#block the instigators and just enjoy your favorite pairing

[separatist-apologist]

Some Neris shippers are very chill and that's very good. But others are taking it way too seriously by harassing and some have called Nessians abusive for liking Cassian.

I've been an elucien long enough that I've been called an abuse apologist fairly often. I've also seen long winded rants talking about how eluciens hate women. I like feysand, too, and I'm not even touching the foul things I read DAILY, let alone that have been sent in my askbox.

You guys have got to learn how to block and move on. who cares what people you disagree with say, and I'm asking that genuinely? Lets not pretend a lot of people aren't trolling tags they have no business being in looking for things that'll hurt their feelings.

There is also a heavy amount of "it's not canon so why are you shipping it" going around as well that I find particularly annoying. This is fandom, not the writers room for the books.

[gh0stiegirlie]

synopsis: all it took was one glance at the hotheaded boy at the U.A. exam, and you were smitten. for deku, it was a single act of kindness that instigated his immediate attraction to uraraka. several months into school, best friends y/n and deku are left heartbroken when. uraraka and bakugou start a relationship. when you and deku find yourselves confiding in each other, a question arises; is this love, or loneliness? are you two better just as friends?

length: 3.5k words

                                                                                                      pt. 2  ->

a/n: that moment when you start a new bakugou series in the middle of another bakugou series 🤡 I hope you enjoy the result of procrastinating on my other story and writing a little too much.

It all started the day of U.A.’s practical exam. 

You were pushing your fingers down on every tender joint you could pop, loosening your body as much as possible for the physically strenuous activity ahead. When you bent over into the downward dog position, through your legs disheveled blond hair caught your eye. His hair was so spiky if you pricked your finger on a strand, it would draw blood. You stretched out your back before crawling your arms up your body until you were standing, then turned to examine the boy.

It looked like someone had glued a golden porcupine on his head, a hairstyle that on the majority would look hideous. But the way his bouncing spikes threatened to poke anyone who came too close as he stomped around, made it suit him. When you lowered your eyes to the rest of his body, that was when you discovered this pomeranian boy was not only super hot, but super fit. His tight black tank top hugged his upper body, and his shoulders and biceps alone were so bulky it looked like the straps may snap. Along with that, the flimsy top did nothing to hide his abs from the imagination. He had developed muscles in places you never knew muscles existed. 

As you were not-so-subtly checking this guy out while pretending to stretch, another contender approached the boy. She was stereotypically hot, with full features and an unattainable sinched waist. A flare of jealousy hit you like a wave of heat, and you nearly used your quirk to warn the girl to back the fuck off. This feeling immediately dissipated when he aimed his hand at the girl and dismissed her... with a fucking explosion. Within seconds, she was in a dazed heap on the other side of the warm-up room with some minor burns. The whole room fell silent, turning to the boy with petrified expressions. He nonchalantly shoved his hand in his pocket, leaned on one leg, and clenched his jaw. Although his posture was shit and his pants were sagging, you could tell he wasn’t a fool.

“Now, if any of you other extra’s feel like messing with me,”  his vermillion scanned the crowd for someone attentive and vulnerable, and they eventually fixed on you with a smirk, “don’t.” 

 He made your knees weak with one word.

 That’s when you started falling.

When you discovered you were in the same class as Bakugou, you were ecstatic. Back then, your crush was a minuscule weed in your garden. It sat among the fully grown flowers of your aspirations, completely harmless.

You’re now halfway through your first semester at U.A., and your crush on Bakugou has fully blossomed. Whether it’s grown into the weed or a rose, you’re unsure. All you know is your love weed is now the size of a goddamn oak tree, and for it to grow to this extent, it has pushed the rest of your garden out of the way. 

You spend half of your Math class stealing subtle glances at Bakugou, watching him repeat the teachers' lessons to himself in hushed mumbles as he writes down every word in his notebook. He has a habit of vehemently taking notes to the point of dulling out his pencil, groaning when he has to shove it into his pencil sharpener (he used to use the schools, but he grew too irritated of leaving his seat every few minutes), only for his poor pencil to require another sharpening moments later. Following Math is English, and during this class you enjoy gazing out the windows to daydream. Your English classroom was built with large oblong windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling to reveal the grand U.A. courtyard below and you tend to use it to study the upperclassmen. You watch the class of 2-A enjoy their lunch hour as they walk, eat, and hold hands around campus. Sometimes you imagine them as you and Bakugou. You think about holding his hand while dancing around the cherry trees, eating lunch with him and his ‘Bakusquad’ and much, much more.

Love is a strong word, and you’re hesitant to label your feelings accordingly. But damn, are your feelings strong for this boy.

Deku can say the same about Uraraka. He literally fell for her on the way to the practical exam. And even though she caught him, he’s continued falling ever since.

Everytime Uraraka spars during training, Deku gives her his undivided attention. Not because he’s a perv or anything-- he just admires her so much. Her quirk requires her resourceful and thoughtful, so she always has a brilliant plan up her sleeve. His favorite part about her battles is the way she smiles when she knows she’s won. It’s never a smile of egotistical pride; It’s a smile that displays she’s satisfied with herself. That she acknowledges she’s victorious, not because “she’s the best”, but because she worked for it. He can never hold back from beaming himself. When someone that cute smiles, how can you resist?

But, there is a difference between you two. Deku holds the advantage of being friends with Uraraka; You simply adore Bakugou from a distance, while everyone else hates him from that distance.

Until one day, Aizawa mentions the first-semester partner project. You already know Izuku is going to choose Uraraka, and you know Iiada wouldn't be caught dead partnering with you (even though the class calls you the 'golden girl', you're still a bit too 'rebellious' for his taste.) From the way Kaminarai and Kirishima smirk at eachother, you're pleased to see they're going to pair up, because this leaves Bakugou with no partner. A spot you would love to fill.

After class you don't rush to make it to Bakugou, knowing no one else wants to be his partner after what happened between him and Kirishima (Lots of Bakugou yelling how “shitty hair is an idiot!” and using textbooks as a weapon to smack Kirishima’s head). But you wouldn't mind. You would be happy just to be his idiot.

You're snapped out of your daydreams when Uraraka spontaneously approaches Bakugou. You smirk and lean against your desk, expecting a hilarious interaction that starts with a heated “GET AWAY FROM ME WEIRD GIRL!!” and ends with a very large explosion. I mean, at the sports festival, not only could he not connect her name with her face, he had absolutely no fucking clue who she was! But instead of blowing her away in a fit of rage, as he did with that girl so many months ago, they talk.

You and Deku never discussed your feelings for those two with each other, but you acknowledged them. You being his closest friend, it’s clear as fucking day that Deku is head over heels for Uraraka. And being your best friend, it’s obvious to Deku that you want to smash faces with the class hothead. 

So, naturally, as the two of you watch this interaction unfold, there’s a mutual feeling of disgust. An unspoken what the fuck?! is exchanged between your eyes, until Deku’s lip quivers and he quickly looks away while you glare daggers into Uraraka’s stupidly hot body. After a few infuriating minutes, it’s grossly clear their conversation isn’t concluding anytime soon. You’re repulsed as you ask Deku to be your partner, to which he responds with a meek head nod. You sigh and hug the poor boy. Surprisingly Deku doesn’t start crying blood when you, a girl, touches him. Instead, he nuzzles his head deep into your neck, as by now he’s comfortable with your friendship.

"Hey, do you wanna go out for ice cream?" you ask when you pull away. You nudge him with your elbow. "I'll pay!"

Izuku blinks away his tears as he agrees, desperately trying to block the waterworks from leaking. 

"Cmon, Zuzu." you coo, exiting the classroom. Before you and Izuku head to the dining hall, you shoot a quick glare at Uraraka, who is purposely shoving her tits out in Bakugou's face as she laughs at whatever he just said. At least you know he's better than to fall for that... Hopefully.

"One Yukimi Daifuku and one chocolate Sofuto Kurimu, please," you ask the cafe cashier. She mumbles the amount you owe, and you shuffle your hand around the change in your pocket before handing her a few dollars. 

When you bring Izuku his icecream, he lifts his head off the table. He plays around with his food for a while before sloppily shoving a scoop in his mouth. You moan when you take your first bite.

"I swear, this ice cream is top tier!" you boom in enthusiasm. "Like, seriously, who allowed cafeteria food to be this good?!"

