#Man-Bat can EASILY lift people and even vehicles

[chiropterx]

Man-Bat's teeth aren't the only dangerous part of his body. His claws are brutally sharp, each digit tipped with razor-sharp points perfectly adapted for clambering over stone and brickwork (even vertically up walls!) These claws pale in comparison to his thumb-claws however, which easily reach 8 inches in length and are capable of slashing even kevlar. His toes are similarly equipped with claws not unlike those found on his wings, and his feet can grasp things much more strongly than any human hand ever could.

[skylarmoon71]

Nick Jakoby x Reader Oneshot- (Bright)

“Oink, oink over here piggy!” 

The group of men standing in the doorway made you grimace. Damn they pissed you off. Nick walked pass them with his head lowered, trying his best to ignore the rude remarks. You’d just clocked in, and this had become a regular. Their tauntings. You really wanted to body slam all four of them. But you restrained yourself. “Don’t bother with them Nick, their dick heads. “ It was no secret that they hated the male Orc. Nick was by far the sweetest man on the force, and he wasn’t even a man. Which really said something for the unit. 

“I’m used to it, it’s fine.” you frowned. He shouldn’t have to get used to it. He was just as hardworking and diligent as any other cop. You nudged his shoulder with a smile as you walked with him. “Cheer up, in a couple of hours we have that awful dinner to attend. You have worse things ahead." Nick shook his head with a shy smile. “Is that supposed to make me feel better.” 

“Not really.” with a small giggle, you met your partner. Nick headed over to Ward, and your eyes wandered, just admiring him. You had no idea why people gave him such a hard time. It’s true that Orcs sided with the enemy in the past, but that was thousands of years ago. The world had changed so much since then, apparently not in the ways you hoped. 

Nick was so misunderstood and underappreciated. He had so much to offer if he was just given a chance. Not to mention he was a total sweetheart. Pretty handsome too. The final thought erupts a blush to your cheek, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by your partner.

“What’s got you all red in the face?” Jacob, your partner raises an eyebrow, and your face gets darker. “Nothing let’s get going.” he doesn’t quite believe you, and you try to steal one last look at Nick before you have to get going, but Jacob catches the action, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Shit I knew it!!” His yell catches the attention of everyone in a five mile radius and as the officers stare, you feel Nick’s stare follow. You cower, smacking Jacob who just waves everyone off. When their gazes have diverted, you glare at the man before you. He raises his hands defensively. “Sorry, sorry didn’t mean to cause a scene. Not everyday you discover your partner has a crush. Damn Victoria owes me twenty bucks!” 

“Y-You betted on my love life with your wife!!” 

“Umm, hell yeah I did. Why are you even surprised?” he was right, you shouldn’t have been. You just roll your eyes, and soon the both of you are headed to the squad car. Jacob is still wearing that smug grin as you jump into the vehicle. “So when are you gonna ask him out?” 

“I-I’m not!” 

“You’re kidding, you have to (Y/N)!” Jacob has always been majorly supportive, but you’re still a little anxious. Your head lowers. “Y-You don’t think it’s weird that I..I mean I don’t  care if anyone says anything but I just..I..” The way you're struggling with your words, it’s not hard for Jacob to understand. “Listen, I’d never judge you for something like that. We’re partners (Y/N), practically family now. And honestly Nick is awesome, dude brings me scones every Tuesday cause he passes at my favorite shop on his way to work. He’s a hero in my book.” He lets out a few fake sobs to get his point across and you just groan at his childishness.

“Seriously though, Nick’s a really good guy. Everyone treats him like shit, yet he comes back and tells them to be safe. If it were me, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it that well. He could easily quit, probably just become the monster everyone keeps accusing him of being. But he wakes up and he does the job, all because he loves it, he generally cares about protecting people who don’t give a shit about him. It’s inspiring to watch. There aren’t many people like left in this world (Y/N), if you find someone like that, you should do what you can to hold onto them.” His finger ran over his wedding band, a smile playing on his lips. “That’s what I did.” His smile makes your face brighten, and you nod. 

“I’ll do my best. “ 

So maybe your partner wasn’t a complete idiot. 

That afternoon when you get home, you’re on a mission. Jacob’s advice is ringing in your head. He’s right. So you’ve decided this annual police will be your best yet. You were gonna go all out. You rarely ever get dressed up, too accustomed to dark suit pants and uncomfortable belts. You wanted something to catch Nick’s attention, then maybe it would give you the confidence to finally own up to your feelings and ask the guy out. You jump into the shower. 

“Time to knock them dead. “ 

~Three hours later~

“Quit fidgeting, you look fine.” Ward smacks Nick’s hands away from the tie. He’s been messing with it for the last ten minutes, mostly out of nervousness. This is his first time he’s worn a tux. He feels a bit ridiculous, but with Ward’s assurance, he can only hope he’s pulling it off. They stand at a table making small talk, mostly Ward. 

Nick offers a word here and there. By the looks he keeps getting, he can tell that his opinion isn’t really wanted by the people there. So he busies himself with watching the other people mingling around him. Everyone looks relaxed, sipping wine, helpling themselves to food. He’s never been a fan of this. Every year they hold these little banquets to treat the new recruits and commend exemplary performances throughout the unit. It’s a fun event for the most part. But his fellow coworkers never rest with their harsh opinions. It isn’t even verbal, just by the looks he knows. 

The sound of a few whistles catches his attention. There’s a small commotion at the doorway. He vaguely makes out the edge of purple, and that’s when he notices the man that walks in. But that isn’t what captures his eyes, it’s the woman he’s escorting on his arm. 

Golden orbs widen, and his ears twitch a bit too quickly. He wants to control it, but it’s hard, because the smile that lands in his direction knocks the wind right out of him. “Wow, your girlfriend cleans up nice.” Ward whispers. 

“S-She’s not my girlfriend.” he grumbles back. Now that you’re clear in his view, he can fully admire your dress. It’s a velvet luxe maxi dress. The color is a beautiful lavender. Thin straps at the shoulder, low cut displaying just enough cleavage. And a slit that stops mid thigh, with matching heels to complete the whole look. Your hair is loose, and a very light amount of makeup, highlighting your features. Nick thought you were gorgeous before, but somehow you’ve outdone yourself. He can’t look away, and he really should before you take notice.You settle at a table not too far from him, pulling the focus of a few males present there. With polite smiles and little words, Nick feels a bit envious. 

“Now’s your chance hotshot. Ask her out before one of those hyenas beat you to it.” Nick wants to convince Ward that it’s useless, there’s no way you’d go for someone like him. You’re completely different in every sense of the word. He doesn’t have a chance. As he opens his mouth he’s about to lay out his case, but a sweet lavender scent fills his nostrils, and he wants to question the origin, just then he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He turns, and the heavenly aroma hits him tenfold. Somehow you’ve walked over without him realizing. He’s supposed to be more aware, he’s a cop after all. Your glossed lips turn into a smile as you bat your eyes. 

“Nick..do you wanna maybe dance?” 

The slow sound filling the room, doubled with the couples now filling up the floor catches his eyes. He’s tongue tied, because you can’t really be asking him. Out of all the guys there, why him? Yes, the both of you have been friends for months now, but he’s sort of assumed your kindness was due to pity more than anything else. 

You're still watching him hopefully, and Ward gives an encouraging push. He stumbles, grabbing your shoulders lightly. When he’s steadied himself, he pulls back. “He’d love to.” Ward says. Nick doesn’t get a chance to put in a word for himself, because you smile, taking his hand and pulling him to the center of the dance floor. Nick is staggering behind, trying not to knock into anyone. When you get to your desired area, you turn back to him. Nick is stiff, the both of you are just standing there, a number of eyes on you. “I-I should probably just go, everyone is staring and I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable.” His eyes lift, and the way you look at him, it makes his heart hammer. What has he done to deserve your kindness, he has no idea. 

Deciding that you need to be the one to make a move, you take his hands and place them around your waist as you step closer. You can feel the slight tremble in his palms that are pressed to your body now. It’s so adorable. He’s still stiff as a board, but you know he’s trying. He’s probably so touch starved. It hurts to just think about it. Your hands are resting on his chest lightly, and you sigh, swaying with the music. Nick swallows, he’s a bit taller than you, and he’s trying his best not to look down directly at you. With you so close it’s hard for him not to pass out at how amazing you smell. Your hands slide up, going around his neck. His eyes finally meet yours, and the meaning in your eyes, it triggers something in him. “Nick..” you’re whispering, and it breaks his train of thought. “Yeah.” you lick your lips, and he wishes he could just kiss those plump lips. They are begging to be touched.  

“Do you possibly want to-” a hand pulling you from the Orc in your arms makes you jerk. Nick looks just as surprised. The officer standing between the both of you, suddenly it makes sense, and you're pissed. “Run along pig face, she’s tired of you.” Pollard rests a hand on your waist, pulling you into his side, and you shove him back. “You’re the one who’s interrupting, what the hell we were dancing!!” you're enraged. Not only has he messed up your plan to finally ask Nick out, but he’s also insulted him. Nick can see the displeasure on your face, and he’s about to suggest that maybe you leave. The last thing he wants is for you to get caught in the middle of this. He could take Pollard’s insults any day. But he doesn’t want any negative attention drawn to you. 

“Come on you don’t have to give anymore charity, we all know why you do this. You feel bad for little piggy here. Don’t waste your evening on him, how about you come with me. Have some real fun.” It’s almost laughable that he thinks you’ll drop everything and just run off with him. Nick now looks less sure of himself, a bit defeated. It’s then you realize that he must have assumed the same. You’re being nice out of some foolish obligation. You open your mouth to assure him, but stop. This time, words may not be enough. It’s time to take action. So with two swift strides you grab Nick by the lapels of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss. Pollard gapes, and Nick is tense and wide eyed. 

“I’m dreaming…” He has to be. You couldn’t be..kissing him. Your eyes are closed, and you still have a firm hold on his clothing. A few more seconds pass and you pull back slowly. Your eyes move from Nick’s soft lips, to his topaz eyes. The bewildered expression is highly anticipated. 

“If you’ll excuse us, we have business to attend to.” you take Nick’s hand, leaving a stunned Pollard, and a few surprised officers. You don’t even look back, you do however pass Jacob on your way out of the building. He’s grinning probably wider than you. When the door snaps shut behind you and you're free of the intrusive stares, you look at Nick. He’s still in a mid state of shock. “I’m sorry..” you mutter. 

Now that the events play back, you’re bashful. You didn’t even get to ask him out. Nick collects himself slowly, shaking his head. “N-No it’s fine.” An awkward silence follows. You want to say something to cut the tension, but Nick interrupts. “I should take you home.” He doesn't look at you when he says that, and now you're a bit scared that you’ve crossed a line and misread all the signs. Self conscious and mortified, you just nod. Nick’s car is parked close, as he opens the door, you jump inside. He does the same, pulling off. 

The ride is anything but pleasant. It’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Nick is staring ahead, and the look he wears is unreadable. 

“I ruined everything.” You should have never done that, especially since you weren’t even sure of any feelings. He must be completely disgusted with you. You're thankful that the ride isn’t long, because in a few minutes he pulls up. You don’t make any kind of eye contact, just whisper a thanks, opening the door and stepping out. 

You want to cry, how did the night turn so horrible that quickly. As you close the vehicle door, you all but sprint to your house, taking out your keys and opening your front door. You don’t even bid him goodbye, you just focus on getting inside. You do, stepping in and leaning back as you shut the door. “Idiot!” you scold yourself. “I’m an idiot..” you bite your lip. How would you ever face him again. 

The knock at your door makes you jump, and you turn, opening the door hesitantly. You peek outside, a bit surprised. “N-Nick..” He’s staring at you, maybe wanting answers for all that happened. You step back, letting him inside. He’s the one that closes the door this time. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Blunt, to the point. From the look, you know he’s just as conflicted by all of this as you. Now might be your last chance. You’ve already kissed him, what was the harm in telling him the truth. It might help you both.

“Because I..It’s what I’ve wanted to do for months now. “ you confess. His forehead creases in astonishment. “Nick I’ve..I’ve had it bad for you for so long and it makes my blood boil every time I hear the way they talk to you! You’re so caring and selfless and goddamn hot to me and I wish everyone could see how amazing you are if they’d just give you an opportunity.” you’re rambling, but you don’t care. “That jackass Pollard ruined everything I had this whole night planned out, I was gonna wow you with this dress and then finally ask you out but then he came with his false macho bullshit and it just pissed me off and that’s why I grabbed you like that to show him that this isn’t some charity I actually am crazy about you and I..” you heave, for a minute there you forgot you should breathe. “I’m so crazy about you Nick.” 

He’s still just standing there, and now you’ve given him a chance to speak. From his expression, he doesn’t know what to say. You were so out of his league. 

“I don’t understand why you would..why..” that self conscious  look, you’ve seen it many times. 

“Nick, I want you.” he stops, eyes opening a bit wider now. “I’m tired of you being so hard on yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of.  “ you take a step forward, and he doesn’t move a muscle. “Truthfully, when I saw you earlier in this tux, I almost passed out. “ your hands reach out, going back to where they had been before Pollard stepped in. Resting right on his broad shoulders. Another thing about him that made you swoon was his build. He was nicely muscular. It just messed you up. He needs a moment to gather his breath. “Nick do you..want me?” 

“Of course!” his shout, as unexpected as it is, it makes you smile. He looks away at how desperate it sounded. “That’s good..” you don’t clarify, just lean in, and this time when your lips meet, he still doesn’t really prepare. It’s so tender, almost tentative. When he finally convinces his mind that it’s real, his hands wrap around your body, pulling you in. You sigh, and Nick responds, returning the kiss. Your head is in the clouds, You feel like you’re dreaming, if that’s the case you want to stay forever. You open your mouth, urging him to do the same, he does, taking control. 

You moan when he pushes you up against the door, now kissing you hungrily. One of his hands drift down to your bare thigh, and another needy sound releases. You can’t stop it and you don’t want to. His free hand presses to the door, and your hands grip at the clothes on his back. You’re trying to pull him forward, and he complies, pressing into you. It feels so great, his firm body trapping you there. There’s a low growl that comes from Nick, and somehow you’re even more turned on. Your hands have ventured back to the front of his tux, unbuttoning it quickly. It falls open and your fingers slip under the jacket, reveling in the taunt muscles. 

Gosh does he feel amazing. Nick feels you start to pull at the shirt, he forces himself to part. When you’ve separated, you’re both flushed and panting. Nick still believes maybe he’s at home sleeping somehow. The new scent that fills the air nearly makes his knees buckle. Your lust is so prominent, he can almost taste it. Your chest is still heaving, but you're slowly coming down from your high, so is Nick. It’s then you realize what was about to happen if not for Nick’s pause. You feel a bit embarrassed now. You hug yourself, blushing a deep red. 

“S-Sorry, guess I kind of got a bit crazy..” Nick smiles. “You don’t have to apologize.” He’d be stupid to make you feel bad about such a thing. He was just as equally responsible. Fact is, it took everything in him to stop himself. As much as he wants this to progress, he also wants more than just a heated night with you. He wants so much more. 

“(Y/N), I’d..really like to take you out sometime..” he mumbles it, still fairly insecure about it all. The way your eyes light up though, his fears are all gone. You don’t respond, and he doesn’t need one because you jump into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek, grinning like a child on Christmas.

“You don’t even have to ask, it’s a yes.” you  whisper in his ear. He holds you close, breathing in your scent. He wants to lock that away forever. He wants this to last forever. For now though, just being with you now, it’s enough.

[moronic-validity]

Okey so I saw that ur requests where up?if not then I won’t take offence to you ignoring this I can be dumb sometimes😅

Anywho! If you wouldn’t mind of course could I get Asa Emory with a delinquent M!S/O? Idm what else you do with it I just love the idea of someone who would like punch Asa and not bat an eye and clashes with dominance I guess?

Thank you!!🥰

Hi Asa Nonnie! I decided to goa bit...off with it and I broke the reader! Well, Asa did.

This is a 2k fic, I was going to make it longer... If y'all want a part 2, let me know!

Warnings: Canon-typical ish violence! Just a little bit of Stockholm Syndrome, maybe more self preservation than anything else.

This fic is not 18+, but I will say it’s like...not completely sfw

You knew this guy had a PhD and owned a fairly lucrative fix-it company.

You hoped this guy had some work equipment you could take to the pawn shop.

You had been watching the house for about a week, making note of his comings and goings, assuring yourself that he lived alone. This man functioned on a tight schedule and you could map it down to the minute. There was only one thing that caught you off guard.

He didn’t have a security system.

It almost threw you off his house.

Almost.

You waited until he left for the night, somewhere around 8 p.m. He wouldn’t be back for hours. You knew as long as you were quiet, his neighbors wouldn’t even blink. He even left his garage open.

This guy really is clueless, you thought to yourself, nearly wanting to laugh at the man, this is going to be a piece of cake.

Asa drove off down the block. He was going to give you about 45 minutes to get into his home and begin your search for loot. He checked his watch and tapped his steering wheel impatiently. He wanted to save himself the effort of replacing his windows or locks and left the garage door open for you.

You walked in, careful to not make too much noise. His house was absurdly pristine, if you didn’t know someone lived there, you’d have assumed it was a model home. You wandered towards the bedrooms and took care to step over the wire on the floor. You had no idea what it was attached to, but the last thing you needed was to knock something over.

Asa parked on the curb across from his house. He hummed to himself, happy to see your nondescript grey car with the conveniently missing tags still parked in his garage, out of view from his neighbors.

So smart, he thought to himself, yet far too careless.

Asa nodded to a passing neighbor, a greeting exchanged as the other continued their walk.

Once he was in his garage, he pulled on his gloves and mask. He entered his house silently, not wanting to alert the would-be thief. He watched as you entered his room and touch his bed.

You had to marvel at the impeccable condition this man kept his house in. You ghosted your fingers along the sheets of his bed. They were high quality, you assumed. Higher quality than you had ever owned. You looked across the room, unaware of the man approaching from behind until he was within arm’s length. You planted your feet, twisted, and threw a punch with your entire body weight behind it.

Asa wasn’t expecting you to hit him.

Asa certainly wasn’t expecting it to hurt the way it did.

The fight that ensued left both of you bloody, but while you seemed tired, the other man seemed excited. Almost thrilled to have someone to beat the shit out of.

He had backed you out into the hall, and this time, you weren’t careful, and you tripped over the wire you had intentionally avoided the first time. The rug on the floor came up and enveloped you, blacking out everything.

It was a trap.

This man had booby trapped his house.

You thought about the predictable schedule, the lack of a security system, and the open garage door.

This was never an easy score, not for you at least.

Asa chuckled to himself before finding one of his spare crates. He cut you down, dropping you and the rug into the container. You were kicking and screaming, fighting against it, but stronger people had put up better fights, and still wound up added to his collection. You were no different, though definitely more amusing.

He took off his mask and gloves and headed towards his bathroom. He prodded at the growing bruise and shook his head. You had landed a few good shots. His lip was split, there was the bruise forming along his left cheek and up along his brow, he knew his knuckles were split and that if he had bothered to check, his ribs were probably bruised.

He carefully cleaned his lip and knuckles before returning his attention to where you were stored on the floor.

He had plans for you.

He dragged the crate out into his driveway, once again acknowledging one of his neighbors. They exchanged pleasantries as you attempted to rock the box over.

“Feisty ones this time Asa?” His neighbor joked, looking at the trunk.

You nearly froze. Was this a regular occurrence? Did this guy just...kidnap people?

“Only a little bit,” Asa said with a happy sounding sigh, “I’ve been lucky enough to study him alone for roughly a week now, just time to take him back to where he belongs.”

“Seems like he doesn’t want to go,” his neighbor laughed, “Need some help loading him up?”

You screamed, but it was muffled. You felt yourself being lifted and before long, you were set down and slid until you hit a wall.

You heard a door shut.

Before long, the vehicle was moving. You were folded in an uncomfortable position and every time he took a turn, you slid until you hit another panel of the van.

You had to shut your eyes to avoid getting motion sick.

Once the van was parked, he hauled the trunk along with him.

You had no idea where you were, but you knew as soon as he opened the crate, you were going to start swinging.

You tried to map the turns he took so you could get out of the building, but after the eighth or ninth turn, you were lost.

Finally, he set you down. You could hear him doing something across the room.

Then he unlatched the case.

You tumbled out, clumsily finding your footing. Your vision was swimming, but you attempted to punch your kidnapper anyway. Asa dodged it with ease and shoved you.

You fell then scrambled back to your feet, setting up to tackle him.

Asa stepped to the side and watched you run into the floor. He smiled. He was going to have fun with this. He walked over to your still recovering form, pulled the waist band of your pants down, and stuck you with the needle he set up before letting you out. Nothing more than a mild paralytic. He wanted you awake for this.

You were numb. You couldn’t lift your arms or legs if you tried, and you did. You felt him lift you up and place you on a table that you didn’t even realize was in the room. He picked up your arm and started an IV. You could see the stand in your peripheral. You hoped to God that it was just saline.

Asa picked up a pair of trauma shears off the counter and cut away your pants and shirt. He had to make sure that he hadn’t damaged his newest toy. He noted that your chest was covered in bruises, but other than one that looked particularly dark, he was sure you were going to be fine.

You cold tell it was cold and you felt your clothes being pulled away. You’d cover yourself if you could move your arms.

Asa considered his options. He could easily skin you if he wanted to. Use you for a new addition to his prized collection.

But you were interesting.

Interesting didn’t come along every day.

He checked his watch. You probably had another three or four hours until the paralytic wore off. He covered your body with a blanket and sat down, watching and waiting until you were moving again.

Your eyelids were so heavy and the blanket he covered you with was so warm. Despite the fear you felt, you couldn’t help yourself falling asleep.

You woke up to your IV being tugged. You turned your head and regarded the man carefully. You didn’t want to swing on him and wind up getting drugged again, but you also didn’t want to stay here. He wasn’t unattractive and frankly speaking, in any other situation, that didn’t start with robbery and end with a kidnapping, you probably would’ve asked him out for coffee.

“Asa, right?” Your voice was hoarse, he looked at you like he was trying to figure out how he wanted to pin you to the wall, “What do you want with me?”

Asa chuckled.

“What do I want with you,” he chuckled again, shaking his head, “What did you want with me? What were you hoping to steal?”

“I don’t think we can really compare the pair here,” you said, almost wanting to laugh, “Kidnapping and theft are on two different levels,”

You sat up on the table, letting the blanket fall over your lap.

Asa took a step back, his hand on the shears he used to remove your clothes.

“You’re interesting. I tend to enjoy the company of interesting people.” He answered, leaving no room for further questioning.

You two watched each other, each waiting for the other to make a move.

“Lay back down.” Asa commanded, and you laughed in his face.

“I’m not a dog,” you started, before he put his hands on your chest and forced you back down onto the table, securing you in place with straps you didn’t know were there.

It occurred to you that this was not the first time you missed the small details that gave him advantage.

“Disobey or question me again and I put you back in the box. You’ll only come out when I decide I want your company,” he tightened the straps, “Listen to me and things will be significantly easier for you.”

You acted before you thought about it. You turned your head and spit on him.

The laugh Asa let out made you regret every choice you made in the last 48 hours.

You weren’t sure how long he locked you in the trunk. You knew that everything hurt. You were sure that you’d be stuck in this uncomfortable position even after the case was opened.

Asa locked you in the box for about an hour. He had timed it. It gave him a moment to take his frustrations out on a different unfortunate soul.

Asa adjusted his clothes before reentering the room he was keeping you in. He knew there was blood on his shoes, still wet and fragrant.

He undid the straps on the case and let it fall open. You fell over, onto the floor, not bothering to get up.

Asa shook his head.

“I want you to lick my shoe.” Asa moved his shoe directly in front of your face.

“Why?” you were scared to refuse, not wanting to get put in the box again.

“Because my shoe is dirty,” he crossed his arms, “and I want you to clean it.”

You stalled. Asa bent down to drag you back into the box.

“No no no no no,” you started panicking; you stuck your tongue out and he let go of your arm. You could tell it was blood based off of scent alone and as disgusted as you were, you’d do anything on earth to avoid being shoved back in the dark.

He stood back up and watched as you started to lick his shoe with broad strokes. The tears were flowing freely down your face and Asa had never seen something so beautiful in his life.

You were broken.

It was so much easier than Asa could’ve dreamed.

He watched patiently as you cried and begged and worshiped his bloody shoe.

You had still disobeyed him.

He still locked you back in the box, crying and screaming.

He set the timer for about forty-seven minutes, not even bothering to leave the room. He sat in the chair and watched the box rattle. He watched as it stilled, and your screams turned to choked sobs. He imagined the look of resigned desperation.

His watch gave a single vibration to signal the end of your confinement.

When he opened the box this time, your first response was to clutch his leg.

Asa was amused by how little effort he had to put into breaking your will. Had you not been attractive, he would’ve considered you no longer of interest.

He shook you off his leg and walked across the room. You stayed put and watched him, looking for some signal so you didn’t make the mistake of disobeying him yet again.

He motioned for you to come and you crawled to him without a second thought. You sat at his feet and looked up at him.

“Well, isn’t that a good boy,” he stroked your cheek, thankful you had put the idea of you being his dog in his head.

You leaned into his touch.

Asa smiled and cupped your face in his hand, squeezing just hard enough for it to open your mouth.

“Stick out your tongue,” he said, no louder than a whisper. You obeyed and he repaid you by spitting directly onto your tongue, “Now swallow.”

For a second you considered spitting onto the floor. You didn’t want this. Not from him.

The fear of being locked in the trunk again over-rode any sense of self respect and you swallowed the mixed saliva.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, sir.”

[united-under-skyfall]

a ranking of superheroes with super strength

because i felt like it

note: not including thor, bc he’s an alien, and not including the hulk, bc he has a distinct size advantage and we’re not sure how much that affects how strong he actually is.

also, i just went with the people i remembered off the top of my head, bc frankly super strength is too common of a power, so yes i’m aware that i probably missed a lot. this is meant to be fun not to take shots at any of them (i might have Opinions™ but i tried to keep those at bay. it didn’t really work. but still.)

list goes from least strongest to strongest

- steve rogers (aka captain america). 1/10 on the super strength scale. baby. can break a punching bag, bend some rusty metal if he’s trying really hard, and maybe throw bad guys a few feet further than a normal very strong highly trained person from the mcu. shouldn’t even count imo (listen i love him but his super strength? a joke tbh)

- luther hargreeves (aka spaceboy). tv show, not comics (sorry :/ ). 1.5/10 on the super strength scale. breaks a statue, tosses a few people around, shoves off a chandelier easy enough, doesn’t seem to have trouble with any of it, but nothing really more than any of that? at least that i can remember. i tried looking for scenes he used his strength, but didn’t have much luck. honestly if anything he seemed more powerful when he was a kid and yeeted that robber out the bank windows near the ceiling so hard that he definitely wasn’t getting back up again once he hit the ground vs. when he was an adult and threw hazel maybe a good few feet and through a wall, which he basically shook off tbh. also have to take into account the serum, which could give him either an advantage or a disadvantage in this aspect. lead to believe that it’s the former, but we don’t know for sure. not counting what he did to vanya w the hug bc a) he hurt her, but didn’t seriously injure her, and b) we don’t talk about that scene goddamnit that shouldn’t have been allowed. overall, not very impressive, literally any of the others should’ve been chosen to be the leader/number one if they were going based on powers (no offense buddy)

- bob parr (aka mr. incredible). solid 3/10 on the super strength scale. a lad. caught a speeding train. can pull freight trains and lift loaded vehicles and rooted trees with little difficulty. one of the ogs.

- peter parker (aka spider-man). mcu version. tentative 4/10 on the super strength scale, i’m tempted to go lower. doing his best. lifted a building off of himself from a position that gave him a severe disadvantage in doing so, not long after receiving his powers, though we aren’t sure how long exactly. kept a loaded ferry from completely falling apart, though with great difficulty, and pulled a full elevator upward with, i think, like a medium amount of difficulty. hard to judge bc it’s not a power he showcases very obviously very often, other than the aforementioned incidents and a couple other instances.

- cindy collins (aka princess). 8/10 on the super strength scale. a queen. lifted five tons (approx. 10k lbs. or 4535.924 kg) above her head without breaking a sweat as a six year old. then proceeded to throw a whole ass forklift with at least 8.75 tons in weights stacked on it with great accuracy. (so approx. 26.5k lbs. in total or 12020.198 kg) ((sorry this was the only thing i was able to do actual calculations for)) used what i’m p sure was a giant windmill as a baseball bat. did not seem to have trouble with any of this. as previously mentioned, she was six when she did all of this. powers probably grew with age and training. should be more recognized bc she’s amazing.

-will stronghold (no superhero name). we’re not ranking his dad bc i don’t feel like it. also not ranking the stone guy from his class bc again size advantage. 9/10 on the super strength scale. an absolute idiot, but impressive nonetheless. (listen i love him but you can’t tell me he’s not an idiot) can easily throw people, bend solid metal lampposts, and separate doors from walls without trying. caught an entire school filled to the brim with students, staff, alumni, buses, machinery, etc., plus the school grounds, that together almost covered an entire neighborhood, as it was falling out of the sky at extreme speeds, only a few weeks after first getting his powers. had little trouble with it all things considered. again, powers probably grew with age and training. i maintain the stance that we were robbed with the cancellation of the sky high series.

still holding out for a 10/10 lmk if you find one

[regressionanxiety]

Dr. No (1964)

I am watching all of the James Bond movies, they are very bad and I love them. These are some of my thoughts as I watch, it’s basically a recap so you know, spoilers...

It starts with some murdering. James Bond is called into work, goes through the waiting room and meets with M.  He gets a new gun because M insists, he’s very proud that under his leadership 00-deaths have gone down. Moneypenny is the best as always.

James Bond arrives in Jamaica and is instantly spotted, of course he is, he is after all, the worst spy. He is looking for a Taxi, but there is a driver waiting for him. Not at all suspicious. Bond makes a phone call. Is being spied on. Then goes to the car, and tells the driver to “just take me for a ride.” I know he’s just stalling, but I will use this line as support for my argument that James Bond is a chaotic bisexual. 

Now Bond points his gun at his driver, questioning him, as he well should. The driver kills himself with cyanide hidden in a cigarette. Bond takes the car and drives to wherever he’s going, dead guy in the back seat. Tells a person when he arrives: “'sergeant, make sure he doesn’t get away.”

He  drinks and puts out snooper traps in his room before he goes out to investigate his case futher. Chatting with some men, being his very best Miss Marple her, non threathening, pleasant conversationalist, even when the topic is grim. He’s directed to a man with a boat, Quarrel, who doesn’t want to talk to Bond and gives him some sass (everyone should give Bond sass) and turns him away. Bond, of course, isn’t deterred and approaches the man just as he’s having a bear. Now he wants to talk, because it’s private. They go into a storage room of some kind. The man has a knife and the guy at the bar (I think), grabs bond from behind. Bond easily throws them both into some neatly stacked (and empty) Red Stripe cartons, product placement or just an attempt to convince us that we’re really in Jamaica right now?

Bond thinks he has the upper hand now, but no! The man from the airport (not the dead driver - this isn’t that kind of movie) with his sunglasses is there, and he has a gun! 

“gently, gently, let’s not get exited” the man says. With those sunglasses it’s hard not to mister. They are talking suits, like real gents. The other guy is CIA, and his name is Felix Leiter. They’re friends now, with drinks (and i’m sure fucking - those sunglasses can only mean one thing). Underneath the mango tree plays.

A woman takes their picture, now they need to get her. They question her a bit, Bond destroys her film, but gives her the camera back, they send her off. She calls them rats and says they’ll be sorry. 

Bond learns about an island Crab Key (?) owned by a Chinese guy, apparently Quarrel and missing guy Strangways went there to collect geological samples. Locals won’t go near it, some have and never came back. They know very little of the man, except that his name is the titular Dr. No.

