup,” I whisper, falling to my knees dramatically.

“Namjoon, your destructive nature has gone too far!” Seokjin yells, scrambling over to me. My face is buried in my hands as my shoulders shake. I can’t hold it any longer.

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, it’s fine, Joon. I’m kidding. It was just a cup from Target’s clearance section.”

“So evil!” Namjoon whines, “I was so worried!” Shuffling over to the hallway closet, I pull out our dustpan and broom. Walking back, I hand it off to Namjoon before he can attempt to pick up a fragment of the shattered cup.

“Don’t even think about using your bare hands, Joon,” I narrow my eyes at him, “A trip to Urgent Care does not count as a date.”

“Noona,” Taehyung pipes up, “You should join the Acting Club! Did I mention I’m the president?”

“Oh, here we go,” Yoongi scowls, flicking his eyes over to where Seokjin is rapidly turning a concerning shade of red.

Mount Seokjin erupts, “You’re only president on a bullshit technicality! Fifth years can’t be on Exec boards, you swine!”

“Yo, Seokjin, I’m really bummed about that policy, and Imma let you finish. But, let me just say that if y’all don’t leave so I can get ready, I will avoid you for the rest of time.”

Seconds tick by. I frown, “I don’t see movement. Why don’t I see movement?”

“Well,” Jimin hedges, shrinking under my gaze, “We figured you could just come back with us? It would save you a trip?”

The disobedience in this crew would drive me off a cliff. “I guess I was not clear the first time. I am going to drive myself because: 1) I can leave on my own terms and 2) I can leave an overnight bag in the car just in case. Although, that possibility is slipping away by the millisecond.”

“Alright! Time to go!” Jungkook barks, herding the boys towards the door.

As they practically run out the door, Namjoon turns back to me with an arched brow, “No going back to sleep.”

I salute him, “Scout’s honor. I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, I’m finally left in peace and quiet.

“Want to explain what that was all about?!” Luna stalks out of her room, “I need the tea!”

A full hour and a half later, I find myself in an eerily empty frat house.

“Y’all really kicked everyone out, huh?” I comment as I peer around each corner of the house. There is not a soul - besides these seven fools - to be seen.

“I mean, there are only three other people that actually live here permanently,” Namjoon counters, ever the diplomatic president, “The rest of the rooms are mainly for guests or if a member needs temporary housing.”

Humming noncommittally, I come to an abrupt halt when the dining room comes into view. All the furniture has been pushed to one side to make room for eight easels and an excessive amount of paint.

“It looks like a Michael’s threw up in here,” I marvel.

“Who is Michael?” Jimin pops up next to me with narrowed eyes. The rest of the boys file in behind him.

“My sugar daddy,” I deadpan, “He’s an artist.”

Namjoon cracks up, while Jimin pouts adorably. “I guess you know what we’re going to do now, baby,” Namjoon says, still chuckling lightly.

“We’re doing DIY Painting with a Twist!” Taehyung yells, “The twist is that there’s no wine. Namjoon said it could get ‘too out of hand’ - whatever that means.”

“What is everyone going to paint?” Hobi asks the room after a brief pause, “I’m going to make something for (y/n)! It’s a surprise.”

“That’s so sweet, Hobi,” I smile at the boy, “Thank you!”

Not a group to be outdone, the boys quickly affirm that they too had been planning to make something for me all along.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Careful, I’m going to get used to y’all spoiling me.”

“Good,” Namjoon nods, “You’re learning.”

“Yes, daddy,” I tease, “Are you going to keep spoiling your good girl?”

“You’re not a good girl,” Yoongi laughs, “You’re a fucking force of nature.”

“Thank you,” I wipe a nonexistent tear from under my eye, “This is why you are currently my favorite.”

“What!”

“Wait, you have a running favorite?”

“How can I get to be your favorite?”

Five minutes later, the room is empty aside from Jungkook and I. The rest of the boys dispersed the moment they decided to make painting a competition for my favor.

“Aren’t you going to hide away, too?” I address the younger boy next to me.

“Why would I go anywhere else when you’re right here?” Jungkook shuffles closer to me, “Besides, I wanted to use a different canvas.”

“Ah, I see,” I nod sagely before pulling my long-sleeved shirt up and over my head.

“Noona!” Jungkook chokes as he takes in my slightly sheer tank top and the black bra that peeks out from underneath, “I meant your wrist!”

“Calm down, Kook,” I laugh, “I can put it back on if you want. I just don’t want to get paint on it.”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously.

He then grabs my arm gently, flipping it over so that the inside of my wrist faces up. His thumb brushes over my erratic pulse and pauses. “Are you nervous, noona?” His wide eyes stare up at me, “You don’t have to let me paint on you.”

“It’s okay, Kookie,” I say, brushing his fallen hair out of his eyes,  “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

The boy’s cheeks bloom a bright red as he flashes me a small smile, “That’s one of my favorite movies.”

My heart swells as the cuteness that is Jeon Jungkook, and I can’t resist teasing him further. “Jungkook,” I whisper, leaning forward, “I would gladly share my door with you to keep you warm.”

“Noona,” He whines, trying to pretend like he wants to get away from me. I would rate his efforts a 1/10 considering his hand is still firmly wrapped around my wrist.

“The iceberg would melt because of how hot you are…” I keep going, arching closer to murmur in his ear, “Just like the Titanic, I would go down on you for hours.”

“Noona!” Jungkook yelps, “Stop playing with me!”

“Fine,” I pout, “But the offer stands.”

“You’re going to kill me…” He mumbles. Dipping his paintbrush into his nearby palette, Jungkook begins to etch the outline of what looks like some sort of flower onto my wrist. The strokes of the brush across my skin make me shiver - something that does not go unnoticed by Jungkook.

His eyes dart to mine, and I feel like crumbling under the weight of the adoration I find within them.

“Kookie,” I glance down, breaking the intensity before it consumed me whole, “What kind of flower is this?”

He mumbles something inaudible.

“What?” My ears strain to pick up the boy who for some reason decided to answer in the language of tiny.

“A tiger flower,” Jungkook turns away to grab a new brush, his hair failing to hide his flushed cheeks. I watch enraptured as he mixes the orange and white shades to get the end result he wants.

Returning to my wrist, he leans down and lightly blows across the drying paint.

“This is unfair,” I mumble as the boy continues to unknowingly seduce me. Or did he know? My eyes narrow as his gaze flicks to mine. Arching a brow, I decide to press him, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the matching tattoo on your forearm, right?”

“N-no,” Jungkook panics, eyes darting this way and that, “That would be Ludacris.”

Did he just— Not the time.

“Mhm,” I hum, ever the skeptic.

Jungkook swallows before once again resorting to tiny speak, “Okay, yes, it does. I’m asking you to love me, noona. Please.”

My breath escapes me in a whoosh as I stare dumbfounded at the pleading boy who once again starts to paint my wrist. Why is such a beautiful human lacking in adoration? Why does he need my affection when he has six other lovers?

“Why?” The question slips past my lips before I can catch it.

“Because,” He continues to paint, “I can see myself loving you for a very long time, and I just want to be loved back for just as long.”

The silence that falls after Jungkook’s admission feels safe and comfortable. His words swirl around my mind. And as he finishes the flower now adorning my wrist, I give him an answer I’m not even sure he had been waiting for. “Jungkook,” I wait until he meets my eyes, “I don’t think I’m in love with you yet. I’m not even sure I know what love is or what it feels like. But I can see myself falling for you. And I do know that there is a place in my heart labeled ‘Jeon Jungkook’, just like there are six other places for the rest of you… Y’all really do take up a lot of space.”

I let out a little laugh as Jungkook’s lips twitch in amusement. I continue, “It scares me sometimes. How I might fall for all of you and get heartbroken seven times over. But, I might also fall for all of you and get seven times the amount of love in return. And so I’m willing to fight for that chance. Besides, what’s life without a little risk?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, and then he whispers, “I really like you, (y/n)-noona.”

I lean closer to him. Our noses brush as I whisper back, “I really like you, too, Jungkookie.”

The smile I get in response is blinding, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m done!” Taehyung hurtles through the doorway, lugging a giant canvas that definitely had not been in the room earlier, “I call this masterpiece: ‘My Boo’.”

Gaping, I take in the massive canvas full of swirling colors and abstract shapes. It’s honestly overwhelming and a bit dramatic, but that is Taehyung. And I love it.

“It’s so pretty!” I coo, shuffling over to side-hug Tae.

He shyly hangs his head on my shoulder, “You really think so?”

“Yes, baby,” I nod, “Of course I do.”

One by one the other boys return to present me with their art. Seokjin presents a sea of rainbow colored hearts (“Get it? I see hearts when you’re around!”). Hobi shows off his technicolored sunset (“It’s how I feel when I look at you, (y/n)! Hopeful, but at peace.”). Jimin bashfully hands over a painting of two silhouettes dancing (“It’s us.” *blushes profusely*). Yoongi gives me a black canvas with a portion of lighter blue mixed in (“You make my world brighter.”). Finally, Namjoon shuffles over with a succulent plant in a painted flower pot (“I accidentally elbowed a hole through my canvas… This is my favorite plant, for you.”).

The boys also marvel over the flower that Jungkook painted on my wrist while the younger boy beams with pride. One of them mentions ordering pizza for dinner, and the room clears within seconds as the majority flees in search of a menu.

Namjoon is the last to remain, admiring the art etched on my skin. “You know what it means, right?” He murmurs, thumb tentatively brushing across the dried paint.

“He told me,” I nod, focused on the gentle caress of his fingers.

Namjoon lifts my hand to his mouth and places a light kiss. The motion takes me back to the memory of a few weeks ago where he first had performed the action. “I hope you know the sentiment extends to all of us as well.”

“Oh, does it?” I smile, “You might have to mark me to make it believable.”

“Consider it done,” Namjoon says before pulling me closer to him and placing his lips on my neck. What an opportunist, I muse as he bites down gently. His tongue flicks before his lips once again press down on my neck. Namjoon litters my neck with small kisses. I gasp as he suddenly returns to the initial spot and bites down slightly harder, sucking and licking at my neck afterwards.

“Joon,” I breathe out as he pulls back, looking all smug and proud of himself, “I will get you back for this.”

“I look forward to it, baby.” With that, Namjoon laces his fingers through my own and tugs me out of the room towards the ruckus being caused in the kitchen.

One hour later, the eight of us are piled on the massive living room sofa.

“I think I’m pregnant,” Seokjin moans, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “The father is Papa John.”

“I told you not to race to beat Kook to the last slice,” Hobi shakes his head, “No one ever listens in this house.”

“You get me, bro, you get me,” Namjoon extends his fist to Hoseok who fist bumps him.

I survey the room from where I’m perched on Taehyung and Jimin, one leg hitched over one of theirs. “I thought we were going to watch a movie?” I furrow my brows, “Or was that just a ploy to get me to stay longer?”

Jungkook scrambles to his feet, “I’ll go get Titanic!”

“No!”

“Please, god, no!”

“Noooo!”

The crestfallen expression that crosses Jungkook’s face tugs at my heartstrings. “Aw, Kook, I really inspired you with my words earlier, huh?” His pouting intensifies as he stalks back over to his end of the couch.

“Never let me watch what I want,” He mumbles. Sensing that this is an often fought battle, I shimmy off of Tae and Jimin and head over towards the youngest.

“How about this,” I reason, “Let the group decide what movie to watch, and I’ll sit with you during it.”

“Promise?” Large brown eyes peer up at me. At my nod, his expression brightens, and he pats his legs excitedly.

Settling down on his thighs, I realize I have made a grave miscalculation.

My thigh-riding kink + Jungkook’s muscular thighs = chaos

As the rest of the boys argue between watching Die Hard or The Hangover, I shift my hips slowly to try to get more comfortable. Jungkook’s swift inhale tells me that my move wasn’t as low-key as I had hoped.

“Noona, stop moving,” He mumbles into my hair, his arms firmly circling my waist.

“Sorry, baby,” I mutter back to him, trying hard to reign in my thirst.