A short chuckle escapes Izuku's frowning lips. "That's U.A. for ya. The food somehow gets better every day."

"I know, right!" You use your spoon to point at Izuku's Yukimi Daifuku. "I feel like they handpicked that rice in your Yukimi from U.A.'s personal rice fields." you joke, which finally breaks Izuku's drab demeanor. He lets out a genuine laugh.

"I don't think U.A. has it's own rice fields." he rationalizes. The knot in his stomach loosens every time you make him laugh, allowing his appetite to grow. He takes a few eager bites of his Yukimi Daifuku. You playfully punch Izuku's shoulder.

"Really? This place is so fucking big I wouldn't be surprised if it had its own strip club or someth-MFF!" Izuku cuts you off by slapping a hand over your mouth. He pulls it back to his and signs "shh".

"Y-Y/n! Be quiet!" he warns, his face dark red from stifling his laughter. 

"What?! You don't want to think about All Might gettin--" you stop here, because Izuku has buried his face in his hands in order to ignore you. You laugh. "Okay, okay Deku. I'll stop." You ruffle his hair platonically.

"Thanks. I was afraid I was going to throw up my Yukimi if you kept going." he expresses, to which you laugh again. There's a fleeting pause as the two of you take a moment to appreciate each other's presence. Maybe all you really need is each other. 

Maybe, as long as you're just friends, everything will be okay.

"Thanks, Y/n. I needed this." Izuku smiles, and you can't help but smile with him.

One week later, the project is due and the weird partnership between Uraraka and Bakugou remains unmentioned between the three of you and Iiada. You’ve wanted to discuss it with her, but Izuku keeps holding you back. So the four of you engage in breakfast per usual; laughing, talking, and stuffing your faces. By this time, you assume Uraraka has forgotten about her little stunt. But it remains at the forefront of your mind, because what the fuck?! 

Deku believes it to be a momentary lapse in judgment, but you know girls better than that. She had been plotting that move for a while. Uraraka probably spent weeks building up her self-esteem enough to talk to him, and then another few days encouraging herself to actually do it. 

So, when Uraraka skips over to Bakugou that day, you’re not surprised. But, what she does next shocks you.

Uraraka kisses Baugous cheek.

You wait expectantly for Bakugou to send her flying out a window. Instead, he smirks and wraps his burly arm around her thin waist. Her waist is so thin, his arm fits around it like a bracelet. How can you even compete with that?!

And then, they walk out of the classroom. Just like that. Like a fucking couple.

That’s when the world crumbles around you.

Friday nights are always the days you and Bakugou attend the gym at the same time. Normally, his presence is a positive motivation to work harder, knowing he can look over at you at any moment. 

Tonight, you bury your eyes into the back of his head and pretend he's the punching bag. You restrain yourself from using your quirk to explode his brain (you actually can’t do that, but still), as if he even has one. If he’s dating Uraraka, he must not. You understand she’s cute or whatever, but they’re so fucking different. 

Apparently, this past hour you were hitting the punching bag vigorously enough in precisely the right places for it to tear. Sand pours onto your feet, and that's when you decide to call it night.

You manage bottle most of your emotions until you’re alone in your room. That’s when you shut off your lights, put on your sad vibes playlist, shelter yourself in fleece blankets and let the tears flow. Your shaking shoulders churn your stomach, and it feels like you’re vomiting out your emotions. Your heart stings with every beat, and every sob irritates your raw throat. You're not just another teenage girl crying over a stupid boy. You've grown up putting all your energy into improving your quirk, always two steps ahead of the rest of your class’ mentality. When you first saw Bakugou, you saw someone whos grown up always giving everything his all. You saw someone like you, and you fixated on something that wasn't just being a hero. 

At this point you've been fighting for Bakugou for so long, he's grown beyond a dumb crush. Now that you've lost this battle, you realize how alone you feel.  He’s a motivation. Not only do you train hard to improve your quirk, but you train hard to surprise Bakugou with your strength. You don't just study for good marks, but to impress Bakugou. 

Your goal to be a hero has always occupied your whole heart, but Bakugou managed to slip in there somewhere.

And you can feel the hollowness of his gaping hole.

Eventually, you compose yourself enough to grab some Suppa-Mucho Premium Ponzu, a jar of Nutella (with a spoon to eat it out of, of course), and a cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen.

On the way back to your room, you hear sobs emitting from a nearby hall. As you follow the twists and turns of the dorm, the cry grows familiar. You soon find yourself standing outside Izuku Midoriyas' room. You quickly (but carefully) run to the kitchen to microwave another cup of hot chocolate before knocking on his bedroom door. 

“Duh-Don’t come in!” his voice is nasally, but he lowers it an octave to sound like his usually preppy self. Although hero-training teaches you students how to put on an emotional mask, you’re able to tell when your best friend is faking. 

“It’s me, Izuku.” 

“Come in,” his raspy reply is barely above a whisper.

You jiggle the door handle open with your elbow and find Izuku wrapped in a blanket of feelings, like you were earlier. He wipes the tears off his cheeks and rubs his eyes, burying his head deep into the blanket to hide his sadness. Though his loud, shaky breaths give away the fact he was crying. Like you couldn’t hear him from across the dorms.

“Hey. It’s okay, Zuzu.” You’re standing behind the door, presenting snacks and two drinks with a somber smile. “I’m here.”

Izuku lifts his head when he smells the steaming hot cocoa. He grabs the drink that has whip cream with tiny marshmallows and flakes of caramel sprinkled on top, just the way he likes it. You set down the snacks on a nearby coffee table, then drink your hot chocolate beside him. When a sip leaves a small white mustache above his upper lip, you can’t help but giggle. He does the same.

You don’t ask why he was crying, and he doesn’t ask why you were walking around with comfort food late at night. Instead, you enjoy each other’s company. The events of earlier today have made you realize that things will always be the way they’ve been since the start of this year. That you’ll only ever have each other. 

 And maybe that’s why what happens next… Happens.

You are wrapped up in a blanket next to Izuku watching Whisper of the Heart and munching on a bowl of chips. Like some sort of cliche, the two of you reach for a chip at the same time. Izuku immediately pulls away, an incoherent apology spilling from his lips. You ignore it, overwhelmed with a sudden bubble of emotion. It was only extreme for a brief moment, but the remnants of the feeling linger. The electricity he transferred to you keeps your fingers twitching as you grab a snack. So now you’re pondering over the feeling while nibbling on a chip;

 How come, when Izukus hand brushed against yours, you felt something?

Everytime you’re near Bakugou, your heart palpitates. Not only out of fear-- because the man is fucking terrifying --but of recognition of his power. Out of admiration of his intimidating, yet confident personality.

When you touched Izuku’s hand, your heart fluttered. A cocoon of butterflies erupted in your chest and tried to lift you off his bed-- but why? 

Was it because now that Bakugous out of the way, your true scandalous feelings for your best friend are no long eclipsed? Or is it because now that Bakugou is out of the way your brain needs a new hot boy with biceps to focus on?

Izuku questions the same thing himself. If you took a second to look, the light of the TV would reveal the blush on his cheeks. His hands tremble in his lap as he hopelessly attempts to cover the growing boner in his pants, a side effect of thinking about you in this new romantic light.

All this time, has he been love with you, not Uraraka? Or has her sudden abandonment left a vacancy that needs filling, so he’s turning to his best friend? 

You move the bowl and scoot next to Deku. Your body heats up as his tenses. 

“Hey, do you wanna share a blanket?” You ask, forcing yourself to sound as casual as possible. Even though trying to flirt with your best friend is way out of your comfort zone.

“Uh--sure!” Deku squeaks as he wraps his blanket around your shoulders and you throw your fleece over your laps. You arrange yourself so the side of your thighs press up against Deku’s, and rest your head on his shoulder

He sweats nervously, and smells of bergamot and… Fresh laundry. It’s pleasant, though not as hypnotizing as Bakugous sweet caramel. Bakugous scent leaves you hungry for him, while Deku makes you feel… Comforted. Like receiving a warm hug from a friend. A completely non-romantic friend. A platonic friend. What the fuck are you doing?!

You repeat the words “platonic” and “friend” in your mind to remind yourself what Deku is to you. But the longer your bodies touch, the anstier you grow to touch more. Just to see what it feels like.  

Yes, Zuzu has been your friend forever-- Doesn’t that the experience of dating him even better? Doesn’t that make you want to steal his first kiss, so he’ll forever hold you in his heart?  Doesn’t that make feeling his body shudder from pleasure under yours even hotter? 