Bond is exiting a taxi, and the men who dealt with Strangways earlier are back, sneaking around with a gun pointed at Bond, but a car roars by and they miss their chance at an easy assassination.  

Bond is talking to a professor Dent (one of the men he chattet with about Strangways before) about the geological samples from Strangways, he claims to have thrown them away because they weren’t anything. Bond is batting his eyelashes and being his best Miss Marple again. He knows the man is a liar!

Prof. Dent goes straight to a boat to get to Crab Key. These bad guys are really dumb. Anyway; crab key is guarded by men with big guns. 

Very dramatic room. The professor is being berated by a disembodied voice for coming during daylight hours, stricktly forbidden. This still isn’t that kind of movie, but Dr. No is clearly a vampire. There’s a spider in a cage on a table. If guns don’t work on Bond, try spider bites?

Bond is back in his room. Checks his intruder revealers and as expected they have been disturbed. He wants some vodka, throws ice in a glass, opens the bottle, thinks twice, sniffs it, then puts it back down and opens a drawer and pulls out another bottle. Uses this instead. I’m not sure why that bottle would be safer, unopened and sealed somehow?

Ruh roh! Someone feels a little spidey! Bond killed it, his first murder in this film! 

Bond gest a package, finds that the files on Crab Key are missing, sets up a date with a secretary (the stunning miss Taro) he caught eavesdropping. Business as usual. His package was a geiger counter? He checks some samples with his pals Leiter and Quarrel, and yes, they are radioactive. The professor is a liar! Gasp! Who knew! Now they must go to Crab Key, but in the night, after his date. But wait! there’s a note for him at the hotel reception. He calls miss Taro, she wants him to come to her and gives him some directions, a car starts following him, trying to drive him off the road? Oh noe, a crane or something is in the road, what will Bond do? His little car goes under, the bigger car that follows? Not so much, goes over and burns up. 

“How did it happen?” The man who has the crane thing asks. “I think they were on their way to a funeral,” Bond replies.

He finally arrives at Miss Taro’s, shes just out of the shower, drying her hair, while wearing a tight toweldress???? Clearly not expecting him. He kisses her, and she protests. 

The phone rings. She promises to try to keep him there. He really does seem to be a terrible kisser. They fuck. He pretends to want italian food so he calls a taxi, despite getting there by car. She is confused, he kisses her again to distract. Then the car comes, and she’s arrested. She spits in his face, which he deserves. He goes into her house again, creates a scene: pours some drinks, leaves his jacket, puts on a song (underneath the mango tree, again), goes into the bedroom and uses a pillow to make it look like someone is in it. Then he waits.

The professor walks through the door and shoots up the pillow. They have a chat. Bond shoots him. Then meets up with Quarrel to go on to the island. Makes a quip about it being a break from being a clay pigeon, but I somehow I doubt it. Leister is worried offers to go instead, but Bond refuses him. 

Wait, why is bond asleep on the beach? Was that the plan? Did I miss something?

Ah, the bikini. It isn’t a very good one is it? They’re hiding from guards with guns now. Bond promises he’s no threat to this woman, Honey Ryder, but we all know that’s a lie. They must hide, they’ve been spotted on radar. They get shot at, the woman’s boat is ruined so she has to tag along. They sneak up some kind of river I think. Almost get caught, but don’t, hiding under water using reeds as breathing tubes. Honey claims Dr. No killed her father, a marine biologist, who came to Crab Key to never be seen again.

Now she’s telling Bond about how she killed her landlord (who raped her) via spiderbite. It took him a week to die. Bond just pouts at her, probably knows he might have deserved that spiderbite earlier...

The rumored dragon is nearby, and Bond, who knows it isn’t actually a dragon, wants to see it. 

they’re captured, Quarrel is dead, and claimed to be contaminated. Geiger counters going wild! They need to be hosed down. Then they’re put in very nice quater and treated as guests. because why not. They have some coffee, it’s drugged and they pass out. Bond breaks a perfeclty good cup in the process - that brute. A mysterious figure, with shiny latexy gloves takes a look at Bond in bed. Dr. No presumably, he lifts the cover a little before we cut to the next scene. Sean Connery really isn’t that attractive Dr. just kill him already!

I’ve always wanted an evil lair. Finally the elusive Dr. No is revealed. Are you a good Bond villain if you don’t have a physical disability? It appears that he doesn’t have hands, because of errors in his work or something. He finds Bond a worthy adversary or some such. Bond has Honey sent away from the dinner table - ostensibly to save her. Dr. No quickly realizes that Bond is in fact just a policeman, not smart enough to join his criminal gang after all, SPECTRE (Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion) has no need for the likes of Bond, though if they did he’d prefer the revenge department. He is apparently being tortured, we don’t get to see that, but his clothes are ruined when we next see him in a cell he quickly escapes from by going into the pipes that keep this underwater facility with air. He falls down one of them and gets to take his shirt off. Oh no! Water rushes in and Bond must hold on! 

He gets out, finds his way into a radiation suit (stylish, with a very square hood, he looks like a Doctor Who villain in an episode where they ran out of budget) and infiltrates a control room! They’re talking about a vehicle and say the word radiation a lot. Bondis trying to figure out how to sabotage their sabotage (of a rocket launch). Big science words! No time to think for Bond, just punch everyone! Chaos! Alarms blaring, abort abort! 

Bond vs Dr. No. Bond wins and Dr. No goes down in what may be boiling radioactive water? Doesn’t seem like a delicious way to go. Everyone is fleeing the facility, Bond somehow finds Honey and frees her (she’s tied up on some ramp with water coming in, were they going to let the tide drown her? This is not how you kill people effectively). 

Lots of footage of people fleeing, flinging themselves into the ocean etc. Bond and Honey get a boat, the facility goes boooooooooooom! 

The boat runs out of fuel, and Bond and Honey settle in to wait for rescue, Leiter show up and start to give them a tow, but Bond lets the rope go so he and Honey can fuck. Leiter shakes his head and smiles at them in an overbearing manner. 

THE END

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Ambush

A/n: By the way, I do have a Wattpad where you’ll find these stories, too. I literally just copy these from my drafts and post them here. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You and Deacon have been happily married for five years. Even when all hell broke loose, your love for one another remained intact. One day while on a supply run, the two of you are ambushed by a group of marauders. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"So, what's the plan?" (Y/n) questioned, waiting patiently on Deacon's bike as he filled the tank with gas. 

"Get in, get out. It's just a normal supply run, (Y/n)," he said, placing the jerrycan down beside the barrels of gasoline.

"Remember what Tucker said the last time we visited the Hot Springs? Y'know, about all the marauder activity recently in Belknap and how all their supply routes were ambushed?"

Deacon took one of his wife's hands in his, entwining their fingers together. "You worry too much."

"You," she used her other hand to poke him on the cheek. "Don't worry enough. Someone's gotta make up for all your carelessness. And who would be a better candidate than the woman you married, huh? Even Boozer is as careless as you sometimes! I can't believe you both are still alive with all the crazy shit you've done in the past two years."

A smirk crept across Deacon's face as he released her hand and mounted the bike. "Pretty sure you're the reason why we're still alive. All that nagging keeps our asses in check."

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his waist with a scoff. "Why does that sound like and insult and compliment combined?"

"'Cause it is." Deacon revved the engine of his motorcycle, his smile widening. "Better hold on tighter. We're not stopping until we reach Belknap."

"I just hope this place you have in mind hasn't been raided yet," (Y/n) said, tightening her grip on the front of his shirt.

"I hope so, too." Deacon took off down the dirt trail of O'Leary Mountain, leaving the safehouse and Boozer behind.

The beautiful scenery of the mountain was plagued with the occasional dead corpse on the side of the trail and the groans of Freaks echoing through the trees.

Through the dark tunnel connecting Cascade to Belknap, a few Swarmers had chased them as Deacon carefully weaved the motorcycle between the vehicles.

Safely through the tunnel, they passed a NERO checkpoint as they made their way to Marion Forks. (Y/n) looked around and spotted a small glint. Before she could question what it was, they both were knocked off the bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt, creating sparks.

"Get 'em!" A man shouted. Several men and women emerged from the shrubbery aligned on the side of the highway with melee weapons raised in the air.

(Y/n) struggled as she tried to get to her feet and defend herself from the approaching marauders. A little ways down the road, she saw a truck heading straight for them. "Deacon," she called out weakly to her husband.

At the sound of her feeble voice, Deacon managed to get to his feet just as four marauders surrounded him. He whipped out his pistol, killing three of them in a flash. He turned to take out the last man, but a rush of pain in his gut knocked the air out of his lungs. Hunched over in pain and desperately gasping for air, he watched as the rustic truck pulled to a stop in between him and (Y/n).

Four more marauders jumped out of the rickety vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed the knife concealed in her boot and swung it, but one man grabbed her arm and knocked the blade out of her hand. She tried to punch him, but another adversary grabbed her other arm. She struggled against them as they dragged her to the truck while cackling at the top of their lungs. "Let go of me, you bastards!" Swinging her legs, (Y/n) desperately tried to kick them.

"Knock 'er out, Ben!" One of the men restraining her demanded.

A younger man walked over with a wooden bat in his grasp. He didn't hesitate to swing the weapon and knock (Y/n) unconscious. The two men hauled her body into the backseat of the truck with a victorious chant. The remaining marauders hopped into the vehicle, but one had managed to strike Deacon in the spine with a metal pipe before hopping into the bed.

The drifter's entire body ached and he could barely move from the abuse. He managed to lift his head from the ground as the man behind the wheel lowered the window and grinned down at him menacingly. "This is what you fucking get for killing my friends, drifter. You want your girl back? Just try. You'll be dead before you can set foot in our camp. Sayonara, ya bastard!"

Deacon helplessly watched the truck disappear in the same direction it came from. With slightly shaky limbs, he pushed himself off the ground and to his bike. The engine was smoking, but he had just enough scrap to repair it. "You sons of bitches just wait. I'll kill every last one of you," he growled under his breath as he hauled his aching body onto the motorcycle.

Not wasting a single minute, Deacon pursued the marauders. Once leaving Marion Forks, he easily spotted the fresh tire tracks in the dirt and followed as fast as his bike could go. Unfortunately, his pursuit was halted when he spotted a horde making its way down the road. Confused as to why the large group of Swarmers were out during the day, he turned his bike around and searched for a place to hide. He was ill-equipped to take down a horde and had no other choice but to wait until they passed by.

Deacon found some foliage to hide in and parked his bike on the side of the road. He hid in the shrubbery and watched as the horde slowly made its way past him.

It felt like an entire hour crawled by before every last Swarmer passed him and headed further down the road. With an annoyed sigh, Deacon returned to his bike and searched for the tire tracks. However, all traces of the vehicle had been cleansed from the ground by the footprints of the horde. Desperate to save his wife, he searched for anything that could help him track the marauders who took her. Morosely, there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dammit!"

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a few hours since (Y/n) was captured by marauders. She recognized the area as Bear Creek Hot Springs, which wasn't very far from Marion Forks, but it was hidden along the base of the northern mountain range. They had tossed her in a small, makeshift prison beside a house. She had regained consciousness a few minutes ago with a splitting headache and a thick, dried streak of blood down the side of her face where the bat made contact with her skull. Now, she was pacing around in circles like a caged tiger.

None of the marauders had come to check on (Y/n), which made her happy to some extent. By what she could hear from a few women chatting just a few feet from the prison, Deacon was the intended target. Their laughter filled the air before their voices grew distant.

Suddenly, the door to the prison was unlocked and a smirking man stood on the other side as it swung open. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes raked across her body and a disgusted look appeared on (Y/n)'s face. She backed away from him, glaring sharply. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just sizing up the goods," he chuckled darkly. When his eyes spotted the diamond ring on her left hand, he guffawed in amusement. "You're married to that bastard? Ha! You're married to a murderer, you know that, sweetheart?"

"First of all," (Y/n) snarled. "Don't you fucking dare call me "sweetheart". And second, he's not a murderer. Last I checked, the only murderers here are you morons. Guess idiots of a feather really do flock together."

"You're the moron for not knowing the definition of murder," he scoffed. "Let me tell you about all the shit that fucking drifter has done."

(Y/n) patted the back of her head as she listened to the marauder insult Deacon. She discovered a hairpin in her (h/c) hair and gripped it between her fingers tightly. She waited for the perfect moment, pretending to listen to the man as he ranted. The second he stepped towards her with his hands resting by his sides, she lunges forward and plunges the hairpin into his eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream before losing his balance and falling to the ground, curling up into a ball. "Look at the bright side—you can start wearing an eyepatch. Heard they kinda look badass."

(Y/n) stepped over the marauder's body and exited the prison. Fortunately for her, there were no men or women around to hear his painful wails. She snuck around the camp, searching for a way to escape. The dirt muffled her footsteps as she stealthily made her way out of the camp. Knowing exactly where she was, the woman headed back to Marion Forks in hopes to find some shelter from the approaching darkness of the night and a safe place away from Freakers. She even prayed she would reunite with Deacon, but she had no idea her husband was heading in the opposite direction.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"C'mon, Tuck. Someone must've seen something!" Deacon stalked after the old woman.

"Listen, Deek. I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, but no one knows where these assholes are camping out," Ada replied with a sigh. "You should know by now that people who are captured by marauders never return."

"If you think I'm gonna give up on (Y/n), you're fucking mistaken. She's my wife and I would do everything in my power to protect her. Someone in this damn camp must know something." Deacon left before Ada could respond and asked around the Hot Springs.

After stalking around the camp and asking around, Deacon stumbled upon Alkai. He placed his hands on the counter of the man's stall and leaned forward. "Problems aside, I know you've been on plenty of supply runs. And I know—"

Alkai interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "A few drifters arrived a couple days ago and reported spotting an ambush camp at Bear Creek Hot Springs. They said they were going to try and wipe them out, but they have yet to return."

"'Bout damn time someone told me something," Deacon sneered.

"You've got enough ammo to take down an entire camp of marauders?"

"Always do."

Deacon departed from the Hot Springs and headed north to Bear Creek as the moon rose into the sky, taking the place of the sun. It was dangerous at night, but the darkness would provide more cover for him to move through the ambush camp without being spotted.

Arriving at the camp, the drifter was shocked to find it was empty all except for two men. He crept closer to them, listening closely.

"Goddammit, Ben!" The man on the ground shouted as he covered his left eye.

"How the hell am I supposed to get it out?!" Ben yelled back. "Your eye is fucked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," the unnamed man grumbled.

Seeing as either man wasn't armed, Deacon grabbed his handgun and emerged from his hiding spot. He shoved the muzzle of the pistol into the back of Ben's head. "So you're Ben, huh? Heard your buddies shouting your name during the ambush."

Slowly, Ben stood up and stepped aside with his hands in the air. "H-Hey, listen, man. None of that shit was my idea! It was this asshole's plan!"

"I don't give a shit who's plan it was." Deacon pulled the trigger, a single bullet whizzing through the man's skull. "All I care about is killing you bunch of murderers and finding (Y/n)."

Stepping over the corpse, Deacon kneeled beside the man crumpled up on the ground. The object protruding from his eyes caused the drifter to smirk in amusement. "Pretty sure those don't go in your eye."

"Fuck off, drifter. That damn bitch of yours did this to me," he hissed.

"Never thought I would ever see someone use a hairpin as a weapon," Deacon guffawed. "(Y/n)'s just that resourceful."

The marauder on the ground grinned. "That fucking broad is gonna get what's coming to her. The entire camp went after her once they found out what she did."

Deacon's smirk morphed into a fierce glare. He grabbed the tip of the hairpin and tugged harshly, the marauder shrieking loudly form the rush of unbearable pain. "You gonna tell me where they went or am I gonna have to tear this hairpin out of your damn eye first?"

"M-Marion Forks!" The man wailed, his voice raspy from all the yelling.

The drifter released the hairpin and stood up. The man on the ground lifted his body slightly with a painful and confused expression. "You're not gonna shoot me?"

"No." Deacon holstered his firearm, stepping closer to the assailant. "I'm gonna slam that hairpin further into your skull." He stomped his foot directly on the hairpin, pushing it further into the marauder's eye. His shrill cries echoed throughout the camp, but he suddenly fell silent. The drifter didn't bother to check to see if the man was still alive, but he would succumb to his injury soon and perish.

When Deacon arrived in Marion Forks, he spotted the familiar white truck parked by the church. The center of town was crawling with marauders as they searched the buildings. He armed himself with his boot knife and crept around the town, taking down any marauders he could while searching for (Y/n).

"Come on out! We know you're here!" One woman yelled as she searched the gas station alongside a couple of her companions. Deacon circled around around the gas station, avoiding their line of sight and making his way across the street to Hungry Jim's. He jumped through a broken window and landed on the shards of glass. The small noise caused him to freeze and he heard something skittering behind the counter. Gripping his knife tightly, he snuck further into the restaurant, keeping his head low.

Rounding the counter, he spotted droplets of blood leading to the kitchen. Deacon followed the trail out the rear entrance of the restaurant and to a car located in the parking lot. Peering through the foggy window and into the backseat, he saw a figure laying down. Opening the door, he realized it was (Y/n). His heart raced as the sudden click of the door opening startled her and she bolted out the other door thinking he was a marauder. She fell out of the car and on the asphalt, small pebbles digging into her palms.

Deacon swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle to stop her from running. "Hey, hey, it's me." He squatted down in front of her, obscuring the only escape route she had. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and whispered gently to calm her down. "It's me, sweetheart."

(Y/n) inhaled a shaky breath as she registered Deacon's voice. "Oh, god, Deacon." The moment he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I thought you were one of them."

"You... stabbed a guy in the eye with a hairpin?" He questioned as he held her body flush against his his.

"Uh, yeah." (Y/n) pulled away slightly to meet Deacon's gaze. "A little gruesome, but it gave me the chance I needed to escape."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled the couple. Deacon was the first to act and dragged (Y/n) down to the ground to hide from the marauder. He held her in his arms, taking cover behind the car. They listened to the marauder approach the vehicle, but their footsteps suddenly stopped on the other side. "There's no one fucking here!" The marauder suddenly shouted.

"Keep lookin'! There's no way in hell she could've made it far," a woman yelled back.

The second the man turned and headed back towards the rear entrance of Hungry Jim's, (Y/n) wiggles out of Deacon's arms and pilfers the knife from his boot. She crept after the man and followed him into the kitchen where she rammed the blade into the enemy's back, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You bitch!"

(Y/n) leaned down and yanked the blade from his back with a smirk. "It's a shame I don't have another hairpin. Enjoy bleeding out."

The man screamed as loud as he could, luring all the marauders to the restaurant. The (h/c)-haired woman rushed back to where she left her husband. Deacon was still crouched behind the car, watching the marauders storm into Hungry Jim's. "Let's get the hell outta here," he mumbled to her.

"Lead the way."

<———————————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"You both look like shit," Boozer commented when they arrived back at the safehouse the next morning.

"Nice to see you, too, buddy," (Y/n) snorts with laughter.

"What happened out there? I thought you'd be back before nightfall."

"One word—marauders," Deacon replied. "Bastards ambushed us on the highway. Remind me to return later on this week to kill the rest of 'em."

"Do we have anything for a headache?" The woman inquired, placing a hand against her pulsating head.

"There's some in the watchtower," Boozer responds before turning towards his bike. "I'm heading out to trade with Cope. Maybe we can get our hands on some more fish."

"Alright, Boozeman. Be careful," Deacon said. He looked over his shoulder to ask (Y/n) a question, but he saw she was making her way up the watchtower and followed. At the top, he watched her scrounge around for the medicine.

A dizzy spell caused (Y/n) to lose her footing, but she managed to catch herself before she fell. "Ugh, dammit..." Lowering her hand from her forehead, the blood on her fingertips caused her to grimace. "Why did it have to be a baseball bat?"

Deacon quickly rushed to her aid and caught her before she fell to the floor. He supported her body and guided her towards the small bed they shared. "You need to sit down and relax." He placed her on the bed gently before bending down to examine the wound on her head. Blood trickled down the side of her face, adding to the blood that had dried hours ago. He searched for a clean rag, medicine, and water.

Dabbing the cut along her hairline, he gripped the bottle of pills tightly. The plastic bent in his grasp, the top threatening to pop off from the pressure. "What else did they do?"

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the question she thought he would've asked her hours ago. "And here comes the worrywart." She placed a hand against his cheek once he was done cleaning the wound. Her smirk transformed into a gentle smile. "Besides a bat to the head, nothing." She dropped her hand and patted the space next to her. 

Deacon sat beside (Y/n) on the bed and handed over the medicine. "You're out of commission until I say you aren't."

She swallowed the pill with a raised brow. Once the medicine slid down her throat, she spoke. "We've been married for five years, Deek. Haven't you learned anything?"

"Even if you beg me with those damn puppy dog eyes, I'm not changing my mind," he declared.

"I've more control over you than you know. I can change your mind. It's like flipping a coin—easy and simple," (Y/n) grinned.

A smug grin etched across the man's face. "Whatever you say." When Deacon saw she was about to stand up, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She gasped in surprise when the world around her spun and when her vision steadied, she was laying beside him. "For now, we're gonna get some rest."

The bed was small, but it provided enough room for them both. (Y/n) rested her head on Deacon's chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. "Didn't realize how tired I was until now."

Deacon combed his fingers through her soft, (h/c) locks. He continued his ministrations, glancing down at her face and watching her blink tiredly. "We're taking the entire day off."

"Agreed," (Y/n) smiled, closing her eyes and welcoming slumber with open arms.

[fairyshuuu]

artificial love prologue

masterpost

.summary. You don’t remember, but they call you Raven. You come from a world with bottled emotions and perfect dietary pills, nothing around you is real. Except you. Remember that. .word count.  1.5k .pairing. classified .genre. dystopian!au  ot!9 

.author’s note. i’m sure most of my new readers haven’t a clue of the existence of this fic because it’s been away for more than a year and a few months, but i’m in love with this world. me and my friend @gguksgalaxy planned it together back in ye old days but i’ll be writing it! i really want to finish this for all the hours of work that have gone into it and for the sake of finishing it for people who might have read this at some point. If you’ve never read it before, I hope you like it as much as I do. .warnings. suspense, weapons, death, blood, murder prologue.  part 1.  part 2.  

The wind is cold and sharp, cutting into your cheeks like little knives as you pull your dark hood further over your head. It rained yesterday, and the little icicles on the leaves crush underneath your feet, causing you to make more noise than you want. Luckily, the outskirts are deserted, the lands barren and rough, or overgrown like the forest you are moving through right now. 

It’s cold here, temperatures having dropped below zero weeks ago. You lips are going numb underneath your mask, despite your attempt to keep warm. The wind sends a slight shiver to crawl down your spine. It’ll get even colder soon, which worries you, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

As you move carefully forward, the bow hanging around your shoulder catches onto a twig of the pines that obstruct your way. The stream you’ve been following for hours now is frozen over, a thick layer of ice spread over the water. It’s sturdy enough to support you. You know it can’t be far anymore, the stream widening the further you go along it. The lake is your end point, where you’ll find what you’re looking for. You look up at the sun, trying to guess the time of day as your watch has run out of battery weeks ago.

The sound of a truck confirms your suspicions, but hushed voices and controlled footsteps make you still. The wind whispers through the tree tops but the sound is as clear as day.

You duck and finding cover behind a bush. You keep close to the ground. To your left, 3 young men move towards the sound of the truck just like you are. They’re clad in dark colors, blacks, browns, greens, and blend in with the environment better than you do. You recognize the linings of their coats as wolf pelts, and the guns they are holding as 4th battalion rifles, semi automatic. But they seem bulkier, worn, like they’ve been remodeled too many times.  

They stop near the edge of the woods, where the trees thin out and reveal the enormous lake. This used to be a popular spot for holidays long, long ago, but now the environment is too harsh to even travel. It’s frozen, shining in the sun that’s bright for the time of year. They look around, and you press yourself closer to the stone cold forest floor, hoping the darkness of the bush will cover your black attire.

“What now?” The tallest one asks.

The shortest one of them kneels down and takes the bag that’s strapped to his back off, placing it on the ground. He takes out something big and seemingly heavy. The shrubs they are hiding in covers it from your sight, but you suspect it can only be a blunt force weapon. “We wait.” He mumbles, his voice smooth and lithe in the almost silent environment. “You guys know what to do.”

The other two nod, and you watch them sit there, possibly waiting for the same truck as you are. You know the vehicle is coming closer, the sound growing louder with the second, but the spot you're in isn’t optimal. With your sight partially obstructed by trees you decide to take their backs as guidance. If it were one or two of them you could’ve easily taken them out, your bow and arrow silent and quick. But three of them, with guns, seemed like a stupid idea for even someone trained like you.

“Okay,” the shortest speaks again, “on my count, get your weapons ready. Jongin, you’re in the back, Sehun, you’re with me.” The tallest one has the biggest gun, but he holds it steadily as the other two jump out of the shrubs the moment the shorter one gives the signal. Biting your lip, you follow their shapes with your eyes. He must be their leader.

They move, and you take their momentary distraction as a cover to get closer to the edge of the forest so you can watch what will happen. You didn’t expect anyone here this early, but you clearly misjudged.

They stop the truck a few feet from the edge of the forest. It halts in the middle of the lake, where it had been inching forward slowly. The two tallest hold out their guns to the two men in the front seat, clad in City Guard grey and blue. With a confident step on the ice, the leader moves towards the driver’s door. An iron bat swings casually back and forward in his hand. 

He bumps it against the glass, making a resounding sound that even you can hear from the distance you’re sat at. Judging by the way it doesn’t give in, you guess it’s ALON glass used for the military vehicles. All the transportation trucks used this type of glass, and you know the guns they have would be no use. But then, in the light of the sun, you see the leader hold up a thin metal object. It looks suspiciously like a self-made ice pick. That will do the job.

“Get out!” He calls, voice holding a sense of authority, bashing the side of the door with the bat again. The driver doesn’t protest. The older man unlocks the door and exits the car. You're aware these men aren’t trained. Being a transporter isn’t exactly a high end job in the City. The man is grabbed by the collar, and dragged to the back of the truck and out of your sight. “Open it!” He calls then, and you see the taller one move into the truck to remove the key and point his gun at the other guard.

You watch the scene unfold, as the boxes you’re looking for are removed from the truck one by one and slid across the ice, back to the forest. If only you could snag one, but you doubt they’re caring enough to give one up. The leader pulls the driver back to the front harshly, and you can just see enough to catch him hitting the driver over the head with the bat.

The boxes contain something you need, desperately. There won’t be another shipment for over a week, and the idea makes your stomach twist. It churns in anxiety, and the hunger you’ve grown used to. The guy inside the car fires a simple shot at command, point blank. The glass is sprayed with red, dripping down slowly.

“This is all we can take, let’s go.” The leader nods. You feel the wind pick up from over the lake. You hide your face deeper into your mask. Right when they move, a harsh blow nudges off the leader’s hood. It reveals a mess of black hair and pale skin. He is too far away to make out any stark details, but when he turns around you can’t hold a gasp, immediately slapping your hand over your lips in regret. Too late. 

The one that stayed in the back sharply turns around, pointing the gun to the source of the sound. His eyes catch yours, a deep brown full of surprise. You swallow. He’ll call the others and you’ll be done for. They kill without a second thought, that’s clear. 

The leader calls out at the hesitation, looking over in your direction as well. “What’s wrong?” The taller looks over his shoulder, but slowly shakes his head and turns back.

You let out a shaky breath, heart hammering in your chest. What you saw, the leader’s eyes, makes your heart slam violently against it’s containment. Icy blue, bright as the frozen lake itself. You've never seen anything like it. It contrasts starkly with his raven hair.

After that, you see them take the medicine bottles, filling their bags up to the brim. “Jongin.” The leader barks, seemingly fed up with the tempo of the other. The one with the brown eyes and seemingly tanned skin nods and lifts his gun to the truck. He fires five bullets into the ice, while the other two take a few steps away. The ice is thinner near the edge, and gives in with a loud crack. The weight of the truck obviously turns out too much for it to carry, and sinks quickly to the bottom of the lake, taking the guards with it. 

The method leaves behind no traces but a hole in the ice that will freeze overnight.

“Let’s go.” The leader motions his hand. “We have to get home.” He swings his bag over his shoulder, the other two following suit. You watch them leave. You briefly contemplate your chances of getting to one of their bags and living to tell the tale. But there's nothing to contemplate, not really. 

Your brother needs those pills or he won’t live to tell the tale.

if you want to be (un)tagged for this series, shoot me a message! @ninibears-erigom @rissa-is-a-nerd @very-important-army @byunfirstlady @beautifulparisiangirl @honeybhive @yixings10 @xiubaek13 @yeollieollie @minseok-baozi @lufancy @byunvoyage (i’ve seen you in my notes and i’d thought you might like it, you can just send me something if it’s not your thing)

[magnetoeisenhardt]

Top ten most powerful members of the Batfam

1) Bat-mite

A fifth-dimensional entity, Batmite possesses near unlimited reality warping powers. His name isn't actually Bat-mite; he's just a giant Batman fan.

2) Claire Clover (Gotham Girl)

Claire can use her own life force to gain powers. She could maintain Superman level powers for two years, or God-like powers for two hours. However, she can not gain back the life she spends to power herself, and every expenditure of her abilities push her closer to death.

3) Charlie Gage-Radcliffe (Misfit)

Charlie's powers are strange, even by comic standards. Her character arc was cut short due to Flashpoint, but she was originally supposed to be the lost princess Ruby of Gemworld. She hails from an intensely powerful magical bloodline, but is complete unaware of her origins. As far as she knows, her powers manifest as minorly enhanced strength, and "Bouncing". Charlie can teleport an unlimited amount of distance, carrying an unlimited amount of weight. Any wounds she sustained will instantly heal, and it costs her no energy to do so. More interesting, however, is the fact that anything living she brings with her will instantly die.

This means that she can only be defeated by projectile weapons, as anything that makes contact with her could be teleported away, along with anything connected to it.

Interesting note: I believe Charlie, as a homo-magi, has powers she hasn't yet used. I hypothesize her teleportation is similar to Kurt Wagner's (Marvel's Nightcrawler), and she travels through a parallel dimension. She may be able to tap into and channel this energy for greater use.

4) Basil Karlo (Clayface)

Basil started off as a villain, but was made a member of the Gotham Knights in Detective Comics 2016. He is nearly unkillable, as his body is made entirely of animated clay. There is no organic material to injure. He can manipulate his form to mimic shapeshifting, but his composition will always remain the same. He is an extraordinary actor, and can combine this with his powers to fool almost anyone. He has super strength, and can split himself into multiple forms. However, he has an easily exploitable weakness in temperature. Extreme cold or extreme heat will nullify his powers, and make him brittle, and easy to subdue. Disintegration is the easiest way to kill him, and frost or heat based powers and weapons are fairly common.

Interesting note: The Martian Manhunter is incapable of reading the mind of Eel O'Brian (Plastic Man), as he is made of inorganic material. I believe that Basil has a similar resistance, as well as perhaps an interesting interaction with Charlie. As Basil's body is chemically almost identical to clay, I believe he's one of the few people Charlie could teleport.

However, it is unclear exactly how Charlie's "bouncing" kills. The only time this effect occurs is when we see Lori Zechlin (Black Alice) accidently kill someone while stealing Charlie's powers. The body of her victim exploded. It is never given whether the mind can survive, and, given Charlie's powers are magical in origin, it may not even matter.

5) Cassandra Cain (Batgirl/Orphan

Cass is completely human. However, her unique brain structure gives her the ability to interpret body language as an actual language, granting her a form of precognition. She is able to tell exactly what someone will do, before they do it, making her unbeatable in combat.