The boys finally decide to watch Die Hard. Minutes tick by as the movie I’ve seen multiple times before plays on the screen. I’m only half paying attention, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook isn’t paying attention at all.

His fingers have shifted under my tank top and are drawing patterns onto the skin of my stomach. “So soft,” He marvels, his words ghosting across the skin of my neck.

The effect the boy has on me is deadly, and I retaliate with one of the only ways I can. I grind my hips slowly down onto his. The heat of his body warms my own, the hardness of his cock becoming more and more apparent underneath me.

“Noona,” Jungkook moans, “You’re so unfair.”

I whisper back, “You started it.”

He scoffs, moving my hair to one side of my neck, and pauses. “Oh, what’s this?”

“Don’t even think—”

His lips descend onto my neck, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Insolent child,” I breathe out, trying to keep my shit together despite finding it so fucking hot that Jungkook’s mouth is where Joon’s had been just over an hour ago.

Keeping my eyes firmly on the screen where John McClane is steadily taking down a whole crime organization singlehandedly, I try in vain not to imagine getting double teamed by Jungkook and Namjoon. By the time the credits roll, my panties are a mess. I can feel Jungkook practically throbbing underneath me from being so hard, and I’m pretty sure my nipples could cut through glass.

“What’d you think, (y/n)?” Hobi beams over at me from the other end of the couch.

I plaster a smile on my face like I hadn’t just been imagining the whole room naked and engaged in NSFW activities. “It was iconic as always!”

The boys seem to happily accept my answer. Well, most of them do. Yoongi is staring at me with a suspicious expression. Damn, that boy is too observant for his own good.

“Well,” I decide to try to regain some semblance of self-control, “Where did I put my keys?”

“WHAT!”

“You can’t leave! It’s only 9pm!”

“You said you would would stay overnight!”

I roll my eyes upwards, at least this provided Jungkook an opportunity to tug a pillow onto his lap. “I’m going to get my bag from the car, you fools.”

The boys let out a collectively sheepish “Ah”.

“I’ll walk you, noona,” Jimin stands, making his way over to my side.

“Trying to butter me up, baby?” I can’t help but ruffle his hair, “Okay, come on.”

Jimin and I make our way to the front door where my keys lie on the entryway table. Grabbing them, I head out into the darkness of the front yard with Jimin trailing after me.

“Will you sit with me for the next movie, noona?” Jimin asks, running a hand through his hair as we trek towards my parked Jeep.

“What’s in it for me?” I joke, unlocking the passenger side door and grabbing my bag. Turning back towards the house, I shut and lock my car behind me.

“Cuddles?” Jimin answers, eyes wide and bottom lip poked out.

“Stop that,” I moan, moving swiftly past him, “Puppy-Dog eyes? That’s so unfair!”

“Is it working?” He races to keep up with me, “I think its working.”

“You’re still on my shit list, Park Jimin,” I whirl around, drop my bag to the ground, and grab the front of his shirt. Moving to a standstill with his lips an inch from mine, I say, “Or did you forget?”

Jimin gulps, his eyes dark, “I didn’t forget. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

I place the lightest kiss to his lips, “Good answer.” With that, I pick my bag back up and waltz back into the house. “Are you coming?” I call at the boy still standing in the middle of the front yard.

“Now I know why Kook says you’re mean,” Jimin shakes his head at me as he regains the will to move.

“You’re a fast learner,” I comment, placing my keys back onto the entryway table. “I’ll sit with you.”

“Yay!” Jimin cheers, “I’ll go tell Taehyungie!”

“What?” I screech after the boy’s departing form, “I didn’t know this was some sort of package deal! Lord give me strength…”

Rifling through my bag to double check I have everything, I notice that I seem to be lacking a sleep shirt. How is it that I could pack three different pairs of socks for one night over but forget a fucking shirt?

“SOS,” I call out, zipping my bag back up. Once again, the sound of stampeding steps is heard before the seven of them appear above me.

“Someone needs to give me their biggest and comfiest t-shirt.”

A brief pause permeates the room before all seven boys dart into action. Left all alone in the entryway, I let out an incredulous laugh at how completely whipped I’m becoming for them.

After a few minutes, I hear them congregating in the hall just up the stairs. Just as I’m about to go investigate, they shuffle down. Namjoon presents me with a pile of what must be a selection of t-shirts from the bunch.

“We all want you to wear our clothes, so we decided to make it fair and just let you pick one without knowing who’s it is,” Seokjin explains.

Looking around the room, I can tell they all think this is a magnificent idea. Meanwhile, I’m baffled why they think I wouldn’t know who’s shirt is who’s just from the style, size, and smell. However, I decide to be a nice girl and play along.

“Okay,” I grab the entire pile along with my bag, “I’ll go change.”

“I’m so excited!” Taehyung bounces up and down, “She’s going to pick mine. I know it!”

“That’s because you gave her your Ce—” As Taehyung tackles Jimin to the floor, I take that as my cue to leave.

Speeding up the steps, I make a beeline for Yoongi’s room, entering and locking the door behind me. My bag is tossed on the bed first followed by the sea of mostly black and white clothing. They know me so well already.

I examine my options:

A white Balenciaga t-shirt with “Europe 2018” embroidered in red over the heart,

A soft pink hoodie by Marques’ Almeida with long black silky drawstrings,

A red and black striped Raf Simons long-sleeved shirt with sewn-on patches,

A Fear of God white t-shirt with the iconic “FG” on the front,

A black Mastermind t-shirt with the brandname and a skull and crossbones emblazoned on it,

A black Celine t-shirt also with the brandname on the front, and

A grey long-sleeved t-shirt by Carhartt with the name in blue along the sleeve.

Making my selection, I shake my head over the careless nature these boys handle their extremely expensive clothing. I am almost certain that Jungkook had given me the only shirt of the bunch that was under $100.

Regardless, I fold the rest of the shirts before stuffing them into my duffle bag. If they all want me to wear their clothes, I will - eventually. Quickly, I change into my sleep shorts, tug on what I assume is Hobi’s shirt, and head out of Yoongi’s room.

Opening the door, I blink as seven expectant faces shine back at me. Six expressions fall as one lights up even more. “You chose mine!” Hoseok cheers, running to engulf me in a hug that sweeps me off my feet, “Oh, you look so cute!”

“Can’t. Breathe.”

“Why’d you leave your stuff in Yoongi-hyung’s room, noona?” Taehyung pouts as the rest of the boys try to pretend like they also aren’t miffed.

“Because I’m going to sleep with him?” I march over to Yoongi and hug him from behind, pressing my lips to his cheek. “Is that okay with you, Yoongs?”

The boy grumbles under my show of affection, but his hands come up to clasp over mine as they circle his waist. “I can live with that, I guess.” The eye roll accompanying his words is so evident even when standing behind him.

“You’ll pay for that, baby boy,” I whisper in his ear before biting gently down on his earlobe, reveling in the cute little squeak that emits from him in response.

“She’s still sitting with me and Tae during the next movie, though!” Jimin - ever the instigator - interjects as the group makes their way back downstairs. Yoongi and I shuffle behind them.

The eight of us decide to watch The Hangover next since that had been the runner-up before. Once again, I’m draped between Jimin and Taehyung. This time, I’m fully placed on Jimin’s lap while my legs are sprawled out across Tae’s thighs.

My legs had barely even settled onto his lap before his hands were on them. This time I don’t even pretend like I’m paying attention to the movie. I’m more entranced by the way Taehyung kneads his way up my legs from my ankles to my calves to the insides of my thighs.

Meanwhile, Jimin is snuggled into me tightly. His face is shoved into the crook of my neck, and I honestly think he might be sound asleep. With each breath, Jimin’s pillowy lips brush my collarbone. I couldn’t tell if this is my own personal heaven or hell.

Looking up, I meet the dark gaze of Min Yoongi once again. Neither of us break eye contact as I try to read the look on his face and his body language.

He is either: 1) pissed off by something I did, 2) turned on by something I did, or 3) all of the above.

My hunch is the third. Testing that theory, I slide my tongue across my bottom lip. Sure enough, his eyes track the motion instantly before returning to mine. Bing-pot.

The movies seems to take way longer than it’s hour and forty-something minutes. I blame the combination of my sexual frustration and the varying degrees of awareness of it from the boys.

As soon as the credits roll, I extract myself from the holds that Jimin and Tae had on me. “I’m tired,” I lie.

“Aw,” Seokjin hurries over to me and sweeps me into a tight hug, “Get some beauty sleep, darling. Because, in the morning, I’m making pancakes!”

I place a swift kiss to his cheek, “Sounds perfect.”

I bid the rest of the boys goodnight with similar affections. Slowly, I make my way over to the stairs, knowing that Yoongi is trailing after me closely.

Making sure to put an extra swing in my hips, I climb up the staircase like I was getting paid to do it. Finally, I enter Yoongi’s room, turn to face the boy it belonged to, and tug him inside.

“What the fuck, Min Yoongi,” I hiss before closing the door behind him and shoving him against it.

“What?”

He has the audacity— I take a calming breath.

“You eye-fuck me throughout the entire movie and ask me ‘what’?” My hands curl into the fabric of his shirt.

A small smile makes its way across Yoongi’s face as my glower intensifies, “You can’t expect me not to think about that after you announce to everyone that you’re sleeping with me.”

“I didn’t mean literally, you buffoon,” I groan, turning away to head towards the bed.

Yoongi grabs my hips, halting me in place. “I know. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about what it would be like with you. What it would be like to be selfish with you.”

“You want to be selfish with me?” I ask softly, “What does that mean?”

“It means that I know that Tae was the first to get your mouth, but I want to be the first to give you mine.”

Yoongi’s words steal the breath from my lungs and the chill from my very soul. I gasp out, “You want to taste me, baby? That’s what you want?”

“More than anything,” Yoongi groans, pushing his hips into mine. “Please, (y/n), I’ll do anything to put my mouth on you.”

I pull away from Yoongi so that I can face him. His pupils are blown out, his hair is messy, and his expression is devastating with its pleading look. After being teased by so many of the others for the whole evening, he looks like my salvation.

“Okay,” I nod, lying down with my legs hanging off the edge of the bed. “Do your worst. No, not the time for that expression. Do your best. Please.”

Chuckling, Yoongi sinks to his knees before me, running his hands up my legs and resting on the hem of my shorts. He sends me an asking look, and I nod. His fingers shake slightly as he pulls off my shorts.

Left in nothing but pair of lacy red boy-briefs, I shiver in anticipation as I feel Yoongi slip a tentative finger underneath the remaining material.

“Fuck,” He groans, sliding his finger up and down my folds, “You’re so fucking wet, baby.”

“Well, do something about it,” I command, moving my hips up so that he might get the hint to take of my underwear. His finger slides out from underneath them and he doesn’t even hesitate before sucking it into his mouth.

“Yoongi,” I hiss, getting more and more impatient.

Yoongi pulls his finger out of his mouth, “Sorry, (y/n), I just want to savor this moment.”

“You can savor my pussy with your mouth,” I say, “Or are you all talk, Min Yo—”

Quicker than I can comprehend, Yoongi slides my panties to the side and licks a stripe up my folds. I moan as he sucks and licks at my pussy like a man possessed.

“Fuck,” I grab his hair and tug him closer, feeling him moan into me.

The build up of tension and frustration from being surrounded by these boys for the entire day has me on the brink of orgasm already.

Yoongi’s mouth closes over my clit, circling it with his tongue and flicking it slowly.

“More, Yoongi,” I demand.

He listens. Still worshipping my clit, Yoongi slips a finger inside me, curling it in such a practiced way I could scream.

He adds a second. Yoongi’s fingers thrust in and out of me as his tongue continues to taste and tease my pussy.

When he hits a certain spot in me, I moan his name, and I swear he growls. Repeatedly, his fingers hit that same spot inside me and I’m panting, trying my hardest not to come. Not yet.

“Harder!” I moan. Again, Yoongi follows like a good boy, his fingers and tongue picking up the pace.

Pausing to pull my legs over his shoulders, Yoongi meets my eyes. The pinkness of his lips glisten with my juices as he sighs, “I think you might be my new favorite meal.”