You bite your lips at these thoughts, unaware Izuku is imagining the same. His face is practically the color of a strawberry-- his green hair really bringing the image all together.

You turn to one another in unison, searching for the answer in each other’s eyes; Is this love? Or is this emptiness? You and Deku silently struggle to figure out an explanation, though it doesn’t matter. 

Because you kiss anyway.

As soon as you make contact, those sparks that frazzled you earlier return. When you push your mouth harder against his, they dazzle you.

Izukus lips are thin, but creamy. He’s the kind of guy who carries chapstick with him everywhere, and apparently his favorite flavor is vanilla, because when you run your tongue along his lip it tastes like ice cream. He whimpers at the feeling, and you take advantage of how sensitive he is. When you bite his lip he moans into your mouth and pulls you closer.

Kissing Midoriya is as gratifying as it is dissatisfying. Kissing someone so desperate-- so needy, for you, is empowering. It fills your Bakugou-sized hole with pleasure. But, his kiss is also cold and lifeless. The only emotion that fuels it is rejection. Behind this kiss, and behind your lips, is loneliness. You’re both anxious and uncertain, so you’re kissing what’s comfortable. And you keep kissing to replace these problematic feelings with something exciting. 

Soon, your kisses become hollow. The sparkes evaporate. Izukus lips aren’t as delicious as they seemed when you first started, and the way you nibble on his lip begins to sting.

You slow to a mutual halt, deciding to bask in eachothers warmth through cuddles instead of kisses. Even though Izuku’s body is alive with the heat of your kiss, he feels cold.

You return to the movie, but the kiss leaves another question lingering in the air.

You’re best friends.

What does this mean?

Something has shifted between you two, and you can’t tell if its for the better or the worst.  

[theprodigypenguin]

Damages

Pairings: Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter, minor Albus/Scorpius

Rating: M

Words: 27.8k

Warnings/Content: Violence/physical assault, non-consensual touching/kissing, alcohol dependence, drinking to cope, dependence on drugs (anti-anxiety medicine), attempted assault, PTSD, self-scratching (hands and arms), hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, recovery, confessions, mutual pining, no sex/smut, couch cuddles, FURTHER CONTENT DETAILS ON Ao3.

Summary: James wasn't one to hide things about himself from the people around him. He was brought up to be proud of who he was, every piece of himself. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality or his preferences, the gender he was attracted to or otherwise, and his family wasn't ashamed of it either. No, in the end he was ashamed not for who he was, but for who he loved, and the fear that everyone else would be ashamed and would hate him for the same thing.

A/N: Okay I've been working on this fic for a couple of weeks now, fighting back a lot of doubt and writers block that was instigated by a bunch of irl stress, so I'm actually insanely proud of myself for managing to finish it. It definitely isn't for everyone, since I go into a couple of darker themes, but most of it isn't majorly graphic or explicit.

I'm sure the tags will chase away a lot of potential readers, but the most important thing here is that people take care of themselves. If you're squicked by any of the tags but still want to read, then I think you'll be okay. Most of the dark themes are written about vaguely or in passing and are not graphic or explicit.

If you're triggered by any of the tags, then please be cautious, and don't feel bad if you have to put this fic to the side. Your mental health is way more important than anything else. If you're still interested in reading but want to be prepared for the possible triggers then please feel free to DM me or send an anonymous ask and ask me anything you might be nervous or anxious about.

If you're not triggered or squicked at all by the tags and you're all just emotional masochists, then please continue and enjoy to your hearts desire! I really enjoyed exploring this angle of genre regarding the ship, and writing Teddy as a Healer almost killed me (he's such a good gentle angel I love him). Plus at the very least you'll enjoy the protective Albus parts, because those were some of my favorite scenes to write.

A special call out and thank you to @writersummer for acting as both an alpha and beta when I asked, I honestly may not have finished this fic without your help and could never thank you enough for being so openly enthusiastic and crazy enough to tackle this absolute monster of a fic, you're a blessing QwQ

Read it on Ao3!

[alitheamateur]

Birthday Boy Bob- Pt. 2

Since the highly-anticipated, tantric meeting of flesh between you and your boss, Bob Saginowski, things had become much more than the one nighter you thought would end all too soon. Nights, and mornings spent together with he and Rocco, made you feel as if the inevitable pieces of your mundane life were finally beginning to settle in place. But, the haunting winter winds of Brooklyn may blow in a stale, scorned ghost to rattle the cage...

A/N: This piece never truly intended to become a multi-part fic, but my how the tables have turned here! Part 2 is a glorious collab with the phenom that is @torialeysha and her wonderous talents! To put it in Hardy terms, she’s like the Ronnie to my Teddy, putting it mildly. Her writing inspires me to create, and makes me also want to bury my head in the sand because I’ll never carry the talent she has in one finger! I’ve been so excited to work with her, and I hope you all enjoy this little duet. Cheers, to many more!

Warnings: Language. Kidnapping. Drug abuse. Violence. Gun Violence. 

Birthday Boy Bob- Pt. 2

Scalding coffee held in one gloved hand, and the gentle squeeze of his masculine fingers laced through your other as the pair of you shivered and anxiously paced your way to the bar for morning open. The one-bedroom house you called a home was only two measly blocks, so you and Bob decided a few minutes of the breezy, winter air wouldn’t kill you. Bob had slept at your place last night, after much ruthless convincing on your part that Rocco would feel perfectly safe in your bed just as he did his own at Bob’s house. You had been carrying on together for months now as a couple, your heartfelt feelings for the man only begging to spring free. The more time you spent with Bob Saginowski, the more you realized there really was much more to him than being the strong, brutish type. The budding friendship you both had nurtured for the two-year span after he had hired you, instigated the initial admiring feelings for him. And since that fateful evening of Bob’s birthday, you had gathered much more reason to feel that way.

He was most talkative upon his bright and early alarm every morning. On the nights spent sleeping nose to nose, with Rocco’s paw padded on your cheek, you would routinely wake up to the sputtering sound of an aromatic pot of coffee downstairs. Rather than crawl tiredly from the confines of his warm bed to pour a cup, you’d quietly wait in hopes that he would come tip-toeing up the creaking stairs of his aged, family home to skootch back into his position of big spoon under the jersey sheets to encase you in his shirtless arms.  

He felt most comfortable when he kept to the strict, daily routine he had mapped out for himself, so you made the proper adjustments to learn his ways. Laundry was done every other day, no dish was ever left in a dirty sink, and it was pertinent you never sleep past 7 a.m. and miss Rocco’s first potty break of the day. There was nothing wrong with Bob and his obsessive tendencies, it just took a bit of getting used to seeing as you were spending so much one-on-one time together. But, he did make changes to welcome you into that routine. Like a surprise visit to your nightly shower here and there, even though he had already taken his at the scheduled time. Or, an occasional early close-up at the bar because he knew you were exhausted from assisting him in carrying the weight of book keeping, and stock shelving now that you were more than just his bartender. The long-anticipated touch of his lips to yours had been entirely worth the torturous wait, bringing much more satisfaction than just the one-night-stand you thought you needed.  

“Hey uh, Saturday is Rocco’s comin’ home day. Well, it’s the day I found ‘em, you know. So, I thought maybe I’d do somethin’ special for him. Like take ‘em to uptown to one of those dog parks, and do some’a those other things he like so much. You got any ideas?” His breaths exhaled into a smoke-like cloud when the heat met the contrasting freeze of the morning hour.

“I could watch the bar if you wanted to take the day with him. I don’t mind”

“’Course not, Y/N. We want you to come wit’ us. We need our girl, ain’t that right Rocco? I thought about maybe closing the place for the day. It’s a special occasion ‘n all.”

Their girl.

We reached the dark, lonely bar and Bob backed you into the closed door while finagling loose the key inside the deep pocket of his winter coat. You squeezed inside first, rustling your body to try and shake loose the tensed, cold muscles. Flipping on each switch of the lights, and unzipping the layers of your outerwear, you giggled as Rocco danced about your feet knowing his chew toy was somewhere hidden inside your purse.  

“I gotta run out later for a few things since that big Knicks game is tonight. You need anything while I’m out, Y/N?”

“Ahh. That’s tonight?” You moan. Unable to hide the disappointment in your slumped shoulders as you crouch down to dig through your purse for the pining pup’s toy.  