She's also the physically strongest and fastest human member of the batfamily, strong enough to punch through steel, and fast enough to dodge bullets after they've been fired. Her strength is only surpassed by Claire and Clayface, and only a Superman level Claire is faster. She ties with Dick Grayson for most gymnastic skill, as she can copy any of his moves. She has complete control over every function of her body. She can stop her heartbeat, speed her healing, and completely deaden pain.

She can perfectly copy any movement, provided the original user has anatomy close to a humans. She has no skill ceiling, and will be able to break her previous records every time. The limits to her strength, speed and skill don't exist.

Interesting note: Her body reading completely negates any form of disguise, including shape shifting. She can read non humanoids to a lesser extent, but not robots. Cass feels extreme empathy towards anybody she's reading, to the point where she will feel their pain as her own. She can read animals, but does not experience any empathy for them.

With her abilities, she can defeat everyone lower on this list combined.

Cass would be able to defeat Charlie in a fight, as the surprise and stealth factor from teleportation would be completely negated. Cass would know where Charlie would teleport before she does it, and could throw a projectile into that area as Charlie bounces into it.

Her abilities do work on Clayface, but she would require either cryo or thermal technology to beat him, giving her no real advantage. While Cass could predict a powered Claire, it doesn't help her defeat someone faster than light and strong enough to bench the earth.

6) Barbara Gordon (Oracle)

If everyone on this list was given access to maximum equipment, Barbara would rank number three. With unlimited access to every piece of technology on earth, she could very easily take over the world, or destroy it. Her photographic memory and extreme intelligence means that she has a plan for every situation, and, unlike Bruce, doesn't need to keep files. There is no opponent she can't outsmart.

However, her ranking falls due to her maximum strength being extremely conditional. Remove her from computers and she is a formidable opponent given light gear, but her paralysis makes her a sitting duck without her wheelchair. She is the fourth strongest on the list, but her fighting style is completely defensive, as Barbara lacks any way to engage a fight, and has to wait for opponent to come to her. She cannot dodge fast moving projectiles, like bullets, or move out of the way of powerful AOE attacks, like explosions, fire, electricity, sonic waves, chemical splashes or falling objects. Her extreme strength is somewhat neutralized by her extreme weakness.

Interesting note: Barbara's wheelchair changes from writer to writer, but at one point it contained a machine gun full of rubber bullets, a mechanical lift platform to go up stairs, grappling hooks, and a portable computer.

Post flashpoint, Barbara has a device in her brain that allows her to walk. However, this version is significantly less powerful, and shares very little with her pre-flashpoint counterpart.

7) Jean-Paul Valley (Azrael)

Azrael is the combined entities of Jean-Paul Valley, his suit's AI, and an actual angel. Jean-Paul himself is not entirely human, as he was created by the Order of Saint Dumas artificially, and had his genome spliced with the DNA of other animals. He has enhanced speed, strength, stamina, metabolism and intelligence.

His abilities are vastly enhanced with the Suit of Sorrows, capable of exceeding Bane. The Suit of Sorrows contains an angel, one who attempts to use the wearer as a host. The longer the suit is worn, the greater the enhancement, and the greater the loss of control. The suit is equipped with two bladed gauntlets; The Sword of Sin, and the Sword of Salvation. The first forces you to relive every bad thing you've done, and the second forces you to relive every bad thing that happened to you.

With suit enhanced strength, he's the third strongest. Without it, he falls behind to sixth. With or without his suit's speed, he comes in third.

Interesting note: With or without his suit, he is the second best fighter on this list. His blades defeat an enemy in a single touch, allowing him to defeat Basil. His superior skill would most likely allow him to get a hit off on Charlie, and his blades would incapacitate her before she could teleport him. Barbara would likely be able to hack and disable his suit, but, in straight combat, she stands no chance. As his blades are magical, there is a high probability they could harm Claire. However, she can power up to a point where she can take him down from range, and eliminate that threat. I have no idea whether they would work on Bat-mite, but Jean-Paul would have little difficulty tricking it and finding out.

8) Helena Wayne (Batman)

The Bat of a world ruled by Darksied, her rogue's gallery is composed entire of alien powerhouses. She faces threats so dangerous, Batman's rouges of Prime Earth are either irrelevant, dead, or her allies. In order to survive on Apokalypse, Bruce Wayne required the Hell Bat suit, a suit so powerful, wearing it kills him. Helena just uses her two fists.

9) Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Dick's advantage comes from his circus background. He clocks in at the fifth fastest, and ties for most gymnastic skill. He is an extremely skilled fighter, detective and spy. He falls below Helena Wayne, however, because of lack of want. Dick has no desire to pursue his crime fighting career, and hopes to retire. Although he served as Batman as a time, it was out of necessity, and he resented the role he played.

10) Bruce Wayne (Batman)

The first person to wear the mantle of the Bat, Bruce is the third most popular comic book character to ever exist. He has the most years of training under his (utility) belt, and is a highly skilled fighter. He has almost unlimited resources to build gadgets and vehicles, which he utilizes to extreme efficiency.

However, his stats are nothing extraordinary. He manages to scrape ninth strongest member of the batfamily, but is one of the slowest.

Interesting note: Most would grade him higher due to his crippling paranoia. Bruce is famous for coming up with a inane amount of contingency plans, to defeat any opponent. However, these plans are really stupid, and would never work.

His plan to defeat the Flash (Wally West) involves shooting him with a bullet, and having Wally attempt to phase through it instead of dodging. Wally can run seventeen trillion times the speed of light, and is famously terrible at phasing. This plan would fail epically. His plan to defeat Wonder Woman (Diana) also involves shooting her. Even in iterations where Diana isn't bullet proof, it's still impossible to shoot her. Her signature thing is blocking bullets. She can do it blindfolded, and against hundreds of bullets at a time. This is just a bad plan. To defeat Martian Manhunter, he plans to set him on fire. J'onn isn't actually weak to fire, he just suffers from sever psychosomatic pyrophobia. So assuming Batman could somehow ambush a psychic so powerful he's developed precognition, he would still fail.

[solarcelest]

Sand Man

All of my fics can also be found on Ao3 @solar._.celeste

It had been a long last few days. With yet another Arkham breakout the night before, the dynamic duo of father and son hadn’t been able to retire to their beds until near sunrise.

Not only that, but it had been Wednesday. This meant school for Damian and W.E. for Bruce. Only two hours of sleep for the both.

After far too many coffees, Bruce brought Damian to school on his way to the office, arriving at eight thirty. He then suffered and somehow managed to stay awake through seven meetings before leaving at three to pick up his son.

Damian was silent as usual when he climbed into the backseat, throwing his school bag carelessly next to him. Bruce has decided that he was too tired to attempt to force small talk, it never worked anyway.

From the looks of it, Damian was just as exhausted as his father. Bruce watched in the review mirror as his son tried (and barely succeed) at keeping his lolling head up and his closing eyes open.

They followed a fairly normal routine when they returned to the manor. Damian retiring to the kitchen for some of Alfred’s customary after school cookies and milk. Bruce turning upstairs to finish the days paperwork.

Then, if the world be willing, the two would spar and train with each other for a couple hours before dinner and then patrol. But tonight was an off night.

Instead, they had to prepare for a charity gala that both of them would rather opt out of. Bruce didn’t feel like putting on his ‘Brucie’ facade tonight and Damian didn’t like the crowds. he didn’t like any crowds, too many people and too much happening. So of course he had to try his hand if getting out of the gathering.

“ Father, I see the meaning for yours, but I do not know why my presence is needed.” Said Damian, sitting in the plush chair at the corner of the master bedroom. He wore a small monkey suit, a haphazardly tied bowtie, and a pair of red converse. His legs swung slightly.

“ You wouldn’t have to come, but Alfred had plans he needed to attend to and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“ I would be able to manage.” Damian glared.

“ The answer is no.” Bruce, was stern. There would be no changing his mind.

“ Well then I’m sure Pennyworth can reschedule.”

“ Son, listen. I know you don’t want to do this, believe me, I don’t want to go either but I have to. We need maintain a civilian identity as well. just give me tonight okay? then we can go anywhere you want this weekend, alright?” Bruce kneeled and began to properly fix the boys tie.

“ Anywhere?” Damian asked, his father was giving him immense power. And there was one place in particular he would love to go.

“ Within reason, but yes.” Okay.... a little less power but still, power.

“ Deal.” Damian held out his hand. They shook on it.

“ Alright boy, lets fix that hair of yours before someone tries to bring you to the zoo.”

After slightly more grumbling about ill mannered imbeciles from Damian, Bruce had finished styling his sons hair and the two made the short car ride to the gala.

Bruce decided being nice was exhausting about thirty minutes after arriving. After and hour, he was really tempted to call it quits and snap at he next person that asked him about stocks. And he totally would have, if not for knowing it would certainly earn him a look from Alfred.

Even if the butler wasn’t there to see himself. Nothing got passed Alfred.

Damian acted as he usually did during galas. He stuck close to his father, glancing anxiously at the crowds and talking only when spoke to (his own preference) or when he wanted another soda or juice.

The crowds though, are what caused him the most exhaustion. Both his prior teachings and his anxiety told him to be extra cautious of the crowds. Don’t let yourself get distracted, don’t take your eyes away, don’t let your guard down and pay attention to everything. It was exhausting.

It was only a few hours into the party when Bruce was talking to a reporter about his latest deal that he felt Damian stumble into him. He took a moment to pause the conversation and look at his son. Damian was steadying himself and rubbing watery eyes with fists and looking all too cute for his own good. The whole seen made Bruce doubt that his son hadn’t just fallen asleep on his feet.

He didn’t really think about it, just reached down and put his hands under his sons arms, lifting Damian to his hip, red converse dangling quite pathetically. The reporter literally cooed and Bruce was surprised Damian didn’t attempt to leap from his arms and attack her or refuse being held all together.

Damian didn’t really understand why his father had picked him up. Had he caught his stumble? Was there danger? Had Damian missed something in the crowd during those brief moments he decided to close his eyes?

But after a moment of looking around there was nothing. And Damian decided that maybe this was just something parents did. And it was sad really that he couldn’t say for sure. But it showed their progress when he seemed to decide that he felt safe enough in his father’s arms to finally close his eyes and get the sleep he’s been needing for days.

And Bruce was shocked, because this wasn’t something that Damian did. Because Damian was so tiny. So light, too light, and he had been too busy to notice. But now he noticed, and even let out a fond smile when he saw how Damian’s tanned cheek was smushed into the collar of his suit.

“ His looks are going to get him in trouble one day.” Came a voice somewhere to Bruce’s right, he turned to see Selena.

“ Don’t remind me.” He answered, chuckling softly. Stroking baby soft black hair from his sons closed eyes.

“ He takes after his father in that.” She continued, Bruce smiles softly. “ He should be in bed.”

“ Are you telling me how to raise my kids?” Asked Bruce, but it was playful.

“ You should be in bed too.” She came closer at this, putting a hand on his shoulder, months ago he would have pulled away, But they had become closer and now he fought leaning into the touch. Instead, he used his free hand to wave at the party around them.

“ Go home.” She continued. “ And get the rest I know you’ve both been needing for days.”

“ I can’t just leave, Selena.” He says incredulously.

“ Say he’s sick.” She gestures at Damian and says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“ Something tells me Damian wouldn’t like that.” He’s still smiling he realizes, perhaps he should stop.

“ I don’t hear any objections.” Says Selena, putting a hand to her ear to pretend she’s listening. Bruce only finds himself smiling harder at this.

“ Spread the word for me?” He asked, already grabbing his and his sons coat from one of many hooks.

“ Do you have to ask?” She watches the Bat as he wrangles his son into the small and puffed red winter coat.

“ Thanks Selena.” He says, giving up on hiding his grin and smiling once more before turning to leave. He walks back out through the doors to the fundraiser hall the charity event was being held at. The cold winter air of Gotham hits his face and passes easily through his suit jacket. He was born and raised in Gotham though, and the cold snowy air doesn’t bother him like he knows it does the little desert boy in his arms. He speaks with a valet about his vehicle and moves to pull his own jacket tighter around his son

.

The car comes around soon enough and he nods a thanks and takes the keys. He unlocks the doors of the black Tesla and moves to the back. He shifts Damian into his grey and blue carseat and begins to strap him in both thankful and surprised that the boy hasn’t been woken by all the movement.

The drive home is even quicker than the drive to the event had been and upon arriving. Bruce quickly scrawled a one handed note to Alfred telling him that they had arrived earlier than originally planned and would both be in bed by the time the butler returned.

It almost seemed surreal to Bruce as he made his way to his bedroom with Damian in his arms. As he stopped briefly in his sons room to grab the boys batman footie pajamas, both because he wanted to and because they would be easier to put on his sleeping form.

And the Dark Knight found that he couldn’t lose his smile as he lay Damian on his giant bed and began removing his child’s small clothing. How when he folded the tiny suit and untied the converse he was reminded that yes, Damians clothes were still bought from the kids section and no, he wasn’t even wearing boxers yet.

And Bruce didn’t mind that he couldn’t suppress the slight feeling of hope in his chest that Damian still has some childhood left and that the boy could be salvaged. That maybe the damage his mother and grandfather had done could no, not be reversed, but possibly mended. And he relished in the fact that he felt like such a dad when he considered waking Damian up so that the boy could brush his teeth and use the bathroom, because he had had so much sugar and drank a lot of liquids at the gala.

Bruce didn’t even feel guilty when he selfishly decided he wouldn’t because he knew the boy would insist on returning to his own bed if he had the chance.

So instead he changed into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, grabbing his son once again, placing both him and his boy under the blankets. Drawing Damian as close as possible and breathing in that wonderful scent of children’s shampoo.

And he he couldn’t help his closing eyes or that fact that he smiled himself to sleep because things just couldn’t be anymore perfect.

And if when Alfred opened the door to the master bedroom the next morning to see both his charges asleep and cuddling, he had been too silent to wake them. And if he retreated back downstairs with nothing but a thousand photos, if he picked up the phone to call both the school and the office to tell them the Waynes would be taking a personal day, well, no one would have any proof.

Accept for all the recipients of the next Christmas card.

[blaithinwrites]

May the Best

Summary: A year ago Bucky lost his arm and his memory in a motorbike accident. Somehow his journey back to normality involves pretending to date the rich and troubled Tony Stark.(loosely, so loosely, inspired by to all the boys I’ve ever loved with a lot more angst)

Chapter 5 (AO3)

Bucky turned up the next day with an assortment of pastries, some of them still hot from the oven. Tony made a little breathless sound of delight as he opened the car door, sniffing the air like a puppy.

“You can ditch me more often if this is the apology I get,” Tony mumbled, lips dark pink and wet as he stuffed another Danish into his mouth. Bucky suspected he should have been disgusted. He tried to reach for Tony’s coffee, only for to Tony to lurch away from him, batting his hands away with a cry of “mine!”

Bucky laughed and did it again just to see the betrayal written across the other boy’s face. Tony’s oversized jumped slid up his arms, flashing bony wrists as he tried to wrestle his coffee to safety. Bucky easily held him off; it times likes these it paid to have an impossibly strong, unfeeling metal arm. His eyes flickered down, catching on the unexpected shock of colour on the narrowest part of Tony’s arm. An angry purple and red bruise.

Before Bucky could process it, Tony had snatched his coffee away and was curled up in his seat, his jumper curled over his fingers and his knees brought up high to make himself small and snug looking on his chair. He grinned victoriously at Bucky over his steaming cup, gesturing imperatively at the steering wheel.

“Well come on then. We’re going to be late.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and put the car into gear, “Yes, I know you’d hate to miss a single lesson.”

“I would cry and cry and cry,” Tony replied without an ouch of sincerity.

Bucky smiled at him, the bruise was probably nothing. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy. He wondered how Tony had made it home last night without him.  Tony often made jokes about not wanting to take the school bus with Neanderthals like Brock Rumlow but what if it wasn’t exactly a joke.  Or maybe Tiberius Stone had escalated from whispering nasty rumours.

Bucky glanced over at Tony. Tony often seemed to fill whatever space he inhabited, his personality overwhelming and his tongue razor sharp. It was easy to forget that he was a slender, shorter than average teenage, a year younger than all his peers. Bucky suspected that snakes like Rumlow and Stone never forgot.

In homeroom, Bucky gave into his unease and leaned across the desk to poke Jan. “Hey.”

She blinked at him, one delicate arched eyebrow raised.

“You’re in Tony’s classes, aren’t you?”

“Some of them.”

“Think you could keep an eye out for him?”

Jan looked intrigued, resting her delicate chin in her palms and smiling at him. “And why do you want me to ogle your boyfriend?”

“No reason.”

Jan waited, one eyebrow raised patiently.

“Just worried, he mentioned Rumlow and…”

Jan held up a hand, “say no more. I shall shelter your boyfriend like a baby bird from a storm.”

“Er, thanks?”

“No thanks needed. Besides,” Jan grinned wickedly.  “I’m guessing plan B was breaking Rumlow’s nose again.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “I never said that.”

Jan patted his arm, “You didn’t need to, frankly you’re getting a little predictable Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head, at least Tony would have someone who could match his constant talking.

“So tell me,” Tony started as he threw his bag into Bucky’s car that evening. It hit the floor hard, the dull echo of metal hitting metal reverberating through the cabin. “Why you decided to sic Van Dyne on me?”

Bucky blinked in open panic, “I didn’t?”

Tony smiled: a strange sharp-toothed expression that made Bucky think of sharks. “You’re such a liar, Barnes. What the fuck are you playing at? I didn’t agree to this so you could start manipulating me. If this is some weird sort of joke with your friends…”

“No,” Bucky interrupted quickly, seeing the pulsing vein on Tony’s forehead. He was pulling out on the main road and he didn’t fancy their chances if Tony tried to strangle him in a moving vehicle. “It’s not that, I was just worried about you.”

Tony stared at him blankly. “Worried about me?”

“With Rumlow?”

“Rumlow?” Tony repeated slowly.

“You had a bruise on your arm and I figured it must be Rumlow, I’ve seen him shoving people around.”

Tony’s hand curled around his wrist, fingers tight around the dark mark Bucky had seen that morning. His cheeks were faintly pink and his mouth wide open in a little perfect ‘O’.

“Look.” Tony said stiffly, “While I’m sure this is a very nice gesture in whatever weird chivalrous land you and Rogers live in, I do not need you or anyone else to protect me OK?”

Bucky frowned, a familiar impatient edge creeping into his voice. “You were hurt.”

“Barnes, if I needed your help, I would have asked for it.”

The use of his surname was a slap in the face, they had stopped calling each by their surnames weeks ago. Bucky bit back a sharp retort. He remembered how prickly Steve got when he got involved in those fights and told himself that it was probably the same for Tony. Pride had a way of being easily bruised.

Bucky sighed in frustration. If Tony didn’t want his help then there was nothing he could do. Besides just because Tony didn’t want Bucky’s help didn’t mean Bucky was going to tell Jan to back off. “Ok, fine. I’m sorry.”

Tony smiled, forgiveness grated in one blink of an eye. He slumped back into his chair, throwing his feet up onto the dashboard and ducking at the hand that Bucky sent towards him with practiced ease.

“It fine, you can make it up to me.”

Bucky snorted, “Oh and how will I do that?”

Tony grinned, thrusting a piece of brightly coloured paper into Bucky’s face. “Take me to this”

Blinded, Bucky pushed Tony and his paper away. His car swerved and the vehicle behind them honked loudly in protest.

“Sorry,” Tony said, not sounding very sorry at all. He was gently smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. “The Exhibition on Astronomy: It’s only in town for this weekend. No buses go there, but since you can drive it won’t be a problem. Maybe you’ll even learn something. Although I’ve seen your science scores so I won’t hold my breath.”

“OK.”

Tony went silent, blinking at Bucky dumbly. “Huh?”

“I said OK. I’ll give you a lift.”

Tony squinted at him, “You did hear the bit where I indicated it was an hour away right?”

Bucky shrugged, “I’ll pick you up at 10. Although I’m surprised that someone like you is into horoscopes and all that rubbish.”

Tony squawked in indignation and made to protest before seeing the twinkling amusement in Bucky’s eyes and falling back into gaping silence, eyes darting around Bucky’s face as if he was trying to find something. “I don’t get you at all.” Tony huffed finally.

“It’s part of my charm, I’m a sexy enigma.”

Tony’s disbelief hadn’t seemed to have lessened when Bucky turned up at his house on Saturday morning as arranged. It was the first time they had seen each other outside of their journeys to and from school and their conversation was awkward and stunted, despite the easy repertoire they had cultivated recently.

“Here,” Tony said as they arrived at the museum breaking the lingering quiet between them. Bucky blinked at the crisp piles of notes that was suddenly forced into his hand.

“What?”

“For driving me,” Tony said stiffly.  

Bucky frowned and dropped the money back into his lap. “I didn’t offer to do it because I wanted your money.”

Tony had twisted his fingers together into a twitching, awkward knot. “Then why? We’re not really dating you know.”

Bucky licked his lips. Why had he offered? Because he felt guilty about the day he’d ditched Tony alone or because despite his jokes he could see how much Tony had wanted to come to this exhibition and some part of him had pitied the boy?

“Because we're friends.” He said at last.

Tony was looking at him again, his features wavering into an increasingly familiar expression of wary uncertainty and faint trembling want. Bucky sometimes thought Tony looked like a man starving from want.

“Well, I’ll at least buy your ticket,” Tony said finally, full of bluster even as his eyes slid away to avoid Bucky’s gaze. “I’m not letting you just wait in the car, you need the chance to study.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Bucky said, hand pressing over his heart.

Tony rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face, softer than the shark-toothed grins Bucky was used to Tony flashing in his direction.

The queue to the exhibition was long, snaking its way outside and along the chilled pavement. By the time Bucky and Tony entered the museum they were dehydrated and sweating in their winter layers. Tony got his second wind once the tickets were in his hand, bouncing excitedly on the spot. Bucky grabbed him by the collar before he could dart off, dragging him towards the café.

“Water first.” He demanded.

Tony waved sadly at the exhibition but let himself be manhandled away without complaint. Bucky offered to get the drinks which was mostly just a ploy so he could also get sandwiches and cakes. At Tony’s questioning look Bucky raised an eyebrow, his mouth stretched around one half of a ham and cheese panini and defensively explained that he needed fuel to maintain his growth.

Tony narrowed his eyes and slurped noisily on his coke. His lack of comment was, Bucky suspected, out of self-preservation more than anything. Tony didn’t seem to be having the growth spurt that Bucky or many other boys in their year were going through and remained an increasingly long hair beneath average.

Bucky nudged a thick, pink icing encrusted donut into the middle of the table as a peace offering.

“Bucky?” Bucky glanced up to see Bruce Banner shuffling towards them.

Bruce was more Steve’s friend than his, a quiet intelligent guy who had surprised them all at the start of the semester by getting into a massive fight and pounding the shit out Rumlow. Proving yet again that people really did punch Rumlow a lot when they first met him and that punching Rumlow was enough to make anyone automatically one of Steve and Bucky’s friends.

“Oh, hi Bruce,” Bucky croaked, feeling himself freeze as Bruce looked at him and Tony and the shared donut between them.

“I didn’t know you liked astronomy,” Bruce said politely.

“Tony does,” Bucky said automatically. Tony waved in Bruce’s direction, uncaring of the increasing awkward atmosphere.

“Oh, yes. Steve mentioned you two were dating.” Bruce smiled. Bucky had to bite back the automatic denial that rushed to his tongue, reminding himself that as far as everyone knew he and Tony were dating.

Bucky smiled back awkwardly, the expression uncomfortable on his face, like a mask ready to slid off at the first hint of movement. A long moment of silence strung out between them and Bucky could feel nervous energy coiling up through his limbs, a familiar fight or flight reflex in the face of confrontation.

“Err, well,” Bruce said finally, eyes shifting towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to your date then.”

“Ok, bye.” Bucky held his smile for only as long as Bruce was in sight, sinking down to rest his face in his hands with a groan.

“Way to make a man feel good,” Tony joked, his tone sharp. He was slumped in the worn wooden chair, fingers ripping and twisting the napkin before him.

“Sorry, it’s not you.” Bucky sighed, unsure of how to explain why Bruce’s innocent question had made him feel like he wanted to run away and hide. For a moment he had forgotten about his and Tony's deal; the reminder that they weren't friends, that Tony didn't even like him, that all of this was fake had stung somehow. “I’m just starting to feel that this lie is growing out of my control.”

Tony dropped the napkin onto the table, slowly pushing the shredded paper into an unstable hill. “We can always stage a breakup.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet."

“Right.” Tony pushed his plate away and stood up, his smile stretched wide across his otherwise unmoving face, “I want to go to the exhibition now, you’ve made me wait long enough.”

The exhibition was more interesting that Bucky could have imagined, the evolution of stargazing equipment was laid out, spiralling around the room in neat black exhibition stands. Having Tony explain everything helped, he seemed to know the history of every telescope and their creators.

“How do you remember all this?” Bucky asked impressed.

Tony shrugged, peering at him through one of the old inverted lenses. “I have a photographic memory and I’m just really smart.”

“How come you haven’t skipped grades?”

Tony shrugged, “Well I skipped one but my mother wants,” Tony’s speech ground to a halt. He coughed before continuing. “My mother wanted me to have friends, peers my own age. And well my dad can’t stand the thought of not being the smartest Stark anymore.” The last sentence was quieter, sharp with bitterness.

Tony suddenly grabbed Bucky’s wrist, his hand curling tightly around Bucky’s arm. “Come on, let’s go look at the stars.”

The final centrepiece of the exhibition was a grand dome-shaped room filled with padded reclining chairs. Tony shuffled Bucky along until they were in the centre of the room. Bucky couldn’t help but smile: of course, Tony went for the best seats in the house, uncaring of the glares sent his way as people struggled to inch around them.

Slowly the stark fluorescent lights around them faded and the dome above them was transformed into a skyscape. The blue sky melted to yellows and oranges stripes, darkening through a rainbow of brilliant shades of reds and purples: a sped-up sunset playing out just feet above them. Finally, the fake sky settled into a velvety purple night, dotted with distant, twinkling stars.

“Wow,” Bucky said, unable to hold back his awe.

To his right, Tony glanced over, his body slightly turned towards Bucky, and they shared a smile. In Tony’s dark eyes Orion’s belt was reflected, a chain of silvery shimmering stars shining back at him.

“Wow,” Bucky whispered, his voice lost beneath the audio which had started playing.

It had taken Bucky longer than he liked to admit to realise that Tony was, for all his prickliness and aloofness, desperately lonely. Bucky recognised it in the way Tony reached out for Bucky when they were laughing only to pull away, uncertain wariness in his eyes like a dog waiting to be told off.  It made Bucky sad to see and made him grateful for Steve’s friendship. Bucky had been a lot of things but he’d never been lonely.

Bucky was thinking of Tony and loneliness the next Monday as he approached his friends for lunch. A familiar slender figure was sat sandwiched between Jan and Dugan. Tony was unusually mute, his eyes moving between the other students. If Bucky hadn’t become familiar with Tony’s minute tell-tale mannerism,  he would have said he looked relaxed but he recognised the tightness around Tony’s eyes and the forced, strain of his smile and felt a surge of heated protectiveness.

“Alright, what is this?” Bucky demanded.

“We got tired of waiting for you to introduce us to your boyfriend,” Gabe said, eyebrows wiggling on the word boyfriend.

“We were being friendly, ain’t that right Tony?” Dugan elbowed Tony hard enough to send the smaller boy wobbling over.

Tony rubbed his side, “Friendly like a spider to a fly.” He muttered and Dugan roared with laughter.

“He’s alright. You should have brought him along sooner.”

“Well he’s here now and I think he probably wants rescuing,” Bucky held out a hand and Tony eagerly grasped it, letting himself be pulled up and pressing himself as close as he could get to Bucky without touching. Bucky could feel the faint quiver running through him even with the distance.

“Come sit with us again Tony!” Dugan called, the sentiment echoed by Jan and Gabe.

Bucky put his hand in the small of Tony’s back leading him away. As soon as they were out of sight, Tony released a big shuddering breath.

“You OK?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, yes, they’re nice.” The word sounded strange in Tony’s mouth as if he wasn’t used to saying it. Or, not used to saying it and meaning it.

Bucky snorted, “Sure they are.” He felt light as they walked back to class, the school bell ringing behind them. “Nice like a bunch of braying Hyenas are nice.”

Tony laughed, nodding in agreement.

Yet, somehow it didn’t surprise Bucky to find Tony already sat with Bruce and Jan the next day when he came for lunch. Or every day that week.

[sorrybaescenarios]

Untouchable | 4

♚ Pairing: Mafia AU! Mark Tuan x Reader | Racer Au!Jackson Wang x Reader 

♚ Genre: Romance, angst, action

♚ Warnings: Strong language, graphical violence, mature themes

♚ Word count: 2437

“I’m not in danger, I’m the danger.”

Other parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

As the time passed, so did the songs from the radio, the few people they could call neighbors, the dark early morning clouds, and along them his patience. In his continuous wait, Jackson found himself follow the beat of a song out of boredom, tapping lightly with his slim fingers on the dashboard.

What the hell was getting her so much to come?

As he tough that, a short knock on the window disturbed his short-longing peace, making him sigh and focus his gaze on his neighbor awkwardly smiling at the dark-colored glass. He was the last person Jackson wanted to see at the moment, but despite that, he still rolled down the window, greeting his friend with a usual "what's up".

"My Charger is wasted, fucked it up yesterday. When can I swing by?"

Jackson gave him an apologetic smile, "Sorry mate, closed today, got work in the city."

John sounded desperate as he kept on talking about his old 1960 Charger, that died suddenly and he needs it back on road by tomorrow afternoon, when his sister is discharged.

"I'll have a look at it when I'm back, John. Second garage on the left side, right?" Sam spoke as she was closing the gate. Both men instantly turned their attention at the young woman now walking towards the car.

"Yeah, that's the one; I'll leave the keys in the contact. Thanks, girl", their neighbor said before handshaking Jackson and moving away from the window as Sam turned on the engine.

"Don't worry, I got you", with that they pulled off from the driveway, speeding towards the big city.

"So", Sam glanced at Jackson as he surfed through his phone, making him hum in response, "where was that, again?"

The brown-haired man removed his eyes from the phone to look at the woman before him driving leisurely through the maze of cars. For the first time in that days, he was relieved that Sam didn't ask more questions about what he has to do. He really appreciated it, especially when Sam by nature is really curious.

"Next one at left", Jackson instructed her the directions until they got in the familiar neighborhood.

"Look", she started as the imposing house came in sigh, "I won't ask about your business here, but please at least promise me something."

Jackson nodded his head, eyes never leaving hers as she took a deep breath.

"Promise me you'll be careful. I don't know where you are heading and with who you are messing with, so please take care."

The corner of his lips twitched upwards in a small smile, ruffling her shoulder-length dark hair before unclasping his seatbelt and getting out of the car.

"I promise."

He stood still in his place, with his black cap in one hand, watching the glossy, white Mercedes-Benz speed towards the crowded streets of Los Angeles.

Once the car was nowhere in sight, he could finally turn around, only to catch the front door opening and a smoking Mark leaving the house. Jackson widened his eyes in surprise at the look of his old friend in a simple, yet stylish red suit that hugged his tall, slim form better than anything else. The sight of Mark in a black, thighs long t-shirt with big, silver earrings and neatly styled hair along with that suit was something Jackson never thought he'll see in that life. Especially on Mark.

'He sure as hell does not look like a business man' he though and placed the cap on, fixing quickly his hair before advancing towards him.

Mark soon noticed Jackson walking in his direction and threw away the cigarette from between his lips, stepping lightly on the reek stump with his left foot. He then proceeded to move his gaze, only to meet Jackson's for a fraction of second and use the moment to sign towards his underground garage with a short till of his head.

To Mark's relief, he understood his intentions right away and started following him closely behind, arriving shortly after that in the enormous garage, filled with supercars in every corner. Jackson immediately recognized cars priced over 2 millions of dollars, vehicles he could only dream about where parked right before his own two eyes and that drove him crazy.

