#I had to find an explanation for why he's running around the camp bare-chested

[thunderboltfire]

The whiplash of playing as a paladin after playing as a rogue.

Polish version

[lafiametta]

I can't decide on which one to choose between Touching #28 or #35 so you can choose which ever one you want or you can do them both or you can somehow merge them into the same oneshot. Whatever you want!

There was another request for #28, so I'm going to go with #35 ("kissing their bruises and scars"). I've based this on some of the gifsets and behind-the-scenes images I've seen; giving Olek these scars was clearly an intentional detail (no doubt part of his backstory), although there's no explanation for them in the show.

Olek had little experience with women.

His brothers used to tease him, calling him a monk or sometimes Saint Olek, but the truth was he was mostly shy. Girls made him nervous, the way they looked at you, the way they laughed behind their hands, and by the time he felt confident enough to start looking back he was already gone from the village, in a camp full of men working in the oil fields. There were a few women there, it was true, but they were the kind you paid for, and besides being shy, Olek was also poor.

Perhaps that helped explain why the girl in his arms seemed like nothing less than a revelation. Ling Yi was so beautiful, from a world far beyond the earthy reality of his own, but for some reason she had chosen him. He still could not entirely believe it, although she worked to convince him of it every time they were together, curling her arms around his neck and peppering him with kisses. And so what Olek lacked in experience, he did his best to make up for with enthusiasm.

They did not always have the luxury of time, often having to wait until night, when their absence was less likely to be noticed. But occasionally they found moments during the day, slipping away from the others to find some quiet corner or deserted stairwell. One afternoon, Ling Yi pulled him into an empty second-class stateroom and behind the locked door they reached for each other, laughing and kissing as they stumbled toward the bed.

The golden afternoon light spilled from the porthole as they lay there, most of their clothes having been discarded along the way. Olek brushed his callused fingers along her collarbone and the shallow indentations of her ribs, barely breathing for all that he was in awe. It was hard to imagine anything as perfect as she was, delicate and soft as down, so warm under his touch.

Ling Yi did not let his explorations go unanswered, and it was clear she was curious, her wide gaze taking in as much of him as she dared. Her fingertips traced the ridges of his brow, then skimmed the slope of his nose, before dipping lower to his throat and down the center of his chest. It was all he could do not to shiver.

Her hand stilled, stopping as it reached the right side of his chest. Olek held his breath, unsure what her reaction would be. Against an otherwise smooth expanse of skin lay a spiderweb of puckered flesh, measuring about the width of her palm.

She let her fingers run along the pale lines, her gaze following, and with her touch Olek began to feel the stirrings of shame. It was terrible to look at, and he knew if she kept looking, it would not be the only one she found. There was a matching burn mark along his left side, and still other scars, other places he had bruised and bled. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was true. Compared to her, what was his body but a map of imperfections, a reflection of hard-worn life he had been given?

Ling Yi glanced back up at him, her dark eyes wide and serious.

"How?" she asked in halting English.

What could he tell her? It wasn't something he liked to remember, much less talk about. What he mostly recalled was the pain, incandescent and searingly deep, and the aroma of hot pitch mixed with what he realized was his own burning flesh. The bosses called it an accident—another worker had let a lantern overturn, setting an overflowing barrel alight—but before it had happened, Olek had noticed the other man's stumbling gait, the smell of cheap liquor on his breath. He had spent less than a day in the camp infirmary before they sent him back out to the fields, the bandages still weeping.

Olek pressed his lips together, his mind sifting through the foreign words, even though he found little to aid him.

"Fire," he finally told her.

Ling Yi nodded, although her expression remained blank. She would probably turn away now, not wanting to look at his marred skin any longer—and he wouldn't blame her. How could she not be at least a little repulsed by what she saw?

But then she moved closer, her head dropping down, and Olek stilled in shock as he realized what she was doing. Her lips gently pressed against the ridges of his scar, soft as a blessing, an unspoken gesture that it did not take him long to understand. It is part of you, she seemed to say, and I will take it along with the rest.

And yet for all the sweetness of her kiss, it burned just the same, searing heat of a new and different kind swiftly igniting across his skin.

[send me an Olek x Ling Yi kissing or touching prompt]

[yesimwriting]

All The Good Dreams

A/n this one is based on a request from @ateliefloresdaprimavera who requested a fic where General Kirigan has been dreaming of the reader for as long as he can remember and that’s one of his few reasons to smile and the reader has been having the same kinds of dreams about him and when they meet they just know. 

This one is being written in third person bc it’s the only way I can see this fic being done but I’m a little insecure about writing in third person so be gentle lol

Also a little personal update I’ve been working on my original novel and it’s coming together y’all!!

--

ALEKSANDER. 

The morning sunlight seems to only come to take her from him, peaking through the curtains and stirring him awake and away from his dreams. Aleksander keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to will her features to remain in his mind. She had looked more angelic in last night’s dream, dressed in all white and watching him with an adoration he doubted real life could duplicate. 

The girl has haunted his dreams like a ghost of promise since before he began to change the world. Since before anything in his life was solidified. He lets out a sigh, something similar to a smile playing at his lips. Thinking of her would not bring her to him, if he could manifest her, she’d be by his side right now. He has things to do, duties and obligations that will bring his final goal closer. Each day is a step closer to victory, and each night brings the promise of dreams. The promise of her. 

--

Y/N.

“Y/n.” The voice is gentle and distant. “Y/n,” a little harsher. “Wake up, you’ll be late.” 

Fighting against grogginess, y/n wakes up, eyes squinting open. “What time is it, Danna?” 

“Late.” Danna’s reply is curt as she steps away from y/n’s cot. “I thought you were awake already and then I came in to look for my boots and you were still asleep with that ridiculously peaceful look.” Danna paces around the room. “You must have been dreaming of your prince again?” 

Y/n feels her skin warm. “He’s not a prince!” It’s a weak defense. “I regret telling you that almost every time I dream I see the same man.” 

Danna drops down, grabbing her worn boots and pulling them on quickly. “You’re making me believe in soulmates, l/n.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes, sitting up and placing her feet on the ground at her own leisure. “It’s nothing like that--I’m not even sure he exists.” 

Lacing her shoes, Danna narrows her eyes at y/n. “Sure.” Y/n opens her mouth to protest, but Danna beats her to it, “If you need to argue with me, do it while getting dressed, we can’t be late today--General Kirigan’s visiting this camp for the first time and I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted by a non-Grisha medic.” 

At that, y/n wrinkles her nose, but she stands anyway. “Ugh...Grisha.” She walks towards her uniform. “They can get away with anything and I hear Kirigan’s the worst of all of them because he’s in the same order as the Black Heretic that began all of this.” Y/n pauses, crossing her arms. “And it’s ridiculous that the army even needs non-Grisha medics. Healers exist and they should not be primarily reserved for other Grisha who rarely get injured, especially to the extent that the rest of us do.” 

“I know, y/n, but don’t speak like that until the General is gone.” Danna draws her lips into a thin line. “And hurry up before you get us both in trouble.” 

Y/n lets out a sigh. “Go ahead without me, I’ll catch up.”

Danna eyes her friend wearily. “Alright, worse comes to worse I’ll try to cover for you.” 

“You won’t need to.” Y/n isn’t sure she believes herself. “I’ll be there.” 

Danna pulls on her second boot, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really believe you.” She stands easily. “But knowing you, you’ll talk yourself out of any trouble the way you always do.” 

“I do not always talk myself out of trouble.” 

Turning to leave, Danna pauses, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. If she had more time to argue with Danna she would take it. But she doesn’t. She’s quick to get dressed, thoughts of the mysterious stranger from her dreams keeping her company. Last night he seemed more tired than normal, a crease between his dark eyebrows as he sat by her side. A part of her she keeps buried worries about him. It’s ridiculous, to concern yourself over a figment of comfort your mind created for you. 

By the time y/n’s changed, she knows she doesn’t have much time to get to her station. She’s rushing out of her tent, one boot still untied. The medic bag she slings over her shoulder swings as she jogs towards the medical tent. Today the camp is hectic, everyone desiring to appear efficient and reliable for General Kirigan. It’s all ridiculous to Y/n. General Kirigan will never be impressed by them. If he’s revered even among Grisha, Y/n can’t imagine the superiority complex that man must possess.

Her eyes scan the soldiers and workers she knows so well, each of them behaving so differently than normal. There is no friendly chatter this morning, no casual banter. There is only the business of war. 

Y/n watches the people she knows, so focused on their nerves that she barely registers the person she crashes into. “Sorry!” The apology leaves Y/n on instinct.  Her bag falls off her shoulder, gauze and antiseptic falling onto the ground on impact. Y/n bends down instantly, beginning to pick up her supplies. She mentally curses herself for being so easily distracted and not properly shutting her bag this morning. “Everything’s so hectic today and I was running late and I just--I have no idea how I didn’t see you.” She drops her supplies back into her bag. “I guess it’s a good thing they keep me off the battlefield and in the medical tents.” 

Reaching for the last of her supplies, Y/n’s eyes land on the shoes of the person she just crashed into. They’re leather. The fine kind of leather meant for marble halls, not trekking through the unknown. Y/n’s mouth goes dry as the possibility of the graveness of her mistake sets in her mind. She exhales slowly, daring to look upwards as she closes her bag. 

When her eyes meet those of the stranger, she is left with no choice but to gape. She’s not staring because she’s now at the mercy of General Kirigan. She’s not staring because nothing could have prepared her for his beauty. She’s staring because she knows that face. She knows those sharp features and steady eyes.

His lips are slightly parted. Y/n is struck with the odd thought that perhaps he too has words wedged into his throat. 

“It’s you.” The whisper leaves her faintly. 

The words seem to unfreeze Kirigan, his expression moving from shocked to stoic. “Excuse me?” 

Awkward regret floods through Y/n. She drops her head downwards, desperate to escape the power of his gaze. “General Kirigan.” She uses her words as a way to dismiss the emotions her chest seems to be brimming with as she stands. He’s not the man from her dreams. That’s impossible. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior an--” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head once. Y/n bites her tongue at his dismissal. “You said ‘it’s you.’”

Embarrassment knots her stomach. “I just hadn’t realized that I ran into you, General. I--I knew you were coming today, but I wasn’t expecting to see you much less like this.” 

Kirigan’s eyes seem to be nothing more than inviting pools of kindling emotion. So familiar yet so distinct. He can’t be the man from her dreams. The man from her dreams must be nothing more than a composition of traits she finds generally attractive. General Kirigan just happens to possess those features. That explanation is the only thing that keeps Y/n’s feet rooted to the ground, but the longer she looks at him the more that explanation loses its strength. There’s just something so knowing behind his expression, so specific to the face that she’s only seen while asleep. 

Tearing his gaze away to scan the area, Kirigan reaches forward, placing a hand on Y/n’s arm. The touch leaves Y/n warmer than it should. Maybe that’s why she lets him lead her forward, ducking into an empty medical tent. She keeps hold of her bag as he turns, his eyes full of something dark and unknown. But not angry, Y/n notes, no, not angry. The look is too peaceful for rage, perhaps even hopeful. 

“When you looked at me…” He exhales, voice low and sacred, “You said ‘it’s you’.” Y/n can only blink, still mesmerized by something so foreign and familiar all at once. “Do you know me?” 

In his urgency, Kirigan’s hold on Y/n’s arm becomes more assured. Something in Y/n wants to pry herself free in order to prove to herself that she’s capable of resisting his drawl. But his touch is not to trap her, the look in his eyes tells her that. His touch is pleading--desperate and hopeful. 

“Everyone knows you,” when Y/n finally finds her voice, she is not convinced it is her own. 

The corners of Kirigan’s mouth fall downwards, something in him threatening to deflate. “I meant--have you seen me before?” The question is not one Y/n is too willing to answer. How could she tell this strange man, this general she was convinced she’d dislike on some fundamental level while never speaking to him, that she knows him? She knows him like she knows her own beginning. “Because I’ve seen you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way her eyes widen. This doesn’t mean anything, she warns herself, he could have seen her walking. “I didn’t see you, that--that’s why I ran into you--” 

“No, you’re avoiding the question.” Her face is warmer than it was when Danna was teasing her this morning. It’s warmer than it’s ever been. “Because you’ve experienced it as well.” 

The swelling in her chest is overwhelming. “Experienced what?” 

Kirigan eyes the entrance to the tent once more, confirming that no one is approaching. “All of the good dreams,” he exhales, “They have been of you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way everything in her melts. She’s not insane. She’s not projecting something dangerous onto the Shadow Summoner. “I see you in my dreams always.” 