Before I can even respond, his resumes wrecking me. He fucks me with his fingers, grabbing at my ass with his free hand.

His mouth devours my pussy, wreaking havoc on my clit with every flick of his tongue.

My thighs quake as my battle to hold off coming becomes too much to endure. My back arches as the pleasure builds up with each quick stroke of his tongue and every movement of his fingers.

As if he knows exactly how to ruin me forever, Yoongi sucks on my clit harshly, and I come, my thighs trapping him between them. Despite it all, Yoongi continues to fuck me, lapping up everything like a starving man.

Soon, the overstimulation hits and I relax my thighs. Pulling his hair, I murmur, “Stop.”

Yoongi obeys.

“Come here,” I sit up, extending an arm out to him. He shuffles forward and when he is within reach I launch myself at him. Kissing him fiercely, I taste myself on his tongue.

“That was so good, baby,” I reach my hand up to stroke his flushed cheek. “Do you want me to help you out?”

“No,” Yoongi shakes his head, “I would rather eat you out again.”

“You’re insatiable!” I cry, tugging out of his hold. “We’ll see…”

TO BE CONTINUED...

[janeyseymour]

Escape- pt 23

pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6. pt 7. pt 8. pt 9. pt 10. pt 11. pt 12. pt 13. pt 14. pt 15. pt 16. pt 17. pt 18. pt 19. pt 20. pt 21. pt 22. 

Jane Seymour has stayed with Henry long enough. Cue Catherine of Aragon and the rest of the girls to save her (Aramour)

Shit hits the fan.

“Is that Thomas?” Catherine stared at a man in the craft store they were perusing.

“Lina, stop staring. It’s rude.”

“Jane, I’m pretty sure that’s Thomas. Don’t you- he’s-”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Now stop staring. You’re being rude.”

“I’m calling Beale.”

“You’re not calling Beale and dragging an innocent person into all of this.”

“I’m looking out for you and Eddie. I’m calling him.”

“No! You’re not! He called us two months ago saying someone resembled Henry. If either of them were still looking for me, or were looking for me at all, they would have-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence Jane. Come on. We’re leaving. I’m not having this conversation in the middle of a fucking crafting store.” Catherine grabbed the cart and led her to the checkout area.

“Give me my son. I’m going to the goddamn car.” The blonde lifted Edward out of the cart and stormed away.

“Women, am I right?” The cashier snorted.

“Fuck off,” Catherine sneered. “You have no right to say that.”

“I’m going to put Eddie to bed, and then I’m going to bed,” Jane muttered.

“I think we should-”

“Catherine.”

“Please. Just come back down. Please,” the hispanic pleaded.

“Fine.”

An hour later, Jane still hadn’t returned. Catherine picked herself up from the couch where she had been sitting watching television on mute for the past hour and walked towards Edward’s room. Jane was rocking back and forth in the rocking chair facing a window, Katherine at her feet and cooing at the small boy.

“Honey, please go to sleep. Mommy really needs to talk to Mama. Mama’s being crazy right now, and I’m not all that thrilled with her, but please know I still love her.”

“What’s happening with you and Cath?” Kat looked up at her mother curiously.

“We just had a fight. It’ll all be okay.”

“Okay, but are you okay?”

“I’ll be just fine love.” She turned her attention back to the baby in her arms. “I hope you find a love in this world that is unmatched. I hope you find someone who will shield you from this horrible world.” Eddie giggled a bit in her arms.

“No baby. Go to sleep. Mommy really needs to talk to Mama. I love you so very much, but as much as I love looking into your beautiful eyes, we all need sleep!” The baby boy yawned as his sister began to rub his belly.

“Yes Eddie, go to sleep buddy.”

“Go through this world, and be kind. I hope it gets you far- farther than it got me. As much as Nana and Poppop love me, they never told me why. It was just ‘You are mine’. I am going to let you know every single day why you are loved. You are loved because you are going to be raised to be a good person,” Jane sat in silence for a second before adding, “no matter who is taking care of you. Even if it’s not me.”

“What does that mean Mom?”

“Nothing love. Just, if anything were to happen to me again, I can’t escape death. But I know that with you and Cath around, Eddie over here is going to be just fine.”

“But I won't be.”

“Honey, you would be just fine without me. You managed it for how many years before you met me?”

“But now I have you, and I don’t think I can lose you. You’re my mama too, you know?” Katherine stared at Jane in a way that made her look like a small vulnerable child.

“Oh, I love you Kat.”

“I love you too Mom.”

“I love you because you are mine, but also because you have grown to be such an amazing young woman.” Jane looked down at the baby, now asleep in her arms. “Oh, he’s finally asleep. Do you think you could take Eddie and set him down? You’re always so good with him.”

“I can do that.” Katherine took the boy from her mother’s arms and began cooing, “Oh sweet Eddie. It’s Kitty, and I-” That was all Jane heard before she walked out of the room.

“Hey.” Catherine was waiting for her at the door. “I love you because you are the most amazing, beautiful, kindhearted person I have ever met. You never cease to amaze me with Eddie and Kat.” She kissed her wife softly.

“We have to hash this out.”

“Okay,” Catherine sighed, leading her wife to the living room. “I have to call the police. He could be dangerous. It’s better safe than sorry.”

“But what if it’s not him? What if we just drag a poor innocent person into this mess?”

“But it could be him though, and that’s what I have an issue with.”

“He was never violent before.”

“Was Henry?”

“No but-”

“Then Thomas could be too. What if you’re alone one day and-”

“I would be able to defend myself.”

“No. What if both of them-”

“I can handle that. I know I can. You know I-”

“What if you freeze?”

“I wouldn’t!” Jane’s voice grew a bit louder.

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!” She was growing angrier.

“And what about Eddie?” Catherine continued.

“I can defend him too!”

“Open your eyes Janey! You haven’t even taken shooting lessons! You need to put all of this into perspective!”

“When’s the last time I’ve been alone?” Jane looked at her wife defiantly. “I’m always with at least one of you guys! And I am putting it into perspective! Stop! God, I need you to believe that I can do it! I need you too! Please!”

“Jane, are you mental? You have yourself so in your head, and you keep telling yourself everything is okay and that it’s all over. It’s not! If they have some sort of lead, he’s obviously still looking for you. Every day that I let this go is a day closer where I could come home to find you dead and Eddie dead or kidnapped! I couldn’t live with myself if that ever happened. And what about the other girls? We have to think about them too! What about Kat? Don’t you care if Kat’s in danger?”

“Fuck you!” Jane got into Catherine’s face.

“Fuck me? What’s gotten into you? Why? I literally just want you safe! That’s fucking it!”

“Fuck you Catherine! You’re so inconsiderate! My god! I just want to leave and get away from this life! I can’t even look at you right now, you selfish bastard!”

“What the hell?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough! You told me you couldn’t live without me when you know you could! Don’t fucking lie to me!”

“I-” Catherine lowered her voice.”I’m not lying when I say that I couldn’t live without you. When you almost died, I genuinely had to think about how I was going to survive this life without you. And you said it yourself, you can’t escape death the next time you’re faced with it.”

“But you are lying! If I didn’t drag you into any of this, you would be so much better off! You wouldn’t have to deal with me!”

“Except I wouldn’t be! I would still be pining over you and trying to convince myself I wasn’t still in love with you. I wouldn’t have married the woman of my dreams and have a son! Don’t you understand why I feel responsible for you?”

“Responsible?” Jane’s voice went cold. “Responsible?” she yelled. “Is that all I am to you? A fucking responsibility?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like-”

“Oh, like what?”

“Like that.”

“God! I really am just a responsibility to you! That’s all I am, right?”

“Jane, honey. Listen.”

“I don't want to listen! Fuck you! You don’t need to be a complete dick! Shit, I need to get out of here.” She wiped her tears hastily and walked out the front door.

Sitting down on the front stoop, she looked up at the sky and began to wonder out loud.

“What am I doing wrong?” She put her head in her hands. “What did I do to deserve this? I’m a good person. I’m nice to everyone I meet. I had good grades all throughout school and finished at the top of my class in both high school and college. I eat well. I know I get more than enough exercise. So, why does all of this have to come crashing down on me? Sometimes,” she choked out. “Sometimes I wish that if I had known this was what my life would turn into, I would’ve just let myself die that night. It would’ve just been easier, right?” She hoped she would get a sign from the universe.

“Mom?” Katherine spoke, making Jane jump.

“Jesus Kat, you scared me.”

“I-” The pink haired woman engulfed the blonde in a hug. “I hope you don’t mean that. If you had died that night, you wouldn’t have met me. And you fought for your life. You fought an angel, and you stayed even when you were faced with death.”

“I was just thinking out loud honey. I wouldn’t trade meeting you and the other girls for the world. I hope you know that.”

“I wish I could just take all of your pain away for you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be in my place.”

“I was in your place though. I was in a really shitty relationship before I finally had the courage to leave. I was probably the most hated girl in my high school because of this guy. Actually, four different guys who all used me and then made me out to be a slut to the rest of the school. Then, in college, I was kind of in a situation like yours. He wasn't as bad as Henry, and I certainly didn’t have anyone like Thomas either, but I was in a terribly abusive relationship. And uh, I would go through it all again if it meant you didn’t have to. I know I would survive it. I can’t say the same about you, and that’s terrifying.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m also so terribly sorry that you have to put up with me and for putting you in this situation. I can’t imagine it’s easy watching me go through this when you’ve also lived it.”

“I was broken for a while, but then I met you. You built me back together.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Anne and all the other girls can back me up on that. I wasn’t myself until you came along. Since you’ve come along, I feel like myself again. I don’t put up with you either. For Christ’s sake, I call you my mom, and I didn’t ever think I would call anyone by that title again. When you came here, I made myself a promise that I would do anything I could to protect you.”

“That’s very sweet of you honey, but this is my battle. I can’t put you in a situation that could endanger you.”

“Just know, I would do it for you. You’re worth it.” The two sat in silence for a while before Kat fell asleep tucked in her mother’s arms.

Jane heard the front door squeak open, and she quickly tried to compose herself, having cried for a few minutes after Katherine fell asleep. Catherine said nothing. She sat next to Jane, and held her. Neither made any movement. Catherine carried both Kat and her wife to bed that night.

“Jane?” Margaret muttered into the phone.

“Mom? I need to come home.”

“It’s two in the morning hun.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you could wait to do it in the morning?”

“I just need to come home,” Jane sighed before quickly adding, “please.”

“Are you bringing Eddie?”

“Yes. I have to.”

“When will you be here. Dad and I will be up waiting.”

“I don’t know. Six hours maybe?”

“Okay. We’ll be up. Be safe. I love you.”

“I love you too Mom.” Margaret hung up and rolled over to shake John awake.

“What woman? I’m trying to get my beauty sleep,” he groaned.

“Janey’s coming home. It sounded pretty urgent. She’s bring Ed, but I don’t think she’s bringing Cath or Kat. We have to be up in five and a half hours.”

John had already sat straight up. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. She sounded scared and nervous.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Hun, she’s probably packing and will be driving for the next five hours. Don’t distract her, okay?”

“Well, I’m up for the day I guess.” He began to push himself up from the bed.

“Why don’t you try to go back to sleep? Wake up in four hours.”

“I think I’m up for the day. It’s okay. I’m just going to go for a walk.” He kissed his wife’s forehead.

Catherine rolled over to embrace her wife, but she wasn’t there.

“Jane?” She called but was met with no response. She tried calling her name a little louder, but there was still nothing.

“Hello?” She walked into Edward’s room, but Eddie was gone too. Making her way out of the kitchen, she found a note.

Lina,

I needed some time to think. I love you, but I had to leave. Not forever, don’t worry. I took Eddie with me because he needs feeding. Last night, things got really real, and it opened my eyes to a lot of things. I know I can’t handle myself. That’s why you and the rest of the girls got dragged into the mess I get to call my life. I leaned on you a little too much, and now I need to lean on someone else. At least for a little while. Please understand that I am so grateful for everything you’ve given me, and I love you more than I can ever tell you. I just needed a break from the hecticness of my life

-Jane

P.s. Tell Kat that I love her.