The Nicks game meant that the bar would undoubtably be packed to the rafters with rowdy fans and depending on the end result, had the potential to destroy any hopes of closing on time. Which in turn meant less precious alone time with Bob. Rocco cocks his head to the side when your hand emerges empty from your purse.  

“Don’t worry, boy. It must be in here somewhere.” You up-end your purse and with a vigorous shake, the clattering contents spill out on to the floor. Rocco wastes no time, kindly lending his cold wet nose to assist you in your search for his prized possession. Your fingers, along with Rocco’s detective nose filters through the junk that your purse had over time accumulated. Wallet, receipts, phone, keys, hair ties, lip-gloss, body spray. But no dog toy.

“Hmm. That’s strange...”  

“What’s up?” Bobs towering form stands next to you, casting a shadow over your crouched form.

“I could have sworn I put Rocco’s toy in here.” You scan the objects laid in front of you once again with a fading optimism. Your certainty that you definitely remembered Rocco’s toy was re-enforced by the increasing pining of the pup as he nudged your purse with his cold, wet nose.

“Maybe it just fell out or summin’” Bob suggests  

“Maybe... I’m gonna run back and check.”

“You sure?... You haven't gotta go to all that trouble. I can grab him a chew when I’m out later.”

You look down into the pleading eyes of your panting dog baby. Your heart fluttering as you remembered Bobs words from earlier. Their girl.

“But that one is his favorite. I can't have my boy suffering the wild, disorderly crowd we’re gonna pull tonight.” You knew it would take the sensitive Pits mind off the raucous racket of chanting and cheering if he had his cherished chew toy to gnaw on.

Making up your mind, you pull your house keys from the disorganized mass of items before stuffing the rest back into your purse in a hurried mess. With a quick affectionate rub to Rocco’s head, you rise from your crouched position to dump your purse on the bar top. Turning to bid both of your boys a quick farewell.  

“I won’t be long.” You promise as your eyes meet Bobs. A striking look of pride, admiration... and something else filled his usually emotionless orbs as they burned into yours. Losing yourself in the heated gaze of your Boss and... Boyfriend? Lover? You weren’t sure. It was a conversation you had both been putting off. Knowing that Bob wouldn’t be into labelling whatever this was that was happening between you. But what you were sure of was it was more than what it was originally. More than what you had dreamed or imagined it ever could be. You were both each other's more and that was enough.  

“Er...You sure you’re gonna be okay? You don’t want us to come wit’ you?” He asks. Linking his fingers with yours while an unnecessary worry caused a few prominent lines to grace his forehead.

“It’s a couple of blocks away. I’ll be fine. You stay here and get this place ready for the riot we’re going to endure later...” He gives a subtle nod of agreement.  

“Don’t miss me too much you two.” You joke, moving to the door.  

To your surprise Bob doesn’t let go of your hand and with an assertive tug, pulls you back into his arms. You’re greeted immediately with his plush lips catching yours in a soft commanding kiss. You pull him closer until there was no space left. So close you could feel his heart against your chest beating an erratic rhythm that mirrored yours and betrayed the cool, calm exterior, he consistently exuded.  

You pull away breathless. A four-letter word erupted involuntarily from your aching chest and got caught in your throat. “Bobby, I-” You were lost. The frightening depths of your feelings towards Bob were growing so intense it was almost painful. It was too much too soon. The unimpressed whining cry from Rocco breaks the moment and you’re thankful for the interruption. Swallowing the eager sentiment and saving it for another time.

Those heavy, life-changing words stammered off the cliff of your tongue along the journey back home. You couldn’t let the daft, most likely delusional, admission of that feeling of love ruin the overdue relationship you were developing with Bob.  You knew there was no way a man as multifaceted as himself would fall into the illusion of love just a few months into the developing bond. And you weren’t completely convinced that Bob was entirely capable of accepting, or expressing the love of a woman. But, you knew he’d give his last-ditch efforts to try if it meant he could go to sleep at night with you soothingly scratching your nails over the tender skin along his back.

You hushed the one-sided conversing as you trudged the stairs towards your second-floor building on hunt for Rocco’s blessed chew toy. Ms. Peters from next door had already made her impressions of you known around the other tenants as a wretched, fornicating hussy who disturbed her all hours of the night trolloping with her strange male friend. There was no need to add manic, schizophrenic that talks to herself to the list of the woman’s judgmental arsenal of gossip. So, you smiled artificially at her on your way inside, holding your breath to avoid the fumes from her morning cigarette. You inhaled enough secondhand tar at the bar every night, so might as well save a breath where you could here and there.  

Your keyring jangled around your fingers as you searched amongst the collection for the appropriate key to open the locked door of your designated apartment marked 251. You left the barricade standing open behind you as you marched to the beige couch where you had retrieved your purse in the rushed exit only half hour ago, assuming to find the red, dingy bone lying smooshed between the crumb-filled cushions. Upon a quick search beneath the sham of the love-seat, no avail in discovery, you flinched in fright as the slamming of the once opened door echoed over the drums of your ears.  

The boisterous interruption inevitably caused distraction, and you right away turned your direction to investigate the cause behind the resounding crash. A chilly gust of sickening mortification settled over your chest upon the sight of a ghost from girlfriends past standing unwelcomed in your living room, latching carefully the double-bolt lock nailed to your doors frame. Only Nadia wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t a haunting nightmare from your most heinous thoughts, or a horrifying hallucination of your disgusted distresses. She was a fleshy reminder that your worst fear had indeed reared its ugly head of malice once more.  

“Looking for this, are you?” She pinched the sought-after bone between her dirt-lined nails, causing it to release a squeaking whine. The horn-like sound didn’t sound as chipper as it did when your sweet Rocco knocked it around the slick floor of the bar.

Grey, hollow shadow bags under her twitching eyes, and the way her words seemed to tumble like weighted rocks from her drawn, scab-lined mouth supported the suspicions around the neighborhood that she had fallen back into her drug induced, alternative reality. She wore a faded, damp hoodie that smelled like stale garbage, and stained blue jeans hung low on the malnourished bone of her hips.  

“How… Nadia, what.. how are you here?” You seemed to chew on your thick saliva that clung to the roof of your mouth like stale bubblegum.  

“You learn to pick a lock pretty early where I’m from, sweetheart. And, sweet, sweet, dumb Bob never noticed me followin’ behind him when he came here the other night. He led me right to you.” Plaque caked over her yellow-tinted fangs as she smiled callously.

You snaked a hand stealthily toward your rear pocket in efforts to grasp your cell, the only contact to escape this dangerous predicament. The hopeless realization that your only lifeline had been left behind at the bar where Bob cluelessly carried about with his opening checklist made the nervous bile in your belly simmer near release. Without weighing the potential consequence of a hasty reaction, you sprang up on your heels towards the bedroom where you knew a cracked window opened onto a rickety fire escape. You may break an ankle, or crack a rib from falling the two-stories to the front lawn, but you’d be freed from the scorned control of Nadia and her dope induced hostage situation. Before you could crank the knob of the unlatched entry, a cold, scuffed steel trembled against the center spot of your cranium, and the toxic clack of an engaging bullet dropping into a barrel paralyzed your escape. Nadia’s faltering grip on the pistol she doted and aimed tenaciously toward your head quivered with the tremor of whatever vice she had befriended assumingly in the wee morning hour. Your focus unintendedly latched onto the wiry friction of your hair chafing against the weapon.  

“Now, now, Y/N. You had better think real hard about trying to take off me like that again, you conniving bitch.”

At the careless risk of exhibiting weakness and distress in being tangled in her kidnapping clutches, tears and sweat stung your eyes. You felt internally on fire like the pits of a sweltering steadfast hell, but when you wiped the liquid from your worry-lined forehead, your hands were clammy and pale with a damp chill. Her ill-disposed warning resonated somewhat, but the echoing ring in your ears drowned out most of the background noise.