Slowly, he releases his grip on her arm. Watching her like she might be a mirage, Kirigan raises his hand, brushing his knuckles along Y/n’s cheek. She lets him, holding her breath until his hand falls back to his side. A part of Kirigan expected the girl to be a trick of the light, something that his touch would reveal to be a fallacy. But she remains true, watching him with eyes the size of saucers. 

“How long I’ve been waiting for you, you’ll never know.” His voice is as heavy as a lament. 

Y/n feels her back straighten slightly on instinct, desperate to pass whatever scrutiny is being passed over her. “How--how does this happen? How do two strangers dream of each other for so long and...” 

Something knowing colors his smile a shade of ambitious green. “What is your name?” 

“Y/n.” 

Kirigan’s minds flit through lifetimes worth of faint memories. The girl laughing, the girl teary eyed, the girl embodying all the stars he’ll never have, the girl representing all he needs. Y/n. There’s finally a name to her. 

“Y/n,�� the name is a gift. Kirigan pulls a ring from his fingers before grabbing Y/n’s arm. Too lost in a strange euphoria, she lets him pull her arm forward before pressing his ring into her skin. Her brow furrows as he begins to guide the metal down her skin. That slight confusion quickly turns to total shock as a thread of light begins to spindle down her skin, following the path he’s creating with the ring. “You and I are going to change the world.” 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag @kaitlyn2907

[coeurdastronaute]

HSAU: College Part 1

Previously on HSAU

Morning started the same, every day, rain or shine. Four thirty in the morning, the alarm beeped in the small attic room, and under one section of angled roof, where a pile of blankets slumbered, an arm would appear and slap around until the offending noise stopped. It was precise and methodical and never changed, six days a week.

Lexa ran her hands over her face after pushing off the blankets, but stayed in bed just a few seconds longer, orienting herself. Though it was still summer, the sky hadn’t brightened just yet, and the night was disinterested in ending anytime soon. When she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she stretched and cracked her joints and yawned before grabbing an old shirt to throw over her sports bra and slipping on a pair of shorts. The fan in her window hummed along while the crickets outside groaned in the heat. Outside, the neighborhood she grew up in was quiet and still. A dog barked and calmed itself. No cars moved at all. Every picket fence and yard with signs and flags slumbered before dawn came, and Lexa was the first among the living. July was awake before the dawn as well. It shook off the night from its coat and stretched forward and backward before loping into the streets, covering every surface with a few inches of thick heat. Without the sun, the heat rose up straight from the ground itself, radiating out into the world. Lexa paused halfway through her run and tied her shoe as the light changed for no cars at all. As she stood she dried her forehead on her shoulder and started off again. Her run got insanely longer with the new summer route that took her out towards her uncle’s garage. For no reason at all. “Where’s Bear?” “I let him sleep in,” Lexa smiled before distracting herself with wiping the sweat from her face with her old shirt. “I ran here though, so that’s impressive.” “Yeah, I mean... no Bear though,” Clarke shrugged and hustled about the café, preparing for the opening. It took just a second, but somewhere between flipping the sign on the door and moving to make the second round of coffee, Lexa grabbed her girlfriend’s arm and tugged her back, kissing her like she had been waiting to do since she started her run. “Your mom still at that conference?” “Until Thursday.” “Want me to help you pack?” “Why don’t you let me actually pack and then come over to watch a movie or something,” Clarke chuckled and pushed at her girlfriend’s chest. “I am a great helper.” “No you’re not,” she smiled and ran her hand up Lexa’s neck, pushing her body closer as she found herself stuck between the counter and her quarterback. “I could barely walk after the last time you came over to help.” The words made her shiver, but Lexa grinned as she swallowed and ran her hands over Clarke’s hips. “But you were way more relaxed.” “I can’t wait until practice starts again. You need to work off all that energy somewhere else.” “How about another training session tonight?” The puppy dog eyes were in full effect, distracting her from everything else. The jingling of the bell at the door made them pull apart. Lexa smiled politely, clearing her throat as her girlfriend adjusted her apron. Just a few more days, and they would be gone, away from the safety of their little town. The entire summer had been spent avoiding thinking about it too much, had been spent disappearing to float down the river, to watch movies much too late in Lexa’s room until her mother would come home late from work and politely remind them of the hour, to drop Aden off at his science camp and disappear together to the mountains and spend the day hiking, which inevitably ended with lounging in the shade atop the hill. Lexa took her seat, at her table, and waited until Clarke finished with the first few customers of the morning. Miraculously, without even having to order, a water appeared, with a big bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Just like nearly a year ago, the quarterback sat there and studied plays as the morning rush came and went. Most of her time was spent watching the girl with blonde hair and cheeks that had that damn smile. For the life of her, Lexa couldn’t figure out how she was going to find the motivation to run when she moved to New Haven. XXXXXXXXX

The evening was growing long in the tooth, but neither party could be bothered to let it end without a fight. And even though a mother made her presence known from time to time, it didn’t deter the two sweethearts in the attic hideaway. Nothing really could, with the late-July heat settling on the roof, angry and annoyed. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen your room this clean ever before,” Clarke observed as she hunkered down on the bed while Lexa finished packing and straightening up. “It wasn’t ever dirty, it just feels… I don’t know. Less lived in.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave a mess for my mom.” 

“I know. I just don’t like any of it.” 

“You’ll be doing the same thing in like six weeks.” 

“Oh no. I’m definitely leaving a mess for my mom.” 

Lexa chuckled and zipped up another duffle bag before tossing it on the pile. She gave her room a finally glance and felt a twinge of sadness in the base of her heart, a tiny little tug on her body that felt like she was already gone. She fell into her bed beside her girlfriend and smiled when a hand pushed hair away from her face. 

“You’re going to go across the country tomorrow,” Clarke whispered. “And I will miss you. But you are going to do something spectacular.” 

The quarterback slid her hand around Clarke’s hip, her thumb touching the warm skin there. She liked the feeling of her, and she wanted to remember it. 

“I’ll miss you badly.” 

“Obviously. I’m incredibly missable.” 

Lexa smiled as Clarke held it there and kissed her eagerly, without holding anything back, to try to say what she couldn’t. Hands gripped on her hips and she pushed forward toward Lexa. Hands moved to her neck and she dug her hands into her girlfriend’s hair. 

“I’ll come see you when you move in,” Lexa promised. “Just a three hour train ride and I can be there.” 

“And you’ll work very hard earning that starting spot this summer. No distractions. And if you get a chance,” Clarke grinned and slide her hand up her girlfriend’s stomach. “To get in shape.” 

“You oogling me is really good motivation.” 

“I don’t oogle,” Clarke shook her head as lips moved to her neck. She felt Lexa settle atop her and closed her eyes, pulling her closer, always closer. “I appreciate.” 

“You’ll have a good summer, right? Not miss me too much.” 

“I’ll miss you plenty, but I’ll try.” 

“Will you, um,” Lexa pulled away slightly, her lips a little puffier, her eyes a little more dilated, her hands touching skin and aching for more. “Would you do me a favor?” 

“Your mom is still making dinner. We have like an hour before dinner. I plan on doing a few favors for you.” 

“No, no, not that,” she shook her head. “Well. Kind of that. But I just… I want you to have a good time this summer, and not think about me. But while you’re doing that, could you watch out for Aden? He gets… he gets quiet sometimes. And my mom. She works too hard. I don’t want to leave them.” 

Her eyes were a little glassy with the confession and Clarke pressed her hand to her chest and nodded with a smile before kissing her softly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“You have no idea how good that is to hear.” 

“I can imagine.”

“Any favors I can do for you?” Lexa ventured with a smile. 

“One or two.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

It wasn’t easy for the first week, but Clarke kept telling herself that if she could make it one week, then she could do it, without a doubt. As hard as it was, she clawed her way through the first seven days without Lexa almost intact and only cried a handful to a dozen times. 

They survived with FaceTime and texts and calls. She got to see a lot of Lexa’s new world with tons of pictures and a lot of eager explanations, and Clarke made sure to keep plans with friends, electing to fake it and hopefully find some moments of happiness. And she did, swimming with friends, parties by the river, working at the café. It was all doable when she didn’t take any time to think about it. 

And every night when she talked with her girlfriend on the phone, Clarke had something to tell her that she did that day to keep herself busy. And she got to hear about how crazy training was, and how awesome the team was, and how exciting being on her own seemed to be. Clarke could handle listening to Lexa talk for hours. 

But there was something she needed to do, and she waited until the first milestone of a week to muster up the courage to do it. 

“Clarke, honey, it is so good to see you,” Gabby opened the door and smiled, wiping her hands in the towel on her shoulder before hugging the girl at her door tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Clarke sighed, melting into the motherly embrace. 

“I hope you’re hungry. I made chicken.” 

“Is it cooked?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she rolled her eyes, grinning as she ushered her guest inside. 

The house smelled warm and delicious, and somehow felt a little different without Lexa’s bag of gear by the door and her cleats clogging up the entryway. The noises were still the same, some music playing over the small radio on the kitchen counter and Aden’s music thumping overhead, but there wasn’t a happy girl about to lope down the steps at the sound of the door and kiss the guest, and everyone knew it. 

“How have you been? How’s summer so far?” Gabby asked as Clarke followed toward the kitchen. 

“Not too bad. Normal stuff. Working and preparing to leave.” 

“Ah, to be young and with the summer ahead,�� she wistfully sighed before taking the chicken out of the oven. 

Her phone rang, and Clarke saw the familiar pep in her step to answer it after she looked at the clock, familiar with the schedule Lexa liked to keep. 

“Hey, kid. How are you?” she smiled at her phone as her daughter’s face popped on the screen. “Your timing is great. Look who just showed up for dinner.” 

Clarke waved at her girlfriend from the counter earning a huge smile. 

“Make sure the chicken is cooked,” Lexa offered.  

“Way ahead of you.” 

“How was practice today? You still sore in the shoulder?” 

“It was great. I got some time in on the first line and had a really good film session. I just got back from dinner with a bunch of the guys. It was Shawn’s birthday, so we went to get a bite at this awesome Chinese place I can’t wait to show you both.”

“And you’re back in the dorm by nine?” 

“A couple of the other guys went to grab drinks, but I’ve honestly never been more tired in my entire life, and we have a five call time tomorrow for conditioning.” 

“Okay, honey, well thanks for calling me. You should sleep.” 

“I will. Clarke, wake me up later so you can tell me all about dinner and your day?” 

“We’ll see,” she shrugged and smiled. 

“I’ll be half asleep but I’m extra cute when I’m half-asleep.” 

“It’s true,” Gabby nodded. “She’s impossible to tolerate when she’s awake.” 

“Very funny,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “I love you guys. Have a good dinner. I’m sorry I missed it.” 

“Get some sleep,” they both ordered. 

It was a good dinner. Clarke enjoyed her time with Lexa’s family as she always did, and she felt a little better that Lexa gave her something to do. Maybe it was a win-win all along, that Lexa got to make sure her family was watched, and Clarke would have something to do. She wasn’t sure she could give Lexa all the credit for the plan, just that she was glad it worked out that way. 

XXXXXXXXX

It had been a long two months. Clarke felt every second of it, she thought, despite how busy she was preparing to move across the country. There was still work, and there was still time with friends, still the summer shenanigans she’d come to love, still time with everyone else who was going their own ways as well. 

It took forever and it went on in a blink. But by the time she got off the plane and picked up her luggage, she realized she didn’t particularly miss home at all. As she stood on the curb and waited for an Uber, she wasn’t as daunted by the idea of change as she had expected, but rather eager to embrace it all. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, you’re going to have to move along--”

Dumbfounded, Clarke stared at her girlfriend, who seemed to have somehow gotten taller and prettier in their time apart, standing next to an old truck. Clad in a backward blue ball cap and a torn up workout shirt that looked as if it was still dirty from a morning practice. 

“What are you--?” Clarke began to ask before smiling too much and launching herself into her quarterback’s arms. 

It felt good, to feel Lexa’s arms around her waist, to smell the sun on her neck, to fit so snuggly there. Clarke squeezed with all of her might, kissing what she could smooshed there, with Lexa’s arms returning it, a laugh in her throat strangled from escaping. 

Somehow Clarke realized her legs wrapped around Lexa and she was essentially a koala, latched there. She didn’t care. She kissed her girlfriend, ignoring the honks of the cars and the swirling police that wanted to usher everyone along. She somehow became the person who missed another persons lips. It was infuriating. 

“How did you know?” 

“My mom told me about your flight,” Lexa shrugged. “I borrowed a truck from one of the guys on the line. They think you’re hot.” 

“Well, that’s… sweet, I guess.” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you. Even if it’s just for a little bit.”

“You’re getting soft on me, Woods.” 

“Yeah,” she grinned, squeezing again. “I don’t care. I knew no one would be here to take you to school.” 