His legs instantly lead him towards one particular matte-black, aerodynamic beast ready to be unleashed. He traced the slick, menacing body that hides a brute 740 horse power with the tip of his finger and that's when he knew he wanted to drive that.

The Lykan HyperSport. Seven in the world and Mark had one of them.

"No", sensing what was bound to happen, Mark coldly disagreed and stopped beside, where his McLaren was parked, only to hear the Lykan's engine roaring to life.

With a deep scowl on his face, he forced open the driver's door and growled, "No, get out! I don't trust you with such an expensive car!"

Jackson eyebrows knitted together, “Remember how you scratched your first car, huh?? And you don’t trust me driving?!"

As those words left past his lips, a thick silence fell upon both of them, the atmosphere in the garage changing completely.

"After all this time I think you forgot what I do. I drive, Mark, that's what I'm best at, so stop crying and hop in", Jackson broke the heavy silence, looking at him and smiling teasingly, "And I won't scratch your 3 million dollars car, just get in, mate."

Mark puffed, rolling his eyes at Jackson's never-ending annoying way of being determined and 'friendly'. But as much as he hated the situation, he didn't have time for that now, so he submitted and got in the car.

"Stop grinning and drive already, we don't have time for this."

"I assume something not nice happened, so after who are we going?" Jackson asked as he took a turn, catching a glimpse of Mark working on his custom-made laptop for the car.

"His identity is not relevant at the moment, but he stole money from me and didn't finish his job. We still couldn't find him and we have to close the deal with the traffickers. That's where we are heading now."

"He ran away with the money for the delivery, you say. What could he do so big with that money that makes him risk his own life?"

Mark stopped from working on the laptop after hearing Jackson's thoughts. He had a good point that Mark thought about faintly before, but he couldn't get a certain answer neither way.

"We don't know yet, he wasn't suspicious at all", Mark answered truthfully, running a hand through his hair. "But the guys will find him soon. Now we need to focus on this, understood?"

"Loud and clear, boss", Jackson teasingly retorted and parked the car behind some rusty containers near the meeting point.

They were near the ocean, close to Los Angeles's Port where usually is a lot of movement and police controls, so they had to be as discreet as possible. The car was hidden near some high-bushes behind that old, abandoned containers so it shouldn't be seen that easily by patrollers.

Mark and Jackson quietly made their way towards the blind spot under an unfinished structure where they'll be meeting the traffickers.

The plan was simple; get in, take the packages and out. Even though they had an advantage of being in full day when it's not that suspicious to run illegal activity, they had to move fast. No casualties.

At the spot a single man was checking out the surroundings, but at his signal more men made their appearance in front of the two. One short, bald dude with ink covering most of his neck and discovered arms moved forward from his gang and greeted the boss with a wicked smirk.

"Mark Tuan, so nice to see your face here after you broke our deal and ran like a dog." The leader of the gang laughed along with the other personnel of his.

But soon all the laughter died as Mark's cold, hard eyes traveled on each one of them and settled on the leader, piercing him with his gaze.

"There was some complications, but I'm here with the money now, aren't I? So let's quit talking and get down to business."

"Ha! You think I'll ever make deals again with filthy dogs like you!" he spat through gritted teeth and started moving closer towards the two.

Mark immediately stomped his foot on the concrete floor, giving Jackson the signal to rise his guard. All of them were armed with baseball bats,   crowbars, rosettes and heavy body to body weapons as Mark concluded after peaking around. But no sighs of guns and automatic weapons.

The gang was doing a horrible mistake.

"Salty now, aren't ya?" Jackson interfered, crossing his arms at his chest. The corner of his lips lifted in a pleasant smirk as the gang leader's face turned red from fury, marching in their direction with his fists tightly clasped at his sides.

Before he could blink, his punch was dodged easily by Mark and his wrist squeezed painfully as Jackson jumped between to take care of the rest who tried to interfere. A bloody scream erupted from the leader, his clouded mind too focused on releasing his wrist from the tight grip to see Mark's punch coming with full force towards his face.

_____________________________

The man flew backwards, hitting the ground harshly from the strong blow he received. Blood started running down his chin from his nose, staining his white shirt as the voices stopped whispering around him in the dim-lighted room.  

The dark-haired man could hear a distant sigh torment the silence that fell over and with shaky hands he forced himself on his knees before him.

"You chickened out and fucked up my orders! Haven't I made it clear enough for you, you trashy human?!"

The man gulped, shaking in front of his superior as he mumbled incoherently.

"Y-y-yes you di-did. I'm-I'm sorry bo-boss, it won't happen-happen again! I'll...I'll repair my mistakes!"

"Oh really? But fortunately I don't need you anymore. Guards, you can take him."

The man's screams and pleads shook the entire building as he was dragged forcefully by two guards towards his sentence place.

_____________________________

The two walked side by side from the meeting point with a heavy, black bag in hands. Once arrived at the car, Mark nonchalantly opened the passager's door and threw the bag on the floor, getting in followed right after by Jackson.

After leaving the port perimeter without being detected or controlled by the police thanks to a Mark's intern, they speed off towards  the main house.

"One honest question", Jackson begun, fixing the wrinkled cap on his head with one hand, "why didn't you bring a god damn gun?!"

Mark made himself comfortable in the chair, answering slowly and calmly his partner's continuous remarks as they were stuck in the heavy traffic.

"Didn't need one. Are you done now, Jackson?"

He didn't reply to Mark's delight and just leaned over to turn on the radio, letting the soft melody of Outcast's fill the silence between the two.

Time passed agonizing slow, but after one hour of red lights and annoyingly high-pitched horns, Mark's house came in sigh and they couldn't be more happy to see some bricks and grass. Jackson eagerly entered the driveway and parked near the front door, as told by the owner of it, so the men could take away the bag and place the Lykan in its parking lot.

Jackson unlocked the doors and turned around to look at Mark, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Ya know, next time when you need me, you can simply call, not send your scary bodyguards. Like every normal human being does."

"No thanks, I'll pass. You were a second choice, had no other man to do the job. You can leave town now, not like you haven't done it before."

Jackson fell silent, all the color from his face fading along with his good mood. He thought he will fix the mistakes of the past, but it seems like he can't.

With that being said, Mark was out of the car, slamming shut the door behind him, and fixing quickly his wrinkled fancy, red suit, without looking back.

'That bastards sure don't know how to appreciate an expensive suit', he thought and started walking towards the front door from past where Alex came off running in his usual not-for-work attire. He greeted his boss, ready to tell him important news when Jackson's lonely figure from behind the windscreen surprised him hard enough to decide against it.

"Mark", he said looking for any signal from him, "what about –"

"Take him home. He's not needed here anymore." Mark cut him, eying him sharply before fading behind the doors.

_____________________________

Sam was outside, taking a short break after finishing their neighbor's car, with a fuming cigarette in her mouth. She leaned her body against the cold, shady wall of the garage as a delighted sigh left past her lips. Finally she could take some air and relax under the shadow of the oak tree near, with a good mint cigarette and soft music from the radio.

She lived for that moments.

Sam heard a powerful car pull over and instantly she sighed tiredly. She just wanted to relax her sore muscles a little, nothing more, couldn't she just be left alone?

With great power she opened her eyes to see a black GLK Mercedes- Benz in front of her, with Jackson and an unknown man getting out.

"Welcome...back?", she said lifting an eyebrow at him before quenching her cigarette so Jackson would not have to lecture her about smoking, again.

He was faster then she thought and even had a man tag along. But she didn't mind, the guy was 100% bad boy material and smoking hot. Like really.

"Thanks, Alex. See ya."

After they were done with their business, Sam observed the man in name "Alex" as he hopped in his car, ready to leave. He seemed to have noticed her watching him all this time and sent a light wink in Sam's direction before leaving.

"Who the hell was that hot pie– boy."

"Alex, but you won't ever see him again, so don't even think about it", Jackson warned her, his jaw clenched tightly as the fists on his sides.

"Close it for today and prepare your stuff."

↜Masterlist↝

[strapcats]

Thicker Than Water (Part 7)

↬ Genre: Gang au, angst, drama, eventual fluff

↬ Pairing: Jeongin x Chan

↬ Word Count: 2,556

↬ Description: Dépaysement- (n.) When someone is taken out of their own familiar world and pushed into a new one.

–

Yang Jeongin is a young Busan runaway with a sharp tongue.

Bang Chan is the easily-offended leader of a crime syndicate.

Read on Wattpad // Read on Archive

Part(s) One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Chapter Seven

After waking up unhappily, Jeongin was sitting on the kitchen island munching on a bowl of American cereal. He wasn't sure what it was called, since the box had been thrown away, but it was ridiculously sugary and that is all he really cared about. He had an insufferable sweet tooth, and most Korean cereals didn't quite scratch the itch for him. Back in Busan he used to steal bags of Konpeitō from convenient stores when they were in season and eat them in his attic. The sugar crystals always made him happy. He hadn't had any of the Japanese candy in a long time, and now for some reason he almost ached for it.

The members of the clan sauntered out of their rooms one by one as the morning dragged on, saying small morning greetings to Jeongin as they passed. The young Busan boy returned them fondly. Felix came out late, making eyes contact with Jeongin momentarily in a friendly manner before remembering their argument and casting his honey-colored eyes away again. It made Felix’s heart tug with pain and Jeongin’s stomach twinge with betrayal. Chan was the last one to come out of the bed hallway (as usual) and was (also as usual) followed closely by Woojin, both looking disgruntled. Changbin laughed and Minho rolled his eyes at the situation.

Chan's presence was different from most mornings. It was one of dread and discomfort and the rest of the clan cleared out rapidly once they caught whiff of it. Woojin, Chan and Jeongin were the only ones who remained after a beat. Jeongin finished his cereal and placed the empty bowl in the sink before trotting over to Chan and looking slightly upwards at the older male with an expectant gaze.

“Woojin thinks… that maybe… it would be best… if I…” Chan struggled to get his sentence out, he looked very unhappy with the fact that he had to say these words. Jeongin scrunched his nose.

“Is that any way to say 'good morning’, hyung?” Jeongin spoke condescendingly, going up on his tiptoes to make himself eye-level with Chan though he still tilted his head like he was looking up at the older male.

“He said, it would be good to… to… to

take you shopping and get you adjusted to clan life.” BC finally got the sentence out, and Jeongin smiled with surprise. Both at Chan's odd state of being flustered and at his kind request. Woojin looked proud of himself behind Chan, and wandered off back to his room. Jeongin stepped back from Chan a little and blushed faintly.

“Why thank you for the offer, Channie-hyung, that's very kind of you.~” Jeongin spoke to the floor before lifting his head and looking at Chan with big eyes. He wasn't intentionally trying to be cute, but Chan was struggling to stay emotionless in the odd situation. Jeongin couldn't tell. Chan coughed awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Don't take it for granted, kid. I'm not gonna spend a fortune on you.” BC said roughly, looking down at the ground once again. Jeongin smiled.

“I'll go get ready then! Make sure you get something to eat BC!” the bright maknae said cheerily as he walked back to his room, waving Chan off slightly. The older male sighed.

The younger reappeared after about 15 minutes of rifling through Felix’s clothes, the young boy emerged from the white-haired male’s room in an outfit a bit too dressy to just go shopping, but BC wasn’t complaining by any means. The black haired boy wore a very long sweater with a shredded up bottom that reached just above his knees. Its long sleeves covered up his hands and he struggled to keep them pushed up at his wrists. He had on ripped up black jeans and white patent leather doc martin boots to match his white patent leather choker. The young boy looked ridiculous, so stylish just to go to the store, but still Chan couldn’t keep his eyes off of Jeongin.

When Felix, who was sitting on the couch, saw the younger, he spittled out his La Croix that he was sipping, them abruptly tried to cover it up with a couple fake coughs as he wiped his chin. The freckled boy thought he looked ravishing, in every sense of the words, so he quickly averted his eyes and let his blush crawl up his ears in uncomfortable silence.

Chan covered up his awe with an eye roll at the younger’s clothing choice, which made Jeongin smirk. “You’re not too bad yourself BC! Now lets gooooo…” Jeongin complimented and then whined, breaking his cool facade instantly. Chan breathed out heavily in an almost ashamed manner. Jeongin shuffled his feet awkwardly, making Chan tilt his head a little. The youngest member went back and forth between cute, cocky, annoying, and shy in the blink of an eye. I guess that’s the way teenagers are. Chan thought before waving to Woojin and grabbing a pair of keys from a hook by the main warehouse door.

“Lynx and Desert Fox are out!” Chan called as he opened the door to let the pair walk out. He heard a couple or remarks of understanding, so he closed the door behind him before locking it again. The opposite pair walked in painful silence to the garage, which admittedly, Jeongin didn’t know there was one, let alone where it was. Inside there were many expensive-looking vehicles, including multiple Ferraris (in varying shades of red, blue, and even purple), one midnight blue Mercedes G-wagon, and a matte black Audi S3. The keys in Chan’s hand made the headlights of the g-wagon light up when he unlocked it, and Jeongin was floored.

The people that he had fallen in with had enough money to buy all of these cars, and keep them in peak condition. He suspected that the g-wagon was Chan’s personal vehicle, considering it had many more miles on it than Jeongin thought it would, and the way Chan looked in the vehicle. He seemed to belong in it, like he thought it was made for him. Jeongin agreed.

The pair drove in relative silence for quite a ways before pulling into the parking garage of an Ikea. Chan intentionally parked far from the entrance as to not get his car damaged, and so the pair walked into the massive store together. They hadn’t talked much at all and it had been about half an hour since they left the house, so Jeongin was bored.

“Channie-hyung, can I get whatever I want?? I mean, since I have nothing, after all…” Jeongin pouted like a baby as they stopped on the escalator moving upwards. The young boy leaned in a little bit endearingly, causing Chan to lean back, keeping the same distance between their faces. Jeongin batted his eyes a couple times much like a child and Chan rolled his.

“You’ll be getting the bare minimum, Jeongin.” Chan spoke firmly, looking away from the handsome boy as they got off the escalator. Jeongin pouted momentarily but it didn’t last long, as he saw that he wasn’t getting Chan’s attention anymore. They strolled through the showroom, Jeongin pointing out his favorite items and Chan adding them to his growing list of furniture. They made small talk, but not much conversation was flowing. They reached the bedrooms part of the showroom and they sat on a soft loft bed together. Not much was said, but Chan had a feeling like they reached some sort of calm. They were both happy in eachothers company in the simplest way, and they didn’t need to speak. Jeongin smiled, which caused Chan to follow suit, seeing as he was looking at Jeongin out of the corner of his eye.

By the time they made it to the pickup area, Jeongin had an entire notebook page of items to pick up and Chan didn’t complain once. It was surprising to the younger, but he decided not to look his gift horse in the mouth. One black, quilted, queen size bed frame, one queen size mattress, one white nightstand, one white and black dresser, one very large black framed mirror, one night lamp, a couple packs of hangers, two minimalist pastel rugs, and many small trinkets to place around the room was all that was gathered at the end of the trip, and the two boys struggled to carry all of the furniture items out to the car. Then they struggled even more to maneuver them into the expensive vehicle without damaging it or themselves.

Once all was in the car, Chan sighed heavily, then turned to Jeongin.

“Where to now, fox? Do you want some clothes to fill up that 254,000 ₩ dresser?” Chan spoke kindly, almost like he was happy and excited to finally be giving the young boy a livelihood. Jeongin nodded enthusiastically at the proposal, and quickly buckled his seatbelt. Chan chuckled softly at him and Jeongin’s heart warmed at the sound. It wasn’t a harsh condescending chuckle, it was kind of endearing, and it made Jeongin feel like he was being praised, though he wasn’t. Making Chan feel any kind of emotion (and show that emotion) was Jeongin’s main goal, because the man seemed rather unhappy otherwise.

The pair arrived at a large shopping complex, with a couple of expensive name brands, as well as some more affordable shops like H&M and UniQlo. The pair of boys shopped around, finding Jeongin all sorts of clothing, from socks with cacti on them to jeans that were more hole than denim. He also ended up with a rather expensive leather bomber jacket from Gucci, as well as a pair of iconic slides for Jeongin to wear around the warehouse. He finished the day with a whole new wardrobe to challenge Hyunjin’s, and a very tired Chan that was now nearly 9,000,000 ₩ lighter than he was at the beginning of the day. Jeongin was turning out to be  very expensive habit.

The two boys walked back into their home at about 8:00 that night, their hands filled with goodies for Jeongin, after taking multiple trips to truly gather everything they had bought that day. Minho and Hyunjin laughed, clearly the pair had some kind of inside joke regarding the two men who had just arrived home, but neither of the men in question cared enough to ask. Felix and Woojin helped them move everything into Jeongin’s room, and then the four of them got to work on building Jeongin’s furniture.

By 10:00 pm, Felix was gone, adn by 11:00, Woojin was gone too. Chan and Jeongin had finished making The dresser, nightstand, and were now working on the bed frame, which proved to be a nightmare. None of the pieces seemed to fit, but after 3 hours of work, the finally managed to get Jeongin’s whole room put together.

“Woah, Channie, it’s 2 am… We gotta go to bed.” Jeongin said, unintentionally dropping the honorifics due to his exhaustion, and Chan hardly noticed due to his. He nodded and yawned, rolling his neck from side to side to crack the stiff joints. Jeongin caught his yawn and covered his mouth, blinking lazily afterwords. All of Jeongin’s new clothes were in his dresser, his rugs were laid out on the floor, and his bed was completely made, with his large mattress being covered by a dark blue and white pinstriped sheet set, with a black comforter. The younger of the two plopped down on top of it and groaned.

“Hyung, this is so comfy. It so warm and nice, I’ll sleep like a baby on it compared to the floor.” Jeongin rambled lightly, but his comment made Chan’s tired heart twinge with guilt. He felt bad for making the young boy sleep on cement ground for weeks, without anything to help him. It was pretty harsh, considering it wasn’t a punishment, because Jeongin hadn’t done anything. Chan sat down on the edge of the bed cautiously.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that kid, it was pretty fucking rude of me. I’d never put one of my other guys through that, I think felix had a point a couple nights ago when he said I was too harsh…” Chan rambled off in an apologetic manner, really wanting Jeongin to heed his words, since he truly meant them. Jeongin sat up and nodded in understanding.

“I get it hyung. It’s the past, and besides, buying me all this amazing stuff makes up for it tenfold.” Jeongin spoke groggily, with a cute smile as he reached out and ruffled Chan’s already messy black hair. The older swatted his hand away playfully, much like how Jeongin often did towards the other, since their roles were always reversed in this particular situation. Chan smiled back.

Jeongin and Chan had changed into more comfortable clothes much earlier, wanting to make sure that if they did pass out before they finished, at least they would be comfortable. Jeongin was sporting a pair of black sweats and a loose white tee, while Chan offered a similar style with a tight black tee and gray sweatpants. Jeongin’s clothing choices engulfed his smaller frame, while Chan’s enunciated his stark bodily features.

Jeongin yawned once again and swayed a little where he was sitting. Chan chuckled, much like how he had earlier in the car, making Jeongin’s sleepy eyes sparkle with joy. Chan could see it, which made him even happier. He smiled softly at the boy next to him. Jeongin returned it forgivingly before leaning forward and plopping his forehead on BC’s strong shoulder. The older man stiffened at the sudden action, pausing for a beat before cautiously moving his hands to Jeongin’s back to hold him gently. The smaller boy had shifted closer to Chan and his crossed legs were a bit under Chan’s as his leader held him close. Jeongin smiled at the scene.

Chan eventually pushed the smaller boy lightly to move him, and then had him lay down in his new bed. Jeongin seemed both relieved and confused, until Chan laid down next to him and pulled the comforter close around their shoulders. Jeongin nodded, as if he understood the situation perfectly, and then wiggled closer to Chan before. The taller reached to the nightstand and flicked the lamp off, returning to the smaller boy that was laying very close to him. Their arms weren’t wrapped around each other, though Jeongin wished so in his mind. The younger’s arms were curled next to his head, and the older’s were laid under his head. They laid like that in the dark for a little while, before Jeongin broke the comfortable silence.

“Thank you for finding me Chan. I’d be gone without you.” He said before closing his eyes and letting his aching exhaustion take him over and send him off to sleep. Chan’s breath caught in his throat before regaining his composure nodding slightly and reaching with one hand to carefully play with a stray piece of Jeongin’s black hair. He knew it didn’t matter to a sleeping boy, but he felt like he had to be delicate when physically interacting with him, for some odd reason. He closed his eyes as well and whispered a hushed response back to the young member.

“Anything to keep you safe, Fox.”

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 101 - You really need to control your jealousy, Baby

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she's certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….

MASTERLIST

Chapter 101 - You really need to control your jealousy, baby

[Negan and Blake enjoy a nice hot shower together. But Negan really needs to control his jealousy. Especially considering that HE’S the one inviting people into his room while Blake’s half naked!]

Almost all of the Saviours were still soaked through to the skin even an hour later, as their trucks skimmed easily down the road that lead directly back to the looming Sanctuary.

It was only early afternoon and yet the sky was now a deep grey colour, a storm imminent on the horizon.

But feeling cold and wet and admittedly kind of exhausted after the events this morning at the Hilltop, Blake was sat up front in the cab of the first truck, her head pressed into the crook of Negan's neck.

The dark-haired Saviour upon entering the vehicle had immediately thrown his arm across her shoulders, and like this they had stayed for the duration of the journey. Close together and warm.

There were so many strong feeling bubbling up inside Blake, feelings she had tried to suppress….feelings she had tried to convince herself were not there.

Who had she been kidding when she had told Negan they were to be 'just friends'?

For all this….they were way past that now….

So desperately caught up in one another….with so many unsaid things, still to spill from their lips….

Blake's fingers curled around the chest of Negan's t-shirt, damp and clinging to his skin, as they arrived through the gates, the truck slowing just enough for her to hear the rain hammering down upon the roof of the truck and the asphalt lot around them.

Here they were safe, back at the Sanctuary.

Blake's home.

For there was no denying that this place, as sterile and draughty and it sometimes could be….well, it was her life now, and here she was happier than she had been in a long, long time. And nothing, and no one, on this earth was going to take that away from her.

The truck pulled up just outside the doors to the factory building, with Blake easing herself gently out of Negan's arms.

The dark-haired man gave a stiff groan now, arching his back against the seat, before shoving open the door to his right and hopping out, pulling his barbed-wire covered baseball bat from the foothold with him as he went.

Blake quickly followed, her green eyes gazing up at the dark sky, pulling her sopping wet jacket tightly around her, wincing at the rain as it fell down on every inch of her that had dried, soaking her to the skin once again.

She hated the rain. Rain meant that work on her garden was out of the question…and that thought alone made her bored and cranky.

"Ugh, I'm going inside," she said grimacing and strutting off towards the small doorway that led inside the Sanctuary.

But Negan was hot on her heels, giving a chuckle, and dragging a hand down his bearded chin, before matching her pace on his long legs and throwing his arm, once again, haphazardly, around her shoulders.

"Whoa, my kitten does not like the fuckin' rain, huh?" he growled teasingly, bringing up Lucille onto his opposite shoulder cockily, as he peered down at Blake.

But the a caramel-blonde woman threw him a dark look, rolling her green eyes huffily.

"No I don't…" she said bluntly as they stepped inside. "I'm freezing."

And with the words, she gave a small involuntary shudder, which only caused Negan to grin wider, leaning in towards her.

"Well then, how 'bout I find a way of warming us both up..." he growled in a devilish voice, a hint of hunger lingering there in his twinkling eyes.

But Blake just sighed, tutting at him tiredly, before turning to face him in the small dark corridor.

"Negan," she said, peering up into his long face now. "I'm sorry…I'm just tired for some reason. Everything that happened back there at the Hilltop…."

She shook her head now, dropping her eyes and trailing off.

She did feel exhausted, cold and grumpy….and for the first time, not really in the mood for any of Negan's 'advances'.

But a mere moment later she felt Negan's gloved hand reach her chin, lifting her gaze once more to his.

His face now was sad and full of concern for her, as he parted his lips, staring meaningfully into her eyes.

"Darlin', fuck, you don' need to fuckin' apologise to me, we clear?" he murmured in response, barley taking any notice of the rest of the Saviours who were pouring through the door just over his shoulder. "Hell, I understand that this life ain't a bed of fuckin' roses….so if you have to take a time out….shit, I ain't gonna judge you for it. Like I told you, Peaches, we're a fuckin' team, an' I would give you the entire fuckin' world if I could."

And with that, with their eyes still locked together, Negan leaned forwards pressing a kiss to Blake's lips.

This was softer and far more evocative that their kisses earlier at the desk had been. This was special….their contact meaning more to her than anything, as she pressed herself into him…holding onto this moment for as long as she possibly could.

And it was just a few seconds later that the pair of them finally pulled away, Blake biting down onto her lip and peering up into Negan's grinning bearded face.

"Perhaps no sex…for right now at least…" she said in a gentle voice, running her fingers down his chest, them coming to rest neatly upon his belt buckle. "But you can join me for a nice hot shower if you like?"

She wrinkled her nose now, smirking up at him naughtily, as Negan gave a chuckle of enjoyment.

"Oh now that is an offer I can't fuckin refuse…" he hissed out now, grinning widely before suddenly and without warning grasping at Blake's damp thighs.

And the caramel-blonde woman couldn't help but give a small laughing squeal, as Negan suddenly lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping themselves tightly around his waist and her fingers curling up into his dark hair, holding on tightly, as he carried her past the Saviours piling in from the outside. His chocolate eyes on her and only her now.

Half an hour later, and having used up most of Negan's hot water having the longest most enjoyable shower of her life, Blake was now stood in his bedroom in nothing but a towel, drying her damp hair in front of a mirror.

The shower itself had warmed her bones entirely, making her feel cosy and oh-so content, as Negan had pressed hot kisses to her neck, his calloused hands roaming across every inch of her body.

She could tell that Negan was totally and utterly enamoured with her, that was obvious, but if Blake was being honest, she felt exactly the same…

They fit together perfectly…

Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Made for each other.

Blake barely able to believe that it wasn't that long ago that she had arrived here, locked downstairs in a cell, broken and abused by her former lover. A mere shell of the woman she was now.

But here she was, a queen of this castle.

She smiled at herself gently, as she stared at her own refection, ruffling her damp caramel-hair with a grey towel.

By the time Blake had left the shower, Negan was already nowhere to be found, and she noted Lucille was mysteriously absent with him.

But Blake had been just about to fling off her towel and pad back into the bathroom, when suddenly the doors to Negan's room were thrown open and in stepped, not only the dark-haired Saviour himself, but Danny directly behind him, following at close proximity.

"Oh an' make sure you tell Dwight that you both need to be back ready for that son of a bitch's offerin' tomorrow…" Negan uttered darkly, in a commanding voice Blake rarely heard when she was alone with only him. "I need all the good men I can get."

Blake made a small noise at the disturbance, pulling her towel around her tightly, and staring aghast at the pair.

"Ugh, do you mind?!" she uttered with contempt in her voice.

But Negan, glancing her way, as if noticing her now for the first time, gave a smug grin.

"Jeez, sweetheart," he said starkly. "I assumed you'd be out and fuckin' dressed by now!"

But Blake merely scowled in his direction, just as Danny, manoeuvring his gaze swiftly to the floor, pressed his lips together in gentleman-like manner.

"Sorry," he said in quiet voice, his gaze averted now. "I can wait outside-"

But Blake pursing her lips, merely shook her head at the black man's apologetic tone.

"No, don't worry, Danny," she replied soothingly. "It's not your fault."

But at Blake's words, Negan gave a scoffing frown, easing himself back onto his heels and pointing to her incredulously with the sharp end of Lucille.

"You seriously blamin' me for this, Darlin'?!" he said in a loud obnoxious voice. "I ain't the one waltzin' around the Sanctuary in nothin' but a goddamn towel. An' it ain't my fault that you like to spend forever in that shower of mine now is it?"

But Blake gave a roll of her eyes glaring at Negan angrily, as she aced suddenly over towards the awaiting Danny, who looked mighty keen to be anywhere but here right now, caught up in the couple's domestic.

"For the record," Blake snapped, pointing a finger back at the dark-haired Saviour. "First of all, I am not waltzing around the place. This is your room, jackass…I just thought I could get a bit of privacy for once. And second of all, some of us haven't been hogging all the hot water for the last couple of years and are appreciative when we actually get some…"

Negan's eyes followed her now, until she reached Danny, grasping hold of his arm gently and leading him back over towards the door.

"..and besides…" she purred continuing. "...my hair takes ages to wash."

But Negan gazed at her darkly now, his nose wrinkling, as he took in the contact between Blake and the youngish lieutenant.

"Well if its hair you're talkin' about," he growled in return, his chin dipped low now. "...then you know full fuckin' well I am very much a fuckin' man's-man, Peaches. An' I don't have a fuckin' problem. That shit don' need to be blow dried, y'know?"

But Blake once again rolled her eyes, ignoring his comment and instead leaning into Danny.

"Would you give us a minute, Danny?" she asked in a warm voice, as the man nodded and exited the room hastily, pulling the door shut behind him with a loud carrying snap.

It was then and only then, that Blake turned back to Negan, her arms folded across her chest in utter irritation.

"I hate you sometimes," she snarled, narrowing her green eyes in his direction.

But Negan remained with his own eyes fixed on hers….quickly closing the gap between them now, that same possessive look still fixed onto his long tanned and bearded face.

"You and Danny are kinda close, huh?" Negan uttered in a low voice.

But Blake almost immediately rolled her eyes knowing where this was going.

"I barely even know him, Negan," she tutted truthfully, as the dark-haired Saviour came to stop just a mere breath away from her now.

He clenched his jaw tightly, sucking on his straight white teeth a little.

"Well it seems as though you and him are kinda fuckin' friendly, Peaches," he said in a black voice. "There somethin' I should be worried about?"

But Blake merely sighed heavily, shaking her head now and shoving past him, bumping her shoulder hard with his as she did so.

"You need to learn to control your jealousy, baby," she uttered knowingly, padding over on bare feet to Negan's closet, opening the doors and peering inside.

But behind her, much to her utter delight, she heard Negan give a growl of annoyance at her airiness, turning on his heel and strolling on over to her. His boots chinking as he went.

"Well then maybe I'm gonna have to lock you back in that cell…keep you all to my fuckin' self, Darlin," the dark-haired man suddenly whispered in a husky voice into Blake 's ear, which sent shivers down her spine for more reason that one.

She swivelled around now, her eyes flashing darkly, as she jabbed him in the chest with her finger.

"You put me back in that cell, Negan, I swear-" she threatened warningly.

But a wide grin swam across the Saviours bearded face now, as he bounced on his heels excitedly , giving a whining chuckle of approval.

"My oh my, this pussy-cat's got fuckin' claws!" he said running his tongue over his lips as he eyed her, tossing down Lucille onto a chair, as his free hand slid it's way over the hem of her towel, finding bare skin beneath.

But Blake growled, knowing what he was trying to do.

And to his utter surprise, she merely pressed hand to his leather-clad chest, holding the dark-haired leader of the Saviours at arm's length.

"Ah ah ah," she said in a reprimanding tone, raising both her eyebrows in his direction. "Threatening me means that you're gonna have to keep your hands to yourself."

At this Negan pressed his tongue to his teeth, looking a little peeved.

"Oh yeah? For how fuckin' long we talking here?" he growled questioningly, as Blake gave an easy shrug of her shoulders, changing her mind about borrowing any of Negan's clothes to make the long walk back to her room on the second floor and instead heading over towards the door.

The caramel-blonde woman, now, tugged open the door, before glancing over her shoulder one last time and giving Negan a wicked smirk of her pink lips.