You fall to your knees, succumbing to the impotent fear that has seized your body. Through tear filled, blurry vision you gaze with an anxious appetency at the freedom and safety which lurked within a teasingly unattainable reach, just beyond the fractured square of glass that was your only hope for escape. Nadia becomes visible in your peripheral vision. Your eyes follow her. Like a hungry shark she circles before coming to a stop in front of you. Her slight and withering frame obscures your view of the diverse, suburban neighborhood and its oblivious residents. In silence you tread the treacherous current of the choppy waters, determining their dangerous depths while the predator stalks its prey. She bends, leaning her boney posterior on the ledge of the weathered windowsill. Her arm is raised with the pistol pointed precisely at the crown of your head. The dank material of her hoody hung in a swag from the stiff slenderness of her limb. The weakened state of her undernourished muscles sent a tremor down her arm and you felt the weight of the pistol wavering in her grasp as she tried to steady it against your forehead.

“Why don’t you put the gun down, Nadia?” It’s hard to get the words out as your throat tightens in terror. Her features remain impassive as she drags the muzzle of the gun down your profile. Thanks to the slick mixture of sweat and tears that moistened your face, the rigid steel, zig zagged effortlessly from your temple to your eye socket before curving around your cheekbone; trailing across the bridge of your nose and dipping into the hiding dimple of your cheek. It finishes its grueling journey between your lips. The metal rattling a chattering rhythm against your teeth, once again betraying Nadia's decreasing strength.

“I don’t understand what he sees in you.” She rasps. Resting the weight of the pistol on your bottom lip. You fight back the urge to retort, fully aware that you weren’t the one holding the gun. “I see the way he acts with you. The way he looks at you.” Her mouth twists in hostile resentment. An indignation so powerful it caused you to be on the receiving end of her revolver. The last time you had seen her was at the bar on Bobs birthday. You and every other member of the community assumed she had once again disappeared, only to now find out that she had been watching you from the shadows. A shudder wracks your body, causing Nadia to jump. In a swift movement the weapon is torn from your mouth and planted back on the invisible target she’s placed on your forehead. You gasp at the sudden movement, trying your best to stay stock-still and calm. A feat that was betrayed by the turbulent rise and fall of your chest, as your burning lungs expanded with harsh, panicked breaths.

“He used to look at me like that.” Her dark empty pools looked straight through you as she reminisced about the not so distant memory of when she when she was once Bob and Rocco's girl. Her face crumples in a tormented frown, causing a trail of tears to spill from her black orbs.  

“You see, he’s forgotten that he loves me. It’s my own fault I suppose. I was gone too long. I thought he would have missed me. That when I returned, he would have welcomed me back with open arms... Then I saw you two together.”

“He did miss you, Nadia. He was broken when you left.” You have no idea why you’re telling her that. Maybe it was because of the weapon she yielded and poked so promisingly at you or maybe it was because it was the truth. You remembered how forlorn and lost Bob was when she went away. How you picked up for his slack behind the bar while he would wallow alone in his back office with Rocco. How some nights you wouldn’t get home until gone 3 in the morning because you stuck around trying to coax Bob from his woeful solitude, afraid that he might do something silly. Only wake up the next day and do it all again.

“But you were there to pick up the pieces?” It was said as a question but her snarling expression told you she didn’t want you to answer. “I should have known not to trust you. That as soon as my back was turned, you’d try and wheedle your way in.”

“Maybe, you need to come to terms with that fact that he doesn’t love you anymore.” It was a curt statement. A censored rendition of what you actually wanted to say.

“Oh? And why is that? Because he loves you now?” a scornful cackle rumbles past her chapped lips. “You think you’re the only one he’s screwed up against his bar?” One of the corners of her mouth turns up in to a sly, lopsided smile. her tongue emerging to toy smugly with her top lip, making you feel sick.

“The truth is Y/N, you don’t know him like I know him. He hasn’t done for you what he’s done for me. And that’s how I know that he loves me.”

Her insinuating smile and her unwavering certainty of Bobs feelings sends a bitter acid to bubble at the back of your throat. Your folded legs begin to tingle and throb. You shift your weight from side to side to try and alleviate the sharp pins and needles that were penetrating your fixed, numbing muscles.

“I think I know him pretty well actually.” Your brave whisper surprises her.

“No, no, no.” She shakes her head frantically. “You’ll never know him like I do. If you did then you would have run for the hills.” She nods as if trying to convince not only you but the other voices in her head. “He’ll remember how it was between us. But for that to happen he needs to forget about you. You need to disappear.” Her voice sounded almost remorseful. A condescending, pitying smirk controlled her gaunt features. “And I'll be the one to do it.” Her claw like hand flexes around the metal housing of the gun. “To prove how much, I love him.” she nods, making peace with what she has decided she has to do.

You still, eyes widening as Nadia reveals her true intentions. Your gut wrenches in panic. “Nadia, this is crazy. You’re not thinking straight...You need help.” You talk slowly and sympathizing as if addressing a child.

The coddle-like mockery resonated deep within the sensitive nerve of her psyche, and you reckoned it was the term ‘crazy’ that may have quickened the burning of her short fuse. Your defensive reflexes were no match for her livid release, and you had no last second chance to try and turn away, or shield a palm over your perfectly plump cheek before Nadia waylaid the side of your head with the unforgiving, stout plastic of the handgun. Weightless, and barely lingering in the realm of this nightmarish consciousness, the whip of her pistol pummeled you to land face-first into the aging, musty, less than pillowy carpet. A stark scarlet trickle of your own wound oozed from the temple of your gashed skull, and dripped off the ledge of your heart-shaped nose.  

“Oh, I’m thinking perfectly straight, Y/N. Trust me on that one, sweetie. And it seems pretty clear to me I’m not the one who needs help here. But, do you see anyone around to help you? Is your Bob here to save you? I don’t think so.” She laid face-to-face with you on the floor, false pity lying in the crease of her brow. The stanch, acrid aroma of her rotting mouth warmed over your face, and the wind from her close proximity made your eyes water upon contact.

Was this worth it? Was Bob Saginowski truly someone you’d lose your life over? Could you let yourself endure the torture, and possible murder from such a putrid maniac like Nadia all for the sake of a slight possibility you may become more than whatever it was you were now?  You punished yourself and those cruel questions by biting your own tongue to pinch blood loose. Of course, that confused, handsome, eclectic man and his perfect pup were worth it, and shame on you for every doubting it. Nadia sure thought so, and if her twisted, delirious, heart saw what a treasure he was, there was no way you’d turn him lose. Whether he’d put a title on the bond you’d established or not, Bob would lay in front of a train to protect you, and never question the decision.  

Just as your subconscious had lulled you into the melancholy scenario that may end with you never being cradled in his capable arms again, you swore you could trace the jingling racket of what resembled a dog collar erratically prancing up the stairs just feet behind the amply locked door. You knew it wasn’t a project of your imagination, when Nadia instantly reacted to the sound of nearby feet, and the whimpering sniff of a concerned Rocco. The sticky film of her oily palm clasped over the unwavering chatter of your teeth. You felt the assembling of a desolate screech for help settling at the back of your tongue, but the suffocating mask of her hand killed the chances of your outcry, and your sentient state, as you dozed into the restful slumber of oblivion.  

To be continued....

      TAGS: @eap1935

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Everybody wanna love you - Pt. 2 (M)

Summary: BTS gets drunk and reads fan fiction together.

Pairing: Platonic OT7

Genre: Ridiculously filthy smut and boys being boys

Word Count: 4621

Warnings: The fan fiction the boys read is quite explicit, but the boys stay (mostly) platonic.

A/N: All of the fan fiction the boys read in this is written (badly) by me. Any resemblance to other people’s stories is coincidence. I am not trying to make fun of anyone other than myself as an avid reader and writer of BTS fan fiction.

Part One     Part Two    Part Three

-----

“Why are we doing this?” Yoongi asks as he passes around shot glasses to the table, filling Jin’s glass with soju before handing the bottle over to Jungkook to fill everyone else’s, then heading back into the kitchen for snacks. 

 “They need to know!” Jin shouts after him from the head of dining table, gesturing at the three youngest who are sitting together at the other end. Jungkook is busy pouring shots for everyone, delighted at being included in both the drinking and the risqué discussion. Taehyung is twirling his glass on the table and Jimin is frowning down at his empty glass, waiting for Jungkook to fill it. 

 “Why do they need to know?” Yoongi calls from the kitchen, pulling down a bag of chips from the top shelf of a cupboard and pouring some into a bowl for the table. 

 “They need to know how weird it gets!” Jin shouts back, laughing. 

 “I don’t want to know how weird it gets…” Jimin whines, head collapsing onto his arm which he has stretched across the table as he holds out his glass to Jungkook.