“I was just going to uber or taxi.” 

“I’m going to be the person who takes you where you need to go, even if you don’t ask or expect it, and not in as creepy a way as that sounds--”

She was silenced with another kiss as Clarke struggled to hide her smile. 

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin has been gone for two years, Arthur has a meeting with the Lord Emrys to help with the changing laws:

And he has never bitterly regretted sending Merlin away more

Part 2(final part)

Angst,

SO

I'm gonna say... about 6 months before Uther dies, Merlin's magic is revealed to Arthur.

He really does NOT react well.

Arthur doesn't let Merlin get a word of explanation in, before he hits him on the head so hard he's unconscious before he even hits the floor.

When Merlin wakes up, what he can only assume is MUCH later, he's wearing cold iron shackles, he's been blindfolded, and gagged.

He just listens at first, still dazed and certainly concussed.

After about twenty minutes he's more aware, and realises... he's outside, in a forest, and he's on his own.

~

It’s been two years since Arthur abandoned Merlin in the woods beyond Camelot’s border.

He’s been King now for about a year and a half.

He went back three days later and tracked Merlin for a few hours, before coming to the conclusion that he'd gotten away safely, and heading back to Camelot.

He always tried to justify it to himself as protecting Merlin from Uther, ignoring the fact that Merlin had managed just fine on his own for years.

But really that was just an excuse. All he saw in the moment was a liar and a traitor. Really he should've had Merlin executed so... he's still a good person. He did the right thing.

He hadn't told anyone else the truth (perhaps because he knows they would hate him for it). Instead he told them that he and Merlin had argued, and before Arthur could get to the bottom of why his manservant was so irate, he stormed off in the middle of the night, and told him he wasn't coming back.

He stuck to that story the whole two years, though he's fairly certain they at least suspect he's lying. Gaius definitely does.

I imagine Gaius, only a few days after Merlin's disappearance, taking Arthur aside one night, and demanding to know if Merlin was dead. If Arthur had killed him:

"No! No of course not. He... we had a fight. It's like I said. He left in the night and told me not to follow him, that he wasn't coming back. I plan to respect his wishes."

Gaius releases the bruising grip he'd had on Arthur’s arm and takes a step back, his expression unreadable as he stares at the Prince.

"I...why would think I killed him?"

"Despite the fact that he most certainly could've defended himself against you, I always found it troubling how willing he was to let you execute him, should that be what you wanted."

Arthur has no reply to that, what would he even say? Would Merlin really have willingly walked to a pyre? If Arthur had only asked?

Gaius goes to walk away at that, but just before he shuts the door behind him, he pauses, and without looking back, says:

"If I find out you have killed my son, Sire, for who he is, there will... there is a large group of people who would see that justice is served. Myself included."

Everyone notices the change in the relationship between Gaius and Arthur since Merlin had left.

Arthur, with the knowledge that Gaius knows. Knows the truth and had guessed what he'd done. He couldn't face that.

They barely spoke to each other, Arthur avoided the physician wherever possible and words of encouragement and kindness were no longer aimed his way from the gentle old man.

His relationships with the others deteriorated as well.

They either thought he was telling the truth, and resented him for both being cruel to Merlin, and letting him go so easily.

(After years of Arthur treating Merlin terribly, no one is really surprised that Merlin had decided he'd had enough and left.)

OR they thought he was lying, hiding something, and resented him for not telling them the truth, and potentially doing something unforgivable to Merlin.

All but Gwaine are still polite to him, showing him the due respect of a Prince, and then a King, but not of a friend.

After a series of hijinks, Arthur comes to the terrifying realisation that magic isn't all bad.

Really I think, he's known all along. But admitting that magic wasn't pure evil made what he did to Merlin even more unforgivable.

He begins making moves to legalise it. It's slow and difficult, and he meets resistance at every turn.

BUT he also has the surprising support of Gaius, and his knights, and Gwen, and Morgana.

Still, none of them treat him like a friend, not the way they used to, but they're helping him along the way. He hadn't realised how many people close to him opposed the ban, until he started dismantling it.

Hope rises in him, over the months, as he realises that once he's legalised magic, he can find Merlin, and bring him back. The first place he'll check is Ealdor.

He's... scared of that. Scared that he won't be able to find him, but more scared that he will. That Merlin will hate him. That Merlin won't care that he's repealing the ban and won't want to come back.

Arthur doesn't think he could bare that.

Mostly because he knows that it would be entirely his own fault.

After the ban is finally lifted, there are huge celebrations. If the King is seen to be searching the crowds, as if for a familiar face, no one mentions it.

A few days later, a group of Druids come for an audience with the King, and are met by Arthur in the courtyard.

After quick introductions, and pleasantries, the leader begins to speak:

"Once and Future King, I first want to extend my gratitude for this warm welcome, and promise that you have the Druid's full support in lifting the ban. We hope for a peaceful future, full of cooperation and compassion."

Arthur nods and smiles slightly at that, but before he can reply in anyway, the Druid speaks again:

"Our leader, the leader of all Druids and all magic of the world, would like to convene with you, and discuss the specifics of any future agreements between our two worlds."

Arthur is surprised at that, but hides it well. Leader of... all magic? Sounds... powerful:

"Of course, I readily accept. They may bring themselves forth, I will make time for a meeting whenever they so choose."

"Your majesty, My Lord Emrys already awaits you in the throne room-"

(The Druid smiles at Arthur's barely concealed shock at his words, both at the idea that someone had snuck into his castle undetected, and at the mention of Emrys. One of the the few conversations he'd had with Gaius had been an in-depth explanation of who Emrys was, and his and Arthur's destiny (the physician had failed, of course, to mention Emrys' true identity.)) 

The Druid continues gently:

"-He's not one for public appearances."

"I.... of course. Will you and your group be attending? Or would you like to be shown to your rooms immediately?"

"This is a matter to be discussed privately, between the two of you, My Lord. Myself and my group have a camp just beyond the city walls that we will return to. Thank you for the offer of hospitality, we appreciate the kindness greatly."

With that, the Druid gives another short bow before turning and leaving through the castle gates, his group following closely behind him.

Arthur takes a deep breath, briefly glancing at Sir Leon, who stands at his side, and instructing him to inform the council that any remaining meetings for the day had been cancelled.

Leon gives a stiff nod and stalks off. He had been the best at hiding his disdain for his former best friend, but it still shone through occasionally, and Arthur's heart clenches as he thinks that he really can blame no one but himself for the deterioration of everything in his personal life.

With another deep breath, he re-enters the castle, and heads towards the throne room, trying to psyche himself up for meeting the supposed Leader of All Magic, who had managed to sneak his way into the heart of the castle, without anyone noticing or raising the alarm.

He pauses briefly outside the doors, and instructs the guards to not let Anyone in, without the King's express permission.

They nod, and with that, Arthur opens the doors and enters, shutting them quietly, before turning around to be faced with a near empty throne room.

He furrows his brow as his eyes settle on a single man, his back to Arthur where he stands gazing out a window, onto the courtyard below.

Arthur can't see his face, he can't see much of him to be honest, he's shrouded in a floor length blue cloak, hood up and covering his head.

The King stares only for a moment before raising himself to his full height, clearing his throat, and speaking:

"Lord Emrys? It's my honour to welcome you to Camelot. Thank you for coming."

The man turns his head slightly at that, though not enough for Arthur to see any more of his face.

"Your honour?-"

He huffs a small laugh at that, though it sounds dry and sarcastic, as opposed to genuinely humoured.

"- we shall see about that."

His voice comes out strangely, obviously magically altered, and Arthur has to stop himself from gulping at the many voices echoing around the otherwise empty room.

They sound sort of... familiar? But he pushes that feeling down and takes yet another deep breath:

"Of course. I've been told a great deal about you. That you have always been an ally to Camelot, and have protected both me personally, and the Kingdom, from the shadows, never asking for credit or requesting recognition. I thank you for that, my gratitude knows no bounds. You had no reason to protect a kingdom that previously would have seen you burn, though I swear to you, that is not how things work now."

Emrys let's out a chuckle at that, this one somehow even less humoured than the last

He gives a small nod, before saying, almost to himself, though Arthur hears anyway:

"Yes, we shall see."

His voice is no longer disguised, and Arthur once again pushes down the feeling of recognition blooming in his chest. He's sure he knows that voice.

("It sounds like.... no. It isn't. Stop hearing things that aren't there. You're just setting yourself up for heartbreak." runs through his head.)

Arthur is unsure how to continue the conversation from there, but before he has to force some sort of response out, Emrys finally turns, and lowers his hood.

Arthur takes a step back and gasps, his eyes wide.

Merlin's hard eyes stare back at him, his expression completely blank. He looks very different, but is still recognisable as Arthur's former manservant.

"...Merlin?" Escapes Arthur's mouth, so quietly he can barely hear it himself

At this, Emrys let's out a deep sigh, sounding almost resigned, as he cocks an eyebrow and replies:

"No one's called me that in two and a half years. You know, I used to hate the idea of people calling me Emrys instead of Merlin. Now, I find that I feel the exact opposite.-"

He tilts his head slightly, looking briefly puzzled as he maintains eye contact and mumbles:

“-Or perhaps it’s just you.”

At this Arthur gulps, and really looks at Merlin... or Emrys.

He's bulked out a little, no longer skinny and sickly looking, he fills his clothes (good quality, blues and silvers and blacks, intricate patterns and fitting well) in a way he never had before. His hair has grown out long and curls around his ears. His beard has grown in a little.

(Think, the living and the dead) :

His hands, which now have druid markings tattooed all over (they're also just about visible above his collar, though they don't go very far up his neck) , are clasped tightly in front of him, his fingers adorned with a couple of rings.

Nothing he wears looks especially expensive, Merlin had never been one to dress up, but they are good quality, and screamed "Druid" and "powerful".

"You're Emrys? Why did you never say??"

Merli-... Emrys tenses his jaw at that, his face showing slight anger as opposed to the boredom it displayed before, but before he can answer, the gang bursts in all at once.

Arthur can hear the guards yelling over the top of the door banging against the wall, and the footsteps of eight people rushing into the room.

"I tried to stop them sire but they wouldn't- Merlin??" From Leon has Arthur letting out a frustrated growl.

The King sweeps his eyes over the rest of the group as they all stare in surprise at Merlin.

Gaius is the only one who doesn't look surprised, he is instead smiling, and steps forward to offer Merlin a hug, which he accepts with no resistance as a small smile graces his face.

Merlin speaks quietly, but everyone can hear him:

"It's good to see you Gaius. I've missed you. When this is all sorted I've got so many things to tell you, to show you."

Gaius pulls back and grins even wider,

"All in time, dear boy. You're looking very well. I'm glad you've finally revealed yourself as the Lord Emrys."

Merlin blushes slightly at that and looks down:

"I haven't gone by the name Merlin in almost three years Gaius, Camelot has been the only place to not know me."

Merlin steps back, and glances quickly at the others, before settling his gaze on Arthur, who is looking a little like an animal caught in a trap. Merlin's eyes harden once again, and he schools his face back into disinterest and boredom:

"As I was about to say before, My King, I didn't get a chance to explain myself to you before I awoke, shackled and blinded and cold, with a rather nasty head wound, in the middle of a forest. And quite frankly, after that, I wasn't prepared to stumble my way back to Camelot and try for a second time. Though perhaps I should be grateful you simply knocked me out and dumped me, as opposed to burning me?"

Arthur looks to be in physical pain, but doesn't look away from Merlin, not even as the others gasp and mutter and stare and glare at him.

"Shackled? You.... I knew you were lying you monster. How could you?!" From Morgana is the first thing loud enough to be heard.

It's Gwaine who speaks next, but Arthur still doesn't look away from Merlin:

"You bastard. What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He goes to draw his sword and step towards the King, but Elyan holds him back:

"No, Gwaine. It isn't our place. This is Merlin's fight, and he knows we all stand with him."

At that, Merlin finally looks away, an ever so slight smile escapes as Elyan nods to him, and becomes the first of the group to move to stand behind Merlin, facing the king. The others follow shortly after.

They stand in a group just behind him, the fury rolling off them in waves.

Morgana steps forward and takes one of Merlin's hands in her own. Staring Arthur down, she speaks, her eyes flash gold as a sharp wind whips through the throne room. No windows or doors have been left open:

"Would you have done the same to me, brother-mine? Would you have beaten me and shackled me and left me in a forest to rot?"

Arthur steps back in complete shock, the group behind her and Merlin are also shocked, but take it in their stride.

Merlin squeezes her hand in a silent "I'm sorry, I'm with you, I'll teach you, you're safe."

Arthur doesn't really have the words at this point. He's speechless and in shock and almost crying.