Catherine read the paper over and over.

“Dammit,” she muttered, running up the stairs to pack a bag for the journey she was about to go on to find her wife.

“Cath?” A sleepy Katherine appeared at the door. “What are you doing?” Wordlessly, the hispanic handed the sleepy girl the note and continued on with packing.

“What the-”

“I don’t know honey, but I have to go find my wife.”

“Well, I’m going with you.”

“No you’re not. Go back to bed. I’ll bring her home when I find her.”

“She’s my mom,” Katherine raised an eyebrow, challenging Catherine to fight her.

“Fine. Go pack a bag.”

“I’ll be fine with what I have now. We have to find her.”

“This is Jane, leave a message!”

“Janey, it’s me again. I’m coming home. I don’t really know where home is right now, but I know it’s wherever you are. I’m- without you, I’m lost. I love you.” Catherine pulled out of the driveway, not realizing Thomas was a few houses back, ready to follow them.

“This is Jane, leave a message!”

“Mom, it’s Kat. Please pick up. Please”

“This is Jane, leave a-”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Catherine hadn’t expected her to actually answer after evading all of her calls, and even evading her daughter’s. “I really-”

“Please don’t do this. I told you I need time. You didn’t lose me forever. We’re still married. All I need is time, and you need to understand that.”

“You can’t say I didn’t lose you forever. Henry or Thomas could get to you first.”

“Catherine I-” Jane went silent. Her daughter grabbed the phone from the hispanic’s hand.

“Mom, please. Just tell us where you are. I need you right now.”

“I- bye Kat.” The blonde hung up.

“She,” Katherine took a breath before continuing. “She hung up on me.” The girl in the passenger seat sounded so defeated.

Catherine groaned, calling her mother-in-law.

“Cath,” she answered shortly.

“Is she with you?”

“I-”

“Marge, come on. Don’t do this. I’m just trying to make sure my wife is safe.”

“Yes. She’s here, and she’s safe. You just need to give her time.”

“I already lost enough time with her Marge! What if even more time gets ripped away from me because one of those stupid fucking idiots gets to her first?”

“We’re going to-” Catherine’s phone began to ring.

“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s Beale. I’ll call you back.” She switched lines.

“Hello?”

“We got Henry. He was wandering the streets drunk, yelling about Jane. It was definitely him. He pulled a gun. He’s dead.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, here’s something that you might want to know. Jane left. She’s back at her parents’ house. I’m heading there now with her daughter.”

“Aragon, you know how dangerous that is.”

“Yes. I didn’t get to tell you yesterday either: I’m pretty sure I saw Thomas. It’s why she left.”

“Because she was scared.”

“Where are you now?”

“Somewhere between Parr’s house and the Seymour house.”

“Be careful. I’ll have the police in both areas on lookout for Thomas.”

“Thank you.” She hung up and called the Seymour house again. “They caught him.”

“They caught Henry?”

“Yes. He’s dead. But Thomas is still out there, and they don’t know much about his intentions. Please keep her safe until I get to your house.”

“Cath, she needs time.”

“I already told you: I lost too much time as it is. I lost twelve years! I can’t lose anymore.”

“When she kicks your ass for being here, I’m telling you I told you so.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don't care. I just need my wife back in my arms again. Please tell her-” The line went dead.

“So that was your wife.”

“Of course it was.”

“She just wants you safe, you know that.”

“She told me I was a responsibility. How is that-”

“That woman absolutely worships the ground you walk on! You told her at your wedding you would let her love you! Now, for the love of God, just let the woman love you!” John was done listening to his daughter.

“Dad!”

“Jane!” He mimicked.

“You know-”

“I’ll tell you what I know, and I want you to listen carefully,” John spoke with intention. “I know that woman loves you. I know that woman is in love with you. I know she can’t bear the thought of losing you because she doesn’t think she could ever go back to a life of not having you. I know she loves you more than you could ever even try to fucking-”

“John!” Margaret hissed.

“-more than you could ever freaking fathom. You made a vow to love her and let her love you. Let her love you with everything she has because, without you, she would think she has nothing. I refuse to watch her heart be broken again by you.” John went to tend to his grandson without another word. Margaret and Jane stood in stunned silence for a few moments, letting what the head of the household said sink in.

“You know,” Margaret sighed heavily. “He’s right.” She too went to tend to her grandson.

“Fuck!” Thomas yelled. He was almost out of gas, and quite frankly, he was exhausted. “Having a general idea of where they were heading, it didn’t take him long to figure out Catherine and Kat were heading to the Seymour residence.

“They can wait,” he muttered as he pulled into a rest stop.

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #9: The Decline and Death of Brian Jones

I’ve probably made it no secret that I have a freaky-ass memory throughout the course of this series, and this won’t be an exception. Aside from many of the exact dates, I can remember exactly how I got obsessed with Brian Jones.

It started in May 2019 while I was goofing off in art class. I was trying to write about the 27 Club, being obsessed with Kurt Cobain at the time, when I found myself captivated by a certain other blonde in the club.

I don’t know what kept me around. Maybe it was the delicate features framed by silky blond hair. Maybe it was the complicated story of his life. Maybe it was his mysterious death, and my drive to find out what really happened. Or maybe it was that shitty movie they made about him in 2005.

Whatever the reason, I stuck around. I’ll even put it this way: “Came for the morbidity stayed for the music. “

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It took me about a week or two to come up with my first theory between wondering what the hell I was getting myself into and trying to decide whether I should watch Stoned. I found out very early on that Brian had developed asthma at the age of four after a bout of croup. Knowing that asthma attacks can result in death, I didn’t think it unlikely that Brian could have drowned as a result of an asthma attack. In my research, I found an article stating that chlorine mixing with organic material can trigger symptoms of asthma attacks and allergic reactions.

I knew I’d need more evidence though but given that I didn’t want to be too intrusive this early on, that would be a slow process. If there was one thing I held on to, it was my firm resolute to not fall for another murder conspiracy so soon. It didn’t end so well for me the last time.

As I was trying to piece together what exactly happened to Brian Jones, I was also beginning to find out the story of how he got to that point in the first place.

There are many reasons I have love-hate relationships with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and their treatment of Brian Jones is by far the biggest one.

Where the story of Brian Jones’ decline really starts is at the Ealing Club on 7 April 1962. It was here that a young Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Dick Taylor saw Brian “Elmo Lewis” Jones take the stage for the first time. The next month, Brian put an ad in the papers for musicians to come join a band he was starting. He quickly brought together Ian Stewart, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Dick Taylor, and Tony Chapman. The band, which Brian dubbed “The Rollin’ Stones,” gave their first performance on 12 July 1962, though there seems to be some confusion over who was playing drums that night. Bill Wyman replaced Dick Taylor on 7 December 1962, and Charlie Watts replaced Tony Chapman on 9 January 1963.

In the early days, Brian served as the Stones’ manager. It ended up being this very thing that led to the first cracks in this fortuitous partnership.

First thing’s first, Andrew Loog Oldham came along, and in May, he became the Stones’ manager. He only really had eyes for Mick and was one of the ones who led the subsequent whispering campaign against Brian. Not helping anything was when, on 13 October 1963, the others found out that Brian had been paying himself an extra £5 ($5.58). These were expenses he deducted because he believed that should be his pay, considering he was doing much of the work at this time. (I can sort of relate; I’ve suffered through high school group projects).

On the economics side (lord knows, that’s more Mick’s thing than mine), Bill Wyman has since stated that the Stones were making £193 ($215.38) a week. Adjusting for inflation, Brian was deducting roughly £87.26 out of £3,608.53. For the Americans in the crowd, that’s roughly $114.20 out of $4,722.66, once adjusted for inflation. Granted, across the board, that’s roughly 2.5% of the band’s total income at this point. Still, even that much might matter when you’re a bunch of starving artists.

When Paul Trynka summarized why everybody was pissed in his book, Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones, he said that for Mick, it was because he was a student at the London School of Economics. Five pounds is five pounds. Meanwhile, Keith was pissed because he, like everyone else in the band, was under the impression that they were earning equal pay in this group effort.

Pro-tip: If you start a band and feel you should be paid more because of how much of the work you’re doing, please disclose this with your band and work out an arrangement that will be beneficial to everyone. Otherwise, shit gets ugly.

Brian also didn’t help his case by insisting on staying in fancier hotels than the others (he was a bit of a neat-freak and a narcissist).

Keith later said, “He had an arrangement with (Eric) Easton, that as leader of the band he was entitled to this extra payment. Everybody freaked out. That was the beginning of the decline of Brian. We said, ‘Fuck you…’”

Meanwhile, Ian Stewart (who had been ousted from the band earlier that year) stated, “When we started playing outside London, Brian said, ‘I’m the leader of the group and I think I’ll stay at the best hotel. All the rest of you can stay in a cheaper hotel.’ Of course, the rest of the Stones just laughed at him, and that was it from then on. It was all over for him as the leader. He started to isolate himself because of this attitude.”

With one little five-pound note (and an ego trip), Brian had set in motion his entire downfall.

It might seem petty to myself and plenty of other Brian Jones fans, but lord knows, I’m not Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, or Andrew Loog Oldham. Besides, I have no idea how I’ll feel about all this in five years.

Meanwhile, I must confess that I almost did fall into that mindset of believing Brian was murdered. In June 2019, I was in Paris, on a trip across France led by my French teacher. Somewhere between trying not to lose my mind in a big city and taking awkward selfies at Jim Morrison’s grave, I, being overly chatty, started talking to one of my peers about music-related topics. I told her Brian’s entire life story as I understood it at that time, having been obsessed with him for a little over a month at that point. In my haste though, I unintentionally managed to convince her that Brian had been murdered. Despite not meaning to, I did end up entertaining the possibility, both for her and myself, for at least the rest of the night.

Besides, at the time, I was drawing blanks in trying to find hard evidence that Brian wasn’t murdered. I had one (water-logged) book saying he wasn’t, and a (shitty) movie and another book saying he was.

And then, at some point, I regained my senses, and not because of how ridiculous Brian’s death was when depicted in the movie Stoned. (For fuck’s sake, there was a shooting star in the sky at the moment of his death and he showed up as a ghost in the last five minutes). It really had everything to do with how much I regretted believing Kurt Cobain had been murdered.

I once again gathered my resolve and decided to go back on the hunt for more clues.

The second part of Brian Jones’ decline undoubtedly involves his tempestuous relationship with German-Italian actress Anita Pallenberg. The two started dating after a Rolling Stones concert in Munich on 14 September 1965 and developed a close bond, thanks in part to Brian’s ability to speak German. She gave him the confidence he needed to go against Mick and Keith and helped him become the fashion icon he is still remembered as today.

The Who’s Pete Townshend later had this to say: “We hung out a lot from about 1964 to 1966. Part of the time he was seeing Anita Pallenberg. She was a stunning creature. I mean literally stunning. It was quite hard to maintain one’s gaze. One time in Paris I remember they took some drug and were so sexually stimulated they could hardly wait for me to leave the room before starting to shag. I felt Brian was living on a higher plane of decadence than anyone I would ever meet.”

However, their relationship was also highly abusive. They would verbally and physically abuse each other. In fact, one time, Brian broke his wrist while the two were on a trip in Tangier. Though Brian said it was the result of an accident, Christopher Gibbs and Bill Wyman have both stated that it resulted from an altercation with Anita (though sources vary about whether he broke his wrist on a metal window frame or her face).

Of their relationship, Keith had this to say, “I would hear the thumping some nights, and Brian would come out with a black eye. Brian was a woman beater. But the one woman in the world you did not want to try and beat up on was Anita Pallenberg. Every time they had a fight, Brian would come out bandaged and bruised.”

I’d go so far as to say that the one good thing that came out of their relationship was the fact that Brian composed the soundtrack for her movie Mord Und Totschlag (A Degree of Murder).