Hoseok has returned from his bedroom with his laptop and situated himself on Jin’s right side, chuckling to himself as he pulls up the fansites he’s familiar with. Taehyung leans across the empty seat next to him to see what Hoseok’s looking at. Taehyung’s eyes widen as he stares at the contents of the computer screen. 

 “Eh-hmn…” Yoongi clears his throat behind Taehyung, who startles and then quickly slides out of Yoongi’s designated seat next to Hoseok. 

 “Isn’t Jungkookie a little young for all this?” Taehyung teases, ruffling Jungkook’s hair as he scoots in next to him to make room for Yoongi and the bowl of snacks. 

 “Hey!” Jungkook objects, squirming out from under Taehyung’s hand, and gathering up his glass of soju protectively. 

 “He’s starring in it, Tae!” Jin says in a voice of barely contained laughter, smacking the table in emphasis. 

 “Plus…” Namjoon chimes in, leaning across the table from his seat on Jin’s left. “How’s he supposed to go out and get laid in the future if he can’t even handle reading about it?” Namjoon raises his glass of soju to Jungkook across the table. Jungkook raises his glass right back, giggling to himself.

 “You know that fan fiction is terrible advice for both relationships and sex, right?” Yoongi replies, raising his eyebrow at Namjoon in concern.

 “Yeah…” Namjoon nods. “But it sure is entertaining!”  Namjoon and Jin both burst into laughter and Jin wraps his arm around Namjoon, muttering something the younger boys can’t hear and chuckling conspiratorially.

 “You two really are the biggest perverts…” Jimin says, gesturing at their leader and their eldest member together before downing his glass of soju. 

 “Yah!” Jin shouts, hands on his hips. “No drinking before your elders!”

 “Sorry hyung…” Jimin mutters, holding out his glass to Jungkook for a refill. 

 “Why are we the biggest perverts?” Namjoon asks Jimin.  “Yoongi-hyung and Hobi have read it too!” He gestures at the two men across the table from him who are engrossed in something on Hoseok’s laptop. 

 “No, no, no…” Yoongi replies, looking up and shaking his head. “Don’t drag me into this. Jin-hyung is clearly the instigator here…”  

 “I’m just trying to educate!” Jin huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but still grinning ear-to-ear. 

 “Fine… let’s settle it then.” Hoseok interjects, trying to bring the group make to the main point of this evening: traumatizing the maknaes.  “Each hyung gets one story. Whoever’s the biggest pervert wins.” 

 “What do we win?” Yoongi chuckles. 

 “Shame, guilt, and a sign you should rethink your life…” Jimin answers.

 “Well, that hardly seems worth it…” Namjoon scoffs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. 

 “I’ll do their laundry for a week!” Jungkook shouts, already two shots into the soju that he keeps sneaking whenever Jin isn’t looking.

 “You already do all our laundry anyways…” Namjoon teases and Jungkook pouts.

 “I’ll… uhh…” Jungkook racks his brain for a better bribe. “I’ll buy you lamb skewers!”

 “See?” Jin says to Jimin, gesturing at the overly excited maknae at the end of the table. “The boy wants to know!”

 Jin looks back to Hoseok. “I’m in.”  

 Hoseok looks to Namjoon and Yoongi. 

 “Yeah… me too.” Namjoon nods. Yoongi grunts in assent. 

 “Excellent!” Hoseok grins. “I have a good one…”

 Wednesdays are Jungkook’s favorite day of the week. If any of his friends asked why, Jungkook would tell them it’s because he has no morning classes and can enjoy a leisurely latte over his study materials. But the truth is that Wednesdays are Jungkook’s favorite day because Wednesdays are the day that Jimin works the morning shift. Jungkook would be lying if he said that the two minutes he gets to exchange small talk with the gorgeous pink-haired barista weren’t the highlight of his week. 

 “Wait…” Jungkook interrupts. “I’m gay?”

 “Yup.” Hoseok nods, trying not to laugh at how quickly the youngest already has questions. 

 “And I have a crush on Jimin?” Jungkook asks, looking quickly at actual Jimin and then looking away just as quickly.

 “Apparently…” Hoseok shrugs, before pressing onward with the story. Jungkook chews on the inside of his cheek, more questions brewing. 

 Today is probably the best Wednesday Jungkook has had in a month. Jimin not only remembered Jungkook’s name, but also Jungkook’s regular order. Jungkook wishes his regular order was something manly like a red eye or a café Americano black instead of the café mocha with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings that was sitting in front of him now. But his regular order has been his regular order since long before the most beautiful man in the world started working here. 

Jungkook has also triumphed today by arriving early enough to lay claim to his favorite comfy chair. Jungkook would argue that it was his favorite because it was a particularly fluffy and soft, not because it happened to allow him the perfect view to watch Jimin’s butt jiggle whenever Jimin turned to work the espresso machine. 

 “Fan-fiction drinking game!” Jin shouts, raising his glass in the air. “Take a shot whenever they talk about Jimin’s butt!” 

 “Yes!!” Namjoon laughs, clinking his glass to Jin’s before they both down their shots.  

 Jimin folds over onto the table, face is hidden from view by his hands, no doubt flushing a bright pink. “Fuck me…” he whines into the table.

 “I think Jungkook’s going to…” Namjoon says and the whole table roars in approval.

 Hoseok cackles, smacking the table over and over as he laughs and Yoongi raises his glass to Namjoon in props. Taehyung sticks his tongue in his cheek and shakes his head, before downing his shot. Jimin peaks out from behind his hands to roll his eyes and grab another drink, and Jungkook begins giggling so hard that he nearly falls out of his chair, whole body doubled-over in laughter.

 “Let’s find out, shall we?” Yoongi eggs Hoseok on. 

“God, you are so obvious…” A deep voice interrupts Jungkook’s day dreams.  

Jungkook is startled from his dazed worshipping of Jimin’s backside…

  “Drink! drink!” Jin chants, downing his shot glass. 

 Hoseok pauses the story and everyone drinks. 

 “Erhm…” Hoseok coughs and clears his throat after the shot. “Maybe it should be a sip for every mention of Jimin’s butt…”

 “No way!” Jimin slams his hand down on the table, feeling bolder now that he has two shots of soju in his system. “My ass is worth a full shot!”

 “That’s my boy!” Namjoon laughs, slapping Jimin hard on the back and pouring him another. 

 “Ahem!” Hoseok calls for attention and restarts.

 Jungkook is startled by his blonde shaggy-haired best friend plopping noisily into the empty seat across from him and blocking Jungkook’s view. 

“I would think you would have learned to be subtler in your stalking.” Taehyung teases when Jungkook huffs in annoyance. “What with all the practice you get…”

“Shhh!” Jungkook panics, looking over at Jimin to see if he heard anything, but the barista doesn’t seem to be able to hear anything over the roar of the espresso machine.

“Oh relax…” Taehyung scoffs, sticking a finger into the middle of Jungkook’s whipped cream and scooping up a large dollop before depositing it into his own mouth and sucking noisily on his finger.  

“Hey!” Jungkook shouts. “Go get your own!” He grabs his mocha and yanks it out of his best friend’s reach. “I don’t know where your fingers have been…”

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Only Hobi does…”

“Ugh… gross.” Jungkook frowns down at his mocha as images of Tae’s hand halfway up Hoseok’s ass come unbidden to his mind.

 “Euuggghhhhhhhh…” A uniform chorus of groans sounds from everyone at the table and Hoseok pauses to take another sip of soju.

 Hoseok looks over to check on Taehyung and discovers that Taehyung has hidden his entire head inside the neck of his shirt. 

 “You okay Taetae?” Hoseok asks. 

 The headless shirt nods at him and holds up his shot glass in solidarity. 

 Hoseok swallows to clear his throat and continues.

 Jungkook shoves his mocha back at Tae. “You owe me another…”

“Okay… okay…” Taehyung nods, standing back up. “Gives me an excuse to chat up the bartender with the spank-able ass …”

 “Drink! drink!” Everyone jubilantly chants, then downs another round. 

 “Wait…” Jungkook coughs as he recovers from the shot. “We’re all gay?” Hoseok nods in confirmation. Jungkook purses his lips in thought.

 “Doesn’t seem very realistic does it?” Namjoon says, swirling his soju. 

 “Well, duh…” Jimin responds. “None of us are gay…” He looks around the circle eagerly for confirmation. Jungkook nods at him, but the others all seem lost in thought. 