He had always known that his first meeting with Merlin would be difficult, but he wasn't expecting everyone who had ever been important to him to be there as well, stood opposite him, hating him.

The wind dies down as Gwen places a hand on the other woman's shoulder from behind. Merlin looks towards Morgana first, and offers a comforting smile to her teary face, before looking behind him to the others.

"As much as I appreciate the support, and as much as I love, and have missed you all, I think me and the King need to have a private meeting on the matter. Personal problems aside, I need to see to the continued safety of my people."

It’s quiet, reserved Percival, who speaks up:

"Like hell are we leaving you with him now we know what he did." The others nod at this, but Merlin replies gently:

"I'll be fine, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. Go, I'll find you later."

At this, he turns once more to Morgana:

"There is a group of Druids camped just beyond the city walls, go to them, take Gaius. They will help you until this is all resolved, and then I can teach you myself." he says with a smile, and at her nod, he glances at Gaius, who steps forward and leads Morgana out the room, closely followed by a hesitating gaggle of knights.

Gwen is the only one who remains, as she takes Merlin’s hand briefly in Morgana’s place, and snarls at Arthur:

"Monster."

-before following the others out of the room, and shutting the door behind her, leaving the throne room once again empty of people, bar the Forever King and the Immortal One.

Merlin speaks first, looking back to Arthur, unwavering and determined:

"How do I know this is all real? The change in laws?"

"I... what? What do you mean real? Of course it's real. Merlin please, can we just-"

Merlin turns away as he interrupts him, and walks back towards the window, to look upon the courtyard, where countless innocents had been slaughtered:

"Pretending to change the laws so you can lure my people to your city, before starting another purge, sounds like exactly something Uther's son would do. I will not put my people in danger by encouraging them to come here, before I can be sure they are truly safe from the Pendragon line."

Arthur's heart breaks even more. He really had damaged the relationship between himself and Merlin more than he ever could've imagined. Merlin had seemed to make it his life goal to assure Arthur that he wasn't his father, that he could follow his own path and create his own legacy. Before Arthur had ruined everything.

"I would never. The law is changed. Sorcer- your people, are safe. Merlin will you please-"

Merlin turns and interrupts again, looking Arthur directly in the eyes, obviously not prepared to let the conversation turn personal.

"Promises made to beings of magic are... powerful. There is magic in words, swear to me that my people are safe from persecution, and I will believe it."

"I...yes. I swear it. People with magic will no longer be unfairly persecuted in this kingdom as long as I am king, I swear it, in the name of Camelot."

Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and Arthur feels as though the words he's just spoken have been branded onto his soul. In a way, they have.

Merlin looks once more out of the window, and replies quietly, but darkly:

"I will hold you to that, Arthur Pendragon."

~

THE END!

This two-parter has been finished!!

As per usual, I only write drafts, so if someone wants to write this up all proper, then go for it, credit and tag me✌

[honeymoonjin]

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: jimin x reader || 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 25k || 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜: fluff, angst, smut

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: you weren’t meant to have a roommate in your cabin deep in the amazon rainforest, but you find you can’t say no to the shy young college graduate that’s come to study the native butterflies.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: cursing, death of a minor character (butterfly), explicit sexual content, oral (m receiving), praise, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, subby jimin, extremely soft smut

--------

It’s a day off.

That doesn’t mean you sleep in, though. You don’t know of a single person on the reserve that has been able to stay unconscious past sunrise without medical intervention. The chirps and calls of birds, buzzing of insects and drone of cicadas begins the moment the sun rises, sometimes even earlier, and while the cover of towering canopies filters out most of the light in the dense rainforest, the lodge camp is on an open meadow, and so you can’t avoid the heat that quickly sets in.

You’re happy to be up early, though, as it’s become a comfortable habit to make your way through your morning routine at your own pace, finally settling on your front porch with a cup of tea, bare toes poking out the cover of shadow from the lodge and into the bright pool of sunlight that warms the grass below.

Living in the middle of the Amazon rainforest wasn’t exactly something you had really planned ahead for as a young woman, but after falling in love with the place on a university trip, and then keeping an ear open for job opportunities, you had managed to land a job as a tour guide, being able to speak languages that their other employees couldn’t.

It’s a busy time of year at the Cuyabeno Lodge. Both local Ecuadorians and international tourists tended to avoid the rainier months, and after a particularly long wet season, it seemed all the bookings had been bottle-necked into one month now that the days were simply humid. Barely six in the morning, guests already roamed over the camp, some socialising over breakfast, others packing for day hikes in clumps spearheaded by your colleagues.

You take a deep draw from your mug, still steaming lightly, and feel the warm liquid warm your throat and chest, waking you up fully and putting you in a good mood. Most days, you’d crane your head down and watch the hard-working streams of leafcutter ants trail through blades of grass just taller than them, like small currents winding away towards the nearest meal. Their quiet determination and coordination was strangely fascinating to you, even after your several months living in their tropical habitat, but they aren’t what catch your attention today.

Across the wide expanse of open campground, two figures argue back and forth, one you recognise as your boss, the other a stranger lugging around three bulky suitcases and flapping a rolled-up map in confusion or desperation. You hum with curiosity, squinting at the figures as you finish off the dregs of your tea. They’re really too far for you to make out detail. All you can see of this frazzled man is the loose white tee and mussed-up blonde hair as he converses emphatically with the native Ecuadorian man that runs the lodge.

So distracted by the strange man, you don’t notice your boss turning and pointing to you until their figures start to grow in your vision as they approach. Your eyes widen and reflexively you down the last of your drink, placing the empty mug beside you on the wooden porch and staring at them hurrying over, both helping to lug over the excess baggage.

You realise the problem once they’re close enough to be in earshot. While the passionate Spanish and melodic Korean have similar phonetic sounds, it’s clear the two men are speaking completely different languages. You even hear your boss try some English - “we can talk to her, just a moment” - but it’s drowned out over the other man’s frantic explanations.

“Y/n, Y/n,” your boss greets with a tone of desperation colouring his local Spanish, “can you please help me speak to this man? We’ve had a booking error.”

Your eyes lift in surprise and you turn back to the stranger. It’s humid already, your skin warm even under the shade, but the sight of him sends a shiver down your spine. His hair isn’t totally blonde, slightly honeyed like it’s been dyed, and the warm sun sets it alight, framing the radiant skin of his face, which is angular on his jaw and nose yet soft on his cheeks and mouth, a full pout delicately pink. He’s beautiful.

You realise you’ve been staring directly at him a little too long as his cheeks colour the same shade as his lips, delicately coughing to break you from the trancelike state you found yourself in. You apologise hastily in your native language before switching to Korean when his eyebrow twitches in confusion. “I’m sorry,” you repeat in Korean, “I didn’t mean to be rude. My name’s Y/n.”

He smiles shyly, resting a hand over his forehead to block out any stray rays of light getting in his eyes. Doing this casts his face into shadow, and you can see now the warm, puppy-like brown of his irises, only half-visible as he scrunches up his cheeks. “Nice to meet you,” he greets, and you marvel at the melodic quality of his voice now that he speaks alone. It’s all soft tones, lilting even as his cheeks redden. “I’m Park Jimin. I, uh, I think they might have double-booked the room… I’m meant to be staying here,” he gestures behind you to your cabin and you blink a few times.

“Oh.” You turn promptly to your boss beside him; a stout middle-aged man who’s pretending to follow along the conversation, nodding in faux understanding even as his eyes glaze over. “Angelo,” you address, switching to the colloquial Spanish you’d grown accustomed to, “he’s saying you booked out my room.” Maybe not in those words, but still.

Angelo’s face crumples sheepishly. “About that… There’s a chance that we forgot to take your cabin off the booking website when you permanently moved it. It’s, uh, actually quite good luck that nobody has booked it in until now.” His voice trails up at the end like a question as he splays his palms out.

Awfully fond of the older man over your years here, you fight the twitch of your lips. “Good luck? This poor guy came all the way from South Korea only for his room to be already occupied. What; are you gonna just send him home?”

Your boss blinks slowly, lips pursed as he considers. “Well… That room is technically meant for two…” He trails off meaningfully with a shrug.

Your stare goes hard. “Angelo.” You force yourself not to glance at the man standing beside your boss. It doesn’t stop you from making out the concern on his face, and you feel your jaw stiffen. “The agreement when I moved here was that I got my own space. Why can’t he stay somewhere else?”

He sighs, rubbing his weathered face. “That’s selfish, Y/n-”

“I’m selfish, then. I’m telling you, I don’t wanna share my space.”

“And I’m telling you that you don’t have a choice. It’s only temporary. He stays.”

Before you can protest further, Angelo shows you his back, rushing away the way he came. You go limp with resignation, leaning back against one of the wooden posts on the veranda.

There’s no excuse for you to avoid his gaze now, so you reluctantly tip your head towards him. He’s shifting his weight back and forth nervously, pillowed lips pressed together and eyes downcast. Against your will, some of the anger slips from you, relaxing the tension in your jaw and the hardness from your voice. “Guess you’re rooming with me,” you murmur in Korean, snapping his attention back to you.

His eyes dance worriedly over your face. “I h-hope it’s not too much bother. I didn’t mean to make things difficult.” Jimin scratches at his exposed collarbone, leaving red lines on the almond skin. He speaks so softly, like a child in trouble. “I can sleep on the floor if I need to. All I really need is one room to set up my equipment.”

You frown, eyes darting to the three heavy suitcases behind him, as well as the bulky backpack slung over one shoulder. “Equipment?” As your eyes wander, they’re drawn to the pockets of people beginning to cluster behind him, the staff and locals whispering back and forth with eyes locked on Jimin’s silhouette. Pushing off the post, you pick up your mug and stand up straight again. “Actually, let’s talk inside. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

He doesn’t, but you don’t fancy giving the gathering crowd more time to ogle the mysterious man seemingly moving in to your private accommodations. Not even 9am and your day was already shaping up to be a disaster.

"It's a nice place," Jimin offers up weakly as you reach for the lightest suitcase, figuring you should probably help at least a little.

You grunt in confirmation, leading him - as he waddles with two larger pieces of luggage and the backpack - down the short hallway to the room across from yours. You'd been using it as a sort of living room; it had a single bed that you'd repurposed as a couch, a cheap projector that you used to stream Netflix onto the opposite wall as a makeshift television, and a couple bookshelves of novels, Spanish textbooks, and knick knacks you'd acquired over the past two years or so.

Jimin doesn't make it through the doorway as is. Instead, he stops and shuffles each piece in one-by-one, the final, largest hardshell suitcase dragging noisily along the doorframe as it barely squeezes in. He straightens up with a huff of exertion and lifts the edge of his white shirt, dabbing the sweat off his face.

You blink, staring at the smooth, flat planes of his stomach as he hunches over self-consciously. He makes the motion quick, clearly shy of revealing skin to a near-stranger. However, long after his shirt falls back in place, your mind is still replaying the sight of his pale caramel skin taut over his hip bones, and the thin trail of golden, almost translucent hair that leads from his belly button down past the button of his jeans.

Jimin coughs in discomfort and you swallow hard, forcing the image out of your mind for now. “Um,” you start, cringing at the way your voice wavers, “anyway; this is your room. I can move out my stuff for you.”

He nods, still awkwardly hovering in the doorway, hunched behind the suitcases like he’s trying to keep a barrier of protection between the two of you.

Like a final wisp of smoke from a blown-out candle, the last of your irritation distinguishes, and you sink down onto the edge of the bed. “It’s not you,” you explain softly, face crumpled into an apologetic frown. “I was angry at the situation, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

His eyes dance around the room, before finally jumping up to yours, a tentative smile playing at his plush lips. “It’s okay,” he shrugs simply, “I invaded your territory without warning; it’s only natural for you to react defensively.”

You blink. “Uh…” The silence you trail off into is stiff, but you find yourself at a loss for words. “Sorry, you never got the chance to tell me; what is it you do exactly?”

He shuffles out from behind the nearest suitcase with glittering eyes. “I’m a lepidopterist,” he announces proudly, before correcting, “well- not yet, I guess. I’m here to do research for my thesis.”

You mouth the unfamiliar word, frowning. “But we don’t have leopards in Ecuador.”

He grins, then, and your heart stutters unevenly in your chest at the way it lights up his whole face. “A lepidopterist studies butterflies and moths. I’m here to study the life cycle of a specific butterfly that’s found in this type of habitat.” His expression turns sheepish. “I know most people find it silly, or- or girly that I want to study butterflies for a living, but they’re really special. Special to me.” He glances down, then, gripping self-consciously at the strap of his backpack. “Anyway… I don’t mean to ramble, you probably have stuff to do-”

“I’d love to see them some time, if you wanna show me,” you blurt. “The butterflies, I mean. See what all the hype is about.”