As I’ve previously written about, when Mick and Keith were charged with drug possession in February 1967, lawyers told the Glimmer Triplets (Mick, Keith, and Brian) that since they were the most visible of the Stones, they should leave the country. So, Brian and Anita left Britain, heading for Morocco. However, Brian was already in no condition to travel, and he fell ill with pneumonia in Toulouse. He ended up spending a few days there (including his 25th birthday), while Keith and Anita met up in Tangier. There, she started an affair with Keith behind Brian’s back (Keith even confirmed in his autobiography that she made the first move).

When Brian finally arrived, he could tell that there was something going on between Keith and Anita. Keith was apparently shy around girls at this stage in his life but was more confident around Anita. Meanwhile, Anita was now a bit more open around Keith. Not much is certain about what happened next. What is known is that Brian paid for the services of two prostitutes and that there was an incident between him and Anita that night. Keith said that he threw food at her and humiliated her. Bill claimed that he beat her to the point where she was scared for her life. The less said about Stoned, the better.

Regardless, whatever Brian’s actions really were, it was over between him and Anita. Keith convinced her that if they didn’t get the hell out of there, Brian might try and kill her. The next day, Mick, Keith, and Anita fled Morocco, leaving Brian stranded for the next two days.

Brian’s father later blamed his son’s downward spiral on Anita breaking his heart. Others, such as Linda Lawrence, suggest that it was Mick and Keith’s betrayal that hurt him far more than Anita’s.

In either case, he never really forgave Keith. Beyond that, his drug and alcohol consumption only worsened.

This part of the Stones’ history is… tricky. Of course, I can’t condone Brian for his behaviour, but Keith, and especially Anita weren’t entirely in the right in this situation. Ultimately, Keith and Anita stayed together until 1980 and had three children (one of whom unfortunately died in infancy). Besides, I understand Keith’s actions the most out of everyone, given that he had a noble intent in getting Anita away from Brian’s increasingly toxic behaviour. Of course, it’s also important to note that Brian and Anita were 25 and 24 respectively at the time of this incident, and beyond that, they were young and impulsive, with unfortunately predictable results, given that they both could be volatile.

I may have an infatuation with Brian, but sometimes, something’s got to give.

Fifty-two years after that clusterfuck, I was continuing my research into the life of L. B. H. Jones as the fiftieth anniversary of his death came and went. A week or two later, I decided, despite some reservations, to get Bill Wyman’s book, Stone Alone.

Say what you will about Bill (I know at some point I’ll be commenting about the travesty that was his relationship with Mandy Smith), but I figured that if I wanted to know about the early Rolling Stones, he’d be one of my best sources. At the very least, he’s the only one who’s given Brian any sort of credit for his accomplishments instead of solely focusing on his failures like Keith tends to do. As I was flipping through random pages, I learned that Bill had written about one of Brian’s many illegitimate children. He called her “Carol,” for the sake of anonymity, and in it, he discussed the matter of her being diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy. She and Bill even applied some of her symptoms to things Bill observed when he was with Brian. In that one instant, what happened to Brian the night he drowned seemed to make perfect sense.

One of the things that had made putting the clues together so difficult from the very start was that Brian had punctate haemorrhages (tiny bleeds normally found in shaken baby syndrome) in his brain, which indicated that he’d been thrashing around quite a bit in his final moments.

Temporal lobe epilepsy can’t be cured, but it is manageable to a degree with medications. Brian, however, was never diagnosed, which is why we can’t be certain that he had epilepsy. There is no doubt in my mind that if Brian did have epilepsy, it would’ve gotten worse over time, given that Brian received no treatment. Carol speculated that Brian likely chalked up many of his symptoms to being hungover. Even then, he might not have realized that something was happening with his brain.

While I was typing up my theories though, I remembered that I’d found his toxicology report not long beforehand. As I read it, I found out that the drug that was in his system was likely Mandrax, which he had been prescribed in the days before he died. When I looked up Mandrax, I discovered that it was a brand name for Quaaludes. It can cause mental confusion, ataxia, seizures, and impaired decision-making, among other negative side-effects. The impaired judgment would explain why Brian decided it’d be a great idea to go swimming after he’d had sleeping pills and alcohol…

I still didn’t consider my work done, but this was the closest I’d come to having answers yet.

Speaking of Brian and drug abuse, the third key to understanding what happened to Brian, is to look at his two drug convictions.

However, I already talked about this (quite recently too), so I’ll try and keep this section brief.

As Mick and Keith were formally charged with drug possession on 10 May 1967, Brian found his home being raided by police. Although he’d been tipped off about their arrival, they still managed to find a handbag with cannabis in it, as well as methamphetamines and cocaine. It could be argued that the evidence was planted, but there is no way to prove this. In court, Brian confessed to doing cannabis but denied doing anything stronger (even though there’s pictures of him tripping on LSD early in 1967). The Stones’ new manager, Allen Klein, told him to stay away from the other Stones. However, this had the effect of further isolating Brian when he needed his bandmates the most.

On 30 October 1967, Brian was sentenced to three months in prison for cannabis possession and another nine months for allowing cannabis to be smoked in his home. He was additionally fined. After a rough night in prison, he was released the next day, awaiting appeal, though he was left shaken by that experience.

On 12 December, Brian went to appeals court, where his psychologist argued that Brian would become suicidal if he went to prison. Brian was sentenced to three years’ probation and ordered by the courts to seek professional help.

Lord knows, at this point, Brian might have been making an honest-to-God effort to get off drugs, but on 21 May 1968, police raided his house again. This time, they found cannabis hidden away in a ball of wool in the process. This usually inspires more impassioned arguments from Brian Jones fans that the evidence was planted. Brian himself said that he would swear until the day he died that he didn’t commit this second offense. Because he was still on probation at the time of this second arrest, he was facing a long jail sentence if found guilty.

On 26 September, Brian was found guilty of drug possession for the second time. However, the same judge who sentenced him to a year in prison the first time took pity on him. Instead, he fined Brian and gave him a stern warning to not show up in court again.

As you can see with the attached pictures though, the trials only helped speed up Brian’s downward spiral, and he shut down mentally.  

Honestly, I think the trials are a large part of the reason Brian went downhill as fast as he did.

Meanwhile, back in the present day, it was September now, and I was starting to get into the swing of being a full-time college student. While I was procrastinating, as usual, I was messing about on Google and I happened upon Brian’s autopsy report. Fact about me: this was far from my first time reading either autopsy reports or death certificates, so I decided to give it a look. After all, I could understand quite a bit of the medical jargon, which I blame on the fact that I loved reading medical books in elementary school. Couldn’t hurt, right?

Was the report perfunctory? Yes. Were there mistakes? A few that stood out, such as Brian’s height being given as 5′9″ when he was 5′6″, and his age being listed as twenty-six as opposed to twenty-seven.

However, that report did reinforce my most recent conclusions that Brian had overdosed on sleeping pills, which was exacerbated by alcohol.

I knew now that Mandrax had once been prescribed to treat anxiety and insomnia, which Brian likely suffered from following the stress of two drug trials that both resulted in convictions. This was also a time before doctors realized the addictive properties of Quaaludes. For all I know, Brian might not have been keeping the best track of how many pills he was taking (which is also how Keith Moon died).

Going back to the long, sordid story of Brian’s collapse, the fourth major reason he found himself being kicked out of the band he founded was that he stopped contributing to the Stones’ music.

In the documentary Crossfire Hurricane, Mick stated, “You certainly didn’t know if he was going to turn up and what state he was going to be in and then, what he was going to be able to do in that state. What job could you give him? And then, one time, when we sat around, on the floor, we played, in a circle, playing “No Expectations”. And he picked the guitar and played a very pretty line on it which you can hear on the record. And that was the last thing I remember him doing that was Brian. Or, the Brian that could contribute something very pretty and sensitive and it made the record sound wonderful.”

Some people have compared Brian to someone who wants to quit but doesn’t want a confrontation (Brian, believe it or not, wasn’t exactly keen on confrontation). Instead, he puts in the smallest effort he can, if that. In fact, Brian had wanted to leave in 1967, but Mick convinced him to stay.

Perhaps Brian’s fate might have been different if he’d gone with his gut in 1967.

Brian still contributed to much of Beggars Banquet. By 1969 though, it seems as if he’d completely given up on the band he’d founded. He stopped showing up to the studio, and if he did come, he’d be too intoxicated to play. In fact, there were points where Mick and Keith would turn off his amp, if not tell him to just go home. It got to the point where he (barely) appears on two songs on Let It Bleed: “Midnight Rambler” and “You’ve Got the Silver.”

Frequent Stones collaborator Jack Nitzsche later said “Brian came up to me, looking pretty shaky, and asked me what I thought he should do- he didn’t know where he fit[ted] in. I told him to just pick up a guitar and start playing. Then he walked over to Mick and asked, ‘What should I play?’ Mick told him, ‘You’re a member of the band, Brian, play whatever you want.’ So he played something, but Mick stopped him and said, ‘No, Brian, not that- that’s no good.’ So Brian asked him again what to play and Mick told him again to play whatever he wanted. So Brian played something else, but Mick cut him off again- ‘No, that’s no good either, Brian.’”

Marianne Faithfull, Mick’s girlfriend at the time, told a friend that Brian had sent Mick several letters over a period of several weeks while Mick was away. One that she’d opened said “Please let me come back in. I’ll play bongos, anything, but please let me come back in.”

…I need a moment to recollect myself.

Some fifty years later, I was still trying to make it through my first semester of college. I got myself a book about the 27 Club, figuring there might be something that would aid me in my research. There, I learned that, reportedly, Brian had not only been taking Mandrax, but also Piriton (hay fever medication), black bombers (which had been prescribed to him a mere ten days before he died), and Valium. That’s on top of an inhaler that would later be found to cause heart palpitations.

A couple of months later, I decided to look up the side-effects of every drug that Brian had ever taken, be it proven fact or allegation. That part of my research isn’t quite finished yet, but what I’ve found with the five medications that Brian was taking around the time of his death proved to be particularly shocking.

For the sake of brevity, I can’t list every side-effect. What I did notice is that some included side-effects of tachycardia/bradycardia, confusion, loss of coordination, impaired decision making, hyperactivity, seizures, and stomach problems. Some, like the uncoordinated behaviour, were noted by those who were there, such as Janet Lawson, who realized that Brian had taken sleeping pills that night, based on him muttering that he’d taken “sleepers”. Others could be a no-brainer, given that Brian had an enlarged heart and liver, in addition to suffering from bronchial troubles and pleurisy.

My immediate thought was, “Jesus, Brian, what the hell were you doing to yourself?”

And now for the final part of Brian’s story: the last twenty-five days of his life.

The Stones wanted to go on tour again, this being their first in two years. Due to Brian’s convictions, Stones management discovered that he probably wouldn’t be able to receive a work visa in the U.S. On 8 June 1969, Mick and Keith drove down to Cotchford Farm to tell Brian that he was fired. They brought Charlie along in case Brian decided to put up a fight. However, Brian agreed to back out gracefully, possibly knowing that he’d burned too many bridges at this point. The next day, Brian released a statement, which painted the decision to leave as being his own. He capped it off with “We had a friendly meeting and agreed that an amicable termination, temporary or permanent, was the only answer. The only solution was to go our separate ways, but we shall still remain friends. I love those fellows.”

As I’ve said though, how Brian truly felt about this turn of events will forever remain a mystery.

In the days before he died, it has been suggested by those close to him that Brian was planning on starting another band. Some believe he was going to bring in Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. Jimi’s camp has since denied that Brian ever approached Jimi. There are also lingering questions regarding whether Brian had given up hard drugs or if he was still taking them. I doubt the latter, considering the well-documented stress of the drug trials.

The picture above was taken nine days before Brian died. Honestly, I do believe there was still some hope for Brian (I can even see it in his eyes). Whether he would’ve recovered or not and whether he’d still be alive today will forever remain up to conjecture, as that’s another possibility that followed Brian to the grave.

Wednesday, 2 July 1969 was host to hot, muggy weather that exacerbated Brian’s asthma. He spent his last day alive with at least three people: Anna Wohlin, his 22-year-old, Swedish girlfriend, Janet Lawson, a registered nurse who was dating Stones minder Tom Keylock, and Frank Thorogood, a 43-year-old builder who’d been doing work on Brian’s property at the time.