 “Well, statistically, one or two of us might be…” Namjoon replies, still swirling his alcohol and staring into space. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Love is just love, you know?”

 The boys glance around the circle at each other. Jin stares at Namjoon, who continues to swirl his soju. Yoongi’s eyes flick over to Hoseok to find Hoseok watching Jimin closely, but Jimin is also starring Namjoon, mouth open slightly. Taehyung is still hiding inside his shirt and Jungkook makes himself busy peeling the label off the soju bottle, not making eye contact with anyone.

 “But it’s highly improbable that all of us would be gay.” Namjoon adds, shaking his head and looking up from his glass. Everyone else exhales at the same time.

 “Didn’t girls write this?” Jungkook pipes up. 

 “I think so…” Hoseok answers. 

 “So why do they want us to be gay?” Jungkook asks. “Doesn’t that mean we’re less likely to hook up with them?”

 “I have a theory!” Namjoon sets down his glass and leans forward. “Most of our fans are girls, right?”

 The circle of boys nods in agreement. 

 “So…they don’t want to read about us hooking up with other girls. It makes them jealous. They want to imagine it’s them. That’s why they write that terrible ‘you… you… your name here…’ shit.”

 The circle continues to nod, following along with their leader. 

 “But!” Namjoon holds up a finger. “If you want to write real fleshed-out characters, you need protagonists with names and physical descriptions. So, they make us gay! Then we can hook up with each other and no one gets jealous.” Namjoon smiles proudly at his explanation.

 “I have a theory…” Yoongi interrupts. “Ever watch porn with two women in it?” Yoongi directs this question at the maknaes, but the whole circle nods in response. 

 “It’s like that.” Yoongi laughs and takes another drink. The boys laugh. Hoseok claps his hands. Namjoon frowns. 

 “Can we get back to the story now?” Taehyung asks from the inside his shirt. 

  “His name is Jimin” Jungkook retorts. 

“Good to know…” Taehyung smirks and heads for the counter. Jungkook pretends to be absorbed in his calculus book but can’t help watching in worry as Taehyung approaches the counter. Jungkook knows Taehyung would never cheat on Hoseok, but he is still jealous of Taehyung’s easy confidence. Tae probably hasn’t showered in three days and definitely just threw on a random assortment of clothes from his bedroom floor, but he’s still the most gorgeous man in a 5-mile radius (pink-haired baristas excluded). 

Taehyung’s head finally reemerges from his shirt, beaming proudly.

 “Well, hello Jimin…” Taehyung coos in his deep voice, leaning in casual elegance against the counter. “Or can I call you gorgeous…” 

“Ack!.. Bleckk…” A chorus of gagging sounds erupts as the entire table cringes in unison.

 Jimin covers his mouth with hand and breathlessly giggles as Taehyung leans further across the counter and Jungkook pouts into his contaminated mocha. He should have just drank it, Hobi’s ass juice be damned. 

“Eauuuggghhh......”

 Taehyung continues the flirtation for much longer than is necessary to order a new coffee. He puts in the order and Jimin’s eyes flick over to Jungkook. Jungkook quickly stares down at his textbook. Finally, Taehyung returns. 

“What is the matter with you?!” Jungkook hisses when Taehyung finally sits back down. “You are practically married! What are you doing flirting with the potential love of my life?!”

The sad truth of Jungkook’s life was that all his friends had settled down now. One of the drawbacks to being the youngest. Taehyung had Hoseok, Namjoon had Yoongi and Jungkook was all alone. 

  “Wait just a second!” Jin interjects. “Where am I?”

 “Uhh… I don’t know…” Hoseok frowns at the computer screen, scrolling frantically.

 Jin frowns and sips his soju.

 “Here you are!” Hoseok finds something and points to his computer screen. “You’re the manager of the coffee shop.”

 “Do I have sex with anyone?” Jin leans over to see the computer screen too. 

 “Umm…” Hoseok skims the page. “You awkwardly hit on Jungkook which causes Jimin to realize his true feelings…” Hoseok explains as Jin squints at the computer. “But umm… no. You don’t have sex with anyone.” 

 “What the hell?!” Jin throws his hands into the air.

 “I’m still confused about why they want us to be gay…” Jungkook says, spilling some of his soju as he waves his hands in confusion.

 “I’m much more confused about why they want us to be baristas…” Yoongi replies. “Don’t they know we’re rock stars?” Yoongi laughs and shakes his head. “Isn’t that sexier than making coffee for a living?”

 “Yeah…” Namjoon begins explaining again. “But they want us to be approachable, you know? Tell real life stories…”

 “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively. “If I’m going to read some elaborate fantasy about myself, I want to be a cowboy or an astronaut or something… Who gives a shit about what it would be like if Min Yoongi worked at Starbucks?” Yoongi pushes in next to Hoseok and takes over the computer from him.

 “Hobi!” Yoongi turns to Hoseok, pointing at the screen. “This story is rated teen! There isn’t any sex in it!!”

 “Oh…” Hoseok pouts.  “But there was all that talk about ass juice!”

 “You lose Hobi.” Namjoon shakes his head.

 “My turn to pick one, right?” Yoongi asks the group and they nod. Yoongi clicks back to the main page BTS fanfiction page and his jaw drops as he begins scrolling through page after page. 

 “My god...” Yoongi mutters. “How much of this shit is there?”

 “Forty-one thousand, two hundred and thirty-nine stories…” Hoseok answers, pointing to the top right of the screen. 

 “Holy shit…” Jungkook whispers and the whole table looks shocked.  

 “Forty-one thousand, two hundred and forty stories…” Yoongi adds as he clicks the refresh button.

 “Who has the most?” Jin interjects, peering over Hoseok’s shoulder. 

 “Jimin” Hoseok answers. Jimin hides his face in his hands again. “Jimin, then Yoongi.”

 “Yoongi?” Jungkook asks in surprise.

 “Suga fans are intense people.” Yoongi says, shrugging, smug smile on his face.

 “It’s just because Yoonmin is the most popular ship.” Namjoon interjects and Yoongi’s smile falters.

 “What’s a ship?” Jungkook asks Namjoon.

 “People you want to be in a relationSHIP.” Namjoon answers.

 “Like Taekook…” Taehyung adds, nudging Jungkook with his elbow and Jungkook nods in understanding.

 “But why Yoonmin?” Taehyung asks. “You guys almost never interact!”

 Jimin and Yoongi both shrug. But Namjoon interjects with an explanation again. “I think it’s the juxtaposition of gruff and dominating with small and caring that the fans like.”

 “Yoongi-hyung is only 1 centimeter taller!!!” Jimin shouts in frustration, banging his hands on the table.

 “I think it’s because we’re the sexiest.” Yoongi says. Jimin smiles and the two reach across the table to clink their glasses together in triumph.  All the other boys frown with various degrees of jealously on their faces.

  “Who has the least?” Jin turns back to Hoseok.

 “Umm…” Hoseok bites his lip, like he doesn’t really want to answer.

 “It’s me, isn’t it?” Jin frowns. 

 Hoseok nods. 

 “Waaahhh…” Jin sighs, shock on his face. “Why don’t more people want to write about me? I’m an excellent muse!” Jin preens and laughs as he sips his soju.  “I’m the eldest!” He insists. “I could be gruff and dominating!”

 “Have you met you?” Jimin laughs.

 “Yeah…Looks who’s talking ‘small and caring.’” Jin replies. Jimin opens his mouth to object, but Yoongi cuts him off.

 “I want to read that one!” Yoongi insists pointing to something on Hoseok’s computer screen. 

 “Really, hyung?” Hoseok chuckles and Yoongi nods. Hoseok slides the computer over so it’s in front of Yoongi and Yoongi begins reading. 

 Captain Black Suga was shockingly beautiful for a pirate.  

That’s all Captain Hoseok Jung could think as he gazed down at the man in chains on the deck of his ship. 

Suga was wet from his recent dive overboard, another failed escape attempt, and his dark hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water dripping softly onto the deck. The captain watched as a single water droplet rolled down the pirate’s forehead, wrapped around the curve of his cheek, and traced a meandering path down the pirate’s neck. Captain Jung secretly wished he could follow the path of the water droplet with his tongue. 

  Hoseok begins giggling uncontrollably. “Why did you pick this one hyung?” He asks.

 “I’m a pirate!” Yoongi gestures at the screen.