His eyes crinkle at your interruption, cheeks warming candy pink. You fight a blush of your own, again overcome by how radiant he is. “Of course! Though- Don’t you live here? Surely you’ve seen them before. The one I’m studying, the longwing erato, it’s said to be pretty abundant in these parts.”

“I mean, sure, I’ve seen butterflies around,” you shrug. “But I haven’t seen Park Jimin’s butterflies.”

He lets out a flattered laugh, soft and tinkling. “Oh, they’re not my- I just-” He breaks off with another giggle, cheats heating up even further, biting desperately on his bottom lip to suppress a shy grin.

As much as you love seeing him all flustered, it’s his first day, so you cut him some slack. Standing up, you snake past the scattered suitcases and pat him on the shoulder. He ducks out of the doorway to let you pass, mouth dropping into a shocked oh shape at your sudden movement, but you just throw a playful warning glare at him as you pass into the hallway. “I have one rule,” you declare firmly.

He stays silent for a moment, waiting for you to continue. You simply lift your chin and stare, waiting for him to ask. It’s Jimin that breaks first, but that doesn’t surprise you. “Uh, which is?”

“No bugs in the house. As pretty as butterflies are, you keep them outside, got it?”

He smiles softly, but you can see a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. “Butterflies aren’t actually bugs, they’re lepidoptera.”

You flatten your glare. “You aren’t a bug either but if you break my rules, I’ll chuck you out.”

He baulks, eyes widening innocently. “I, uh… I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” he admits in a small voice.

“Good.” You throw him one last satisfied smile, and leave.

--

You manage to occupy yourself for the rest of the day outside of your now-shared hut, wanting to give him some space to settle in. Though you successfully keep your eyes away, pitching in on some errands that needed doing throughout the campsite, you couldn’t stop your mind from lingering on the gentle, unsure young man that was now going to be staying with you.

In fact, you’d ran over those fifteen or so minutes together so many times that when you finally came home, feet aching and stomach grumbling, it almost came as a surprise to you to see him wandering around and greeting you as you entered. Like a reminder that it wasn’t a movie you had seen, that he was a real thing that happened that morning.

“Hungry?”

“Huh?” You blink, very nearly tripping on the lip of your own front door as your eyes fall downwards, to the coffee table in the main room. The haphazard mess of snacks, remotes, and other knick knacks had been neatly placed on the floor beside the couch, and instead the square wooden table was laden with food, the quantity of which you hadn’t seen in this hut the entire time you’d been here. “Oh my god, what is all this?”

Running a hand through his hair anxiously, he shrugs. “I packed myself a bunch of food from home in case I got homesick.”

You tip your head to the side with a frown. “You’re homesick already?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, sheepish. You swallow down the way your stomach flips, not quite hunger. “No. Well- a little bit, but no, I just… I thought you maybe hadn’t had Korean food in a while, so we could, um, have some?” He breaks off, shifting uncomfortably as he holds a bowl of steamed rice in one hand and fiddles with the hem of his shirt with the other.

As you stare down at the aromatic offerings, it hits you with a belt of clarity. Just like you gave him space today, this was his olive branch to you. A way of starting off on the right food. You smile warmly. “I’d love to. That’s so sweet, Jimin. Do you need any help?”

Unfiltered relief glitters in his eyes and he shakes his head, slipping gracefully onto the floor, cross-legged. “It’s all ready,” he explains simply, “come sit.”

“It smells amazing,” you groan, stomach growling embarrassingly loud, “you must be an amazing cook to have whipped this up in that tiny kitchen.”

He glances over to the corner in question, barely a few cupboards, a refrigerator and some table top appliances. Looking back, he chuckles, lips pursed into a cheeky grin. He uses his chopsticks - the type of cheap wooden ones you’d receive at a takeout place - to point to the various dishes. “Ramen, microwave rice, Ottogi microwave soup, microwave jjajjang, and packet kimchi.”

“Ah,” you hum in understanding, reaching for the spare sleeve of chopsticks, “very traditional.”

Jimin quirks a smile, focussed below as he serves himself a helping of rice. You take the opportunity to look over him again, closer in the intimacy of your hut. The radiant daylight has given way to a burnt umber, a sunset glow like hot coals on the horizon. It casts a softness onto his face, a gentle warmth that spreads across the fullness of his cheeks and the honeyed blonde of his hair.

As he hunches over the table, his baggy white t-shirt exposes more skin than you think he realises. The short sleeves ruck up as his chopstick-bearing arms dip into various bowls across the table, revealing shallow slopes of muscle, and the hemline dangles low, bare chest hidden not by fabric but by shadow.

You mulishly redirect your attention to the steaming banquet in front of you, all the staples of your college days. “So,” you start, wishing for anything to distract you from the extremely good-looking figure across from you, “Mister Leopard Optimist, what’s first on the agenda?”

“Lepidopterist,” he corrects with an encouraging smile, and your heart swells at his pureness. “Well, first I need to get a sample group. I think I’ll spend tomorrow setting up properly and then around dusk we can go find some specimens.”

You blink in surprise. “We?”

Jimin’s warmth dissipates into pouted confusion, eyes round as he swallows the mouthful he had taken with poor timing. “You, uh- sorry, you said earlier you were interested. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s fine, you assumed correctly. We’ll be like the dream team,” you assure, wiggling your eyebrows at him playfully. “You, the leper doctorist, and me, your loyal side kick. Those butterflies will be toast. You’ll have specimens out your ears in no time!”

Even with the golden rays of sunlight, he looks paler than a ghost, choking on his own breath. “We don’t hurt the butterflies,” he corrects hastily, waving his chopsticks in alarm, “we just take note of them so we can study them over time!” He sits back, setting his chopsticks down with a dull clatter. “And it’s lepidopterist,” he adds gently, even as a concerned pout dimples his lips.

You muffle your grin with a sip of water. “Lepidopterist,” you repeat softly, if not a little cheekily. “I’m just messing with you, Jiminie. We’ll be the dream team of…studying them over time. Hm. Doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’ll come up with a cooler name for us.”

After you finish speaking, the room settles into an unanticipated silence, and you look up from your bowl. Jimin’s spluttering silently, cheeks and the tip of his nose a violent pink as he holds his eyes so wide you can see a ring of white all the way around. His mouth dangles open until he forces a swallow to close it, clearing his throat in short, self-conscious bursts.

You’re taken aback by his strong reaction. “Did I say something? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trail off. Offend you? Upset you? Did he think you were making fun of him?

“W-what did you call me?” he asks in a small voice, settling down his chopsticks in his empty bowl so that he can wring his fingers together.

“Um.” You have to think back, and your eyebrows lift in realisation. “Oh. Jiminie. That was too familiar, wasn’t it? We’ve only just met. I’m sorry.”

But his face is a strange mix of relief and confusion, shaking his head with enough emphasis to gently rustle the honey blonde locks of his hair. “No, Jiminie is okay. I, uh, misheard. It’s okay; don’t worry about it. Have you tried some of the stew? Here, let me…”

You let his abrupt topic change slide, accepting another serving of food, but you can’t help but linger on the thought well into the night: what did he think you were calling him?

--

Jimin doesn’t mention your late-night expedition until just before dusk, but that doesn’t mean it slips your mind.

On the contrary, you find it hard to concentrate on anything else. He leaves his bedroom door open, and every time you walk past you see him deeply focussed on set-up. Out of those three massive suitcases come electronics, fresh logbooks, blueprint papers, drawing tools, worn textbooks, and, rather confusingly, a framed photo of two chubby-faced children, grinning at each other in matching school uniforms.

You spend a concerningly long portion of your morning conspicuously hovering around the hut, sneaking glimpses of the way the pink tip of Jimin’s tongue sticks out when he focuses, or the strain of fine muscle beneath the grey striped t-shirt he donned that morning, making miniscule grunts of exertion as he wrestles out heavy tomes, stacking them with care on the shelves of the bookcase you had emptied out for him. By the time you break out of your ruling curiosity, it’s nearing midday, and you dash out of the house before Jimin breaks for lunch and wonders why you’re still here.

It’s a beautifully glittering Saturday in the Cuyabeno Reserve, which means that you’ll probably see half of the campers leaving for a day trip to Quito for shopping or activities (or decent Wi-Fi), leaving behind a steady number wanting to go on tours. You didn’t typically work Saturdays, but all the tour guides were encouraged to help out in busy times, or take initiative and offer them to any tourists awkwardly milling about. As you slip out from the shade of your hut and into the warm bath of Amazonian sunshine, you figure a tour might just be a good way to get one Park Jimin out of your head for a few hours.

The best thing about your job was the freedom. Even as you know the paid tours like the back of your hand, you’ve always been welcome to forge your own path in the rainforest, adjusting duration, location and information depending on your customers. In just fifteen minutes, you’d managed to gather a handful of couples, eight people in total. The group was primarily dominated by English speakers – several young Americans and Canadians, an elderly couple from Australia, as well as a set of parents from the UK that had left their college-age kids at home while they took an anniversary holiday. Also accompanying you were two shy young men from Spain, who seemed to understand partially what you were saying in English, but nevertheless you made sure to tack on regular translations for them just to be sure.

From the moment you set out, picking up one of the high-vis flags from reception on your way, you knew exactly what type of tour you were going to do. It had been a paid tour last year on Valentine’s Day, one of your personal favourites, because the story of it was centred around the more romantic aspects of nature; toucans and parrots in colourful pinks and reds, monkeys that curled their tails into a heart when they intertwined with another (you’d yet to see it actually happen in front of a tour group, but the fact alone was often enough to make them coo) and finally a meadow just on the edge of the river that, because of the plants and flowers that grew there, became a hotspot for about twelve different species of butterflies.

You’d been able to lose yourself in the vibrancy of nature for the past hour and a half, stopping regularly for drink breaks, chatting with the different couples on your tour. It was always special to you hearing what brought them to Cuyabeno, and you were known amongst your colleagues for always running overtime on your tours because you just loved getting to know the people on your tour, and making their adventure into the rainforest special for them.

It wasn’t until your first boot fell down onto the lush grass of the meadow that you knew you fucked up in choosing this tour route. As the eight people behind you gasp and gush about the magical bank, you freeze, your mind exploding into a silver stream of jimin jimin jimin jimin jimin ji-

“Woah, there’s so many of them!”

Stepping forward to encourage the tourists to spill into the meadow, you look around you at the flurry of motion. On one side of the group are the looming trees from whence you emerged; opposite that, the murky jade green of the river, barely lapping at the narrow bank, but glittering a sharp silver below the early afternoon sun. And in between is where the real wonder lies.

Shifting and darting, the air is alive with the vibrant array of butterflies, abundant as falling snow. The group is awash with awe as some stay perfectly still, hoping for the small creatures to land upon them, while others stir their arms gently through the air, watching the butterflies part and eddy around them like fish in a stream.

This had always been the reason the Valentine’s tour was your favourite; almost every other route took you in the opposite direction, since the other side of the island was where most of the river’s inhabitants were. So many tourists wanted to see as many animals as possible with the least amount of walking, and the tip of the island where you stood now was a long walk from camp.

You’d even come here once or twice with solo travellers, since they had more patience than a hustling group, and the magic of it never got old. Just last Christmas your boss, Angelo, had gifted you tinkling windchimes for your hut; instead, you had taken them down here.

There wasn’t much of a breeze now, so the delicate notes of glass and ceramics were quiet in the background, but they added to the feel of peace and serenity that you could tell all of the tourists were feeling, no matter their age. The Northern Americans had formed a group, pointing out the different species and trying to count them off on their fingers. The elderly couple had a surprisingly modern Android phone out, using the man’s longer arms to take an extremely high-angled selfie. Closer to the lazy shallows of the river, one of the Spanish boys had picked a pale purple flower from the grass to offer to the other.

Surrounded by love and butterflies, you’d quite literally led yourself back to the thoughts of the one you had tried to distract yourself from.

Jimin. Jiminie.

You’re approached by the middle-aged parents, suggesting here might be a good place to break for snacks and a drink, and so you acquiesce, sinking down onto the pillowy grass of the meadow and wondering which of the graceful wings that danced in the sky belonged to a longwing erato.

--

You manage to spend the rest of your day on tours, making sure to go on those well-worn tracks far from the butterfly meadow, and by the time you turn in your reflective orange flag for the day, Jimin’s waiting on the porch with a backpack, a chunky flashlight, and a pair of binoculars dangling from a cord around his neck.

“Where were you?” he questions instead of a greeting, fiddling with the hem of his beige shorts.

You tilt your head in confusion, staring down at him. It occurs to you that he’s in your spot, the place you sat with your steaming mug every morning. In fact, as you stand over him, it’s like your roles are reversed from the first time you met. “I was working,” you reply simply.