"Hmmm, I'm not quite sure yet," she said in a devilish voice. "But don't worry, I'll decide on the way back to my room…"

And offering the dark-haired Saviour one last lingering look, Blake headed out of the door, uttering seven simple words, that she knew full-well would make Negan chocolate eyes darken furiously.

"…but don't worry…..Danny can walk me."

And with that, naughty Blake, in just her towel and a dazzling smile was gone, in a blink…

…leaving only a seething Negan standing there alone in the room behind her….

….without either Blake OR his loyal lieutenant now…

…his eyes, as predicted, darkening furiously after his bad, bad girl.

Would you like to be tagged/untagged? Let me know, more coming soon…

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[vankoya]

Something in the Water.

Genre | Camping / Friends to Lovers AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 25,836 words.

Conspectus | Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward, mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ___’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake. 

But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.

Warnings | Loads of swearing young adults. Terrible jokes that made my eyes bleed and would one hundred and ten percent make Kim Seokjin proud. A lot of banter. Relatively slow build to tent sex. No, not literally having sex with a tent, just inside– I’ll stop.

Judging by the angle of the sunlight filtering through your blinds, remaining to hover only just above the horizon, it is clear that it is currently a time that you should still, most definitely, be completely dead asleep. Whoever is pounding their fist against your front door seriously needs to piss right off. Otherwise, your early-morning murderous tendencies will begin to take form in 1. your barely suppressed rage, and 2. the baseball bat hidden underneath your bed.

For an infinitesimal moment—amidst you weighing up the possibility of being granted parole if you were to enact second-degree murder on your front doorstep—the knocking stops. But before you can truly appreciate the pleasant buzz in your ears from the sharp, repetitive sound fading into a comfortable silence, the screeching tune of your ringtone flares to life on your bedside table.

“Mother–“ You slam your hand down on the device, blearily looking at the screen to swipe your finger across the ‘answer’ button before continuing to scream into the speaker– “Fucker! Leave me in peace!”

“Never. I have coffee. Answer the door, hoe–”

Mercilessly hanging up, you roll onto your back with your eyes closed. A low, guttural groan emits from your chest due to the voice of your best friend, Kim Taehyung, attempting to bribe you into coherency with your sole point of weakness. And he fucking knows it.

It is an agonisingly difficult decision to make. You could leave the plush comfort of your toasty bed, snatch the coffee out of his hands, and then slam the door back in his face. Or, you could simply abandon the delight of having a coffee until later when you can make one with your own devices. This way, you can snuggle ever deeper into your pillows, and let sleep lift the dreaded weight of being alive from your conscious for a few more hours.

But the further you dwell on the issue at hand, the rising con of the entire dilemma continues to raise its ugly head. That is, Taehyung is not a man who easily gives up. He refuses to take rejection as the immediate answer, most especially when it comes down to you. So, even if you were to put either plan that ultimately results in avoiding him as much as possible into action, he would burn up his phone battery with persistent calls to your cellphone. Even if you turned the device off, he would resort to beating that door down until his fists are no more than bloody stumps at the ends of his wrists.

Thus, the undesirable fact of the matter is that, either way, you are going to have to face Taehyung. And you really do not think you are currently sane enough to do so because, really, is anyone sane if they can be a fully functioning human being before eight in the morning? You rest your case.

As if on cue, the knocking starts again in an increasing staccato. You faintly consider taking the baseball bat with you. Although cracking his skull open may not solve all of your problems, it will at least get rid of three.

You swipe your phone from the bedside table and disconnect the second call trying to ring through. After swinging your legs off the edge of the bed with a disgruntled sigh, you navigate your way through the house with your eyes mostly shut. Your shoulders bounce and thump against the walls while you lethargically progress towards the source of the continuous sound, pounding away like nails being hammered into your temples.

You barely notice in your half-asleep state that, the nearer you approach, the more apparent the sound of boyish voices on the other side of the barrier—separating you from your source of hot, liquefied energy—comes to be. So when you abruptly unlock the front door and swing it open, you are channelling too much focus into ducking out of the way of Taehyung’s knocking fist—which nearly punches you straight in the face—to immediately realise that it is not just him who is trespassing on your front yard.

Expect the unexpected, is always the motto that labels your group of friends. Evidently, today is no exception.

Crookedly parked on the curb that marks the end of your parent’s property is Kim Seokjin’s dual-cab Hilux. The tray is piled high with what seems to be camping supplies in an array of canvas and polyester materials, all strapped down by knotted ropes. The owner of the vehicle himself stands with his hands on his hips. His expression is affronted as he debates about something unintelligible with Kim Namjoon, who is seemingly inspecting a tyre. You make out the words wheel alignment before you focus your gaze onto your one, true tormentor.

Taehyung, without a single takeaway coffee cup in sight, stands on your doorstep with his empty hands hanging limply at his sides. You suspiciously narrow your eyes, and guilt leeches into his tone as he says, “I don’t have coffee, but we’ll be getting some on the way.”

“Rude,” you pitifully kick at him, and he swiftly dodges your foot with practised ease. “What time is it? And on the way to where?”

“Probably just coming up to seven in the AM,” Taehyung chirps, as if it is such a humane time of the day to be this energetic. You can already feel your body sagging with sheer dread at the ungodly hour of the morning, wishing to collapse into the soft cotton of your sheets as your eyes slip closed once more. “But on the note of where, we’re going to the lake that’s three hours up north to get slizzard like lizards. So hey, come camping with us!”

“What the hell,” you grunt, resting your forehead on the doorjamb. You crack one eye open, squinting blearily against the morning sunlight. You can barely comprehend anything that your best friend—who you are slowly beginning to realise has no concept of forewarning people who prefer to sleep-in about such elaborate events—is saying. Your gaze narrows onto a certain someone who is now flailing in the distance over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Is Seokjin wearing pink crocs?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hmph.”

“So are you in, or are you in?”

You glare at him. “It sounds like you’re not giving me much of a choice on the matter.”

“I’m not,” he grins like a million-dollar lottery winner. “All you have to bring is a pillow and a bag of clothes. We can share my tent and the double-mattress.”

“And exactly how long have you known about this camping trip?”

“Since last night. Jeongguk suggested we invite you, but that was at like, eleven-thirty, so I knew you would already be asleep. I messaged you, though.”

The latter end of his sentence goes unheard. Your hearing zeroes in on that particular name with a riveting jolt of electricity up your spine. Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon I-want-you-to-fuck-me-ten-ways-to-Sunday-and-back Jeongguk. Suggested we invite you.

You sound a lot more breathless than you should. “You… you what?”

“Texted you,” Taehyung huffs. You bring your phone to chest-level and light up the screen to see that, indeed, Taehyung had sent you two messages just before eleven-thirty last night.

Received [23:28PM]: tHe PaL oF aLl PaLs

get your vodka face on hoe, we goin’ camping

expect chauffeur at ass crack o’ dawn

“Huh,” you murmur, scowling at the message. You then direct your glare at Taehyung, who seems to legitimately believe that the texts were the perfect forewarning of his arrival at such a sacrilege hour of sleep. “Well I’ll damn be–”

“___!”

Quite literally out of nowhere, Jeon Jeongguk himself leaps onto the patio beside Taehyung, nearly knocking him over in the process like a bowling pin, and successfully startling a screech out of you.

He is the twenty-one-year-old college sophomore who Park Jimin, another addition to your small family of friends, has shared dance classes with since the beginning of last year. Jeongguk was still a freshman then. But he was eventually dragged out to meet the rest of you at-the-time sophomores and seniors for a night down at the college tavern. A place that was highly frequented by the suffering second and third year students.

In your defence, you were beyond the point of a little tipsy by that time of the evening. Thus, your exceptionally loud proclamation of: “Oh my god, he looks like a tiny, baby bunny!” as the first words that the poor kid heard from anyone was mostly excused to your severe lack of sobriety. It was also quick to be smothered by Taehyung, who had covered your mouth and put you in a five-minute headlock. On the other hand, everyone around the table had sputtered into drunken laughter and very vocal agreement.

Albeit he was slightly flustered by your ebullient announcement—and the even more boisterous response that it received—Jeongguk took the remark as a compliment. Rather than, you know, a warning sign that he should pack up his things and run for the hills while he can. Yet, from there onwards, he secured himself a position in your tight social circle as the family favourite; the precious kid that you would all pride over and adore.

Indeed, young, freshman Jeongguk was a darling combination of baby fat cheeks, spindly limbs like a sapling, and large, bunny teeth that would often rest on the jut of his lower lip when he was deeply concentrating. The kind of cute that you want to tuck into your pocket and protect with every inch of your own life, which all seven of you did without question. Besides, it was no hidden secret that Jeongguk lived for the attention. He was always leaning into palms when they would ruffle his hair; nuzzling into fingers when they would cup his cheeks and coo over him; pressing against arms and shoulders on Hoseok and Jimin’s small, ratty couch during Friday movie nights to sap all the body warmth that he could get.

As the year progressed and the friendship ties with the newest addition were sewn all the tighter, you never took much notice of the fact that Jeongguk would brush away the hands of the other guys, and declare his preferences for the only person who was sans a third leg. AKA, you. And to nobody else but you, the sparkle in his eye when you would douse him in your affections was nothing more than that: his eyes catching the sunlight. Frankly, you had no intentions of believing it was anything beyond the midday illumination that was flickering in his iris. Even if Taehyung would be waggling his eyebrows in the distance, and Jimin would be nudging your side with his elbow, making irritable sounds of assumption that would only cease once you grabbed his arm and bent it behind his back.

But it was not until after the winter break that the greatest threat to your existence came to rear its head in a process that you honestly should have foreseen. Jeongguk’s very own kind—the precious fledglings still teetering on the edge of their teenage youth in the two years that surpass its defining bracket—have always been the number one casualty to such lethal evolution, after all.

College puberty.

It is exactly as it sounds. Where general puberty draws the path between childhood and becoming a teenager with the sprouting of hairs in places that no kid could have ever imagined, and the muscle pains that pull infant limbs into jumbles of gangly and awkward; college puberty is precisely the same. Except jacked up on steroids and protein powder, with a side-serving of flirtatious and audacious.

Victim number one, Jeon Jeongguk, slipped into this precise trap while you were studying abroad up until the end of those holidays.

Coming home, you were expecting everything to be the same as when you had left. For the most part, everything was. Your parents were still working abroad nearly every week. Seokjin was still studying like a madman with the fierce intent of making the most of his college tuition. Yoongi remained to have square eyes from staring at the producing software on his desktop for eight hours straight per session. Namjoon had not stopped writing strange Facebook posts about existentialism and the flawed concept of reality hours after midnight. Hoseok had burned himself through two pairs of sneakers, and had practically wore away the lacquer that oiled the floorboards of his dance academy’s practice room. Jimin was still partying like tomorrow would never exist, and was sticking his dick inside of anyone, anything that would give him the consent to do so. Taehyung, of course, had remained to be a pain in the ass that you loathed to adore.

Taehyung had also texted you a slew of emojis the minute your plane landed on the soil of home, jumbled amongst random words such as “muscles” and “bunny”. Hinting at your foredooming. In all of your stupidity, you had not considered in the slightest that maybe the guy was onto something.

Nonetheless, from what you could see, nothing at all had changed during the two months of your absence. In other words, you were completely oblivious and utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart and underwear had been bound to endure. A fateful occurrence that had come to fruition on the first night that you had met up with the gang at the college tavern.

The moment you had entered the bar on that fresh, chilly night was when you had noticed the anomaly on the otherwise picture perfect graph of unchanged constants. That teeny, infinitesimal dot of difference was leaning against the service register, waiting for the next round of drinks to be served up so he could take them to the usual table where the rest of your friends were already tipsy.

At first, standing frozen in the entrance of the tavern with the door slowly swinging shut behind you, you could not believe that it was him. You had even briefly considered that he was a close relative or a freakishly similar doppelgänger, who just so happened to attend the same college as the rest of you.

Because Jeon Jeongguk did not have shoulders that broad the last time you saw him. His jeans were never that snug around his newly sculpted ass. Nor did they hug his larger, solid thighs in such a way that not even a finger looked as though it could fit itself between the denim and his skin.

But all of the doubt that was sprouting from your certain identity misplacement had been washed away by a tidal wave of shock when the Jeongguk-lookalike who, in fact, was your very own Jeongguk, turned away from the bar.

A tray of eight pints had been loaded onto his exposed, veiny forearms that bulged from the rolled-up sleeves of his navy, button-down shirt. In the midst of that ninety-degree swivel, his eyes had vaguely passed over your wholly still figure before doing a double-take. Beer foam had slushed over the edges of the glasses in the abrupt whiplash when he noticed that it was you who had been stunned into a silent gawker.

Jeongguk had opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the action like a startled fish. All the while, you had stared at his face with an expression of growing disbelief as you had taken in the lack of baby fat cheeks; the newly sharpened edge of his jaw; the mature set to his eyebrows that were on complete, unadulterated display with the way that his dark fringe had been styled away from his forehead. It was a sight that was utterly unacceptable, and so totally not the adorable Jeon Jeongguk that you had farewelled at the beginning of winter.

But apparently, while you were gone, Jeongguk had discovered the campus accommodation’s gym and the 4oz jar of Suavecito Pomade that Namjoon uses liberally on his own hair. An unpredictably toxic combination that had kept you rooted in position while Jeongguk had hastily placed the tray back down on the bar to free his hands.

“___!” he had exclaimed in a tone that was three notches deeper, blasting you with his traditional bunny grin that was suddenly not as endearing as it used to be. Rather, it was a fierce, heart-melting juxtaposition to the entirety of his primed form and projected overwhelming desire into your very soul.

Jeongguk had then strode over and lifted you with startling ease into his arms, murmuring a gentle I missed you into your hair. His touch was a defibrillator reviving your unresponsive heart back to life. Melting into his chest, you had finally caved with a grin of your own and wrapped your arms around his neck.

It was there that a distant part of you had wholeheartedly accepted that you were a fucking goner. Jeongguk officially had his foot stuck in a trap that was designed to drag you down into your own personal hell of tantalising imagination and drool-worthy daydreaming.

That is, Jeongguk, physically, had transformed into a panty-dropping man. Yet he still honed the heart of gold that knew just the right ways to tempt your own.

Fast forward seven months: Jeongguk is now on your doorstep in low-riding grey sweatpants and a black Puma hoodie that matches his same-branded sneakers. He rakes a hand through his distressed bed-hair, wearing a grin soft with sleep. Taehyung is still recovering from the bump that nearly barrelled him off the patio and into your mother’s beloved petunias, theatrically balancing himself against the wall.

What the fuck. He looks unfairly handsome in sweatpants.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe, smiling; trying to not make it obvious that you feel like the walking dead. “So I hear you’re the reason behind this rude wake-up call.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, oozing confidence, even at this absurd hour.

You wonder—certainly not for the first time—whether it is just a switch that never flicks off when you are packing an extra fifteen kilos in muscle weight. The comfortable wear of polyester does nothing to hide it, either. It only makes the harsh angles gentler, warmer, as if you might sink right into his chest like maple syrup if he was to wrap his arms around you. Something sweet fizzes in your stomach at the thought.

You only realise Jeongguk had continued to speak once he lowers his head so that your eyes are levelled. He leans in with a quirk of his brow and a cheeky remark of, “You in there, ___?”

You blink, focusing back on him. Jeongguk’s newfound proximity allows a waft of oaky cologne to drift into your senses, sending you into a mild state of delirium. In a meagre attempt to dispel the heat that trickles into the high points of your cheeks, you pinch the bridge of your nose and squint your eyes closed in faux irritation.

"Yes, you ass," you mutter, and Jeongguk’s chuckle recedes as he straightens up. You open your eyes to teasingly glare at him, all the while he wedges his balled up fists into the pouch of his hoodie with a grin.

You fix your gaze on Taehyung, who is brushing off his torso and observing the interaction with a peculiar glint to his iris, which you choose to ignore. "So, what's the plan?"

At that, both of their expressions light up, voices stumbling over one another as they simultaneously say, "You're going to come?"

"Did you really think I was going to say no after you guys dragged me out of bed like this before seven? On a Saturday?” you huff with a twinge of exasperation. They at least have the common sense to look a little sheepish amongst their excitement.

"That's the spirit!" Taehyung hoots, bustling through the doorway and gathering you in a hug that quite literally squeezes a groan out of you. You barely have the chance to reciprocate before he is pulling away and setting his large palms on your shoulders, lips curved in a grin that screams mischief. You one-hundred-and-ten percent have no desire to delve into the reason why. "And chill, man. I promise you can sleep during the drive. Turn that frown upside down and get your things.”

Taehyung looks over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who watches the two of you with his tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek. But it morphs into something tender when Taehyung continues to say, "Jeonggukie, help her out."

"What– No, that's fine!" you fluster, a burning sensation climbing up your throat as you recall the catastrophic state of your bedroom. You grab at Taehyung's wrists to pry his hands from your shoulders, eyes wildly darting between them in a mild panic. "Bag of clothes and a pillow, right? I'll be out in five minutes."

Taehyung gives a sound of acknowledgement before walking back over to Seokjin and Namjoon, whereas Jeongguk remains to hover at the entrance. He looks faintly disappointed, though perhaps you are not nearly as awake as you initially thought, and you mistake the drop in his expression. To ease the atmosphere, you stick your tongue out at him. Then, you turn on your heel to go make the most of those five minutes of peace. Lord knows that Taehyung is already counting down the seconds.

But you are stopped in your tracks by the sound of Jeongguk's voice chasing sweetly after you, tinted with a shade of innocent goading.

"Cute pyjamas, ___," and you can hear the damn grin in his tone, which brings your attention to the apparent lack of that hangs from your figure.

You wear nothing but a tattered shirt, stamped with the faded logo of your university. You received as a freebie during orientation week two years ago; an old, stained thing that is two sizes too big and terribly revealing of your legs. Most of all, it is beyond far from the definition of cute.

Feeling the embarrassment begin to spread to your fingers and toes, you whirl around to bite back with a cutting remark, or perhaps, throw your phone at him. But Jeongguk is already gone like the sneaky motherfucker he is. Thus, you resort to internally screeching at your lack of decorum before storming away to collect your things and change into something substantially more adequate.

By the time you are locking up the house, the sun has climbed a few inches higher, and you are feeling vaguely more human. Your softest pillow is hiked under your arm; a duffel bag is looped over your shoulder by the strap. The daggy, makeshift pyjama-wear has been replaced with a white summer dress, partially covered by a cropped, coffee-cream knit sweater. Jeongguk and Namjoon are already in the car, with Namjoon riding shotgun and Jeongguk seated directly behind him. Seokjin is nowhere to be seen, and Taehyung is leaning against the ute’s tray, irritably tapping his foot like you are a student who is late to class.

"That felt more like seven minutes to me," he brusquely comments, and you ceremoniously flip him off.

“I was saving you guys from my morning breath,” you retort, making a show of running your tongue over your minty, pearly whites. You bat your best friend out of the way with your pillow. “Move aside, slick. What’s the rush, anyway?”

“He’s having separation anxiety from Jimin, who’s carpooling with Hobi and Yoongi,” Seokjin says, popping out from behind the mountain of camping gear. He circles the vehicle in his vibrant pink crocs to stand right before you, regarding your belongings. “Hm, you’ll have to keep those at your feet. They would fit in the tray if somebody hadn’t brought–” His voice rises, leaning back to narrow his stare at the window of the passenger seat– “A goddamn chainsaw!”

Distinctly, you can hear the squeaks of the shoddy window attempting to be briskly wound down. Your eyes remain glued to the haphazard collection of tents and mattresses. “I don’t understand how a chainsaw fits into this equation?“

“Firewood, you sons of bitches,” Namjoon spits scornfully. His head is tilted at a ninety-degree angle to fit through the small gap, made by his feeble attempt of winding the glass down. “I’m saving us the time and energy of scavenging for shitty branches that can barely catch flame. So bow down to me and my genius thinking, peasants. I’m King of the Forest. The Messiah of the Lake. Lord of the–“ Thankfully, Jeongguk cuts Namjoon off with a firm kick to the back of his seat, causing Namjoon to yelp and yank his head back into the car to try and twist the nipples of the youngest.

Taehyung, Seokjin and yourself all spare glances at one another before collectively rolling your eyes. The three of you wordlessly move around the Hilux to jump inside and get the show on the road. Seokjin puts the gears in neutral and starts the engine to warm it up as Taehyung opens the backdoor. Inside, Jeongguk is all bunched up and cosy in his corner of the vehicle, taking in your change of attire with drooping eyelashes and a sweet smile. Your best friend ushers your now flustered self forward with a dramatic sweep of his arm, but you shake your head.

“You take the middle seat, it’s roomy enough,” you say, lifting up your pillow and swallowing the feeling of your heartbeat. “I want to lean this on the window and get the shuteye you promised me.”

“Fair call,” he says, pursing his lips. He almost appears reluctant, but you choose not to question it.

Taehyung climbs in beside an obscurely disgruntled Jeongguk with you following on his heels. You firmly shut the door behind you and place the bag at your feet, leaning forward while you do so to look past Taehyung and scrunch your nose up at the youngest. At that, Jeongguk’s taut expression melts into an endearing little grin that has your heart bounding against your ribcage.

“Alright kids, ready to go?” Seokjin vigorously whoops as he steadily drives the ute off the curb, which is reciprocated by varying levels of excitement from the rest of you. Taehyung throws his arms up and cheers; Jeongguk gives a noncommittal fist pump; Namjoon merrily dances until he painfully cracks his elbow against the centre console; you fluff your pillow up against the window and then bury your face into it.

“Nams, get on the beats, my dude,” you hear Taehyung say. A familiar hand jostles your knee. “___, will you be able to sleep with music playing?”

You peak out of the downy plush with one eye cracked open. “At this stage, I could sleep through the apocalypse. Go for your lives.”

“Sweet!” Taehyung squeezes your leg before releasing it, and you return to your corner of facial comfort. “There’s nothing like the early-2000 hits of a So Fresh CD before eight in the morning.”

His statement is met by two groans of distaste and a sole vociferation of agreement, which distinctly sounds like Namjoon. The pair of them shuffle through a small stack of CD’s, deciding on which So Fresh year to kick off the three-hour trip with. The Hilux picks up a monotonous reverberation that vibrates through your muscles, tingling your bones and making them feel slack and heavy.

Despite the dreadful time of day, you cannot deny the excitement that flickers inside of you at the thought of going on an adventure with your best friends for the first time in years. Camping had been a regular occurrence once Seokjin and Yoongi earned their licenses. The seven of you would always head to the lake that Taehyung’s parents and your own would holiday at when you were both kids.

Now, it is a rarity to indulge in. It is hardly common for all seven of you to have matching schedules of free-time outside of university and your respective part-time jobs. The last time you went as a group, all but Yoongi and Seokjin were seventeen, the two of them being eighteen years old, which was at least five years ago. None of you even knew of Jeongguk back then.

That thought settles tight in your stomach; a knot of exhilarating uncertainty, tightening with the knowledge that he was the one who said to bring you along. There is no doubt that, over the past seven months, a small bud of something has planted itself within your chest. A something that carefully and unsurely blooms with every new interaction that you have with Jeongguk. Whether it be catching him staring at you from across the room, spending your free-time on a Wednesday studying together at the library, or the frequent manner in which his fingertips brush your sides, shoulders, lower back, in the most tender of ways. So gentle that, sometimes, you hardly even notice it.

Sure, the both of you have been friends for nearly two years, at this stage. But the level of tentative intimacy and hazy tension has steadily grown since Jeongguk’s transformation. The basis of your every interaction has become centred on stolen glances, private smiles, and flirtatious comments that have you biting your lip, cheeks glowing with heat.

Jeongguk hardly hones a shred of the adorable, young aura of his freshman year anymore. Maybe that is why you could only ever see him as the little brother of the group back then, no matter that he was twenty-years-old and knuckling down on his first semester for Screen Production.

Now, he catches attention like a Venus flytrap. It took a while for the group to get used to it. Though it quickly became commonplace that, wherever the lot of you would go, Jeongguk was bound to be pulled up by anyone and everyone who would try to weasel the ten-digits of his phone number out of him.

And much like the carnivorous plant, Jeongguk lures in the unsuspecting prey with his unbearably appealing looks and charming personality. He practically has the poor victims drooling all over him like lapdogs, desperate for attention. Yet at the very moment they believe they have him, perhaps gingerly placing a hand on an area of his body that hints with lustful suggestion, the pin drops and Jeongguk snaps shut. The warm smile freezes over into a icy facade. Whatever sentence he was speaking is curtly severed at the centre. He quickly downs the rest of his drink, and abruptly brushes past the suddenly perplexed prey, who watches on with wide, stupefied eyes as Jeongguk strides away without a single glance back at them.

It tends to be convenient for you, as this kind of incident usually occurs right around the time you are stuck in a sticky situation with an overly drunk guy who cannot take a goddamn hint. Jeongguk always magically sweeps in to save you with an arm around your shoulders and a hard glare directed at the drunkard.

“Why do you do that?” you had asked one night, arm looped through his own as you had walked down the empty streets together. You were staring up at the murky night sky; vodka still tasted toxic on the roof of your mouth.

Jeongguk had hummed, feeling warm against your side. “Do what?”

“Abandon a solid opportunity to… y’know,” you had given a vague jerking off gesture with your free hand, slanting your gaze to him with a raise of your brows, “relieve some stress? You always get up and leave them, right when they’re just about ready to take you home. You butter them up for it too, like a real dick cheese.”

He had looked down at you then, remained silent for a while, contemplation dancing around in his eyes like the stars pinwheeling above. You had been on the cusp of certainly intoxicated, a pleasant heat soaking your limbs, vision attaining a fuzzy vignette at the edges. You had sworn there was a secret hiding between his damp, rosy lips. But it may have merely been the shadows playing tricks, for the boy had stared right back at you and bit down on his truths.

“I start realising they’re not worth my time.”

“Truly, a dick cheese,” you had scoffed, and Jeongguk had done nothing but laugh in response until his lungs could no longer manage.

So, whether the feelings are requited is another question entirely. Maybe, you are waiting for him to snap shut on you too; to realise his time best be wasted elsewhere, crushing the bloom of something that is beginning to spread dangerously close to your heart. Maybe, that is a thought for you to push aside and deal with when you are alone and can sort out your feelings. You refuse to be woken up this early just to have your good mood dampened before the trip has truly begun.

Ten minutes into the drive, and the four boys are singing along to the lyrics of Because I Got High by Afroman. With your temple bouncing against the pillow, and a smile tilting the corners of your lips at their theatrics, you slip back into the slumber that you deserve.

When your eyes pry open, a film of softening lethargy blurs your vision, and you feel toasty.

The sound of Island In The Sun by Weezer and the loud thrum of an engine steadily grows in your hearing. The bliss of unconsciousness slips away, leaving your memory muddled for the first ten seconds of returning to reality. Then, you remember your friends at your doorstep at the break of dawn; the spontaneous kumbaya camping trip; a promise genuinely fulfilled for you to gain the few hours of sleep that you had lost as a result.

Slowly, you blink away the bleariness and listlessly bury a knuckle into your left eye socket, effectively speeding up the process. Once you are almost able to see clearly, you gradually realise it is not a pillow that you are cosily tucked against. Rather, it is Taehyung with his arm curled loosely around your shoulders.

Placidly, you breathe in. The mouthwatering, roasted scent of steaming hot coffee fills your senses, leaving you absolutely salivating for a taste of the liquefied heaven.

“Tae,” you croon groggily, languidly moving your head from where it is pressed to the side of his chest. You rest your chin on his shoulder and lick your dry lips with anticipation. “Give me the…“

Your sentence trails off, caught somewhere within the second of comprehension where your gaze focuses on the face of your best friend, looking down at you attentively.

Except it is not Taehyung.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” trickles honey sweet into your ears. An icy, horrified chill rushes over your body, like you have been dumped butt-naked into the Arctic Ocean.

“Oh,” is all you can say, staring wide-eyed at Jeongguk for a passing breath. You unintentionally bask in the proximity before you lurch back from him with a strangled squeal. Taehyung makes a sound of protest when Jeongguk, startled, rips his arm away from you and crashes against the person who was supposed to be sitting in the middle. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry Jeongguk, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you–”

“It’s fine, I was cool with it,” Jeongguk shrugs, wearing a darling smile that renders you a little too breathless for your liking. Then, he lifts his hand towards you. His long fingers hold a takeaway cup of the sole thing you have been dying for since you were so rudely awoken.

“‘Give me the coffee’ was it?” he continues from where you had initially left off. The corners of his mouth climb higher as you greedily grab at the cooling caffeine, taking a sip from the plastic lid without an inch of hesitation. You barely manage to withhold a moan of delight as the strongly roasted flavour graces your tastebuds.

“Lifesaver,” you pleasantly hum as a way of thanks. Drinking another mouthful of coffee, you readjust yourself to lean against the window, facing Jeongguk, who plucks his own coffee from the cardboard tray positioned on the centre console.

Jeongguk continues to watch you with such intrigue that you nearly wish to ask him if there is something on your face. Your knee remains to rest against his own; hard to avoid when his thighs are just that big. The middle seat is not exactly fitting for someone as broad and bulky as him. Well, not that you are complaining. He slightly sways his leg side-to-side in a fidget, knocking softly against your own and sending fizzles of electricity through your nerves with each bump.

You clear your throat of the built-up grogginess, asking, “When did you guys stop?”

“About fifteen minutes ago at the usual gas station we go to, the one that’s half an hour out from the lake,” Seokjin says, nursing his own cup of coffee. In the review mirror, his eyes cut towards Taehyung, who is bunched up against the opposite window to you and singing along to the music. “But that wasn’t the first stop. Oh no, we stopped three times before that so Taehyung could take a leak on the side of the road. Lord knows where all that piss is even coming from when he hasn’t had any liquids since last night. He’s on a piss ban, now. No more stops.”

“I’m right here, asshole,” Taehyung barks loudly over the music, face screwed up with distaste as he folds his arms like a stubborn infant. You smirk around your coffee cup, amusement hardly contained. “What if I need to go again?”

“No more stops,” Seokjin firmly states, expression stoic. Taehyung huffs indignantly. “We’re like, twenty minutes away from the lake, now. You can hold it; piss out the window; I don’t give a shit. We’re not stopping again.”

“Want the rest of my coffee?” Jeongguk impassively asks, nudging Taehyung with his elbow and presenting a taunting grin, proffering him his own takeaway drink.

Your disbelieving laughter for having the nerve to mess with Seokjin is quickly steeped into a shriek—-paired with three others of varying pitch—as the aforementioned rapidly swerves the Hilux into the opposite lane. Your bodies are flung from right to left as you scream, desperately clutching to your coffees and each other. Almost immediately, Seokjin swerves back into the correct lane with an expression fit for murder. All the while, Rivers Cuomo tranquilly sings on an island in the sun, we’ll be playin’ and havin’ fun in a fine juxtaposition to the situation.

The car is stunned into silence as it straightens up. Seokjin continues on driving as though nothing ever happened—like he did not nearly guide you all to your deaths in a fit of rage.

After a forbearing pause, with vigilant movements like he is trying not to wake a sleeping dragon, Namjoon effectively cuts off the next song by ejecting the CD. He checks the backs of the other covers until he seemingly comes across a track-list he likes. Popping the So Fresh: The Hits of Summer 2007 disc from its casing, he then inserts it into the player before silently skipping through all the songs. Once he reaches the thirteenth track, he turns the volume up.

He stares right at Seokjin, whose eyes remain fixed on the road with a determination to not appease him, as the steady tempo of Ne-Yo’s When You’re Mad starts to fill the car. When the first lyric hits, Namjoon throws himself into an over-exaggerated, dramatic lip sync; wild hand gestures, pained facial expressions and all.