Details of Brian’s final day are sketchy, and there are some disagreements over what exactly the people involved did throughout the day. For example, there are disagreements about whether they watched television or not. Some would argue that this is clear evidence that Brian was murdered. I would posit that three of the four parties involved had been drinking. Even if everyone was sober, in a situation such as this, human memory can be extremely unreliable. For example, hundreds of witnesses were interviewed on the night Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, but no two accounts are alike. What we know had to be stitched together from witness accounts in which everyone claimed to have seen or heard something different.

What seems to be the most agreed-upon version of Brian’s death is that he decided to go swimming. Anna was reluctant and had to be persuaded to join in. Janet, the only sober person among the group, decided against swimming, most likely to keep an eye out for everyone else. Janet said in her witness report (recorded on the morning of July 3, 1969) that she strongly felt that Frank and Brian were in no condition to swim. She also recalled that Brian had great difficulty in standing on the diving board, being helped not-so-successfully by Frank. Even after that, his movements in the water seemed sluggish.

I don’t know, but if that were me, I would’ve called emergency services right there and then.

According to Janet, Anna was the first to return to the house, followed by Frank about ten minutes later. When Janet next went out to check on Brian sometime around midnight, she found him face-down in the deep end, and “immediately sensed the worst.”

She ran back to the house to get Frank and Anna, and with their help, got Brian out of the pool. She immediately began resuscitative efforts, despite knowing Brian was already dead. Anna later claimed that she felt Brian’s hand briefly grip hers. However, when paramedics arrived, they pronounced Brian dead in the early morning hours of 3 July 1969.

Brian’s official cause of death was given as drowning by immersion in fresh water, partly as a result of liver damage and the ingestion of drugs and alcohol. To be precise, 1,720 micro-gms of an “amphetamine-like substance” and the alcohol equivalent of three-and-a-half pints of beer were found in Brian’s system.

In short, it was death by misadventure.

As seems to be the case when a young celebrity dies under tragic circumstances, conspiracy theories have since risen regarding Brian’s death. The following list is taken from Paul Trynka’s book. For the sake of brevity (such as it is), some of these will be combined into one section.

1. The most predominant of these theories states that Frank Thorogood drowned Brian. Whether it was second-degree murder or manslaughter as a result of rough horseplay will usually vary between sources. Brian reportedly asked Janet to get his inhaler shortly before his death. The story then goes on to state that Frank drowned Brian and participated little in the efforts to save Brian’s life. It should be noted that Janet did state in her original testimony that she’d asked him to call emergency services.

The main reason people will give about why they believe that Brian was murdered is that Tom Keylock claimed to have heard Frank confess on his deathbed to the murder. However, Frank’s daughter, Jan Bell, has denied that such an exchange could have happened. There was never a point where Keylock had spent any time alone with her father. Furthermore, he’d only been admitted with a respiratory problem, and thus could not have known that he was on his deathbed. She also claimed that on the morning of Brian’s death, Frank saw an argument between Mick, Keith, and Brian over the name “Rolling Stones.” During the fight, Keith allegedly pulled a knife on Brian. If this did happen, it was likely earlier in the year.

In addition, Janet and Anna have since claimed that Brian was murdered. Janet later claimed that much of her original testimony was suggested to her by investigating officers and that Tom told her to hide the fact that she was his girlfriend. Anna claimed that she was spirited back to Sweden in the immediate aftermath of Brian’s death, where she allegedly miscarried Brian’s child. One of Anna’s friends later said that her belief that Brian had been murdered was a recent development. It’s also notable that neither witness came forward until after Frank died. Many of Anna’s recollections about Brian, such as him being focused on music are also contradicted by others who were close to Brian at the time.

Keith later said, “I knew Frank Thorogood, who made a ‘deathbed confession’ that he’d killed Brian Jones by drowning him in the swimming pool, where Brian’s body was found some minutes after other people had seen him alive. But I’m always wary of deathbed confessions because the only person there is the person he’s supposed to have said it to, some uncle, daughter, or whatever. ‘On his deathbed he said he killed Brian.’ Whether he did or not I don’t know. Brian had bad asthma and he was taking Quaaludes and Tuinals, which are not the best things to dive under water on. Very easy to choke on that stuff. He was heavily sedated. He had a high tolerance for drugs, I’ll give him that. But weigh that against the coroner’s report, which showed that he was suffering from pleurisy, an enlarged heart, and a diseased liver. Still, I can imagine the scenario of Brian being so obnoxious to Thorogood and the building crew he had working on Brian’s house that they were just pissing around with him. He went under and didn’t come up. But when somebody says, ‘I did Brian,’ at the very most I’d put it down to manslaughter. All right, you may have pushed him under, but you weren’t there to murder him. He pissed off the builders, whining son of a bitch. It wouldn’t have mattered if the builders were there or not, he was at that point in his life when there wasn’t any.”

(You’re telling me he can apologize for telling Mick to get a vasectomy, but not for even a fraction of the shit he’s said about Brian?)

In 2005, this version of events was turned into the appalling movie Stoned, which featured Tom Keylock as an adviser and was based on claims made by Janet Lawson and Anna Wohlin. The director, Stephen Wooley, claimed to have researched the material for this story over a period of ten years. Really, it feels less like ten years of research, and more like one week. From what I could tell, it did seem that Brian’s death was manslaughter, but honestly, it was too confusing. Frank seemed damn determined to drown Brian in that moment. The movie (quite literally) drowned on arrival.

2. In 1983, Nicholas Fitzgerald wrote Brian Jones: The Inside Story of a Rolling Stone. In it, he claimed to have been a close friend of Brian Jones (his cousin, Tara Browne, actually was a close friend of Brian’s). Not only that, but he claimed to have seen Brian’s “murder.” He claimed that he and 19-year-old Richard Cadbury (who passed away before the story came out) visited Brian at Cotchford Farm the day he died. Allegedly, Brian told Fitzgerald all about his plans to start up a supergroup with John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix, saying “Don’t say anything… it could be dangerous!”

(As keen as I am about the idea of John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, and Brian Jones being in the same band, you can probably tell that I think this story is a load of bullshit.)

After Fitzgerald and his friend visited a pub, they returned to Cotchford Farm at about 11:15 PM, leaving their car some distance from the house. (Keep in mind, the coroner said that Brian died somewhere between 11:30 PM and 12:00 AM). There, he and his friend saw three men holding Brian under the water, whilst two other people stood by. Suddenly, a man, likely Keylock, jumped out of the bushes and told Fitzgerald to scram, lest he be next.

He refused to give a formal statement to the police. What I don’t think the dumb fuck was counting on was that police would investigate his ass, considering that withholding information could’ve resulted in him being charged with being an accessory to murder after the fact. The police determined that the evidence Fitzgerald gave was “bizarre, full of unverifiable claims that, he, too, had escaped murder attempts, that Cadbury might have been involved with the murderers, and that Cadbury, too, had died ‘in mysterious circumstances”. Detective Chief Superintendent J. F. Reece summarized it best when he said that Fitzgerald was a “Walter Mitty type person” and that he’d come up with the allegations to promote his book. In fact, the book itself had even more ludicrous allegations, such as how Tom Keylock had overseen the whole thing. It got to the point where Eddie Kramer called the story “silly.” John Lennon, meanwhile, believed that Brian was another victim of the drugs scene, and even dreaded him coming on the phone (another reason I don’t believe the supergroup was in the cards for Brian’s future, regardless). Also, Fitzgerald mostly relied on the testimony of those who had already passed away, such as Suki Potier, one of Brian’s girlfriends, who died in a car crash along with her husband in 1981. One of the few living witnesses Fitzgerald claimed to have run into, James Phelge, denied ever having met him.

Also, pro-tip, if you’re going to claim to have been a close friend of someone you’re claiming was murdered, don’t sell your story to the tabloid that got him busted for drug possession. Just saying.

3. In 1990, A. E. Hotchner published Blown Away: The Rolling Stones and the Death of the Sixties. In it, he claimed that Brian’s childhood friend, Dick Hattrell, and a random Cockney named "Marty” had knowledge that Brian was murdered. He claimed that Rich (sounds better to me than Dick) visited Brian shortly before he died and became worried about him. Later, he bumped into someone who claimed to have witnessed Brian’s murder. Marty claimed to have witnessed the murder, claiming that two other women were there, including Linda Lawrence (mother of one of Brian’s sons) who was spirited out of the country following Brian’s death.

In reality, she last saw Brian in 1968.

Similarly, Hattrell has since stated that the story was nonsense; he never visited Brian at Cotchford, and he never said Brian was murdered. Marty has since kept his mouth shut.

Really, it just doesn’t hold up when closely scrutinized.

4. David Gibson claimed to the Brighton Evening Argus that, while he was fitting carpets at Brian’s home, Brian and Anna were absent throughout the better part of the day. When they returned later in the evening, Brian begged Gibson not to leave. Gibson, meanwhile, believed Brian had been murdered and that Tom Keylock was responsible. Some, like Sam Cutler, claim that Gibson saw Princess Margaret at Cotchford Farm, which has led to speculation that Brian was killed to protect her reputation. Gibson never went to the police, and probably believed that he’d been subject to threats and murder attempts. However, aside from Brian’s paranoia and belief that someone was out to get him, Gibson’s story doesn’t line up with many of the other conspiracy theories.

5. Geoffrey Giuliano in his 1994 book Paint It Black claimed that a man named “Joe” said that he’d held Brian’s head under the water for shits and giggles (not something one would normally do for shits and giggles). The thing is though, Giuliano’s book largely recycled content from previous books on the subject, and beyond that, made elementary mistakes, such as claiming that Frank had fled the scene, when in reality, he was there when police officer Albert Evans arrived at about 12:10 AM. It was later found that the tape he’d sourced some of this information from was a fake, made for American radio programmes in New York.

6. Given that Tom Keylock was a bit of a dishonest/disliked character in life, it should come as no surprise that some of the theories focus on him too. In 2009, Sam Cutler claimed that after Brian’s death, Allen Klein (himself a sleazeball) hired some PI’s to investigate Brian’s death and that they’d discovered that Tom was responsible. While Tom did try to pin the blame on Frank and told Janet to conceal her relationship with him, and it is known that he apparently stole some of Brian’s belongings after he died, that does not make one a murderer. It’ll certainly make him a slimeball, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. Meanwhile, in 2013, Cutler claimed confusion as to whether the Klein report even existed. I think at this point, it’s safe to call it a hoax.

In addition, while it is more likely that Tom would have been the murderer instead of Frank, he does have a rather rock-solid alibi in that he was at Olympic Studios and was the one who received the call that Brian had died. Really, any theories that try to say he masterminded a huge plot to have Brian killed and make it appear as an accident tend to raise more questions than it answers.

Let’s all make no mistake though, the police did jump to conclusions rather quickly, there are several obvious mistakes in the autopsy findings, and not to mention, police failed to control the area, which is likely how Tom was able to steal Brian’s belongings and possibly have some destroyed.

Meanwhile, I myself believe that Brian’s death was accidental. Likely, it was the result of a cocktail of prescription medications, alcohol consumption, maybe a side-effect or two resulting from that, and possibly even heart failure or liver disease. Perhaps Brian fainted (which, I honestly hope for, given how painful it is to drown), and with no one around to notice his plight, he quietly slipped away.

I know there’s no way to prove this, given that the police don’t have a good reason to dig up Brian’s bones and it’s probably far too late for a second toxicology report, but given the available evidence I’ve been able to find, I believe this is the most likely version of events.

Truly, a sad ending for a man, who didn’t even have a chance to get back on his feet before fate (and a lifetime of drug/alcohol abuse) intervened.

Whenever I read about Brian’s life story, I always find myself interested by the mistakes, intrigue, and betrayal that seemed to plague Brian’s life from the outset. There are a multitude of what-ifs that honestly make this tale haunting, such as what might’ve happened had Mick and Keith not bullied Brian so severely. There’s also what might have happened if both the Stones and the authorities had better understood the effects of drug use and had the resources and compassion to better deal with Brian’s situation. Most hauntingly, there’s the question of what might’ve happened had someone been near Brian in his final moments and had the opportunity to save him.