“Oh.” He deflates a little, eyes staring past you at the now-silent campsite, all the lodgers having since returned to their huts for curfew. Only employees were allowed to be out after sunset most nights. The one exception was the occasional night-time tour, but given the additional risks involved, your boss jacked the price right up and there weren’t many takers. Jimin must’ve spoken with your boss to be allowed to roam around at night. He focuses back in on you, and perks up. “Are you ready, then?”

“To go butterfly hunting? Always.”

Rather than leading you to the meadow, Jimin consults an extremely detailed (and scribbled-on) map, forging into the forest along the centre of the island, instead of out either side towards the river. You follow along, marvelling at the new territory that even you haven’t really explored.

The two of you move in concentrated silence, Jimin methodically tying little cornflower blue ribbons to branches along the way. At one point, you slow to a stop, crouching as you make out two red flashes. Upon closer inspection, you recognise the lime-green body to belong to the red-eyed tree frog making its way down the wide trunk of a tree, clearly spooked by the light from Jimin’s flashlight.

You sigh in relief as it tucks itself away safely. Frogs, specifically tree frogs, were a good indicator for the type of habitat you were entering. The fact that it was a non-toxic species meant hopefully your companion wasn’t leading you into a pit of venomous and poisonous creatures. The island was pretty safe, for the most part, but you still had to exercise due caution, and it seemed Jimin was so focussed on his butterflies that he’d forgotten they weren’t the only ones in here.

A hushed whisper of your name and the returning of bright light is your only warning before an impatient hand slips into yours, tugging you up and deeper into the rainforest.

You’re too stunned to protest, simply letting Jimin lead you into the untamed wilderness. His palm is warm in yours, fingers interlocked. His hands are smaller than you expected, and even as he holds on tightly, so gentle. You can’t help but feel the care that emanates from him down to the smallest detail.

As the active hum of the rainforest’s creatures and the rustle of leaves and bushes surrounds you, you barely notice the slight incline of the ground beneath you, the only indicator being that over time your calves begin to ache slightly.

Every time you open your mouth to ask how far, or if you could take a break, you’re stopped by a soft squeeze to your hand. Even though he’s in front of you, looking ahead rather than back at you, he seems to know just when to reassure you.

The walk isn’t particularly challenging, nor is it too hot, but you find yourself short of breath anyway.

When the two of you finally come to a stop, he lets your hand go. The loss of pressure around your hand gives you a weird pang of disappointment, and you tuck your arms around yourself to make up for it.

“Do you know what the longwing erato looks like?” he asks in an excited whisper.

You shrug. “Long wings?”

His eyes crinkle before his smile joins them. “I mean, yes; they’re more of a stretched-out oval compared to the roughly squarish shapes that most butterflies have. They’re black, with one or more red stripes on each wing. Here; hold the flashlight and I’ll find some.”

He passes off his equipment to you and directs the beam of the flashlight to the lowest branches of the trees in front of you, still well above eye-level. Although you do your best to keep the light steady, you find yourself glancing over to Jimin, his mouth dangling unconsciously open as he puts all his focus into staring down the pair of binoculars he brought. His warm blonde hair has been pushed off his face with a stretchy fabric headband, exposing the smooth skin of his forehead and the furrowed arches of his brows, slightly darker than the rest of his hair.

“On the trees,” he mumbles, with a minute jerk of his elbow as a gesture.

You startle, correcting the slant of the torch beam that had slipped astray as you watched him. This time, you focus on the yellow moon of light that splays across the trunks of the trees instead of your companion. Flitting around, casting narrow shadows across the artificial rays, are various bugs and moths, the latter of which gradually migrate closer to you, seeking the source of the light. “Have you found them?” you question, upper arm starting to ache from being held up so long.

Jimin hums, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he lowers the binoculars, pointing high up into the branches. “There,” he declares quietly with an excited grin, “on the right side, they’re all up against the bark.”

You squint, trying to search for the red stripes, but you can’t find anything. “That middle tree?”

“Here,” letting the binoculars fall back around his torso, he steps up beside you, reaching across to lift the flashlight higher. “Just past that skinny branch there.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s close enough that you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin shirt. Close enough for you to hear the resonance of his focussed breath. Though he’s holding the flashlight, your fingers overlap slightly and you can feel the pressure of his thumb on your knuckles and his fingertips touching the side of your hand. “I-” you break off to swallow past the dryness in your throat, “I still don’t see them.”

Jimin lets out a laugh, barely more than breath. He tilts his head closer, so that your temples almost touch. Feeling the soft locks of his hair on your skin, your eyes widen and you suck in a breath unconsciously. With a hand on the flashlight still, he has to wrap the other around your shoulders, pointing in your line of sight. “Just focus,” he instructs gently. “Right side of the middle tree, see that tree frog? The brown one?”

You make a noise of agreement once you locate the slowly moving creature, higher up than you had been looking. “I see it.”

“Good.” Jimin’s warm tone of approval sends something rushing through you. In the moment of quiet, you become aware of the minute movement of Jimin’s thumb, rubbing against your knuckles. Your fingers tense on the metal of the flashlight, but Jimin doesn’t seem to notice, simply bring his other hand up higher, pointing further up the trunk. “They’re up here, see? Follow the tree up until you see the black patch. It looks like it’s moving. Can you see it?”

Your eyes widen. “I see it,” you breathe.

You feel rather than see the smile that puffs up his cheeks. “That’s them,” he says warmly, voice echoing in your air, quiet enough that it’s just for you. “Longwing erato. Must be at least fifty of them, all gathered up. You can even see some of the stripes when they shift around. Lift up your flashlight a bit, it won’t bother them, don’t worry.”

The two of you stay there, Jimin’s arms on either side of you, for an unreadable amount of time. With nothing but the warmth of his body and the vague drone of the various bugs and nocturnal critters to join you, it could be moments or it could be half an hour.

Either way, there reaches a point where a breeze in the air sends a shiver down your spine, and you think it might be time to go. Turning towards Jimin to let him know, you’re caught off-guard when he turns at the same time.

Your noses brush, and then you feel the silken touch of his lips on yours. Eye-to-eye, you stare at each other for a second that feels like eternity, before you finally come to your senses and jump back, inadvertently leaving him with the flashlight as you tear your hand away from his.

“I- Uh- Sorry, I-” Jimin seems unable to do anything but stammer, in a normal voice that seems harshly loud after the hush you’d been in.

“It’s okay,” you reply back, but your voice falls flat, just as unconvincing to you as it must be to him. “It was just an accident. Just a mistake.”

Cast in shadow as the beam of the flashlight points downwards, you can still see clear as day how his whole face changes at that, flinching like he’s been hit. Stumbling around with a stricken expression, he glances once at the flashlight in his hand, darts his eyes to you before looking over to the direction of forest you’d come from and finally back to the flashlight.

Your blood runs iron cold with dread. “Jiminie, don’t-”

Like something snaps, Jimin hesitates no longer, turning and dashing into the trees. You start after him for a few jogged steps, watching the frenzied beam shoot through the rainforest like a laser, getting smaller and smaller as the noise of his exit slowly fades away, leaving you marooned in a black ocean.

--

Those pastel pink ribbons are your saviours that night. It’s hard to pick them out when the shadows penetrate the rainforest so deeply. You squint before every step to watch out for animals or other living inhabitants that might be dangerous, and it’s probably nothing more than sheer luck that you manage to peek the slips of fabric on the branches regularly enough to lead you back to camp.

On the grounds themselves, you see lights on, not just the safety ones that illuminate the way to the toilets and kitchens, but also the warmer yellow tones that you recognise to be emanating from your hut itself. Jimin.

Even as you feel a tugging in your heart to go, you also find yourself unable to step closer. Jimin left you. He wouldn’t want you to approach him. Either you’d disgusted him or offended him or both, enough so that he literally ran from you, and the last thing you could handle right now was confrontation.

Instead, you inch around the outskirts, finding a familiar beaten path that leads to one of your favourite places on the island: an old, relatively abandoned lookout tower.

Tourists weren’t taken to this one, anymore, and all of your colleagues kept away too. A few months before you had begun working, they’d opened a new, sleeker, taller, safer lookout to compensate for the higher numbers of tourists they were getting. Sure, that one was great, and with a top made primarily of glass, it gave a gorgeous view.

But there was something… different about the older one that kept drawing you back. Perhaps it was the rustic feel; all dark woods, concrete and metal, fitted to one of the taller trunks for stability. It blended into the landscape. Over the years, as the trees had grown a bit taller, it no longer rose clean above the topiary, but nestled between branches, right in the midst of the foliage. It was a view you couldn’t get from above or below, and as you curl into the corner, back pressed against the ancient tree, you felt your blood pressure gradually decrease.

Unlike most places, you could be truly alone here. But never lonely. Quietly, you tuck your knees to your chest and watch as a margay cat slinks down a branch of a nearby tree, eyes glinting in the moonlight. This dense inside the topiary, it’s hard to make out much detail, but you can see the black leopard-like patches on its tan fur, the whiskers twitching as it sniffs your presence.

Shoulders hunched like it’s anticipating a loud noise, the wildcat appraises you, carefully winding around the trunk of a nearby tree to provide cover. Cute as it is, you wait until it leaps onto a further branch and disappears into the shadows before you lie down on your side and close your eyes.

--

Getting back to the camp takes a sizeable portion of your morning. Although the foliage had provided sufficient insulation, the nailed planks of the lookout turret were unforgiving, and you wake up the next morning with an unignorable twinge where your left shoulder meets your neck. Getting down the tight coiled staircase takes long enough; finding your way back to base while being unable to properly turn your head to look around you feels like an eternity.

It’s just as the ground below your feet evens out into well-trodden grass and you gingerly roll your shoulder for the nth time that you glance up to see the chaos that lies in front of you.

Countless tourists stand around, confused and gossiping, littered across the campground as your fellow employees rush and dart between them. Some of them are on bulky radio phones or walkie talkies, others packing what looks like expedition equipment.

But they only attract your attention for a moment. Like you’re magnetized, your eyes are immediately drawn to the two figures outside your hut. Standing with deep lines of concern on his tanned face is your boss, Angelo. Sat on the veranda beside him, wrapped in a blanket despite the early morning heat, is Jimin.

They haven’t seen you yet, no one has, and so you allow yourself a moment to silently observe them. Well. Observe him.

Jimin’s got his fists bundled up under his chin, pressing up his cheeks, yet he’s never looked more gaunt. His eyes are sunken and desolate, even as they glitter from deep wells of tears that redden his nose and soak patches in the blanket. Angelo’s hand is on his shoulder, offering him a tissue, muttering something, but Jimin simply stares ahead blankly, bottom lip trembling.

Jimin…

His head jerks up, eyes seeking you out, and you realize belatedly that you’d said his name aloud. But it doesn’t matter, because just the unfiltered relief on his face is enough to trigger your feet to move again, walking numbly towards him as your boss leaves him sitting there, rushing forward to greet you.

“Fucking hell, Y/n, you better have a damn good reason for terrifying the entire Lodge,” his rough colloquial Spanish rings out in a fevered hush, “we were just about to send search parties.”

You stand in shocked silence as he unhooks a walkie talkie from his waistband, quite literally calling off the horde of Cuyabeno employees gathering on the campsite. They, upon receiving the notice, glance over to you, showing varying degrees of relief and annoyance, and herd the guests back to their cabins.

“He’s been inconsolable all night, you know?”

Angelo’s voice whips your attention back, and you furrow your brows. “Huh?”

“Park Jimin,” your boss emphasizes with a scolding tone. “Bawling his eyes out, waking us all up at ass o’clock in the morning. Got half the team convinced you’d been eaten by a jaguar or something. Poor guy feels so guilty.”

“I was fine,” you defend, glancing past him at the sitting figure of the man in question, who looks so tiny perched on the edge of the veranda, red face poking out from the blanket.

“Well, how the fuck were we supposed to know that?”

Something snaps inside you, too wired up to hear the concern and relief that hides below Angelo’s façade of anger. You look away from Jimin, but stick a finger out to point at him while you glare at your boss. “He was the one that left me stranded! He was the one that ran away with the only flashlight we brought. He was the reason I spent the night sleeping in the rainforest. You tell me he’s feeling guilty? Well, he fucking should be.”

Behind Angelo, you see Jimin visibly flinch, stiffening and ducking his head so as to appear smaller. Though you had spoken in Spanish, your pointing and tone had probably left nothing to the imagination, and you lower your hand now, feeling a spike of regret.