 “Or he wants to read a Yoonseok story so he can flirt with you, Hobi.” Namjoon adds, chuckling. Hoseok laughs and blushes.

 “I don’t understand why they won’t call us Sope…” Yoongi mutters before resuming the story.

 God… he was beautiful. Hoseok’s loins ached just looking at him. 

Black Suga was the very definition of temptation. His features were delicate, his skin shockingly pale for a man who had spent his whole life on the open sea. His small mouth was turned down in a slight frown. His thin pink lips parted as he panted, exposed pale chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked so soft and innocent, all wet and bedraggled, kneeling on the deck. But then his dark eyes flicked up to meet Hoseok’s and Hoseok felt like his very soul was on fire.

Perhaps that is where Black Suga got his name from, Hoseok mused. He seemed sweet like sugar, but then he could murder you and your whole crew without breaking a sweat, smile on his face. He was young, about the same age as Captain Jung and Captain Jung was the youngest captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Hoseok could only imagine the different twists and turns their lives must have taken from them to end up here, on opposite sides of the law. 

Hoseok watched Suga’s tongue lap tentatively at the drops of water still running down his face from his hair and daydreamed about that tongue wrapping itself around his cock.

 “Uhhh…” Yoongi pauses, shocked at what he just read. “Maybe we should find a different one…”

 “No way!” The rest of the table immediately objects, delighted in how uncomfortable Yoongi suddenly is.  Yoongi tries to press onward.

 God… Hoseok can only imagine how beautiful Suga would be staring up at him from his knees, fiery black eyes focused on him, mouth full of his cock.

 “Nope… I can’t do this...” Yoongi shoves the computer away.

 “I can!” Hoseok scoops up the computer, laughing delightedly, and keeps reading.

 Captain Jung really shouldn’t be thinking such things. Captains in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy weren’t supposed to think pirates were beautiful, especially not those pirates they were commanded to track down and put to death for their crimes against the crown. Probably shouldn’t fantasize about bedding them either. But one look at Suga and bending him over the starboard railing and fucking him for the whole ocean to see is all Hoseok can think about. 

“Hey!” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m the badass pirate! Why wouldn’t I be the one fucking you?”

 “The fandom has decided that I top in this relationship.” Hoseok teases.

 “But I’m older!” Yoongi rants, pounding his fist on the table, and laughing.

 “More! more!” Taehyung and Jungkook call in unison from the end of the table, delighted at how embarrassed their surly hyung is.

 Hoseok had never seen Black Suga this close before. The best he had seen of the man was glimpses of him standing proud on the bow of his ship, usually sailing away from whatever carnage he had left in his wake: burned and sinking ships, ransacked villages, and suddenly penniless merchant vessels. Always leaving Captain Jung to pick up the pieces. Hoseok felt like he had spent his whole naval career chasing Black Suga. Hoseok felt disgusted with himself that he finally had the man in his clutches and instead of seeking justice, all he could think was how much he wanted to fuck him.

“You bring me here just to stare at me, sweetheart?” Black Suga asked and Hoseok jumped, taken aback by the forwardness of the pirate.

Captain Jung knew what he had to do. There was no way around it. Hoseok wished things were different. He wished this man was someone who had joined the royal navy instead of choosing a life of piracy. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining a alternate life where Suga was his first mate by day and his lover by night. But there’s was no reaching that now.

“Black Suga…” Hoseok unfurled the scroll in his hand and began reading out the death warrant signed by the governor. “You have been sentenced to death by her royal highness Queen Elizabeth I for your crimes against the crown and the British people. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Yoongi…” Suga said quietly. “Min Yoongi…”

“What?” Captain Jung paused.

“If I’m going to do die, I want to die with the name my mother gave me… not some dumb nickname.” The pirate frowned pensively at the deck.

 “He’s not going to die, is he?” Taehyung interrupts, hands clenched on the table.  

 “No…” Hoseok reassures. “It’s 27 chapters long. He can’t die in the opening chapter.”

 “27 chapters?!” Jin shouts.

 “Well… yeah! There are so many obstacles to their love!” Hoseok laughs as he elaborates. “They have to lust after each other for a while. Captain Jung has to discover that Suga is secretly a pirate with a heart of gold. Suga has to fall for the dashing captain and abandon his life of crime…”

 “We don’t have time for 27 chapters!” Jin objects.

 “Just a little bit more?” Taehyung asks.

 “Fine…” Jin takes another sip of soju.

 “Min Yoongi…” Hoseok repeated, making a note on the parchment of the pirate’s real name. “Do you have any last words?”

“Yeah…” The fiery eyes looked out past Hoseok’s shoulder, then straight back to the captain, as a dangerous smirk crossed Suga’s lips. 

“You might want to duck.” Suga laughed triumphantly, before rolling across the deck, perfect timing to miss the cannonball that went soaring past Captain Jung’s ear and crashing through the floor boards of his ship. 

Captain Jung whipped around to see the black sails of Black Suga’s ship, the Daegu Sun. Hoseok dived to the side to avoid another cannonball, screaming at his men to ready the cannons. 

Suga somehow escaped his chains and leapt up from the deck. He punched Hoseok’s first mate Jin in the face and stole his sidearm, before running across the deck to the edge of the bow. 

“See you later sweetheart!” Suga called out to Hoseok before grabbing part of the rigging and swinging across the water to his own ship. A larger part of himself than Hoseok would like to admit wished silently that he could board the pirate’s ship and sail away too, but he was a better man than that. 

Instead, Hoseok watched longingly as Black Suga greeted his first mate – a mysterious one-eyed man with purple hair who was known only by the initials RM – with an enthusiastic pat on the back. And then Hoseok watched with a dull ache in his chest as Suga greeted his cabin boy Jimin, planting the boy with an enthusiastic kiss and squeezing his butt possessively right in the open for Hoseok to see.

 “Drink! drink!” The table cackles at yet another mention of Jimin’s famous posterior.

 “Why?!” Jimin moans, face buried in his hands. “Why am I always the cabin boy?” Jimin slurs, way too many glasses of soju in his system.

 “What?” Hoseok asks, confused.

 “Why am I always the cabin boy?” Jimin moans again. “Or the barista? Or the slave? Or the stripper? Or the prostitute? Why?”

 “You said you never read them!!” Jin yells, smacking the table and laughing.

 “Yeah…” Jimin groans, shaking his head back and forth, but keeping his face hidden behind his hands.

 “Is this why you didn’t want to read it?” Namjoon laughs, patting Jimin on the back.

 “Yeah…” Jimin nods.

 “Oh Jiminie…” Hoseok chuckles. “We can find you a better story!”

 “But…” Yoongi begins to object, then bites his tongue. Hoseok taps just enough keys on the laptop to bookmark the page, smirking at Yoongi. Yoongi sees it and gives a small nod, clearing his throat and taking another sip of soju.

 Hoseok heads back to the main page and begins scrolling, looking for a story Jimin might be happier about.

 “Oh look!” Hoseok says when he finds one.  “In this one, you’re a robot!” Hoseok hands the computer across the table to Namjoon to show Jimin.

 “Like the Terminator?” Jimin drops his hands from his face as his smile perks up in interest.

 “Umm…” Namjoon frowns at the computer screen as he reads further. “Did the terminator have a vibrating dick?”

 “Fucking hell…” Jimin grumbles as the table bursts into laughter. Namjoon goes back to scrolling for another story.

 “Oh!” Namjoon pauses when he finds another. “In this one you’re a mermaid…”  

 “You mean a merman?” Jimin asks.

 “No…it says mermaid.” Namjoon tries hard not to laugh.

 “That’s it, I’m out.” Jimin declares, standing up from the table, and wobbling for a moment before turning to head for bed.  A chorus of boos and disappointed whines follows this announcement.

 “Wait!” Jin calls out to Jimin and Jimin pauses.

 “I know one where you’re in charge…” Jin says.

 “Really?” Jimin asks, turning back to the table.

 “Yeah…” Jin nods. “Gets pretty intense though…”

 Jimin pauses, mulling over his options. “What do you mean in charge?”

 “Umm…” Jin laughs, eyes darting around the circle of boys. “You spend a while punishing Jungkook and Tae for their disobedience…”

 Jimin grins. Taehyung and Jungkook both look at each other, eyes wide.

 “I suppose we could hear one more…” Jimin laughs and sits down. Jin grabs the computer from Namjoon and goes searching.

Part Three