You swear you hear Seokjin say, I’m going to kill every last one of you. But it is hard to tell amongst the hysterical laughter that resounds through the backseat in a grand cacophony. Namjoon does not let up, and neither does the laughter exploding like fireworks in your belly—not until Seokjin finally cracks a smile at his best friend when he passionately mouths, baby I don’t know why it’s like that, but you’re so damn sexy when you’re mad.

You lift your hand to wipe at the falling tears of hilarity, only to notice an unfamiliar weight against your palm. Pressed warm and comfortable between your knuckles. When you suspiciously glance down, it is to see a hand holding your own.

Jeongguk’s hand, specifically.

It happens in two stages. First stage: you stare dumbly at your entwined hands. Clockwork ticks and clicks in your brain as it processes the image that your vision observes; wondering how, let alone when on earth these two metacarpi came to be joined.

Although his hand is much bigger in comparison, your own manages to fit snugly within its grasp. Your palms are pressed cosily against one another in such natural placement that you would suspect holding hands was nothing new; a habit developed during gradual, intimate time. Jeongguk’s fingers—long and calloused with bitten nails—rest gingerly on the back of your hand. His thumb, crossed over your own, idly glides up and down the length of it in a tender gesture that has the tips of your ears warming. The heightened thrum of your pulse suddenly becomes cognisant at the under of your jaw; audible in your hearing as your eyes follow his thumb back and forth, back and forth.

Second stage: you panic.

Rather than an external, fling-his-hand-away-like-it’s-fire panic, it is more an internal screech of dreadful embarrassment. It fills your chest like beach sand; hot and heavy. It is not that you do not want to hold his hand. It is a nice hand. A very warm appendage that connects to his blue-veined wrist; to his scarred elbow; to his sturdy bicep; to the rest of the fantastic being that is Jeon Jeongguk.

But that is precisely the problem. This is Jeon Jeongguk. You are holding his hand. A hand that you have thought about having down your panties more times than one. A hand that you are not sure whether you should let go of, or if you should keep holding onto it, or if Jeongguk is even remotely okay with this unexpected situation. For all you know, he could be as in the dark as you were for god knows how long.

But the thumb runs over your own again, catching on your smaller knuckle before it descends to your nail. Honestly, there is no possible way that it could be a subconscious action.

Tearing your eyes away from your interlaced fingers for what feels to be the first time in a slow-burn eternity, you dart them between Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung. All three of them are completely absorbed in belting out Happenin’ All Over Again by Young Divas, unaware of the mental breakdown that is occurring on the leftmost side of the backseat. But, if anything, it concretes your decision.

Pulling yourself together, you inhale deeply, feeling your lungs balloon as you remind yourself that this is Jeongguk; your friend. He will not be weird about it. You always touch each other. You always lean on each other. You never hold hands but sweet baby Jesus on a fucking pogo stick–

You jostle his hand in your own. It is just a faint jiggle; a motion that could go by easily unnoticed if he was not particularly paying attention. Though Jeongguk instantly ceases his participation in the singalong and tilts his chin down to look at your hand, which now slightly quivers within his own.

Slowly, he drags his eyes up to meet your own that watch him like a deer sensing a predator. Not an inch of surprise or consternation swells within his sombre irises. If anything, tinges of amusement dance about his pupils in flecks of lighter brown, catching the sunlight that filters through the passing pine trees. They illuminate like filaments of copper.

Jeongguk smiles. He fucking smiles. He knew the entire damn time and did not think to utter a single word.

“When– When did this happen?” you stammer quietly through tight lips. Your frantic eyes flick between his own, which steadily begin to change from bright and curved to something wider, distinctly stricken.

“You didn’t know?” Jeongguk begins to frown, brows pulling taut at the centre. You marginally shake your head so as not to be too obvious.

“No idea.”

“But it happened when the car flung– When we– You grabbed– Oh,” Jeongguk stumbles and fumbles until he comes to his private realisation. Confused, you watch on as Jeongguk seemingly appears at war with himself. His gaze darts around the car, as if he is trying to join the pieces of his mental puzzle together. Then, it settles back on your own, eyes soft and his expression even softer, cheeks minutely pinking and wow, is he really blushing?

There is a fond squeeze of your hand, small and endearing. Petals wildly blossom between your ribs as the corners of Jeongguk’s lips colour with benevolence. His fingers are painstakingly slow in their withdrawal from your own as he mumbles, “All good.”

Smiling back as casually as you can manage, you repeat his words. The tears on your cheeks are already dry, yet you feel an undefinable urge to wipe at them until you have rubbed your skin raw. “All good.”

Retracting your hand to lay it limply in your lap, you finish off the last of your coffee. You try to not concentrate on how it feels indescribably empty, like it has never experienced the sensation of not being held before.

“Look at you, ___, playing Chinese whispers with Jeongguk and leaving me hanging out to dry,” Taehyung interrupts, faux sulking by jutting out his lower lip.

You roll your eyes and ignore the rise of heat to your cheeks when you notice the cocky grin that plasters itself to Jeongguk’s expression. A vast contradiction to the abashment that was settling on his features no more than ten seconds ago.

“If I recall correctly, it’s you who is having separation issues from Jimin,” you lean past Jeongguk to sneer at him. “I thought I was supposed to be your best friend, you traitor.”

“You are my best friend,” Taehyung tuts, then splays his palms towards the both of you, gesturing them in circular motions like he is cupping something round. “But I can’t deny my ‘must-hold-Jimin’s-giant-ass’ callings. My hands are feeling weak already.”

“I’d say that’s a creepy calling, but I kind of agree with you,” Namjoon pitches in from the front of the cab. “Jimin has a succulent ass that is destined to be caressed at all available times.”

“Ay, finally someone who understands me!” Taehyung crows, reaching over to clap Namjoon on the shoulder with a wide grin. Jeongguk and yourself glance at one another, utterly deadpan.

“Are you feeling as sick as I am?” he asks, and you nod.

“Like I wanna projectile vomit all over Seokjin’s seats.”

“Don’t you dare,” the owner of the car bluntly states, and you crack an apologetic smile at him through the review mirror reflection. The poor guy has already endured too much this morning.

“Oh shit, it’s The Black Eyed Peas! Let’s pump that shit up!” Taehyung hoots, and Seokjin immediately twists the volume knob of the radio to its full capacity, drowning out the rest of the steadily descending line of conversation.

Pump It sharply blares through the crackling speakers, thrusting everyone into an overboard rendition of the 2007 classic. Limbs fling this way and that as interpretive car dance is made in the limited space. Jeongguk leans into you with his hands cupped around his mouth to shout the louder! part at the rest of the car, which you are quick to join in on, circling your palms around your lips and yelling alongside him.

The hand holding incident is not forgotten, only pushed to the back of your thoughts for now.

Nobody registers the sound of a seatbelt clicking open during Fergie’s verse until the squeak of a window being rolled down becomes apparent. All attention is directed towards Taehyung, who has manoeuvred in his seat to be kneeling, facing the open window. The purest moment of speechless stupefaction occurs, akin to what it would be like watching a velociraptor casually stroll down main street.

That moment is shattered when the sound of a zipper being undone is heard loud and clear.

“Holy shit–”

“Taehyung, don’t–!”

“You said the window, so the window it–“

“Stop! I’m fucking pulling over, you pissing maniac!”

The cusp of midday is approaching. The trees are beginning to grow denser with the telltale signs of nearing the campsite; winding around the bending road in a barrier of lush green and thick, sturdy trunks. Everyone has stripped out of their hoodies and sweaters. The early summer heat slowly filters into the morning, settling on skin in a film of salty stickiness.

All of the windows are wound down. The warm wind carries the sappy, elevating scent of the pines throughout the Hilux. The richness of it soaks into everyone’s senses in a refreshing aroma that uproots memories of being young and carefree; oblivious to the reality of growing up. When you hang your arm out of the window, palm facing the sky, golden sunlight pools in your hand. With fondness and euphoria, you smile.

“Are you excited for your first time seeing the secret spot, Jeonggukie?” Seokjin calls out above the music and wind, beginning to lay weight on the brakes as the turn-off approaches.

Before Jeongguk can answer, Taehyung is hooking an arm around the younger’s neck, yanking him roughly into his side and grinning like a fool. “Yeah dude, you’re officially in now. You’re one of the cool kids!”

“There’s not a single thing that’s cool about you guys,” Jeongguk teases, effortlessly wrestling his way out Taehyung’s spindly arm. Jeongguk pushes his fringe out of his eyes, and there is a tender edge to his features that has your heart constricting. “But I’m keen. I’ve heard so much about this damn lake over the past year that I hope it lives up to the expectations you’ve all set. I’m anticipating a lake made of liquefied gold, and a campsite that comes with full bars of reception and free wifi.”

Namjoon barks out a sharp laugh. “What, so you can keep in contact with all of your side hoes that blow up your phone twenty-four seven?”

At that, Jeongguk flushes a deep rubescent hue and hangs his head while the rest of the boys join in on poking fun. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought. Jealousy, the voice in the back of your mind suggestively whispers. Though you tear out its vocal chords and cast your eyes back out the window.

The weight eases just a little when you hear Jeongguk murmur it’s not like that amidst the fray. The thought has you feeling slightly guilty. It is not as if you are dating Jeongguk, or that anything explicitly more than friendship exists between you.

So, you bend your elbow against the sill and lean your head atop it, staring at him and voicing words to save him from the onslaught.

“It’s nothing special, just a lot of dirt and trees and water, but there are plenty of memories down there,” you nudge his knee with your own, which has him jolting in surprise. You cannot help but tilt your lips at the sight. “I completely forgot you haven’t been to the lake yet. It feels like you’ve been with us forever.”

“Sentimental, but true,” Namjoon adds in as the ute slows right down, turning down the ‘secret’ trail that weaves tightly between the trees and leads right to the campsite; the lake’s edge. “I’ve thought about that for a while now. I swear that every memory I have of being down at that campsite, I can see Jeongguk somewhere in the picture. We’re all living in the Mandela Effect.”

“Isn’t that when there’s mass false recollection? Nobody but you said you have memories of Jeongguk being with us. It’s only you with false memory, dude,” Taehyung points out.

Namjoon turns around in his seat so that he can incline his chin towards you. “___ said she has memories of Jeongguk being with us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No, I said it feels like he’s been with us forever. My brain ceases to place Jeongguk’s face anywhere in the memories of us being down there. It was only the seven of us, and before that, it was just Taehyung and our families.”

Namjoon suspiciously squints at you. “I’m telling you, Jeongguk was the one who had the snake in his tent at three in the morning.”

You shake your head. “That was Hoseok.”

“… Jeongguk was the one who set his shorts on fire when we were all leaping over the campfire?”

Taehyung raises his hand like he is swearing to an oath in a courtroom. “That, as unfortunate it is to admit, was me.”

Namjoon looks deeply disturbed. He flicks his gaze between you and Taehyung before it lands on Jeongguk, suddenly appearing rather uncertain. “You’ve never been to the lake before?”

“I have,” Jeongguk unexpectedly pipes up with a wicked grin that has three sets of eyes on him, staring roundly, utterly unsettled. There is something disconcerting about the glint of his pearly canines, though the why only becomes apparent when you glance out the window.

Namjoon jabs a shaking finger towards Jeongguk, his tone near hysterical. You try to not sputter into a fit of laughter.

“See, I fucking said–“

“It’s because we’re here, you moron,” Seokjin punctuates by shutting off the engine. The ute is now parked along the tree-line of the lake’s campsite. Jeongguk hilariously waggles his eyebrows at Namjoon, who is now staring deadpan at him.

“Screw you,” Namjoon snaps, and it is all that is needed to set Jeongguk into a howling bout of laughter. He skilfully avoids the digs and punches that Namjoon tries to land before scrambling to safety outside of the car, once the rest of you have lumbered out.

With a deep breath, you take in the scenery; unchanged, no matter the years that have passed.

It is a spacious area of soil, moss and roots. Though it quickly becomes cramped and homely once the entire camp is set up; tents and chairs and the shades of the makeshift kitchen; surrounded by the thick expanse of the forest that breaks off and slopes down to the left at the shore of the lake. The circle of rocks that forms the handmade fire pit is still situated off-centre to the clearing. The dirt at the centre is a shade of grey, tainted with old ashes; past flames that heard singalongs and ghost stories from two generations worth of friends and family.

The tiny wooden pier—with its pillars coated in generous layers of slimy, green, congregated lake particles—remains to stretch out from the dirt and rock declivity into the massive body of water. The lake catches the sunlight by the handfuls; its surface glittering gold. Floating roughly ten metres deeper from the end of the jetty is the pontoon; a five-by-five buoyant platform that has been anchored in place for as long as you can remember. The rust on the metal ladder has never deterred anyone from using it, and you are certain that the case will be the same this weekend.

“Wow,” Jeongguk suddenly says from beside you, watching the dust motes dreamily float through the cascading sunlight. Warmth fills your stomach at his awed, delighted expression that slips down to stare at you. “For some dirt, trees and water, it looks pretty amazing.”

“Are you calling me dirt, trees and water?” you mock with a grin that only grows wider as Jeongguk looks away, smiling with a groan. He ruffles your hair and does not saying anything to refute it.

A glow sits high on your cheeks and the stars sparkle in your eyes. You trail after him as he circles the Hilux to help untie and unload the camping gear with the other three boys.

“Hey losers, took you long enough,” Hoseok calls out from the other side of the small clearing. He is reclined in a camper chair between Yoongi and Jimin, who are sitting in similar fashion. The three of them look like the cats that got the cream with their two tents already pitched up, ready to go, cold beers in hands.

“We had to pick up the extra package because Seokjin is shit at paper-scissor-rock, not our fault,” says Namjoon, pulling out a set of camper chairs to hand off to Taehyung. It takes you a stagnant moment to realise that he had just briefly directed his gaze to you.

“You guys did paper-scissors-rock to choose who would have to detour and pick me up?” you scoff. Mild irritation niggles at the forefront of your mind as you, with an unintentional amount of misdirected aggression, yank a tent from Jeongguk’s hands. He noticeably bites his tongue to hold back his laughter. “Bunch of dicks, I tell you. I’m never waking up at the ass-crack of dawn for you guys again.”

“It wasn’t to decide who was picking you up, it was to decide which car Jeongguk was going–” Jimin is quickly cut off by the clip of Yoongi’s palm to the back of his head, breaking into a yelp as he cowers away from the boy in all black and his quick reflexes.

Confusion settles across your expression, brow pinching as you stare at the scene. You wonder what on earth Jimin possibly could have meant. The scepticism stretches all the further when you look back to Jeongguk as he passes you a bag full of kitchen utensils, noticing that his features are twisted into a vague grimace of awkward humiliation.

Before you can part your lips to question it, Yoongi tilts his chin down and narrows his gaze over the top of his sunglasses. “Why are you all looking so traumatised, by the way?”

“Taehyung,” says Seokjin in a monotone as Namjoon simultaneously says, “Jeongguk.” Yoongi silently gives a single nod of acknowledgement; not needing, nor wanting to hear any further.

Jeongguk chuckles evilly. Taehyung is looking downright offended.

“I can’t help it that my bladder is the size of a pea-pod. All I was doing was following direct instructions, thank you very much,” Taehyung argues, dumping the mattress the both of you are sharing into the dirt. You cringe at the fact that you have to sleep on it later, hoping no ants or other teeny bugs attempt to crawl into its fabric to then find home on any inch of your body in the middle of the night.

Seokjin thrusts a gas bottle at Taehyung with a sickly sweet smile, bumping it into his stomach with an oof. “It was a figure of speech, you delightful little shit.”

“Some things are best left a mystery,” you hear Hoseok mutter, and the smile returns to your lips.

You good-naturedly roll your eyes at your best friend, whose disgruntled pout slowly begins to dissolve. Taehyung has never been one who can stay angry for too long at a time.

The rest of the tray is unloaded within fifteen minutes. Gear is strewn around the campsite—from flashlights, tarps, coils of rope, air mattresses, frying pans, picnic-ware, and everything in between—as everyone calls shots on where they wish to set up their tent. Taehyung, of course, manages to score the worst spot on the soil. Right where the sunlight will be hitting the nylon material the moment it peeks over the tree line. You cannot help but groan, since there is genuinely nothing worse than waking up sweaty within what feels to be a tightly sealed space heater.

Seokjin and Namjoon lumber off down the walking trail that leads to the fresh water shower to see if it is still in good, working condition. Jeongguk swiftly gets onto setting up his own two-man tent. Jimin and Hoseok pitch the canopy for the ‘kitchen’ in record-breaking time, with Yoongi dragging the fold-up table, gas bottle, burner stove, and coolers underneath it. They methodically arrange all of the food, fresh water and utensils within the area.

On the other hand, the rich enthusiasm you had been feeling for the trip quickly dissipates into a sour taste at the back of your throat. Taehyung, as much as you love him, is the worst possible person to be paired with for camping. He is too easily distracted by the more fun things to do, like a fascinated toddler riding out a sugar rush. Such a mood snowballs further downhill when Jimin and Hoseok, finished with their duties, strip their shirts and announce that they are taking to the water for a dip.

Taehyung, who just dumped the contents of the tent bag in a disorderly heap at his feet, looks towards the two boys as they start off towards the lake. Then, he averts his blank gaze to you.

“Don’t,” you firmly start, pointing at him with what you hope is a convincingly intimidating look. “Don’t you even dare think about it.”

His expression is devoid of all emotion, masking his thoughts. “We can always go for a swim and then pitch the tent.”

“No, we’re doing it now to get it over and done– Stop taking your shirt– Taehyung!”

“Jeonggukie can help you out,” Taehyung, with his tee hanging around his neck, prompts with an incline of his head towards the aforementioned. Jeongguk looks up in the middle of hammering the last peg of his tent into the earth, obliviously raising his eyebrows at Taehyung. “You’ll do that, yeah, dude? Help ___ pitch up our tent?”

Jeongguk wipes the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead and drags his eyes from Taehyung to you. He proffers a tilt of his lips that has the sour taste deliquescing into honey, laving over your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. “Can do. Not all of us are useless around here.”

“That’s a jab I’m willing to take from you,” Taehyung solemnly nods, continuing to take his shirt off before shooting you—who is staring daggers at him—double finger guns and a wink. “You’re the best. I promise I’ll make it up to you in ten boba coupons.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, you just remember that,” you wave your best friend off with a half-hearted sneer, ushering him out of the way so you can crouch down and start sorting out the tent gear.

Almost immediately, a larger presence joins you, smelling of salt and earth. When you meet Jeongguk’s eyes, stained glass that reflects mirth from across the small pile, you squint with disapproval and mutter, “You shouldn’t have to do this, Jeongguk. If you had of said no, he would’ve been guilted into helping out like he should be.”

“I wanted to help you,” Jeongguk shrugs and sets aside the bundle of collapsible poles. He takes the rolled up tent and stands up to unravel the nylon.

You cannot deny the fuzzy feeling that forms along your nerves at his pure sense of goodwill. As you piece one of the tent poles together, Jeongguk lays out the deconstructed tent, coming back up to your side to take the other collapsed pole. He repeats your actions with it, and then continues his train of thought with, “Besides, it’s his loss. Who could leave somebody as cute as you to fend for yourself?”

For a moment, you are certain your heart has stopped. Completely and entirely. Not even an EKG could show any positive signs of life; flatlined on the monitor. Your hands freeze and you slowly blink, reprocessing what Jeongguk had said in such a casual manner, like he was doing nothing more than discussing the daily news.

Somebody as cute as you.

The defibrillator charges, starts you back to life, and you drag your gaze from the pole in your hands to view Jeongguk’s expression. A tiny smirk colours his lips into something dark, conniving in a way that suggests he knew exactly what he was doing; how it would affect the feeble vessel dully thudding within your chest. It takes a second longer of sudden silence for him to meet your stare.

He raises an eyebrow, utterly unperturbed. You swear to all of the gods that this boy is an enigma, set on laying you upon your deathbed.

“Taehyung, what the living and breathing fuck,” Yoongi is heard blurting out. Both you and Jeongguk snap your eyes away from one another, focusing on Yoongi, who’s staring agape from the kitchen table with disgust at the man whose name he just vociferated. “What are those?!”

“So you say that about my pants, but not about Seokjin’s pink crocs? Your crush is showing, man,” Taehyung exclaims as his fingers yank at the zips just above the knees of his cargo pants, a feature you genuinely believed was only there for decoration.

Well, that is until Taehyung starts shedding the calf material like snake skin while everyone else watches on completely horrified. Never did you once realise you could be so scarred by the ugly transformation of cargo pants into a pair of cargo shorts until this very moment. Yet, as always, Taehyung is set to defy the odds whilst simultaneously conjuring your every horrendous nightmare into an equally atrocious, waking reality.

“Twenty boba coupons, Taehyung,” you declare, shuddering as you watch the ends of his pants be flung over his shoulder as he wordlessly struts towards the lake. The material lands haphazardly on Jimin’s camper chair.

“And five each to compensate for the rest of us!” Jeongguk calls, shaking his head when Taehyung continues to ignore the both of you, other than giving a middle-finger salute.

Your best friend then kicks up a jog onto the jetty, gaining speed as he reaches the end. There, he leaps high into the air. The fuck you guys! is shouted loud and clear before he plummets through the lake’s surface. From their relaxed, sunbathing positions on the pontoon, Jimin and Hoseok laugh hysterically over the scene.

When you hear a metallic click, you flick your eyes away from Taehyung swimming towards the pair of boys to Yoongi. He now holds the two scraps of cargo at the end of some cooking tongs, staring levelly at yourself and Jeongguk.

“Once the fire is ablaze, we’re burning these.”

Not an ounce of disagreement is voiced by either of you, just firm nods of agreement before returning to constructing the tent.

You would think Jeongguk was a born camper by the speed at which he helps you set it up. He easily clips the poles to the nylon, raising the material into a mini dome of black and grey. This has you lamenting the position of it in the clearing all the more. Once the sun comes into contact with the dark, conductive fabric in the early hours of tomorrow, you and Taehyung will be steaming like lobsters crammed in a boiling hot pot.

Jeongguk sends you tiny, secret smiles all the while, humour colouring the corners of his mouth every time your eyes happen to make contact. It certainly leaves the devious little comment he had made before Yoongi’s outburst unforgotten. An abundance of questions gnaw at your thoughts with each recurrent flash of his teeth.

When you think about it, the compliment was stated like it was merely no more than a simple observation. It was made rather offhandedly, like it is a given, known fact that you are cute, and there is nothing more to it than that. But the simper that had curled his mouth in such a smug, knowing manner, paired with the composed raise of his brow, completely throws you off.

You spiral so deep into a tangent of borderline-prurient supposition that your shoulders jump when Jeongguk gingerly knocks his knuckles against the right as he walks past your crouching figure. Whether he notices it or not is indiscernible by the way that he continues to casually stride away. His broad, toned back faces you. The black material is deliciously stuck to the divot between his shoulder blades with perspiration, running your mouth dry.

“Sweatpants and exertion in the summertime are a bad match, I’m gonna get changed and then we’ll go for a swim, yeah?” he says, looking over his shoulder as he unzips his own tent to see you nod in agreement. He shoots you a final, dazzling smile before he crawls inside.

Stop overthinking, he’s just your friend, you mentally admonish, tucking the wet-weather shade and the last of the spare pegs back into the tent bag. You get to your feet, stretching your muscles until they are nice and taut before shaking them loose. It would be wholly welcome if your wandering thoughts could just as easily be dispelled.

If anything, enacting such motions makes you realise that Jeongguk was not wrong about the heat. Your flimsy dress sticks to your underarms and between your breasts; your bare thighs are slick and the skin rubs uncomfortably with your movements. You push your hair back from your face, quietly groaning with mild disgust at the salty dampness that clings to the strands.

Looking out to where the boys leap into the cool water from the pontoon, goosebumps raise along your arms at the sheer thought of slipping into the lake’s refreshing body. The heat would leech from your skin the deeper you swim, it always does. You thank your early-morning, barely awake self for having the sensibility to put your swimwear on underneath your dress, preventing you from having to climb into the box of heat behind you to get changed.

“___.”

The sound of Yoongi calling your name snags your attention immediately, and you draw your eyes from the sparkling surface to look at him. From underneath the kitchen shade, tongs and cargo strips out of sight, Yoongi stares firmly at you. Ever so slowly, he drags his gaze to your left, proceeding to intently look at what you realise to be Jeongguk’s tent—rustling from his movements within. Then, he gradually returning his eyes to you.

There is a pregnant pause, watching one another in silent, perplexed communication. The realisation of Yoongi’s intentions only hits once he gives you the most suggestive eyebrow waggle, which has your lips parting in a horrified gape. Heat sits high in your cheeks as you blink at him and try to find your voice, tongue suddenly feeling terribly numb.

“W-What the f–“ you begin to sputter, quickly cut off by Yoongi grinning widely like the damn Cheshire Cat—directed not at you, but over your right shoulder.

“Shower’s working?” he asks as Namjoon and Seokjin plod back into the camp, to which Seokjin smiles and nods. And god, for all the evocative gestures Yoongi was just making at you, the guy fucking melts at the sight of Seokjin. Taehyung was seriously not wrong in that department.

“In perfect condition, the filter is looking a little out of wear, but it should manage for the weekend,” Seokjin confirms, winking at Yoongi. You nearly giggle at the sight of Yoongi’s reaction: flushing a vibrant fuchsia from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears. Namjoon even has to call out his name twice to get the lovesick fool’s attention.

“Yoongi… Ay, Yoongi! Let’s go slice and dice a tree.”

“What– Dude, you really fucking brought it!” Yoongi’s momentary confusion shifts into sheer elation when his eyes land on Namjoon struggling to lug the chainsaw out of the Hilux’s tray.

He abandons his post in the makeshift kitchen and jogs over to Namjoon, helping him take it out. Making eye contact with Seokjin, you shake your head while he rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the shade.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he cautions, flipping open one of the coolers and rummaging through the ice until he pulls out an unopened bottle of lemonade. Namjoon shoots him a withering look.

“My IQ is 148. Stupidity is not possible, my good friend.”

“You once put a metal ice-cream scoop into a microwave to heat it up, so I rest my case. ___, do you want a lemon vodka?”

“Please,” you beam at Seokjin, only realising at the offer how parched you are.

Jeongguk shambles out of his tent at that moment. His dark fringe is plastered to his forehead. If your throat can run any drier, it certainly does at the sight of his tensed thighs and calves, stretching long and tan from his red board-shorts. You shamelessly stare at them as he emerges because damn, who wouldn’t.

“I’ll have one too, thanks,” Jeongguk requests, wiping a palm over his face and then back through his hair, wincing at the increased amount of moisture. With his fringe messily pushed back, you swear to god that not even Niagara Falls could satiate your thirst.

“You were in your tent for a while, Jeongguki,” Yoongi, noticing your brazen survey, hums aloud as he follows Namjoon towards the walking trail. His cunning eyes are settled on you when he saunters past; that same, suggestive smirk from before toying at his lips in a jeer. “I wonder what on earth you were doing in there to get you looking so hot and bothered.”

Jeongguk frowns, like the punchline flew right over his head. “Pumping up my mattress?”

“Oh,” is all Yoongi responds with, features moulding back into impassive.

You sneer at him with great pleasure, sticking your tongue out like a child. He mouths a fuck you before turning on his heel to tread after Namjoon into the forest, and you mentally flip him off. The sly little shit.

Jeongguk watches the pair venture off before sliding his eyes back to you, scowl still intact, thick eyebrows drawn to the centre. You swear that the deities above must be testing you. When you believe his sightliness has reached its peak, he goes ahead and frowns, surpasses the deities themselves, and breaks all known laws of attractiveness. Mother of god.

“Did I miss something?”

“Huh? O-Oh no, definitely not,” you wave your hands dismissively, scrambling for a vastly different topic to distract him with—and yes, to distract yourself from the raunchy visual Yoongi had just planted in your mind—before the poor guy catches on. “Hey, we’re going for a swim, right? Let’s do that.”

You probably nod with too much vigour, and that grin might be slightly maniacal. But Jeongguk shrugs in agreement and takes to removing his shirt.

Your concern of him believing you have quite possibly gone crazy within a span of ten minutes is completely wiped away when your fingers reach for the hem of your dress, beginning to tug upward. For the other boys, they have become used to seeing your body practically bare of a scrap of clothing throughout salt and sand summers while you all grew up. So it is plenty natural that neither Seokjin, nor the three other friends who are now floating closer to the shore, hardly cast your figure a second glance when you shuck off your thin dress.

This may possibly be why you are completely startled when you catch sight of Jeongguk, mid-peeling off his shirt, to see that the firm edge of his stare is solidly trained on your exposed body. Well, save for a mustard two-piece swimsuit that hugs snugly to your hips and breasts; the smooth skin there sparkling with dewy sweat.

Although the sunlight is filtered through the foliage of the surrounding trees, you feel thrice as scorching than you did with the dress on. As if you have stepped directly into an exposed patch of the golden beams, and there is not a single barrier beyond the ozone layer to quell the intensity of the ultraviolet radiation.

Rather than the sun being its genesis, the warmth that licks like flame across your skin arises from the heated way in which Jeongguk takes you in. He drags his eyes from your toes to your knees; passes over the build of your thighs; carefully assimilates the yellow material that is fitted to your hips. Continuing upward, his gaze slides up the slope of your waist and stomach; lingers a moment too long on your chest that is bunched in the suddenly suffocating bikini top. Then, at long and agonising last, he settles on your face: bottom lip taut between your teeth, eyes wide and honest.

You swear that if you were to lick the tip of your finger and press it to any expanse of your skin, the flesh would hiss and sizzle. Jeongguk has kindled a fire within you that steadily grows with the hunger that darkens his eyes, fuelling one another into ardency; reducing the rest of the world into a slate of nothingness. It is then that you begin to feel startlingly aware of how intimate this open ogling is—being greedily taken in by Jeongguk, bit by bit, through the diligent manner in which he drinks up your figure like you are fine delicacy served on the platter of a starving beast.

Slowly, purposefully, Jeongguk proceeds to remove his shirt. His eyes remain on you the entire time, smugly gauging your reaction as you watch the toned stretch of his tan torso come into view. The extensive time that he spends at the gym throughout each week has most definitely paid off, if the chiselled plains of his pecks and abdominals are anything to go by. You always knew he had the body of a Calvin Klein model; blatantly perceivable whenever he would wear muscle tees that reveal his carved biceps and veiny forearms, or tight-fitted long-sleeves that shape to the outline of his burly figure. But none of the above could have possibly prepared you for the sight of him on complete, unadulterated display. Not even Photoshop could get a guy looking this good.

A throat is forcefully cleared, loud and conspicuous, making you wonder just how long the two of you have been eating one another up like nobody’s damn business.

“Here,” Seokjin, throat-clearer, says tersely. He peremptorily holds two red cups, expression twisted into one of censure at the blatant eye-fucking occurring right before his own eyes.

You are the first to break contact, turning on your heel to approach Seokjin and quench your Sahara desert thirst. You swear you hear the softest groan made by Jeongguk when you do so. Around the burning that creeps up your throat, you cannot deny the triumph that shoots through your veins in adrenaline at the possibility that yes, Jeongguk just groaned at the sight of your ass. Holy shit.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take one of the cups from Seokjin, immediately bringing the rim to your lips and taking a hefty gulp. Bitter lemon and the harsher note of vodka tastes like sweet relief as the mouthful washes over your tongue.

When the smell of soil and sweat tinges your senses, you stiffen slightly. As Jeongguk takes the other cup, he grins as though Seokjin had not just bared witness to such an amorous interaction in broad daylight.

“Swim?” Jeongguk proposes, lips still curved in a beautiful half moon. When you wordlessly nod, he turns to face Seokjin, who is still appearing vaguely traumatised. “Wanna come?”

“N-No, I’m fine right here! There are still things to be unpacked! You kids go ahead!” Seokjin immediately maunders, sculling back a good quarter of his lemon vodka before beginning to purposelessly fiddle around with the utensils on the table, making himself seem occupied.