The older Ecuadorian man just sighs, the fight leaving his body. “You could just talk, you know,” he offers up tiredly, “sort it out. Don’t let it fester. Maybe he just freaked out, saw a scary bug or something. You know how these city folk can get.” He purses his lips in consideration. “Then again, he is a bug scientist.”

“Lepidopterist,” you correct absentmindedly, eyes cast downward. “…I’m gonna go home, Angelo. Get ready for work. Sorry for worrying you,” you add, genuinely this time.

He lets you go without words, instead wrapping you into a fierce hug that lasts just long enough for your bones to begin to melt, anger slipping away.

With tired feet and a heavy heart, you make your way to the entrance of your hut, pausing in front of Jimin. Rather than jumping to greet you or apologise, he simply watches you balefully, eyes glossy with misery. You feel yourself break a little at the hurt in his gaze.

“I wanted to give you space,” you explain weakly. “I found a place to stay for the night. I didn’t think you’d worry so much.”

Jimin doesn’t reply, just sniffs and swallows and nods a little bit.

You let out a breathy noise, not quite light enough to be a laugh. “So… What time are we going butterfly-watching next?”

Brows furrowed strangely, he stays silent for so long you almost give up and walk past him. Eventually, though, his fists go lax and the thin blanket drops from around his shoulders, falling to the floor. He’s still in the t-shirt and shorts from last night. Somehow, this fact makes your eyes sting. “I think I’m just going to do it by myself from now on. Give you…space.”

For a moment, his lips wobble slightly, like he’s got something more to say, but then he just exhales with an air of finality, and focuses his gaze past you, to the distance.

Leaving him alone on the porch step hurts, but there’s nothing else for you to do.

--

In his defence, Jimin does exactly as he promises.

He gives you space.

Were it not for the closed door in the hallway and the weight in your heart, you could almost forget he was even there. Jimin doesn’t eat with you, instead sneaking out to take advantage of the thrice-daily buffets offered to guests. By the time you wake up in the morning and drink your ritual tea on the front porch, he’s come and gone. Occasionally you can hear him working, but not most days. In the evenings, you hear him pack his things and leave. You’re asleep before he returns.

You continue to go on tours, sticking to the ones far away from the butterfly meadow, but you can’t avoid butterflies themselves. They are, as Jimin pointed out earlier, abundant in this area, but you swear you didn’t notice them as much until these past few days. They flit around, drawing gasps and coos and camera clicks from your tour groups but leaving you with an uncomfortable twinge in your chest.

It’s an entire three weeks before you discover why he ran that fateful night.

Bad weather cancels a day of tours for you, and late into the morning you hear murmuring coming from Jimin’s room. You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you can’t help the yearning you feel. The moment you consider tiptoeing up and pressing your ear to the door, it’s like your mind is made.

His voice is softer, sweeter, more playful than you’d ever heard directed at you, even before the strange falling-out. “…pretty, aren’t you? I know, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. Hm? Minnie’s here.”

Your stomach turns, and you rush away as quickly and silently as you came.

Of course. Of course a guy like him had a girlfriend. It’s not like he was obliged to tell you, and you shouldn’t have assumed he was single. Poor guy probably felt grossed out, probably thought you’d intentionally made a move. No wonder he freaked when you called him Jiminie too, if Minnie was her pet name for him or something.

It’s a relief when the next morning breaks out in sunshine. You don’t fancy being in that house longer than is strictly necessary.

--

“Can we talk?”

Jimin jumps when he opens the door to you waiting, blinking in shock. “I have to get going…” He’s somehow even paler than when he first came, probably from only ever leaving the house at night-time, and though his eyes are bright, they’re sunken.

You don’t move when he puts his head down and makes an attempt to step forward again. “Please, Jimin. I owe you an apology. Besides; there’s no reason for us to hide from each other and be miserable. Let’s just talk.”

He scratches at his collarbone past the neck of his t-shirt, which protrudes more than you swear it had when he arrived. “Yeah, okay. Come in, I guess.”

He raises a tired eyebrow at your sigh of unfiltered relief, simply ducking back into the safety of his room, hopping onto the single bed cross-legged.

You follow after. “Look, that night got out of hand, but I think I get now why you…” You trail off once you step fully into the room, mouth hanging open.

It’s messy like when he moved in, an organized and dedicated chaos, but there’s one key difference. Amongst the open textbooks, scribbled notes, and strewn stationery on his desk, one large object catches your eye.

An entire branch, dangling from rope taped to the ceiling. You couldn’t recognize the tree just by that alone, but after taking in the lush leaves and forked twigs, something inside you thinks it’s probably from that same tree, or at least the same type, that the longwing erato butterflies were on that night.

Of course, you wouldn’t need the branch itself to tell you that. What makes it clear as day is the ten-plus butterflies that flutter around the room, resting periodically on the branch itself.

Jimin ducks his neck, rubbing at his chest in self-comfort. “You wanted to talk?” he questions innocently.

You don’t let the joyous spike in your heart at him speaking to you distract from what’s in front of you. “I said no bugs in the house. Are you serious?”

“They’re not bugs,” he whines defensively. You stare in open-mouthed bewilderment as one, smaller than the rest but with thicker red bands on its wings, lands on the top of one of his pointer fingers, settling after a few moments. Jimin’s eyes warm, a smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t want to bother you by coming and going all the time, so I just got them to come to me… I can take better care of them this way.”

With a conflicted frown, you push down your divided emotions on this statement in the hopes of pushing forth. “Anyway, I wanted to say that I get now why you freaked out. I overheard you talking with your girlfriend the other day and-” You blink, cutting yourself off. The words you’d heard muffled behind his bedroom door I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. “You… Do you have a girlfriend, Jimin? Or a boyfriend?”

Jimin’s so startled it disrupts the butterfly from its perch, but he barely notices, eyes comically wide in shock. “Wh- y- Are you propositioning me?”

You splutter, realizing belatedly how poorly your statement was phrased. “No, I, sorry, I just wanted to ask because I thought I overheard you one day talking to someone on the phone. And I thought perhaps that was the reason you took off that night, because you thought I was making moves on you when you were taken.” His expression is unreadable, eyes glazed in what might be contemplation or might be annoyance, but you forge on with a deep breath. “So, whether you have a partner or not, I wanted to apologize, because that night was an accident. I wasn’t like, trying to make out with you on a butterfly hunt. That’s… yeah, that’s all I wanted to say.” His eyes drop from you wordlessly, and your heart stutters in concern. “You can say something now. Please.”

His shoulders fall slack; you hadn’t noticed how tense he was. “Y/n…” He gives a bittersweet sigh, lip tugging into a reluctant smile. “Well, first of all, it was not a butterfly hunt. Secondly… I haven’t been fair to you. I should apologize too. Could you sit?”

He shuffles sideways on the bed, patting the rumpled sheets beside him. You hop on, and it’s not until an awkward silence threatens to descend that he finally speaks up again.

“Listen, I wanna be clear. I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend or anything. I wasn’t talking on the phone that day. I’m sorry for running when we went out that night, I really am. And it wasn’t because of you that I freaked- well, it was because of you, but not in a bad way.” He lets out a pained breath, staring doggedly ahead at the smattering of butterflies roaming the hanging branch. Even as he avoids your gaze, he subtly turns his torso inwards towards you, the shyest olive branch. “The truth is, I freaked because I really like you. And I… This is gonna make me sound like an asshole, but I didn’t want to let myself get distracted. I have to put this research first. I figured if I just avoided you, I’d get over it, but-” He waves his hand in the air helplessly. “That hasn’t been working out so well,” he admits in a defeated voice. With a final sigh, he falls silent.

You stay quiet for a few more moments, letting his words process in your mind. He actually liked you? The discomforting tug in your chest eases as the thought, the ache of your heart soothing into a warm thrum. But he had to put his work first. Of course. “I get it,” you say finally.

Jimin perks up, finally looking over at you with vulnerable eyes. “You…do?”

You crack a light smile at his stammering of such a short sentence, but then a wider beam takes over. Even if he wanted to never even touch you for fear of getting ‘distracted’, this was enough. Just seeing his face, hearing the notes of his voice, his expression light up in hope; if nothing else, this was enough. “Yeah,” you reiterate with crinkled eyes, “I mean, let’s look at this rationally. You’ve been studying in uni for how long? Paying fees, buying textbooks, studying hard. And now you’re doing a thesis, which you had to uproot your life and fly out to another country for. I bet that was expensive, too. And on top of all that, it’s clear how much it all means to you. You just met me because I happened to be staying in the hut you’d booked. I don’t wanna get in your way, Jimin. This work makes you happy.”

“You-” Jimin cuts himself off, clearing his throat noisily, shaking his head at himself cutely. “Um, I really appreciate that. Now I feel silly I didn’t just tell you that three weeks ago. You know how hard it’s been sneaking showers at the crack of dawn? Those campsite bathrooms don’t even have mirrors. I’ve become an expert at shaving by memory.” He sends you a small smile then, small but genuine, and on his lap his fingers stretch out shyly, before falling back into a loose fist.

Not wanting to disrupt the cheery mood, you reach over to shove at his shoulder playfully. “Well then, how about instead of distracting you, I help you? I’ll be your official sidekick. Or assistant, whatever it’s called.”

“Is that so?” Jimin retorts with glimmering eyes. Like it’s sensed the warm ambience returning to the two of you, a lone butterfly has flown over, settling itself between waves of honey blonde, off-center so that Jimin has to strain his eyes over to make it out. “Hey, Molly,” he mumbles so softly his lips barely move, but, right beside him, you hear it.

“You name them?” you question in confusion, but he doesn’t get the chance to answer before it hits you. “Oh my god. You were talking to the butterflies, weren’t you?”

Jimin stiffens up defensively, but takes care to do it slowly enough that the black-and-red butterfly in his hair, Molly apparently, doesn’t get disturbed. “Makes things grow better,” he mutters through a pout, cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink. “And they have personalities too, you know? Just like dogs or cats.”

You observe the way he leans back away from you, braced like he’s expecting backlash or humiliation. Instead, you nod slowly. “So, what’s Molly’s personality?”

He goes stock still in surprise. “Molly?” After you nod again, he relaxes slowly, fiddling with his hands in his lap even as his face warms. “Molly’s a sweetheart,” he reveals tentatively. “She likes keeping me company more than the others, and when I need to take notes on her wing growth she sits so nicely.”

Your eyes widen in wonder. “Woah, that’s incredible,” you breathe.

He tilts his head to the side. Molly settles herself in deeper, batting her wings a couple times but staying there. It makes you quirk a smile even as Jimin sends you a look of confusion. “What’s incredible?”

“Jimin, these are wild creatures,” you elaborate, “I don’t think we’ve had any researchers stay here before, certainly none specifically for them, and you’ve only been here three weeks yet already they trust you. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?” Do you have any idea how amazing you are? You bite your tongue to stop the words.

He gives his head the smallest shake, wary of the resting butterfly on his head. “All I did was talk to them. Be gentle with them. Look-”

You gasp when suddenly warmth envelops your palm, Jimin softly interlocking your fingers. He stands slowly, then tugs at your hand for you to follow. You do so in an almost religious silence, the hush that speaks louder than words. His fingers, although short, fit with yours perfectly, and as the two of you make your way to the hanging branch he squeezes gently in reassurance.

Licking his lips to wet them, he turns you and holds your connected hands in the air. “If you’re calm and quiet, they’ll trust you too.”

Barely breathing, you nod and stare wide-eyed as he gradually moves your hands closer to the branch. Once the back of your knuckles brush a leaf, he pauses there. “Lift one finger up in the air,” he instructs softly, “like a landing post.” You do as he asks and wait for approval, but his eyes aren’t on you. Rather, they focus on the three butterflies that huddle on a nearby leaf, one of which looks all but asleep to you. “There’s Yoyomi, Kong, and Mickey,” he utters. “Kong is a drama queen, he acts like he hates affection, that’s why he’s gone so still, but one of the others might come over.”

The two of you wait with baited breath and clasped hands as the smaller one of the three alights, fluttering around before delicately landing on the pad of your finger. Your heart stops with the lightest pressure of its legs on your skin, barely more than a tickle.

“See?” Jimin whispers, eyes glittering. “That’s little Yoyomi. Say hi.”

Your finger threatens to falter. You feel stupid talking to a bug, but hasn’t Jimin proved that it’s making a difference? And besides, you can’t let him down after he’s chosen to be so vulnerable with you. You can’t say no to him. “Um. Hi, Yoyomi. You’re very beautiful.” With the warmth of Jimin’s hand on yours, you’re certain he can feel the way your pulse throbs in your wrist, heart racing as Yoyomi’s wings, red at the tip instead of down the middle, give a welcoming flutter.

“Very beautiful,” you hear Jimin repeat in the softest tone.