I think the biggest reason I keep coming back to his story is that his life as a whole was very conflicting. It honestly inspires both condemnation and sympathy/pity, even in me.

Even if Mick and Keith would rather forget that Brian was ever a part of their band, it is my honest belief that people will continue to discover Brian Jones, whether it be through the 27 Club or through some other means, and I hope that they take the time to learn his story.

Sources/Further Reading: https://www.drugs.com/illicit/quaaludes.html https://asthma.net/living/swimming-pools-triggers/ https://www.drugs.com/sfx/ergotamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/valium-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/amphetamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/chlorpheniramine-side-effects.html Stone Alone by Bill Wyman Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Rock Legend by Laura Jackson https://clearcomfort.com/why-asthma-allergy-sufferers-should-avoid-chlorine-pools/ http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1963.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1962.html https://www.inflationtool.com/british-pound/1963-to-present-value?amount=5 https://people.com/music/anita-pallenberg-rolling-stones-keith-richards-brian-jones-love-triangle/ https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-lists/the-27-club-a-brief-history-17853/ https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-found-dead/ https://www.denofgeek.com/us/culture/music/281978/the-rolling-stones-and-the-mystery-of-brian-jones-death https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/brian-jones-sympathy-for-the-devil-182761/ https://www.mojo4music.com/articles/15989/brian-jones-it-was-murder https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-murdered/ https://www.udiscovermusic.com/stories/just-why-was-brian-jones-so-important-to-the-rolling-stones/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/obituary-brian-jones-189861/ https://www.oxfordtreatment.com/prescription-drug-abuse/tuinal/

[7-wonders]

As Above, So Below Ch. 9

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 3183

A/N: This chapter’s extra long to make up for how shitty I’ve been with updating lately. Thanks for sticking around; feedback is always appreciated and my inbox is always open!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9: Ballroom Blitz | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

“I’m not wearing that.”

“You have to, it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition, I’m not wearing it!”

You’re in a face-off with Madison, glaring fiercely at the woman while she clutches a corset in her hands. After Desa wasn’t able to convince you to wear it, she had gone to get Madison, which only agitated you more. You’re already nervous about seeing Michael tonight, as well as being in a room with a bunch of legendary gods and goddesses who are so much more worldly than you are. Your nerves are shot, and this is really not helping things right now.

Madison sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Why won’t you wear it?”

“Because it’s a sexist piece of clothing rooted in patriarchal values. They’re used specifically to make a woman ‘aesthetically pleasing,’ which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” You explain your viewpoint.

“I...really hate that you’re right.” Madison concedes after a moment, causing you to smirk with pride. “Fine, don’t wear it. You’ll look great no matter what.”

Madison is already dressed, wearing a black strapless dress with sleeves that flow down to her elbows and a slit on the side of the fabric that shows off her long legs. Gold leaves accent the dress in just the right way, and the outfit is completed with a dainty diadem on her head. You can only imagine that every other woman who will be attending tonight will look just as ethereal as the woman in front of you.

“I’m not gonna be able to even stand next to you and all the other goddesses.” You chuckle, attempting to make light of your very real fear.

“Why not?”

“Look at you, and then look at me. There’s your answer.” Madison frowns, tossing the corset onto your bed and grabbing your shoulders to drag you towards the mirror.

“Why do you put yourself down so much? You do this whenever I dress you up.”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to not compare myself when I’m surrounded by all these perfect women. Plus, with social media you’ve got Instagram models and Facetune being shown to you everyday. It’s pretty much ingrained in our minds to compare ourselves and see how we can be ‘better.’” You cough, meeting Madison’s eyes through the mirror. “It’s just normal, I guess.”

“Beauty is very much a human concept. Even at the height of Greek civilization, mortals were fighting over what beauty truly was. Do you know what some of the greatest philosophers decided?” You shake your head, and she smiles. “They couldn’t come to a conclusion. Beauty’s subjective, and it’s often true that the most beautiful people carry their beauty within them.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Hush. You don’t know how beautiful you are, both on the outside and the inside. If the Greeks fought a war over Helen of Troy’s beauty, they’d fight ten wars over yours. You have the literal God of the Underworld head over heels for you, and not to mention all of the beings down here who are drawn to your inner beauty. I promise, you belong here. Besides, when you’ve been alive for as long as all of us have, judging people based on the symmetry of their face or how conventionally attractive their features are becomes very blasé and trivial.”

You attempt to desperately blink your tears away, not wanting to ruin the makeup Desa had so carefully helped you to apply earlier. First Michael’s declaration yesterday, and now Madison’s lecture/reminder today, and now you want to collapse into a puddle of tears and hug every person in sight. Madison senses this, and she rolls her eyes before sighing.

“Get over here and hug me.” She loses her balance slightly at the intensity of your hug, but quickly returns it.

“I knew you’d give into my hugs soon enough.” You mutter into her ear, feeling her shoulders shake with laughter.

“Don’t you dare tell anybody how much of a sap you’ve made me become.” She jokingly warns you.

“Your secret’s safe with me, I swear.”

“Alright, we’ve wasted enough time having a heart-to-heart chat, let’s get you dressed.” Madison snaps her fingers, and Desa appears with a dress in her hands.

Minutes later, you’re inspecting yourself in the mirror again, but this time with glee instead of criticism. The two women (your best friends here, if you’re being honest) picked out a dress made out of some flowy fabric--Organza? Chiffon? You wish you would have paid more attention to your grandmother’s attempts to teach you sewing--that falls down your body like water. The neckline is a deep V, almost reaching down to your waist. You’ve never been a fan of the color pink, but the pale pink color compliments you perfectly. Silver flowers wrap around your figure, which you’re sure is a deliberate choice on Madison’s part. Desa’s wrapped the same flowers throughout your hair. You look completely different while also looking the same as always, kind of like-

“A goddess.” Three sets of eyes go towards the door, where Michael now stands and watches you. You note with glee that fashion is, indeed, not lost on Greek gods. He’s wearing a velvet, blood-red jacket over a sharp black dress shirt, black slacks tucked into the red-bottom boots he’s fond of, and a red and black scarf tied around his neck. Red eyeshadow makes his cyan eyes pop even more than you thought was possible.

“Your hair!” You exclaim, choosing to focus on arguably the smallest detail. In your defense, his hair looks nothing like you’ve seen before; in the span of a day, his hair has grown down to his shoulders.

“You don’t like it?” He teases.

“No I do, I like it a lot, it’s just different. A good different, though.” You stutter out, blushing at how dumb you probably look right now.

“And you, my dear, look like a goddess.” Michael, ever the gentleman, kisses the back of your hand after he approaches you.

“See you out there.” Madison smirks, throwing a cheeky wink your way before sauntering out the door.

“Anything else, (Y/N)?” Desa asks.

“No, thank you Desa.” You smile at the handmaiden, who nods before disappearing. Suddenly it’s just you and Michael, which sends butterflies fluttering through your abdomen. Michael grins at you deviously before leaning in to kiss you.

“You should have started with that.” You giggle breathlessly as Michael places his large, ringed hands on your waist.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Less compliments, more kissing.” He makes his point by kissing you again. “I meant what I said, though. You really do look like a goddess.”

“And I meant what I said, too. I really like the hair. You should consider keeping it like this.” You run a hand through his hair, relishing in the silky feeling.

“Hmm, I’ll consider it. For now, we really should be going. It’s not too good for the host and his lovely date to be late.”

“Wait!” You drag Michael to a stop, and he looks at you in confusion. “I forgot shoes.” You say sheepishly, letting go of his hand to grab the pair of (low) heels still sitting at the end of your bed. You shove them on as quickly as possible, holding Michael’s hands for balance so that you don’t fall.

“Are you ready now?” He asks, smiling fondly at you. With your nod, he lets you wrap your hand around his forearm again, leading you to the throne room.

He can sense how nervous you are as you stand in front of the closed doors, waiting for the butlers to open them and formally introduce Michael. Your grip on his arm keeps growing tighter, and you’re nervously shifting your weight back and forth between each foot.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, (Y/N). I’ve got you.” He reassures you.

“Just...don’t let go of me, okay?”

“Never.” You straighten up when you hear the faint voice of a man announcing “the arrival of his Majesty, King Hades, God of the Dead, Lord of the Underworld, accompanied by Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The doors swing open, and you stifle a gasp.

The throne room is beautifully decorated, looking every bit as rich and extravagant as you imagined a party thrown by Greek gods and goddesses would be. All eyes are on you and Michael as you descend down the grand staircase. You’re smiling, but on the inside you’re desperately repeating to yourself ‘don’t fall, don’t fall.’

“I’ve got you.” He repeats in your ear, hiding a smirk after hearing your terrified thoughts. At the bottom of the staircase, Michael commands all of the attention.

“Dear friends, thank you for joining us here in the Underworld tonight. Please, eat, drink, dance, and be merry.” You assume that this little speech is customary by the bored tone of his voice and the way everyone resumes their conversations the second Michael’s done talking.

“You did good.” You encourage, relaxing now that nobody’s looking at you.

“Funny.” He says dryly, smirking at you.

“I’m serious!” You bump shoulders with him playfully, enjoying the laugh you get from him. His smile quickly morphs into a frown, and you look around while trying to figure out what’s got him down.

“Here comes trouble.” He mutters before forcing a neutral look on his face. A small brunette with doe-eyes approaches, her gold dress trailing behind her. She smiles warmly, but you can see the hesitation in her eyes.

“Michael.” She greets warmly, hugging Michael quickly before pulling away.

“Sister.” He kisses both of her cheeks while you watch in bewilderment. Sister? “(Y/N), this is my sister, Hera.”

“I prefer to go by Violet nowadays.” She smiles at you, hugging you too. “It’s so nice to finally meet you (Y/N). After hearing my brother go on and on about you for months, I was beginning to think he’d never actually make a move.” You giggle as Michael grits his teeth.

“Violet.” He warns, but there’s no malice behind the ‘threat.’

“Ah, I was wondering where my darling wife had ran off too.” Violet stiffens, the atmosphere growing cold when a man with blonde curls (almost like Michael’s, you note) and dark eyes appears and places his hand on Violet’s shoulder. Your eyes widen when you realize that this must be the legendary Zeus.

“Tate.” Michael acknowledges Zeus’ presence with his modern name. Tate smiles coldly, dark eyes fixating on you.

“Is this the object of Michael’s affection?” Michael’s grip tightens protectively on your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

“This is (Y/N).” Tate holds out his arm, and you take his hand and let him kiss the back of it. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as when Michael does it, and you take your hand back quickly from him.

“(Y/N). I’m Tate, Michael’s brother, brother-in-law, unwilling vessel used in his conception, you know.” You don’t know, but you nod anyways.

“It’s nice to meet you.” It’s a tense stare down between the two men, you and Violet looking at each other in worry.

“You’ll have to excuse us, Tate. As the host, I do have to greet the other guests.” Michael quips.

“Of course. Come, Violet.” Tate grabs Violet harshly, pulling her away as she waves ‘goodbye’ at you. When they’re far enough away, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That was…”

“Horrible? Vomit-inducing?” Michael fills in.

“Quite the experience.” You finish, not wanting to be as cruel as Michael. “I see why you got so mad at our first supper, when I called him your brother? You handle yourself extremely well around him, though.” You smile at him, watching as the rage leaves his eyes.

“You’re the only person who can manage to calm me down so easily, you know that?” You shrug bashfully.

“One of my special talents, I guess.” Michael cocks his head to the side, listening to the song the band plays.

“Care for a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t know how to dance.” You explain. Michael smirks at you, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” Your hand intertwines with his, the other resting on his shoulder while he keeps his on your waist. You stumble a bit, apologizing profusely when you step on his toes, but soon he’s swinging you around the room, grinning as you laugh. You watch the other couples whirl around you, smiling nostalgically.

“What?” Michael questions.