Jeongguk shrugs and looks down at you, tilting his head in the direction of the lake.

“Let’s go then,” he says, lips tilting higher, and you hardly have the chance to utter sure when Jeongguk briefly, tenderly, presses the pads of his fingertips to the small of your back.

A thrilling zap is sent up your spine as he ushers you towards the pier. Distantly, you wonder if the fleeting touch has allowed him to feel the boiling heat of your bare skin; the unmitigated affect that he has on you. But just as soon as the contact is made, it is retreating from your body, and the pair of you are leisurely walking towards the lake.

You take a sip of your drink, hoping that the liquid confidence will kick in without too much delay and slacken the stiffness of your tongue. Though before you can conjure a sensical sentence to try and verbalise, Jeongguk is wedging the hand that had touched you into his pocket, leaning closer so you can catch his words.

“Thanks, by the way,” he says softly, and you raise your eyebrows at him while he continues to stare ahead. Fascinated, you watch his jaw work as he takes a mouthful from his cup. The bone is sharp enough to slice a damn cake.

You nearly forget to respond amidst your ridiculous gawking. “Huh? For what?”

“Redirecting the conversation in the car about me having ‘side hoes’ into conspiracy theories.” Jeongguk’s smile is small and tentative. He rubs a palm against the nape of his neck, glancing down at you before his eyes return to the glittering lake. Admittedly, you have to commend his efforts to not lech over the fantastic cleavage that your swimsuit top provides. “I don’t want you– I don’t want anyone to think that’s true. That I message those people back, or even give my number out to them in the first place.”

An ease settles on your tense shoulders. The both of you relax into conversation like neither of you are nowhere close to almost naked, nor that you had so openly leered at one another no more than two minutes ago. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to think that we think it’s true, either. The boys just like to tease; you should know that by now.”

“Yeah, but these days, it feels like their teasing is always falling on me,” he sighs, and you nudge him with your elbow. A dusting of pink blooms on the peaks of his cheeks, which he tries to conceal by having another sip of his drink.

“Ah, it’s because you turned into a muscle bunny, Jeonggukie. They’re jealous.” You say lightheartedly, swilling the liquid in your cup. “But I never realised you were Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson’s distant cousin underneath all that. You look like you could take on The Hulk and have a fair shot at winning.”

Jeongguk burns brighter at the fact that you even noticed—though he would later swear that the rubescent glow is due to Seokjin mixing too much alcohol into his drink.

Nonetheless, Jeongguk laughs and raises an eyebrow. Trying to not make it obvious how the compliment has ignited a warmth in his chest as the pair of you reach the rocks that slope down into the water. “I’m sure The Hulk would have me flat on my ass within zero-point-five seconds. Besides, I forgot this is our first summer together. You didn’t get to witness me shirtless when I was scrawny from living on packet ramen during my first year.”

Together, he fucking says. Your heart near slams right through your chest, and you start to carefully tread down the rocks, both arms held out to maintain your balance. “Ha, you’re right. You were introduced to us, when, the middle of last summer?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk confirms, heedful of your movements down the slimy rocks, on alert to reach out and catch you upon the chance of any slip or fall that you may make. “That was more when I was hanging out with Jimin. It wasn’t until the semester commenced again at the start of Autumn that I began spending more time with you guys. I don’t think I’ve even been to the beach with all of you yet.”

“In that case, it looks like we’ve got a long bucket list to go through this summer,” you smile, feet coming into contact with the squishy bedding of the lake. You wrinkle your nose as the wet soil makes its way between your toes. “There’s a specific beach we go to that’s east of the hill. A secret spot, just like this place. Taehyung’s parents and mine have been friends since their college years, and I swear to god, they’ve sought out every hidden place in this state. They can’t stand tourists.”

“Seems like it.” Jeongguk smiles in return. He begins to manoeuvre down the slope with ease now that you are safely in the water. Well, until he continues to say, “By the way, your swimsuit is pretty. That colour really suits you,” because then you are whirling on your heel in a fluster to face him at too high a velocity.

Your feet slip out from underneath you. As you fall backward, Jeongguk’s smile drops to an expression of panic and he reaches out to latch his fingers around your wrist.

Thus, not only do you collapse into the lake, but you haul him in along with you.

Luckily, where you stand is hardly knee-high. So despite the fall on your ass hurts like an absolute bitch, your hair remains mostly dry outside of the splash, and you miraculously manage to keep your cup of goods high out of the water. Really, the main issue of the whole fiasco is that you pulled Jeongguk right on top of yourself, so now he is caged around you, arms bracketing your frame, a thigh wedged between your own and his face too temptingly close.

An expression of surprise is plastered to his features while he recovers from the fall, which only becomes all the more adorably shocked when he realises that you are mere inches away from one another.

“Hi,” you hesitantly simper, and Jeongguk stares at your mouth. So painstakingly obvious in his ways that your heart no longer thuds from the adrenaline of the fall, but the propinquity of his damp, rosy lips.

His voice is low, a rumble in his chest. Mimicking your desultory smirk, his dark eyes sparkle like obsidian jewels. “Hey there.”

“I didn’t realise you liked the swimsuit this much,” you giggle, coming out a little shaky with the onslaught of nervousness; at the thought that you could lean forward two inches and his mouth would be slanted against your own.

Jeongguk cutely scrunches up his nose, and lifts a hand from the sludgy bed of the lake to playfully spatter water onto your face. You whine in complaint while he laughs.

“Oh my god, are you guys okay?!” you can hear Jimin screeching from the other side of the pier, followed by a series of splashes and then a much louder, “Taehyung, let go of my ass, for fuck’s sake!”

Completely ignoring the concerned calls, Jeongguk grabs his empty cup as it floats past—an unfortunate victim to the collapse—and fills it with speckled lake water before raising it towards you. The corners of his mouth lift all the higher as he says, “To swimsuits so pretty they nearly make you drown.”

In the not so far away distance, you can hear a chainsaw revving to life, followed by a stream of maniacal laughter. You lift your red cup up to tap the rim to Jeongguk’s with a grin, wondering what on earth the rest of this day has in store, and whether the soft twinkle of his eyes means something more than innocent friendship.

“Cheers!”

The heat that had plagued the afternoon eventually simmered down to a comfortable warmth. The kind that does not arise sweat from pores, and allows freedom in the area of wearing thin shirts and denim shorts without the concern of an unwelcome, chilly breeze. With the dwindle of the scorching temperature, the daylight had gradually smudged into an inky purple evening until the clear navy—speckled by silver starlight—was all the sky knew.

But the eight minds that dwelled beneath it? Not so much. A few rounds of beer pong that mostly replaced the beer with straight vodka and gin could do that to even the strongest of drinkers.

So, with livers processing excessive volumes of alcohol, and eyes glazed by a drunken shine, the lot of you had swam, made banter, and played old camping games that traversed deep into the night. Yoongi and Namjoon had literally laid to rest an entire tree, and ended up hauling at least a month’s worth of firewood into the camp. Yoongi had also managed to hide the strips of cargo pants underneath the logs in the fire pit; unbeknownst to Taehyung, who was miserably losing a game of beer pong to Jeongguk at the time. Hoseok, Jimin and yourself had managed to play four mean games of Presidents and Assholes; a means of waiting for the dismal match between Jeongguk and Taehyung to come to its ceasefire so the three of you could finally have a turn on the table.

At dinnertime, Seokjin, in a pink apron to match his hideous pink crocs, had called out from his position at the portable stove while clicking a pair of tongs like a one-armed crab. “Who wants a sausage in a bun?”

“Yoongi will have your sausage between his buns,” Taehyung had proceeded with an evil grin, which was quite literally slapped off his face by the flat of Yoongi’s palm the second the words were out. An unceremonious wrestling match was then fomented in the soil. Neither of them won; they were too drunk to land any proper hits.

Truly, the night had proceeded like any of the other camping adventures. Well, beyond the fact that frequenting frat parties had strengthened you all to consume more booze than last time, which had consisted of two six-packs of beer shared amongst the group. And you had still managed to throw up the next morning.

The only notable difference was Jeongguk’s presence.

Since the moment you had unintentionally dragged him into the lake, you had been catching him staring whenever your eyes dared to drift in his general direction. Every time, a rush of heat would join the moderate warmth that had already settled in your bloodstream; a concomitant of each sip that you would take from your drink. Whether you were helping Seokjin dole out food to the rest of the tipsy campers, or if you were being dragged into the water for another swim by Taehyung, Jeongguk was always close by with his softened eyes resting upon you.

They would innocently flick away once you would notice. But not without sending you a gentle smile, first.

Stop, you had told yourself when Jeongguk had lifted you up in drunken celebration, hooting at the top of his lungs after you had won a round of beer pong against Seokjin and Namjoon. Don’t overthink it. You’re just friends.

And although the hot afternoon had calmed considerably, it must have remained stored within the tent that you now share with Taehyung.

Midnight has passed, and everyone has retreated to their own sleeping quarters. Within your own oven-like abode, you are sprawled atop the lumpy mattress, the blanket kicked off, sweating like nobody’s business. It is the kind of gruesome slickness that feels like a film of slime coats every available surface of your body, creating a disgustingly greasy effect with each slight movement that you make. As if your joints are over-oiled hinges and butter has been smeared across your skin.

You lay there in drunken deliberation, deciding whether you have the energy to crawl out of the tent and slip into the cool waters of the lake. But your decision is unequivocally made when Taehyung—snoring like an engine—rolls onto his stomach and effectively spreads his limbs like a starfish, leaving you to bunch up against the other side of the mattress with a resonating groan.

Screw it, you think, tying up your sticky hair into a bun and peeling off your ratty pyjama shirt, soaked with perspiration. You replace your panties with your dried bathers before unzipping the tent door and climbing out. Drowning in the lake sounds nicer than drowning in my own sweat.

The fire still burns at the centre of the camp and you cringe away from its emanating heat, heading straight for the pier. Even though the full moon sheds enough silver light for you to see almost as clear as day, you opt for the ladder on the side of the jetty, rather than the rocks. You are not particularly wishing to slip on them or the soggy bedding—again—in your significantly worse level of sobriety. Cracking your head while nobody is around to stop you from bleeding out—or to drag your knocked unconscious self out of the water—is a highly unappealing thought.

The rotting planks of the pier creak and sigh beneath your weight. You cannot help the relieved exhalation that escapes your lungs once you make your way down the ladder and come into contact with the cold, silvery surface of the lake; the water acting as a soothing balm that slips over your figure. You continue to descend until you are releasing the metal bars and pushing back. The water rushes over your shoulders in refreshing bliss, and you can practically feel the oily sweat be washed from your skin. You kick your legs to keep afloat and gather a handful of water to splash over your face, moaning once more at the glorious exhilaration of ridding the viscid perspiration.

On a split decision—knowing that you will not be departing the lake anytime soon—you leisurely breaststroke towards the pontoon, keeping your head above the water so that your hair does not get wet. Maybe it is because you are still experiencing the effects of the vodka churning through your system, but you reach the buoyant platform much quicker than usual. Skirting around the edge, you reach for the rusty rungs. They leave a bronze grime on your palms as you climb, and the cool water cascades from your figure as you emerge from the lake.

Before you can even rest your knee atop the pontoon, your heart is dropping to the pit of your stomach. Because right there, reclined on the platform, is none other than Jeongguk, propped up on his elbows and gaping at you.

“H-Hey,” he says, surprise colouring his tone. You try to not slip your eyes down his bare torso where droplets of water still cling, glittering against his muscles in the starlight like tiny diamonds.

“Jesus, you nearly scared the life out of me!” you laugh. With a huff, you pull yourself up onto the pontoon and—in a small stretch of confidence that you swear is fuelled by the alcohol—crawl until you are much closer than the large space requires. You flip onto your back beside Jeongguk, to which he looks down at you with slightly wider eyes. You smile up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, staring at you a moment longer before letting his elbows give out so that he can lay flat against the plastic surface. Perhaps, it is the balmy atmosphere. But you are certain that the increased temperature on the left side of your body is due to the proximity of his body heat, which has you biting softly onto your lower lip to hide your smile. “What about you?”

“Same. The tent has turned into the equivalent of the sun’s surface, so I decided to take a dip to cool off,” you cringe, recalling the stickiness that you were enduring only a handful of minutes earlier. “Taehyung snoring like an ogre was the cherry on top of that cake.”

Jeongguk laughs, lightly rocking the pontoon. You bask in how sweet it sounds; treacle that slowly drips over your heart, coating it in sugary enchantment. His finger pokes into your side as he calms, twisting it in a screwing motion as he grins and teases with, “All gross and sweaty, were you? Are you a sweat-head, ___?”

“Ugh, rude ass.” You groan in embarrassment, knowing that he is most likely visualising you all disgustingly sweaty. You smack his hand away, and his laughter starts back up again; much louder. The sound carries across the open, empty lake and travels through the surrounding trees. Caving in with a small grin, you shove at his shoulders. “Shut up, you’re going to wake the entire forest!”

“Make me,” Jeongguk sneers, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up so that he can see your expression. His eyes twinkle darkly as they observe you, and the tilt of your lips fades into something more serious; demure at the blatant suggestion behind his words.

“Don’t tempt me,” you quietly taunt back, and Jeongguk smirks at the reciprocated intention.

“What would you do?”

For a moment, you simply watch him, drinking in his facial features that are situated so unbearably close. He is genuinely handsome; the kind of guy that fits the aesthetic of somebody your parents would welcome into the family with open arms. Yet he attains that alluring, almost amorphous sexiness like a mask he slips on whenever he so desires—at the times he deems it most required.

When you are so near, you can make out the light blemishes from his teenage acne, the scar that cuts minimally across his cheekbone, and it makes you realise how young he still is. Jeongguk may have endured classic college puberty, but he remains to be the same boy that you first met when you were too drunk to completely remember the encounter. Withal, he has that same, pure heart that pumps liquid gold through his veins and arteries.

Bringing to life a boy that you, admittedly, might be falling for.

You sniff. Parting your lips, you say, “I’d drown your sorry ass.”

The disappointment that darts across Jeongguk’s expression is fleeting, though you effortlessly catch onto it, grinning innocently up at him. He coughs, looks off into the distance and then back down at you, muttering, “Who’s the rude ass now, huh?”

“You, it’ll always be you,” you jokingly deride, and Jeongguk rolls his eyes, a man defeated.

He remains to stay propped up beside you. His gaze skims over your features in silent contemplation, calculation, and he rubs his lips together as though a question is hiding on his tongue that he does not have the gall to voice. A few seconds pass with you feeling the warmth creep higher in your cheeks, and Jeongguk exhales deeply through his nose.

“Can I ask you something?” he virtually whispers, the words coming out tender and unsure. The corners of your mouth lift upwards as a means of comfort and encouragement.

“Sure, go ahead.”

If it is even possible, his tone slips into something softer, obsidian eyes melting as he murmurs, “What do you think of me?”

“In what way?” you solicit, biding time to mull over your response. The steady thump of your heart slowly begins to kick up.

“Like, I don’t know how to say it,” Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes trail along the bicep that flexes with the action. Something hot and heavy lays upon your abdomen before you drag your gaze back to his complexed expression. “Do– Do you, perhaps, look at me in a different way than you do with the, uh, other guys? Do you think I’m a decent human being? Fuck, I don’t know, that was a stupid question to ask–”

Resting your palm atop his own, planted flat between you to keep him supported, reduces him to silence. Jeongguk’s now wide stare drags from your face to your fingers that squeeze gingerly, placatingly, over his knuckles before returning to your eyes. The way that he looks right now, so innocent and confused, has your heart absolutely swelling in your chest.

“Jeongguk,” you start, drumming your fingertips against the back of his hand. “I think you’re wonderful, honest, and kind. I don’t mean to stereotype, but the guys that go through the changes that you did–” You sweep your gaze up and down his toned torso, and the left side of his mouth slightly quirks– “They usually don’t come out with the same mentality as they had before. Their personalities change completely with this newfound overindulgence on confidence that they attain with their suddenly spectacular physique. I mean, you’ve always been a cocky little shit, that’s for sure. But you’ve never let that control who you are at heart. You haven’t abandoned us now that you have every girl on campus trying to get into your pants, and now that the guys from the football team are imploring you to join their frat. It shows us– Me, that you’re genuine, and that you’re still that same sweet guy. You’ve just packed some muscle over the top of it.”

Slowly, Jeongguk nods, taking in all that you have said with a small, pleased smile playing on his lips. Then, he is jestingly narrowing his eyes at you, firmly stating, “You know I meant it before when I said I don’t care about those girls, right?”

“Yes, since you keep drilling it into my head,” you roll your eyes. Though before you can properly retort, Jeongguk is adjusting his position until his body is pressed to your side. His face hovers closely above your own—near enough for you to feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your heart gives a single, solid thump against your glass ribcage; daring to break through.

“That’s…” Jeongguk murmurs, his eyes languidly studying your features, zeroing in on your tongue as it darts nervously between your dry lips. “… Because I don’t want you to believe I think of anyone else.”

Then, Jeongguk starts to lean in, glacial in his progression though oh-so determined. And despite the opportunity you have desperately been yearning for has suddenly become imminently tangible, you cannot help yourself when your hands plant firmly against Jeongguk’s chest, roughly shoving him back.

You catch the faintest glimpse of betrayal on his features before he topples off the pontoon and crashes into the water with a yelp.

When he arises from the lake with a dramatic, floundering gasp, you are bent over yourself on the buoyant plastic, slapping a hand against the platform while using your other palm to smother your hysterical howls of laughter. At the sight, Jeongguk’s expression becomes as stony as marble, glaring at you.

“That was mean,” he punctuates the last word with a point of his finger. You only just manage to tame the fit of cachinnation to a modest stream of giggles as he slowly slinks underneath the water’s surface. When he arises once more, it is several feet away from the pontoon, heading towards the shore with the back of his head facing you.

“Aw, you’re such a baby,” you huff, sliding off the side of the pontoon and into the lake that is now marginally cooler than when you had first entered. It licks a chill against your jawline as you keep your head above the water. Ahead, Jeongguk makes no effort to turn around and face you, already striding through waist-high water to the rocks.

You earnestly do try your best to swim forward. Though after a day of such an early awakening, followed by intense physical exertion, your limbs quickly begin to feel the exhaustion like lead, keeping you bobbing in place a few metres in front of the pontoon. Giving it another go, you manage a single stroke of your arms and a weak kick of your legs, which barely pushes your body forward another foot. Only then do you let yourself crack as you swallow the small growth of fear; how the water is beginning to feel like quicksand, dragging you down.

“Ah, Jeongguk, c’mere and let me hold onto your shoulders,” you call out, feebly treading water with your tired arms. “Please, my muscles are locking up and I’m gonna drown!”

The water is at Jeongguk’s knees when he turns around. His figure is backlit by the campfire, and you can practically feel the muted anger at your treachery leeching from his skin and surging through the water to encapsulate you.

“Well, well, who’s the baby now?” he smirks ruthlessly, but he is already moving forward through the water. “Maybe I should just let you go.”

You sputter, watching him swim closer. “In that case, have fun explaining my dead body to Taehyung tomorrow.”

“I will. Nice knowing you.”

“Jeongguk!”

“I’m kidding, stop being such a wuss,” Jeongguk grins, gliding effortlessly towards you with the moonlight glimmering on his wet skin like smears of starlight. You cannot help but jolt when you feel his fingertips graze at your waist beneath the surface. “I can even stand here. Look. Put your damn feet down.”

Instead of obliging him, you go for what he surely considers a much more preferable option. You slide your hands up to rest on his shoulders while you wrap your legs around his hips, catching him by surprise. Silently, Jeongguk stares at you, as if waiting for your next move. You distantly wonder whether he can hear the erratic pounding of your pulse when his large hands deliberately slip down your waist. His palms ever so lightly curve over your ass before settling on the undersides of your thighs, drawing you close enough to feel his breath on your flesh again.

“Jeon Jeongguk, you’re my hero,” you quietly tease, sliding your palms further up to lay carefully against his throat. Your thumbs brush the damp skin there. Jeongguk trembles.

Despite this show of vulnerability, he smirks. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth before releasing it to quip with, “Ha, and does this hero get a reward from his princess?”

“Depends if he’s nice enough,” you murmur. When his nose brushes against your own, fingers squeezing gingerly at your bare thighs, you are certain Jeongguk feels the shiver that rushes beneath your skin.

“He can be.” The soft whisper is warm and enticing as the words are exhaled onto your lips.

It is all the reassurance that you need to close the distance.

A sensation akin to fireworks lights up in your chest. It colours your insides in a vibrant spectrum and wakes your nerves in fizzling, vivid sparks. Jeongguk’s hot, pliant mouth is overwhelming as it melds to your own, like the anticipation of finally kissing him has reached its boiling point, bubbling up inside of you and spilling over the edges in total euphoria.

The feeling is so stimulating that you whine quietly into the kiss. This is met by a tiny moan that hums from the back of his throat, and is immediately followed by the tip of his tongue prodding at the seam of your lips; carefully pushing through the tender flesh to test the waters. He tastes like beer and lemonade and the tacky sweetness of the marshmallows that were roasted after dinner, swiping against your tongue and your lower lip. You lock your fingers at the nape of his neck to deepen the movements, subtly bringing about a titillating edge that is all the more heightened when his fingers clutch tighter at your thighs, slipping higher to clutch just underneath your ass.

It truly is nothing but innocent until Jeongguk shifts his thigh between your own, enabling you to perch upon it within the water. And with the slightest, accidental nudge of your knee as you wriggle closer to him—his mouth—you feel the semi-hard bulge through the thin fabric of his board shorts.

At that, Jeongguk breaks away from your lips. His own are parted and glisten with a delicious, rosy swell to them that has your heart racing. His brow pinches into a small, unsure frown, as if he does not know what to say, nor knows if you noticed what your bare skin had just touched. But god, you cannot help but admire how incredible he looks after kissing you. How something this harmless can stir him into such a mess; can cause tendrils of lust to swim in the dark pools of his eyes.

So, to properly convey your interest, you stare directly at Jeongguk as you slowly roll your clothed centre over the firm muscle of his tensed thigh. You softly gasp at the way his taut skin rubs perfectly against your folds, your toes curling with pleasure.

Before you can even think about doing anything else, Jeongguk is lunging back in for your mouth like a jaguar on its prey.

Now, he kisses with ferocious ardency. His hands abandon their positions on your thighs to fit over your hips, coaxing you into continuing your lascivious ministrations. A whimper lodges itself in your throat, bubbling against Jeongguk’s tongue as he groans and drags your sensitive cunt back and forth on his thigh with the determination to satisfy you. Your nails dig into the skin of his neck as you feel the coil of desire begin to tighten with every stroke.

How he even manages to do so, your mind is too delirious to deliberate. But Jeongguk somehow flexes his thigh all the tauter, and it forms a prominent ridge in the thew. A moan tears from your lungs at the way the hard angle grinds deeper between your clothed folds, rubbing roughly against your clit and sending you bloody mad.

“We’re–” You try to speak when Jeongguk pulls away for barely a moment before he dives back in, licking his tongue against your own and drawing a soft whimper from the back of your throat. You break away from the warmth of his mouth to continue, and Jeongguk decides to travel his lips further south, pressing and nipping against every expanse of jawline and throat made available to him above the water’s surface. “J-Jeongguk. I’m not having sex with you in this grimy lake, I swear to god–”

His mouth reaches your own again, silencing whatever words remained on the tip of your trembling tongue and kissing you hard through a grin. Despite the situation, the thought this sneaky little shit manages to surface in your mind.

When Jeongguk finally speaks, his voice has become raspy and thick. The sheer depth of it almost has you pushing aside your concerns about hygiene and disease to let him have you right there. “Still gonna let me fuck you though, right?”

“That’s the general plan, yes,” you breathe with an encouraging roll of your hips, air hitching in your lungs over the thrilling sensation.

Jeongguk rolls his head back with a groan. He digs his fingers tighter into your hipbones before his expression lolls back into view—dark and urgent with the right corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that has you shivering. He pulls you so close that your torsos are pressed completely together. His hand leaves your hip to reach for your own balanced upon his shoulder, taking it underneath the water.

Jeongguk presses your palm against the prominent girth of his cock, which floats against his shorts and arches impressively long, effectively leaving you salivating.

“L-Let’s get out,” you insist, giving it a delicate squeeze that has Jeongguk’s jaw tensing. He looks so utterly desirable that you cannot help but lean forward and skim your lips along the sharp angle.

Once you reach soft the nook under his ear and suck at the skin, Jeongguk exhales in a rush. He curls his fingers into your hips with a shudder as you lave your tongue over the bite in time with you pulling a languid, yet tight stroke up his length.

“___, aren’t we getting out?” he breathes through a chuckle. You teasingly nip at the lobe of his ear. This earns you a pinch on your ass, which has you jolting closer to him and away from his hand with a protesting yelp.

Jeongguk snakes the same hand up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pushing you back until your face is before his own. And boy, does the sight of his eyes—pitch black and hooded with carnal lust—make the coil in your core winch all the tighter.

Glancing between your own, he grins. The pearly white canines appear like predatory fangs in the pale moonlight. “Out.”

“Fine,” you cave, pressing a final peck to his plush lips before you skirt around him, moulding your chest to his solid back and sliding your arms over his shoulders. Jeongguk, with a disbelieving huff of laughter, swims with you clutching to his torso like a koala until the shore grows too shallow to do so.

Unlatching, you allow Jeongguk to help you stand up on the mushy bedding by the offer of his hand. The pair of you trudge through the waist-high water to the ladder, with you climbing up the rungs first. You squeak when your rear is greeted by a light smack the moment it emerges from the lake, and you immediately stop in your tracks to accusingly look over your shoulder at Jeongguk.

A devilish smirk curls at his mouth. The culprit does not even giving two shits about the fact that he has been caught red-handed.

“Can’t help myself when it’s such a great ass,” Jeongguk shrugs in explanation. You roll your eyes and twist back to continue making your way onto the pier. The lingering sting admittedly has you hoping he will do it again sometime.

Hauling yourself onto the wooden planks, you begin to defiantly stride towards the campsite, leaving Jeongguk to tag along behind. You hear the water cascade from his body as he pulls himself out; the metal rungs creak underneath his weight. Then, there is the increased pace of his footsteps, steadily approaching you in a jog just as you step off the jetty.

Before you can even comprehend it, Jeongguk is swinging you up into his arms bridal-style. He smothers your shriek of surprise with his mouth in a bout unexpected accuracy, his smiling lips landing directly upon your own. Even after he pulls away so he can navigate, he does not put you down, and rather curls you close into his spectacular chest. You try your absolute best to not salivate at how insufferably hot the situation is—the way that he carries you with ease as if you are weightless; tensed and bunched around you in a tantalising combination of golden skin stretched over magnificent thews.

Entering the site, Jeongguk places you back on your own two feet, albeit they are slightly unsteadier than before he had picked you up. When you first slunk out of your tent in your slick and sweaty state, you had avoided the heat of the fire as if it had teeth. But now you stand as close to the edge of the pit as you can bear, facing the flames with your eyes closed and impatiently wishing that the warmth would dry your skin and bathers in an instant.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, has more straightforward thinking. He grabs a towel from where they all hang on a low branch behind the makeshift kitchen, and then walks back to you and guides you a few steps away from the fire. He drapes the coarse material on your shoulders and begins to vigorously rub you up and down with avid determination, soaking up as many of the droplets as he possibly can. Then, he moves on to his own body, sparing you a gorgeous smile in the process that you reciprocate.

“You can wait in the tent, if you like,” he says quietly as he ruffles the towel against his damp hair.

You nod in agreement and start towards where it is pitched, though not without sliding your eyes down his chest to his soaked board shorts. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock straining against the red material, looking much larger than it had felt in your hand.

Jeongguk must notice, for in the middle of drying himself, he reaches down and grasps a large palm around his crotch. He jostles his dick with a lewd smirk that has your skin tingling with desire. “Like what you see, huh?”

At a lack of response due to the sheer stupefaction the action has forced upon you, you childishly poke out your tongue before turning on your heel and dashing towards his tent. Even in your flustered haste, you do not miss the way he softly chuckles and mutters cute.

It is not until you are unzipping the entrance that you realise your hands are shaking. A mixture of nerves and excitement travel all the way down to your toes, and your heart practically vibrates in your chest as you climb inside. You admire Jeongguk’s cosy space of a blow-up double-mattress with striped navy-and-white sheets; his sports bag full of clothes and hygiene commodities is shoved into the leftmost corner by the door. Unleashing your hair from its tie, you let it descend onto your shoulders before reclining on the mattress, head resting against the sole, downy pillow.

You wring your fingers together as you stare up at the green, nylon ceiling and wait. Anticipate.

Should I take my bikini off? you wonder, brow pinching, wiggling your toes about to ease the edge off your heightened nerves. Or would that be too abrupt for him to see the moment he comes inside? Maybe he’s into stripping his partner–

Amidst your internal contemplation, you do not hear the dull thumps of Jeongguk’s approach until the hanging tent material that comprises the entrance is pushed aside. His gaze hardens as he enters, and it sweeps over your stretched out figure before he turns to zip the door closed. Afterwards, the silence is almost numbing. It prickles your skin into tiny goosebumps, raising the hairs along your arms and the nape of your neck. All the while, Jeongguk kneels at the end of the mattress and surveys you with a lecherous glint to his eyes, drumming his fingers against his thick thighs.

“Take your bikini off,” he finally murmurs in a tone lower than you have ever known it; commanding in such a way that you have to restrain yourself from literally scrambling to abide to his order.

At a commendable pace, you lift your torso high enough so that your hands can unclasp your top. You make a show of slipping the straps down your arms before you smooth your palms down your waist. Hooking your thumbs beneath the mustard material hugging at your hips, you lift your legs perpendicular to glide the bottoms over your thighs, knees and ankles. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your veins at the muffled grunt Jeongguk makes at the sight that your purposeful position allows: your pussy peeking out from between your thighs; wet and waiting to be worshipped by him.

Once you are completely bare and you have lowered your legs to lay flat against the bed, Jeongguk sedately climbs on top of you. He appears like a dark and hulking shadow with teeth, and the view is so primal that you whimper with a surge of need. Completely trapped in by his arms, all you can do is expectantly stare up at him and demurely blink while he takes a moment to drink you in.

He outlines your features with hooded eyes before he leans down and kisses you, surprisingly tamer than the last. Jeongguk’s tongue moves in languid motions against your own, his mouth hot and sensual as it slants in perfect precision with your lips that part so willingly underneath his control. He relieves the support of his weight from one of his hands to snake it around the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss an inch further. It only serves to send your ardency into hyperdrive, and you increasingly notice how the sensitivity of your skin heightens with his minimal touching. You feel like the torn end of a live wire; sparking and fizzling at any given moment that the damp fabric of his shorts brushes against the inner of your thigh, or his toned chest grazes gingerly against your perked nipples.

Jeongguk draws away from your swollen lips—a thin string of saliva connecting you. Then, he plants another quick kiss to the ruined flesh before his mouth trails messily down your jaw, sucking and nipping along the way and eliciting quiet moans from your lungs. His breath is warm when it reaches your ear, tongue flicking out to snare the lobe and drawing it between his teeth. The hand that had slipped behind your neck slowly retreats, slipping around to settle levelly against your chest.

“Your tits are lovely,” Jeongguk murmurs against your ear. He leans back as you make a small whimper of desire so you can see his wicked smile.

Jeongguk shifts down to finally provide you with some relief. Dragging his tongue over your left nipple, he kneads the right with his large palm and tweaks the bud between his knuckles, and you pleasantly sigh. But what really sets you on edge is when Jeongguk begins to faintly grind the solid girth of his clothed cock over your glistening centre. His tongue simultaneously circles around your areola and you, knotting your fingers through the dark tufts of his hair, swear you can taste the stars.

But you want more. You need so much more than this.

The carnality that has been coiling tight within your core is set aflame, crackling into a wildfire that licks and scorches along your bones, lighting up your body with ferocious desire. Jeongguk switches sides, fixating his mouth to the underside of your right breast. He bites down on the soft flesh and rocks his dick with growing arduousness. The seam of his board shorts drags roughly against your clit and you suddenly cannot stand it, this meagre contact, this barrier of microfibre that collects your accumulating arousal when it could be his dick dragging hotly through the mess. It could be perspiring skin-on-skin sliding against one another. It could be all seven inches of him buried tight inside of you. It could be him filling you with his pearly cum and not letting that stop him, continuing to snap his hips against your own, his seed spilling out of your entrance until you are reaching your peak and releasing all over his cock–

“A-Ah, take your shorts off,” you breathlessly whine, grabbing at the sides of Jeongguk’s face to lift him from your chest. Your nipples are now shining spectacularly.

He dumbly stares at you with his lips parted, swollen and slick with his own saliva. It almost appears too adorable in the heated moment; juxtaposing the way he had so assertively told you to strip, as though he has become too caught up in his ministrations. But Jeongguk is just as quick to catch onto his slip-up. He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and then ruminatively pokes it into the side of his cheek. The sight is so inviting that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter.

It is only in the static silence that you come to realise you are panting, chest heaving in short, desperate exhalations. Maybe that is why Jeongguk takes a small piece of pity on you. He sits back on his haunches and takes his time to marvel at your spread thighs and the prize at the centre, tracing its pretty, wet curves with his eyes alone. Then, he is dipping his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before gingerly bringing them to your pussy, drawing a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger.

Your toes curl, fingers grasping at the sheets as a stuttering gasp tumbles from your lips. It is a sign that Jeongguk takes as the go-ahead to crawl up beside you. He grabs at your hips to roughly flip you onto your side and then cuddles up behind you, curling his bicep for you to rest your head upon. His nose traces at the curve of your neck while he smooths his palm over the supple flesh of your ass, giving it a light squeeze before proceeding to make his way between your thighs.

“F-Fuck, Jeongguk,” you whimper when his saliva-slick fingers begin to toy with your cunt, separating the folds and exploring the softness; gathering your juices and spreading them from your entrance to the apex.

He takes care to draw a tight circle around the hood of your clit, which has your muscles locking up and a short huff escaping your tongue. Jeongguk plants small, pleasant kisses across your skin until he reaches your ear. Humming appreciatively, his fingers settle tantalisingly close to your opening.

“Do you wanna know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he purrs. A shiver traverses your figure, increasing in intensity when the tip of his forefinger slips almost imperceptibly inside of you. “How long I’ve wanted to kiss and touch you; to watch you writhe underneath my hands?”

“So why won’t you t-take your shorts off,” you mumble, slightly wriggling your hips in an attempt to slide further down his fingers. Unexpectedly, Jeongguk obliges by easing his two fingers inside of you, sinking all the way down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of the stretch, deliciously tight.

“Because I want this to be about you,” Jeongguk murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe as he starts to glacially pull and push his fingers through your entrance. You cannot help but greedily bear down on him, rolling your ass into his hand in flawless time to his thrusts, chasing the spark of pleasure that flickers distantly against the pitch black backs of your eyelids.

Jeongguk groans at your neediness. He drags his fingertips against your walls when he draws them out to the very opening, and proceeds to twist them in a spiralling motion as he enters once more, sending you near delirious. Most especially when his voice lowly rumbles out the words, “God, even when you’re cock-thirsty, you’re gorgeous.”

“Ngh– Rude ass,” you mutter and he chuckles, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of you.

Jeongguk draws the tip of his tongue down your throat. He sucks at the juncture until you are a whimpering, writhing mess. Only then does he pull out of you, beginning to slowly massage his arousal-coated fingertips against your clit, worsening your state. Screwing your eyes closed, the sparks glow brighter, and your moans heighten in pitch with your teeth dug into the damp flesh of your lower lip.

“Careful, you’ll wake everyone up,” Jeongguk warns quietly, laving his tongue over the bite and leaning closer so that he can pepper kisses along your jaw. The movement allows for his rock hard length to be nestled tightly against your ass, and you whimper with a sudden surge of fervency.

“Could shut me up with– ah, your cock in my mouth,” you cheekily propound, grinning when the air whistles through Jeongguk’s gritted teeth at the thought.

“Naughty, aren’t you,” he grunts, quickening his pace. Your thighs grow tight, muscles tensing as you bite your tongue and try your best to remain silent, slurring incoherently underneath your breath. “But I bet my mouth could do a better job of that while I’m fucking you.”

“Y-You’re all bark and no bite, Jeon Jeongguk,” you manage through your panting, gyrating your ass against his dick.

Your eyes blissfully roll into the back of your head when Jeongguk reciprocates, rubbing in fluid synchronisation with your movements. His own breath comes up short, and his fingers ruthlessly continue to attack your apex, flicking at the oversensitive bundle of nerves. You teeter ever closer to the edge of your limits. Your body locks up and relaxes in a repetitive, agonising cycle. Your opening clenches around nothing but air and you need more, more, more.

“Say please,” Jeongguk hums, slowing down and resuming to languidly stroking his fingers over your swollen folds. He skirts around your entrance while your chest erratically rises and falls. You lick your lips and feebly latch onto the final strings of your sanity.

“Please,” you whisper, and despite yourself, an embarrassed heat creeps into your cheeks. “Please, fuck me, Jeongguk.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and the warmth suddenly burns. His fingers leave your aching cunt and the warmth of his bare chest recedes. Hands find your hips and gingerly roll you onto your back.

The sudden lack of touch has you feeling fragile, like a single tap by the tip of his finger will throw your body over the edge, and your orgasm will thrash through you in a tidal wave of pleasure. You focus your gaze on Jeongguk as he sits up and tugs his board shorts down his thighs; the material sticks and catches on his skin with built-up perspiration as his glorious, sculpted ass comes into view. A small part of you wishes to reach over and spank it, just to feel how firm it is. Though the idea is stunned into utter silence when Jeongguk turns to face you, and his unclothed length catches your eye.

If Hercules was reincarnated into another being, it would be Jeon Jeongguk. Dick-size included.

“Damn,” you breathe, spreading your legs a little wider and raising an eyebrow. “Will you even fit?”

Jeongguk stares at your centre with his lips parted, an utter mess of his own doing, before dragging his eyes up to your own. He shakes his head out of incredulity as a tiny grin forms on his lips, crawling on top of you again and murmuring, “You’re going to be the death of me, y’know? Saying shit like that like it’s nothing.”

“And what a way to go,” you smile.

Jeongguk pinches your side, smothering your yelp with a short kiss that scatters into a handful of them over your face. He fleetingly pecks at your cheek, chin, nose, and forehead until he pulls back to fondly stare at you. Then, his expression twists into a grimace.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’ve got a condom–”

“I’ve got the rod implant, so go for your life.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen a fraction, pitch pools of infinity that skim over your features. “Have you, uh– Been tested?”

“Yes, I have.” You snake your hands up his broad, solid shoulders, gliding further until they can tangle into his hair. You knead gently at his scalp. “Have you?”

“Mhm,” Jeongguk hums, the corners of his lips quirking. He leans closer, his body lowering its weight upon you until you can feel his shaft pressing against your folds. An unexpected oh passes your lips at the warm sensation. “So, now that we’ve got that settled…”

“… Back to the good stuff?” you smile with a waggle of your brows.

Jeongguk teasingly growls, pouncing back on your mouth. With one hand on your waist and the other squeezing at your breast, he begins to slowly rock his cock against your slick centre, coating it in your juices. His tongue enters your mouth and touches yours, giving off a moan of his own at the newfound direct contact, which has your heart tripping in your chest.

The rolling motions continue until it feels like your bodies have melted into honey; sticky and unified; saccharine heaven. Jeongguk makes more noise than you first expected of him, and he sounds undeniably sexy when he is so turned on. Small groans and sharp intakes of air occur against your lips, causing your throat to run dry.

Now, he barely even kisses you. Rather, the two of you let your mouths lazily hang open, breathing each other in, tongues sporadically catching on flesh and teeth with every undulation. His eyes—glassy with lust and adoration—are mere slants that peer lethargically down at you, not once leaving your own until his hands adjust so that his elbows support him either side of your body. Jeongguk silently observes your already fucked out features while he reaches down to his cock, spreading your arousal and his pre-cum over the length, lubricating it with a few tight strokes.

Then, ever so carefully, he positions the reddened head to your entrance. Immediately, a shock of electricity darts up your spine at the contact; the realisation of this truly happening. The anticipation stirs the coil tighter within your core.

“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” Jeongguk breathes, gently pecking once at your lips.

He only begins to glacially roll his hips forward after you answer with an assured tilt of your chin. With a tender smile, he tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder.

The vaguely uncomfortable stretch is wholly welcome as his cock slowly fills you to the brim, pushing inside of your slick, hot walls inch by inch until he can go no further. The moan that spills from your lips is loud enough to encourage him to wrap a hand around your mouth. His fingers only slip away once he is convinced not another peep will be made out of you. Instead, the symphony of your combined panting becomes the sole sound that stirs the silence.

But the realisation of you clenching so tightly around him is only made apparent when Jeongguk—still utterly motionless—soothes a palm down the slope of your waist. He murmurs, you okay, baby? into your ear, and you answer with a minuscule nod. A rush of air escapes your lungs, consequently relaxing your tensed muscles, and your core loosens around him.

Jeongguk pushes himself up in order to get a better look at you and the blissed expression settled upon your features. Before you can grin at him, he swoops back in, cradling your jaw and whispering against your lips, “You look unbearably sweet with my cock stuffed in you.”

Pleasantly, you simper, “I’ll look sweeter when that cock makes me come,” which surely has him mentally damning you to hell for having such a sinful mouth paired with that pretty face.

“I look forward to seeing that,” he murmurs.

Leisurely, Jeongguk draws his cock almost completely out of you, the tip nestling an inch within your entrance. Then, he is kissing you with purpose and driving back inside. The flames within you that had simmered for the sparsest of moments reignite in full vigour.

Jeongguk fucks you slow, yet hard. He snaps his hips into you while his palm remains to caress your face, tongue hot and assimilating your own in such a sensual, tender manner that your heart melts. There is something so precious about the way that he does it; taking care of you; ensuring you feel every single inch of him inside of you with each stroke while he kisses you silly. It is as if he is trying to embed his genuine honesty into your skin, tucking the truth of the situation into every crevice of your body, and refusing to let you be convinced that this is only a one-time thing.

Warmth consumes you when you realise this. Jeongguk is opening up. He is drawing his true feelings along your bones, and outlining your lips with the adoration that he has held for you for an indiscernible amount of time. He marks you with his fingertips, tongue, cock—reaching any place that he can in order to prove that he can be devoted, that he has been from the get-go. And he will continue to be, even after this tenuous night of carnality that could have so easily ruined everything the two of you have created.

But here, Jeongguk stares into your eyes and ties your tongues with promises. He fucks you like a dream come true, and swears with a cross over his heart that it has never been anybody but you.

That is all you need to lurch over the edge. The coil within your core suddenly snaps with the tension and brings the wildfire with it. For a moment, all you can see is glorious light, freckling your vision until it consumes you whole and has your bones shaking.

Jeongguk ensures you ride out every last second of it on his cock, filled to the very shaft, sloppily thrusting into you. You cry out at the euphoric wash of your orgasm fizzling from your ankles to your nose, sounding desperate and aching. Jeongguk does not even dare to silence you; careless to the fact that six sleeping bodies surround the both of you, separated by thin nylon. He could never, because he pulled that magnificent melody from the marrow of your being, and not even fingers or toes could suffice to count the amount of times he has wished to do so.

The delightfully blinding white fades to only a shimmer at the corners of your eyes. High on the sight of you, Jeongguk quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder and a violent groan from between his clenched teeth.

Jeongguk buries his face into the crook of your neck. Weakly, you coax him through it. You soothe your fingers between the strands of his damp hair, even if you wince at how he continues to feebly thrust into your raw pussy while he coasts through the sparkling remnants of his high. Then, there is a quivering sigh, the emptying sensation of his cock being drawn out of your walls—trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it—and Jeongguk finally collapses to the right of your body, facedown, utterly exhausted.

The silence is unalike to the typical whoops–I–just–had–sex–with–my–friend–and–now–we–are–screwed kind that settles awkwardly in the air and feels like sludge in your lungs. Rather, it is the peaceful patience of catching breath. An elated, lethargic smile tilts your lips at the fact that Jeongguk, albeit his face is hidden, keeps his palm settled upon your stomach. He lazily smooths over the skin in nonsensical patterns until he is feeling vaguely human enough to turn his head, facing you from across the mattress.

There are questions in his eyes, ones that will be answered with intimate time and care. But he resolves to observe the spectacle that is you; the marvellous disaster he has formed with his bare hands. The hand on your abdomen lifts, and Jeongguk shifts closer, enough so that his face is a few mere inches from your own. He watches the individual strands of your hair—stuck to your skin with already drying perspiration—lift and detangle as he pushes them away from your face, delicately running his thumb over your warm cheek in the process.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Jeongguk murmurs, letting his hand drape back over your stomach. You, in all of your giddiness, can barely suppress the giggle; the ardent urge to tease him just a while longer.

Widening your eyes, you blink almost comically at him. “What, have sex in a tent among the surroundings of Mother Nature?”

Even in the dark, Jeongguk’s lovely flush glows. “No! I mean, it’s definitely something to tick off the bucket list. But I meant pushing your hair away from your face, being able to hold you like this, and getting to have you this close to me. You’re so warm.”

“You’ve always…” you continue to eye him seriously, adding in a raise of your brows. “… wanted to use me as your personal space heater?” The last of your sentence sputters as you try to tame the bubble of laughter that expands within your throat, especially now that Jeongguk looks marginally murderous.

“Oh my god. I’m trying to say that I like you, ___. I have since, well, probably the first time we met.”

All of the humour drains from your face as those words spill into the space between you; a confession that has been trapped away in his ribcage, hidden behind his heart for eons. Ridiculously, like a goldfish, you gape at him, speechlessly opening and closing your mouth despite the small voice in the back of your mind mutters: Well duh, he just had his dick inside of you, what else did you expect?

Something changes in Jeongguk’s expression. A stony concern begins to pull tight at his features while the silence draws out, and the hand that circles the skin of your stomach comes to a halt. You, finally finding your voice, feel the complete and utter horror flood into your tone in a tar that makes your tongue heavy; your words sound much more bitter than your initial intention.

“When I was drunk and called you an adorable kid?” The mortification swells in your pitch that rises with the gradual utterance of the question. But it hardly compares to the embarrassment that lights up Jeongguk’s face in varying shades of pink, like a miserable Christmas.

“Holy christ, don’t tell me I’ve been reading our friendship wrong and always thought there was something a little more between us. Like, chemistry or some shit. I don’t know what to call it. I’m not good at this–”

“No no! It’s just that I was so embarrassed that night, and everyone guilted me into believing that I had made you feel uncomfortable and I– You started liking me because of that?” The corner of your mouth lifts at your lack of credence, shaking your head and resting your palm against your forehead. “My whole perspective on that situation has been wrong this entire time, wow.”

“___, you’re really fucking confusing me now,” Jeongguk groans as he pushes himself up on his side, looming over you. His distress is evident in the tautness of his brow, the firm set of his jaw. “Do you– Do you like me, too? Because if you don’t, that’s okay, I think I can take that. But I just want you to know that you– Shit, you’re unlike anybody I’ve ever met. I swear to god that you don’t even seem human sometimes, like you’ve hailed from the night sky. You’re a celestial being who is so good and beautiful and smart and hilarious and full of so much light that it hurts to look at you sometimes. It might be selfish to want all of that for myself, but I do. I have for as long as I remember knowing you. You’re a fucking star, ___, and you’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

A cosy warmth encapsulates your heart, body and soul, like sunlight melting on your skin in molten gold. Jeongguk stares at you, genuine adoration glinting in the smooth obsidian of his eyes as he gauges your reaction. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, as if to hide the truths he just spoke that remain painted there, and you have never wished to kiss him so badly.

Glacially, as though you are approaching a frightened animal, your hand glides across the mattress until it comes into contact with his own. You lace your fingers together, quietly musing to yourself at how, in the morning, you had spiralled into a panic over the fact that his palm was melded to your own, and had experienced such a peculiar longing once they were separated. Now, you hold Jeongguk’s hand without any fear of him letting go, nor the thought that maybe, perhaps, this is not what he wants and you are stupidly overthinking.

“Yes, Jeongguk, I’ve liked you for a very, very long time,” you softly confess, the smile that was teasing at your lips stretching into a full-blown grin. “And if this, all of this, doesn’t mean we’re dating now, I’m going to crawl out of this tent and hold myself under the lake with a giant rock.”

“No,” Jeongguk, still blushing and squeezing your hand, says firmly. He blanches when he notices the now flat expression on your face. “I mean no, you’re not going out there and drowning yourself because I, Jeon Jeongguk, want to date you and call you mine.” Then, he backtracks, frowning as he reprocesses his thoughts. “Wait, you will always belong to your own self, but I just want to–”

“Stop right there. Kiss me.”

“Can do.”

And so he does.

It is a scene that is horrifyingly familiar. Reminiscent of approximately twenty-four hours ago in the form of thumping fists and a shouting voice that runs in a smooth baritone. That is, the victory call of the bane of your existence, violently tugging you from the sanctuary of sleep.

Unfocused and rheumy, your eyelashes detangle. The lids stickily separate and you tiredly release a groan from the back of your throat. Reaching up to grab your pillow to smoosh against your ear and hopefully muffle out the noise, it takes you a scarce moment to realise that what your sleepily searching fingertips have come into contact with is, in fact, not the feathery down that you were expecting. Rather, it is something much more natural in texture, smoother like–

A face.

“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screeches from outside, the sound of nylon slapping against his hands reverberating around the small space. “Oh my god, have you seen ___?! Seriously, wake up, this is an emergency!”

Oh, shit.

Eyes snapping wide open, you look up to where your hand is frigidly sprawled to see, yes, that is most certainly a face that your hand is casually caressing. Jeon Jeongguk’s face, in particular. Your boyfriend’s face. Already awake as a result of your best friend’s panicked squawking, he peers down at you from between your fingers. You can feel the crescent of his smile forming against your palm, eyes filmy with lingering remnants of lethargy.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Jeongguk mumbles, listlessly shaking off your hand to fall limply between you so that he can press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart feel fuzzy. Jeongguk’s eyes skim further south, travelling down your bare chest, the curve of your exposed hip, the sunlight that pools on your thigh, hitched over his side. Jeongguk languidly runs a thumb over your nipple, eliciting a tingle from your nerves.

Blinking sleepily, he murmurs, “Damn, I can get used to seeing this.”

“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screams again with more vigour, ruining the pleasant moment. “Wake the hell up, you fucking loghead!”

Planting a dry kiss to his lips, you sigh and tuck your head under Jeongguk’s chin. You make a sweet little sound when he proceeds to wrap his arms around your shoulders, holding you closer. “Y’know, I’d be going out there and murdering him with the chainsaw right about now if this was only a one-time thing. He’s really killing the moment.”

“Mhm, lucky I’m making sure we have an infinite amount of mornings like this,” Jeongguk hums into your hair. Your lips curl against his throat in silent rapture. “How much longer do you think until he–”

“That’s it, I’m coming in!”

“Shit, prepare yourself,” Jeongguk grunts as he hears Taehyung’s fingers begin to clumsily fumble with the zipper. He reluctantly releases you so he can sit up and search for his underwear, calling out, “Unless you want an eyeful of my dick, Tae, I suggest you wait a fucking second.”

“Oh, so now he thinks to respond, the little shit!” Taehyung fumes through the thin wall while you scramble to put your bikini on, knowing that there is not a single way you can avoid the sole outcome of this situation. “Dude, seriously, have you seen ___?”

Pushing your hair away from your face, you knead your knuckles into your eyes. In the process, you feel the delicate weight of Jeongguk’s hand on the small of your back as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, and your hands shift from your sockets to caress his jaw. Grudgingly, he draws away, gazing at you with such tenderness before he shifts his focus to the entrance. Jeongguk releases a shuddering breath and then yanks at the zip. The early morning sunlight slowly spills onto the mattress as he opens the door.

On the other side, you are met by a frantic Taehyung, who looks about ready to commit a murder. The rest of the boys are slouched in their camper chairs, surrounding the embers of the smoking fire, looking hungover as all shit as the observe the scene.

The panic that has consumed Taehyung’s features slowly slips away as he registers the sight before him. His eyes flick between Jeongguk, who hulks impassively in the entrance, and you, who is situated a foot behind him with an unsure expression twisting your face into a borderline grimace. The silence that has settled over the camp is almost numbing until Taehyung leans back on his haunches, tilts his head towards the boys behind him, though remains to fix his eyes on the both of you.

“Jimin, you owe me fifty bucks! Told you I could fuckin’ do it!” he calls out in unexpected victory, and Jimin groans loudly in disappointment.

For a brief second, you let his words subside into the still atmosphere. Then, your voice is cutting into the air, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump at its sudden sharpness.

“What the fuck, you betted on this?!” you shout, heat rising in your cheeks, most especially when you come to notice the wicked, guilty grin plastered to Taehyung’s mouth.

“Everybody but the two of you saw it coming!” Taehyung tries to explain, scrambling to stand up as Jeongguk starts to emerge from the tent in nothing but his black briefs. You try your absolute best to not be sidetracked by the muscles of his thighs and back, bunching up and flexing as he moves. “The bet was harmless, I swear! W-We just needed to give you guys that extra push–”

Jeongguk, expression utterly menacing, is now completely out of the tent. He stands before Taehyung, who is slowly shuffling backwards and putting as much distance as he can between himself and the giant mass of intimidating muscle. When Jeongguk raises an inquisitive eyebrow, Taehyung fucking flinches.

“What push?” he says threateningly. Given the circumstances, you actually pray for Taehyung’s small, fragile soul that is an inch away from having the shit beaten out of it.

Taehyung chuckles nervously, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck. “Well, telling you to help ___ pack, forcing you to swap seats with me in the car, making you help her set up our tent–”

“Don’t forget sneaking the condom into Jeongguk’s wallet,” Namjoon pitches in from the smouldering campfire. The surrounding boys begin to cough and laugh.

Taehyung must realise this is the final straw that breaks the camel’s back, because he hastily turns on his heel with a screech and begins to run. Jeongguk immediately charges after him with conviction in his stride, which only sets your group of friends off into louder howls.

“You’re all a bunch of dicks,” you huff as you rise from the tent, folding your arms and walking over to the circle. The lot of you watch as Jeongguk swoops Taehyung up by the waist, hauls him over his shoulder, and starts towards the pier; ignoring Taehyung’s squeals of protest. “Who out of you won money from this?”

You roll your eyes and sigh when Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon nonchalantly raise their hands. Your gaze briefly flicks back to the spectacle that is making its way down the jetty when you hear Taehyung squawk: Don’t you fucking dare!

“Aw, c’mon, ___,” Hoseok reasons with a grin from across the pit, sipping at a cup of orange juice. “It was clear as day that you and Jeonggukie were meant to be. We didn’t mean to upset you guys.”

“We only want the best for the both of you,” Seokjin adds in, stretching in his camper chair. He wears a matching set of pink pyjamas, marring the otherwise natural scenery as a speck of vivid repulsion. With a sparkle in his eye, he smiles up at you and says, “So, does this mean you’re dating now?”

Before you can answer—if the sheepish smile is not an instant giveaway—Jeongguk, standing at the end of the pier with a uselessly thrashing Taehyung cradled in his arms, twists his head to face the rest of you on the shore. Even from this distance, his grin shines like a million watts of pure jubilation. You cannot help but shake your head, smiling widening stupendously at the sight because wow, that is your goddamn boyfriend! Holy shit!

“You bet we’re fucking dating!” Jeongguk hollers, and you feel the sudden urge to bury your face in your palms with a groan of embarrassment. “That award-winning ass is mine!”

Then, without further ado, Jeongguk flings Taehyung high into the air, who screams at the top of his lungs, “Matchmaker of the year, mother fuckers!” before he crashes into the water with a grand splash.

The boys all get to their feet, cheering and spilling orange juice and instant coffee in their flailing antics. Jeongguk, with his hands raised above his head in victory, strolls half-naked down the wooden planks towards you, who meets him halfway. Wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with ease, Jeongguk spins the both of you around and kisses the laughter from your lips in such an open display of affection that your heart bursts in your chest. All the while, the boys wolf-whistle and applaud as if such a display is deserving of their raucous celebration.

But you would never have them, Jeongguk, nor even Taehyung any other way than this. Your closest friends and your boyfriend. The idiots that fill your heart with so much love you can barely take it. The ones who will forever have you expecting the unexpected.

Note | No wildlife was harmed in the making of this fic, nor did any Kim Taehyung’s accidentally drown due to any embarrassed Jeon Jeongguk’s holding him underneath the lake water for an unprecedented amount of time. Try and guess what lines of dialogue and incidents in this fic have been based off my real camping experiences with my pals!! No, not the smut scene (though doing Jeongguk in the middle of nowhere sounds rather fun).

I hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I did when it came to creating all of the shit-talk banter for it. I swear on my life it was never meant to be this long, but crackvory clearly lives on. I love you guys, thank you for your support; whether it be in likes, reblogs, messages, or simply reading the story!!

♔ Listen to Violet Rain’s magnificent song that was inspired by this fic!

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

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New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/the-stupid-mistakes-we-make-when-travelling/

The stupid mistakes we make when travelling

WHEN it comes to travelling, we tend to take a few more risks.

But here are some things you probably shouldn’t do when you’re travelling. Ones that I’ve definitely done, and shouldn’t have done.

GET IN A CAR WITH A STRANGER

Never get in a vehicle with a stranger isn’t even exclusive to travelling, this is just plain common sense isn’t it?

You’d think so, but sometimes you can be naive and be lured in to a situation, especially if you’re a first time traveller and a basic English male (some would argue still is) easily won over by the chance of a kick around.

Back in 2010 I visited South Africa for the World Cup, it was the first stop on my travelling adventure that has resulted in me living in the far away land of Australia, which is in fact a real place.

The Rainbow Nation boasts scenic drives, breathtaking coastlines and is home to the Big Five. While it is stunning country full of wonderful people, it’s also no secret that it’s gulf between rich and poor and ongoing internal problems contribute to a high crime rate making it not always the safest place to travel.

So when the man selling mobile phones in the local shopping centre offered us to get in his battered 1994 Vauxhall Corsa for a game of football on day two of your travels, we probably should have declined and not jumped in with our new friend from the Ivory Coast, Solomon.

It actually turned out to be a good choice.

We picked up his friend Ezy E (the name he gave us) who looked surprisingly well considering his death in 1995, before heading to a field to play the single most international game of football possible. We had people from every corner of the globe and the beautiful game was as universal as it should be.

We talk about danger yet this turned out to be the friendliest possible setting and a perfect byword to the World Cup.

Idiot Scale: 6, I went with my gut, got it right and I’d do it again.

GET ON A MOTORBIKE WITH NO HELMET

The world won’t end if you don’t ride a scooter when in Asia. Trust me on this, there’s no-one at customs checking your bike history or interrogating you on your scooter taxi record, you’ll be fine.

It’s not the scooters that are the scourges though is it? They’re a great way to get around crazy busy Mega-Cities, less developed beach towns or rural villages. It’s us morons on them that’s the issue.

Just because we’re travellers though, we’re not indestructible.

That may sound bloody obvious but their seems to be a strange careless approach by travellers that are used to safer, more nanny-state environments.

It’s a whiff of first world immunity, almost an arrogant sense of invulnerability.

Whatever it is, it’s unfortunately a naive misconception and I’m guilty of it too.

After spending three weeks in Ubud and getting a scooter (safely) every day, I fell into this black hole of ignorance and without real reason.

It seemed a valid reason but on reflection, it really was a first-world.

I’d had a pretty hard day, I’d enjoyed a Balinese massage, hopped on a scooter to the gym before scoffing my now regular extra spicy gado-gado from my also now regular haunt, Munchies Warung.

Following that I sauntered back to the hostel without a care in the world, I Skyped my girlfriend before doing a maximum three lengths in the 12m pool, this was clearly a heavy load exercise day.

You’re no fool, you can now see that this had been a flat chat busy day and as it often does in that situation, time had escaped me and left me in a rush for the main event that evening, the Manchester United vs Liverpool game.

The bar showing it, The Melting Pot is on the other side of Ubud, a 10 minute scooter ride away.

It’s now raining (Bali raining, not a March drizzle) heavily and despite usually batting off ‘taxi taxi’ calls by the minute, I somehow couldn’t find a ride to save my life.

That was until one burly, cigarette smoking character approached me for the lift I so desperately needed. I asked for a helmet, he looked at me like I had two heads so I jumped on regardless.

I had looked at the driver and underestimated him, because from minute one he turned into Valentino Rossi on the wet tyres at Phillip Island.

There’s many issues with that but a few of them would be traffic, pedestrians, he didn’t have wet tyres and he isn’t Valentino Rossi.

My point here? I’m an idiot and anyone that does the same thing is an idiot.

Running late for the footy wasn’t a risk to my life, not then, not ever. Jumping on that bike with no helmet in the rain was, massively. I wouldn’t do that over the Westgate Bridge or down George Street would I? No, which compounds the idiocy further.

I don’t know what it is, but it is this fact seems to ironically outfox even the smartest cookies.

In summary, if you, or every single person you’ve ever seen on a motorbike in your country wears a helmet, then it’s probably with good reason, it’s because it saves your bounce from serious, sometimes fatal injury.

Come on, don’t be a me.

WALK HOME IN A DANGEROUS CITY

Another obvious one, even in your hometown but the reasons these tips and life lessons are amplified and exaggerated when overseas are simple, we don’t know the area, language or local customs.

We are out of our comfort zone (or should be) playing in someone else’s playground and we should remember that.

Alcohol is a funny old thing, it can give you the confidence to get up at karaoke, talk to the girl who is out of your league but also to just get on with things and crack on with an air of invincibility no matter where you are — thus ignoring the aforementioned playground rule.

It’s never ideal when you’ve woke up on the top bunk trying to piece together your night. You thank your lucky stars that you got home safely, especially when you don’t know how you got home.

Those stars are thanked a thousand times over when not only do you remember you’re in La Paz (pretty sketchy) but when you remember your night out was a last minute decision and you look in the mirror to realise you are covered in blue paint. Yes, this was a last-ditch effort to join in the fancy dress fun with the partygoers. I never thought I’d have to dress as a Smurf to fit in ….

Nothing says take advantage of me I’m a drunken vulnerable idiot traveller than walking home alone and drunk dressed as Papa Smurf.

Throw in the police in Pretoria (South Africa again) telling us we shouldn’t feel safe while walking home with our two-foot pizza and you realise that things can really turn out a lot worse.

I’ve come to realise that when you’ve had seven beers and three tequilas, you’re a long way from invincible. Spend the dough on the taxi or make sure you go home with mates.

In hindsight, some of these are funny to look back on, some of them life lessons but some, arguably all, were in fact silly decisions and I can count myself very lucky.

I’d have only needed one of these to go a bit wrong for things to have turned out very differently.

It may seem like boring advice but sometimes boring is better, it’s not always more fun or thrilling to go the other way.

There’s no increase in exhilaration by not wearing a helmet, just an increase in risk, stupidity and ignorance.

Do, see, taste, play, find, watch, listen, swim, jump, fall, fly and love, but look after the most important part of it all, you.

Adam Ogle is the co-founder of Welcome to Travel: Melbourne

Source: https://www.news.com.au/travel/travel-advice/travellers-stories/the-stupid-mistakes-we-make-when-travelling/news-story/722c634e879025213380373a11b57e42