“This just reminds me of a movie I used to watch when I was little. Labyrinth?” You’re not surprised when he shakes his head to let you know he doesn’t understand. “Ah, well, there was a scene where the main characters are at a masquerade ball, and they’re dancing just like this. Just reminded me of home, I guess.”

Michael looks down at you, obviously thinking about something. “I’m not sure of the extent of, or if there even will be, any consequences, but maybe we could go up Above for a visit soon?”

“You’d do that?” You ask joyfully.

“Of course I would, I-” A shriek cuts Michael off as he stops you both. The band’s playing comes to a halt, and the lights flicker as more shrieks fill the room. The doors have been blown wide open, both hanging haphazardly off of the hinges. Guests move towards the back of the throne room, trying desperately to get away from whatever threat has invaded Hell. Michael stands in front of you, so you crane your neck to get a view.

A tall figure stands at the bottom of the stairs, his head brushing against the cavernous ceilings that are at least 10 feet above you. His entire body is coal-black and moves as though it’s made of smoke, raised etchings decorating what must be considered his skin. His eyes are burning embers, and the horns that top his head shine when hit with light. Michael steps forward, shocking you. Your shock only increases when he bows his head.

“Father.” You gasp at his greeting, screams surrounding you. His father? Who is his father? You’ve never really entertained the idea of Michael’s parents. Is this Cronus, the father of the 12 main Olympians that you were taught about during (frequently-wrong) elementary school lessons? Or is this Satan himself? Zoe and Madison appear next to you, each grabbing an arm.

“Take (Y/N) to my chambers, and don’t let her out of your sight until I’m there.” They nod in agreement while you try to fight them off.

“Michael!” You protest.

“Do as I say.” He commands, looking at you with what you realize is fear. You nod, and Madison transmutates the three of you out of the throne room. You yell out in frustration after you’ve safely landed in Michael’s office, Zoe and Madison securing the premises.

“Who the fuck was that?” You question, trying to calm down before you really get angry.

“It’s...difficult to explain, but I’ll try. Basically, the so-called ‘religions’ all got some things right, and some things wrong. Even though Michael is Hades, he’s also Satan’s son. I know that it’s confusing, trust me, I’ve tried to figure this out for thousands of years but I still don’t have it all worked out.” Zoe says.

“So that was Satan?”

“Yep.”

“Is Michael going to be okay?”

“There’s no way to know for sure right now. Satan doesn’t usually show up to these sorts of events; he hasn’t even been seen for the last five centuries. The only thing to do now is wait.”

You’ve always been impatient, whether it be with test scores, appointments, or just being told to wait. You attempt to pass the time by pacing back and forth, but after twenty minutes you realize you can’t keep this up. Switching to perusing Michael’s bookshelves, another two hours pass with no sign of Michael. Zoe and Madison have remained seated on one of the couches, watching you the entire time. At some point in the early hours of the morning, you fall asleep on Michael’s bed, fully clothed and with tears of worry making tracks down your face.

The feeling of somebody touching your feet has you jolting up in a panic, ready for a fight. If there’s one thing you hate more than anything, it’s people touching your feet.

“Hey, it’s just me! Please don’t kick me!” Your eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting, finally seeing Michael crouched down in front of you.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Your half-asleep brain doesn’t even realize what’s going on right now, you’re just mad that someone woke you up.

“Your shoes were still on, I was just trying to take them off for you.” You look around the room, noticing Madison and Zoe are both gone. It takes another moment for you to realize why you fell asleep in Michael’s bedroom before you leap off the bed and into his arms.

“Michael, I was so worried! Are you okay? What happened?” You bombard him with questions. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing, laying down on the bed with you.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine. My father just picked the wrong time to stop by for a visit.”

“‘A visit?’ Madison told me he hadn’t even been seen in five hundred years.” You look at him with a frown. His hair is disheveled, and his outfit is ripped to shreds. There’s blood all over him, but the wounds have already healed. “Jesus, Michael. What did he do to you?” Your hand touches his forehead, stroking the three streaks of blood where he had obviously been scratched.

“We just had a disagreement. He’s trying to convince me to turn my back on Olympus, overthrow the system and basically unleash the apocalypse so that he can rule on Earth. It’s a fight we’ve had off and on for years.” Your mind quickly connects the dots, and you sigh.

“That’s why you needed me out of there.”

“He gave me two choices: send you back Above and ‘hope’ the prophecy works and the end of the world happens, or kill you and set it off that way.” Your blood runs cold at Satan’s ‘options’ that he’s given to his son.

“So, is-”

“I managed to banish him to Tartarus. It’s not much, and it will only hold him for a couple of weeks, but by then Madison should have found the prophecy and we can have a more concrete plan.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can hold me?” It’s a rare moment of vulnerability, but thankfully it’s a request that you can easily handle.

“Do you want to get out of those clothes, get cleaned up or something?” He shakes his head.

“I’m just tired. We can worry about that in the morning.” The battle with his father has obviously shaken him, so you wrap your arms around him and decide to worry about the mess that’s left behind in the morning.

Tag List: @nana15774 @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @dolceandchalamet @everything-is-awesomesauce @langdonslove @ccodyfern @henrycavillstalkingmustache @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @hplotrfan @omg-hellgirl @gallxntdean

[ashleyfanfic]

Redemption arcs and Jonerys

So, I’ve had a few comments on my recent Tormund story that got me to thinking and I wanted to share this with you guys. I’ve had a few people ask me “how can you possibly put Jon and Dany together after he tries to kill her?” And I guess my answer for this comes from my shipping past.

Some of you may know by now that I was/am a Dramione shipper (Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger - Harry Potter) from starting in like 2002/2003 and I wrote the most recent fic for them in 2017. I don’t actively write for that ship anymore but I do still read stuff from my favorite authors. But I’ve digressed.

So, all those years spent in the Dramione fandom I had to find ways to work around the fact that Draco Malfoy is essentially a bad guy and Hermione Granger is the golden girl. So, let’s look at their pasts. Draco was raised in a wealthy Pureblood family who believe that only Purebloods should be allowed to do magic. He’s a bigot. He’s a bully. He’s basically a shitty human being. Then you have Hermione who champions House Elf rights, helps Hagrid with his case for Buckbeak, is the smartest witch in an age and is the exact thing Draco grew up hating: a Muggleborn. But I shipped them because I saw little sparks of there being something more to Draco than meets the eye. We know Draco became a Death Eater, those who sought out Muggleborns and killed them, but there were so many interactions with Hermione that left you going ‘huh, maybe there’s something there’. 

To be a Draco/Hermione fan, I had to find LEGITIMATE ways to work with the source material, which I usually did. I was one of those people who thumped my dog earred, comments in the margins books screaming that it was canon and the movies were someone’s interpretation. It was always about a redemption arc for Draco. Hermione would never be with him how he was, so there were things in the stories where he had to grow. That was always the fun part, exploring the growth. 

All that being said, I think it’s why I can find a way for Jon and Dany to still be together. A this point, I’m going to put up the hide content thing cause I’m going to get into the spoilers for the last episode. 

So, according to the spoilers, Dany is killed by Jon. She just committed mass genocide, and Jon kills her. While I think what Dany did was reprehensible, having Jon kill Dany is an enormous hurdle to climb in terms of suspension of disbelief. Could she ever forgive him for that? Could he ever get over what she did? 

I’m approaching it thinking that there is a redemption arc on both sides. When Dany and co attack King’s Landing, she’s had a rough fucking time lately. The man she loves tells her that not only does he have a better claim to the things she’s worked and suffered for her entire life, but he’s pulling away from her because of the relationship (which makes no sense in a feudal system as aunts and nephews being icky is very much a Western thing). She’s losing her lifeline that she developed to cope with the new world she was living in. She lost a dragon to save his life, she opened herself up to him, fell in love with him, and he pushed her away. She might have been able to tolerate all the other heartbreak if she felt like she truly have one person on her side who still loved and believed in her. The man she wanted to cling to when it seemed like the world was crumbling down upon her. She lost her oldest friend in Jorah, who died in her arms after giving his life to protect her, she lost the intimacy she had with Jon, she lost another dragon (her child) and was helpless to stop it, and she lost her closest friend in the world, Missandei. All of those deaths were traumatic for her to witness. She’s seen trauma, but she had never experienced it to such a degree as she had these last few episodes. She lost her husband and child but walked out of the fire with three dragons. I’m not saying they are a substitute for a live, flesh and blood child, but they did bring her comfort and a purpose, as did the people that stuck with her. 

I’ll also say that when she had it confirmed that Sansa told Tyrion about Jon, it confirmed that Jon had done the one thing she had begged him not to do. BEGGED. We’ve seen Dany pretty low in this series. She didn’t beg Khal Drogo not to rape her. She didn’t beg Viserys not to sell her. She didn’t beg in the House of the Undying or to the Dothraki. She was not a person who begged anyone for anything. But she begged the man she loved not to tell this secret that would not only ruin her claim but put her life in danger. He told someone she already recognized as her enemy, that he was naive enough to trust. Sansa didn’t tell Tyrion because she thought Daenerys was unjust. She told Tyrion for the very reasons that Daenerys said, she knew he would spread it without her having to tell anyone else. She knows Varys is plotting against her. She knows Tyrion has at least thought about it. The only other person she has to lean on is Grey Worm and he’s seething in rage and hurt just as she is. So, when Dany starts burning innocent people, it’s not Dany anymore. It’s a shell of Dany. The real Dany made points along the way about preserving the innocent and especially children. It’s easy to say, “Oh she snapped” but maybe she really did snap.

Then we have Jon. She still loves him. Know that he sold her out to Sansa, she still loved him and wanted to be with him. He was still her lifeline. So, now, that the rumor is that Jon kills her, is seized by Grey Worm and forced to take the Black, you also set up a redemption arc for Jon. Because while Daenerys did do something horrible, her death didn’t prevent her from doing it. It’s not like Jaime killing the mad king. This is if Jaime had killed him after the fact. We have Jon betraying Daenerys and killing her. Jon not only becomes a Queenslayer/Kinslayer, but he also becomes an Oathbreaker. That’s the biggest disservice done to Jon Snow besides making him virtually ineffective throughout this season. Jon Snow has proven to be an honorable man. He values that more than just about anything and to have him kill a woman he loves, his family, too, just feels like it goes beyond whatever feels right.

I think that’s the part people are taking issue with. How could Dany ever forgive him for trying to kill her? The truth is she probably shouldn’t. How could she trust that he would never do it again? The truth is she probably shouldn’t. But I think if these two found one another in a different time, in different circumstances, where they had both made mistakes, done things they regretted and hated, then it would change things drastically. 

But I got back to a redemption arc. So, let’s assume Dany doesn’t die but lives through it, which if we believe what happens, Drogon takes her body and leaves. She could still be alive. She wouldn’t embrace him with open arms. That’s illogical. And no matter how she might have felt about him, there’s no erasing what he did for the “greater good”. And as for Jon, she’s not the woman he fell in love with. It would take them being isolated again. Jon and Dany always connected better diplomatically and otherwise when they were alone, without the counsel of others. I think that’s where you start. You have to make it realistic. You have to acknowledge what they’ve both done to bring them to that point. 

Glossing over Dany's madness doesn't make what she did less terrible or make it not happen. Glossing over Jon killing Daenerys doesn’t make it less terrible or make it not happen. The point, for me at least and how I’m coping with this is how do they get beyond that? Can they? Is there a middle ground to be found? Is there a catalyst that brings them together? Is there something more than what meets the eye? It doesn’t have to end just because D&D lost their fucking minds and forgot who these characters are and their journeys. Instead, embrace what happened and write something compelling. Hell, they might not end up together, but there could be something more. Explore it. Roll around in it. Invest in it. 

Now, I realize I’ve rambled but my ultimate point is I am a firm believer in redemption arcs. It’s why I grew to love Theon and Jaime(less Jaime now). People are capable of growing and learning from their mistakes, but these are more than just mistakes for Jon and Dany. They are huge milestones in their lives. Conscious choices each of them made that they will have to live with for the rest of their lives. And personally, I’m exploring that in my Tormund fic from his POV. 

Anyway, that’s just my two cents.