Your gaze lifts to him, where, instead of looking down at Yoyomi, his eyes are on you. You swallow the euphoria that rises in your chest. “I… I hope you’re not getting distracted,” you say awkwardly.

His lip twitches down. “Sorry.” He lets go of your hand suddenly, giving Yoyomi a fright and sending her off, landing back on the branch with Kong and Mickey. You lower your own arm, feeling the tip of your finger tingle strangely, missing that delicate weight. Missing his touch even more. “I’ll be good. I’ll focus on them.”

You smile reassuringly, past the regret that builds deep in your stomach. “We can have a clean slate, yeah? Like a butterfly kicks off its cocoon, we can get rid of the negative energy and go back to being friends. A fresh start.”

The tension leaves Jimin’s face, replaced by pursed lips as he suppresses a reluctant smile. “You really know nothing about butterflies, don’t you?”

You back up closer to the door, resting your head playfully on the doorframe. “I have a very neglectful teacher.”

He lets out a laugh then, tinkling and giggly, and you feel your heart soar. “Oh, is that so? Well, our first lesson is 9am sharp. And I will be taking attendance,” he adds with faux sternness.

You nod, playing along, feeling so light you could float. “I’ll be there.”

--

“Mm, I’d say 38 millimeters. No; put down 37 and a half.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you cheer, carefully noting down the measurements.

Jimin tuts, eyes remaining trained on the gently batting wings of Una, another one of the older butterflies. “I said not to call me that. Okay, and it looks like the stripe is the same as last week. Have you got it?”

You bite down on the inside of your lip. “I do, master.”

Jimin splutters. “Stop,” he whines petulantly, “look, you made me give Una a fright. Una, it’s okay, don’t g-” He breaks off with a sigh. “It’ll take ages for her to work up the courage to come back over now… Stop teasing me. We’ll have to move on to Molly for now, okay?” He glances up at you warningly, pink lips still pressed in a pout.

You force your eyes not to linger, instead lifting your chin in a decisive nod. “Yes, chef.”

This time you’re rewarded with a full beam, Jimin’s eyes crinkling so much they just about shut completely, delicate hands pressing down on his cheeks in an effort to suppress. “Stop it! You’re making fun of me!”

“Well, who else can I make fun of?” you point out innocently. “When I called Kong an old man you made me sleep on the couch.”

Jimin’s mouth falls to a small o of shock. “That was a joke. You were the one that actually did it.”

Shrugging non-committedly, you doodle squiggles in the margins of Jimin’s notebook. “I take my job very seriously,” you defend, raising your eyebrows. “Which, speaking of, I wanted to ask. Are you free tonight?”

Jimin blinks, ducking his head back like he’s got whiplash. “Are you asking me out on a date?” he questions incredulously.

You put the book down, locking eyes with him. “I’m asking you out on an expedition,” you correct.

“Do I get to know where this expedition is going?”

“Absolutely not.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second, brown eyes warm. “Deal.”

--

“That doesn’t look safe,” Jimin frowns, tugging at the hem of his light cotton shirt as he eyes the looming contraption.

“But you promised,” you retort, already with a foot on the base. You’d taken him to one of your favorite places on the island, your lookout tower. Of course, the last time you were here hadn’t been so fun, but as the sun sinks lower in the sky, you know it’s time to rewrite some better memories.

“I never agreed to this,” he retorts. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you grab onto his forearm, tugging him up with you. Luckily, the stability of the tower, at least down on ground level, seems to suffice for him, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“You promised to expe…dish with me,” you stammer.

“Expedish?”

“You know, go on an expedition? Expedite? Ex- Expedo-”

“Okay,” he cuts you off, stepping up onto the first stair that led upwards. “I’ll do it. Just stop making up words.”

You follow behind him dutifully, willing your eyes not to fall down to where his shorts stretch taut over his ass and thighs, calves flexing with every step higher. You attempt to distract yourself, simultaneously cursing and praising the fact you didn’t go in front of him. “I could say real words instead,” you offer helpfully, “like…barbecue. Lawnmower. Effervescence.”

Jimin gasps softly, in a playfully high tone. “Baby’s first words!”

You frown pettily, stomping your feet down on the steps so he can hear your dissatisfaction, but you can’t deny the way your breath hitches when he calls you baby. Dammit. “Just climb,” you mutter bitterly, quietly reveling in the triumphant peal of his laughter.

When the two of you reach the top, he’s panting, and you have to admit that you’re short of breath too. His eyes widen prettily as he takes in the view, holding onto the wooden slats around the border of the lookout to keep him stable as he rises onto his tiptoes.

Last time, the sun was well and truly set, but now the leaves are glowing in molten golds and oranges, the sky a pastel blanket over the island. The topiary is awash with activity, that unique window where nocturnal creatures stir and the rest settle.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, and you’re inclined to agree, but it can’t match the beauty you see in him.

Straining to catch every last inch in sight, his body is stretched into a graceful curved line, enough that his shirt lifts to reveal a narrow strip of skin above his waistband. Much paler than the bronze caramel of his face and hands, it reminds you just how much sun he’s been getting these past few weeks now that he isn’t hiding himself away.

He looks much healthier, too, with the softness of his cheeks returned to full blush and eyes twinkling with wonder as he watches birds coast along the horizon line, monkeys navigate the trees with ease, and a few margay cats just like the ones you yourself had caught prowling that past night. He looks happy, and something warm unfurls in your chest at the thought that you’ve contributed to that joy.

You don’t process his eyes on you until he cracks a shy smile, raising a delicate brow. “Thinking hard or hardly thinking?” he teases softly.

“Just thinking,” you murmur, unwilling to part your gaze with him just yet. He doesn’t seem satisfied, tilting his head with imploring eyes. You relent, unable to deny him. “Cada vez que yo te veo y que te pienso siento que florezco.”

Jimin pouts cutely, falling back flat on his feet to stare you down fully. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you should learn Spanish,” you retort, ignoring the thudding beneath your ribs. “You do live in Ecuador, after all.”

“Only if you teach me,” he jokes lightly with a playful tip of his head. He takes a step closer, then, and his face changes, sobers up. “Thank you, Y/n. For taking me here, I mean.”

With the cramped space of the lookout, he’s now close enough that you can see each individual eyelash that curve delicately, the finest smile lines on his cheeks, the thinnest sheen of sweat on his temples. He’s close enough that you could easily reach out and k- “You’re welcome,” you blurt out, inhaling deep through your nose in the hopes of clearing your head. Instead, you just breathe in the delicate smell of orange blossoms that you’re beginning to associate with Jimin, perhaps something in his body wash or shampoo. Your eyes flutter around, unsure where is safe to land. His eyes, which bore so intensely into yours. Or his lips, which are pinker and plusher than usual as he nibbles softly at them. You stare stubbornly instead at the tip of his button nose, fingers curling at your sides with the effort to keep them to yourself

“It’s hard for you too, isn’t it?” he questions in the smallest voice, barely more than a velvet whisper.

Your eyes lift to him unsurely. “W-what? What’s hard for me too?”

His hand begins to lift up in the air in front of you, before it falters, and ultimately settles awkwardly on the railing. “Holding back,” he finally admits. “Not getting…distracted.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Distantly, you wonder what exactly he was reaching out to. “Impossible.”

Jimin’s head dips, eyes falling to the dusty wooden floor below you. “I’m sorry.”

A dissatisfied shiver runs down your spine. “I- you don’t have to apologise.”

He looks stricken. “No, I do, I just- I’m working it out. I’m thinking it through. I’m sorry.”

You fight your disappointed, struggling to maintain the cool composure of rationality that holds your tears at bay. “I understand,” you reassure, “this research is what means the most to you. You have to put it first.”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know if it’s-” He shudders then, a full-body tremble that’s only masked somewhat by the sudden step back he takes, almost tripping on an uneven plank. “I have to go,” he rushes out, one foot on the steps leading down before he freezes, forces himself to turn back to face you. “Are you… Are you ready to go? We can walk back together. If you want.”

You feel your knees go weak as you nod, biting on your bottom lip harshly to keep face. “I’m ready to go back if you are. I’m sorry, I thought taking you up here would be nice…”

His earnest look takes you off-guard. “I am so grateful, Y/n, it’s so beautiful up here. Thank you.”

A strange, detached feeling washes over you, like defeat, only softer. “You’re welcome,” you say again, though this time you don’t know if you mean it.

--

You let it go, for a while. Jimin’s happy, and that’s enough for you.

Slowly, you were getting better at recognising each of the regular visitors by the slightly different patches on their wings, or even simply how they behaved. It was a strange thing to get to know them like you would with a pet, realising they really did have unique personalities. And over time, you opened the rest of the doors of the hut, too, until it became commonplace to wake up from a flutter on your cheek, or to check for any resting butterflies on the couch before you sat down. It brought a sense of life to your abode that, in full honesty, you’d probably never truly felt before. But of course most of that led right back to Jimin.

Jimin, who no longer held himself back from chatting away softly to the butterflies like they were his friends. Jimin, who patiently explained the life cycle of the longwing erato for the nth time when you still got lost. Jimin, who did his best to stay professional but couldn’t hold back his warm smiles, gentle touches, and reassuring words. Jimin, who was overflowing with so much love for everything that you felt it grow within you too.

“Y/n?”

Jimin’s alarmed voice catches you off-guard from where you’d zoned out in the kitchen, milk warming to room temperature on the bench as you’d gotten too distracted to pour it into the bowl of waiting cereal. Cursing, you shove it back in the fridge and abandon your breakfast to rush down to the study.

He’s hunched over his desk, unaware of Molly nestled on his shoulder, as he focuses intensely on what’s in front of him.

“What’s going on?” you question, not wanting to approach the desk so suddenly just in case you startle him or whoever has his attention.

“Baby got his wing torn again. I think he’s been going to that patch of rosebushes behind the kitchen.”

You gasp, risking a couple steps forward silently. Your chest is taut with anxiety as you watch Jimin gently pin Baby onto a towel with an oval metal loop that keeps his wings still while allowing his small black body to move. He wriggles in the eye of the loop, but settles as a single pinkie finger strokes his wings with the lightest pressure. Baby, as his name suggests, is the youngest of your little ragtag bunch at only 8 days old. Jimin wasn’t sure, but he believed Molly might be the mother. Most of the females laid a few eggs every day, but only a few over the month and a half had actually chosen to come into the house. Baby, however, had shadowed Molly from the moment he’d first flown in.

“That’s the second time,” you murmur, rubbing at your shoulder in concern. “Will he be okay?”

Jimin hums, lips barely moving when he speaks in a soft register. “It’s a bigger tear than last time but it should be an easy fix. I just hope he learns this time. Can you get me the repair kit?”

You do as he says quickly but calmly so as not to disturb anyone. “Here. Do you need anything else?”

He doesn’t answer for a while, gnawing at his lip as he takes some contact adhesive and a small wooden dowel. “Um, no, but… Could you just stay?”

Your heart jumps in your chest; you curse that jolt of euphoria in a time like this. “Of course I can, Jiminie,” you reassure, pulling up a stool beside him and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Of course I’ll stay.”

Later on, after Baby’s made a full recovery and Jimin has given him an extremely gentle scolding, the two of you decide to have a night in. Jimin exhausts the last of his Korean microwave meal supplies, you crack out a couple of old bottles of red wine you’d gotten for Christmas two years ago, and the two of you curl up on the couch in your pyjamas, talking about everything and nothing.

It’s shortly after midnight, once Jimin has long since jiggled the final drops of wine from the second bottle into his waiting mouth, and you’re feeling sleepy from carbs, that you ask him why he likes butterflies so much. For some reason, the thought had never really occurred to you in these past weeks.

“I mean,” you continue, voice loudened by the weak buzz of alcohol, “I get now that butterflies are super cool. But like, what made you even pay attention to them in the first place? It’s such a specific career.”

Jimin, who had significantly more of the wine than you, pats his own red cheeks in thought, smiling absentmindedly to push them out rounder. His eyes glaze over, but with how well he held his liquor, you think the faraway look is due to something else. “It’s silly,” he brushes off, tapping his pinkie fingers on the apples of his cheeks.

“Come on,” you whine, tipping your head to the side and widening your eyes pleadingly. “I bet it is just as cute as everything else about you.” Your brain screeches to a halt. Did you really just say that? Clearing your throat awkwardly, you reach for a half-empty glass of water, maybe his or maybe yours, and take a sip, willing your cheeks and ears to stop burning.

Jimin ducks his head with a flustered giggle, splaying his arms on the table to bury his face between dramatically. “Stop,” you hear him say, able to distinguish a pout in his voice even through the muffling. “It is silly. You’ll laugh at me.”

“I won’t ever laugh at you, Jiminie,” you say honestly, smile dropping. “I promise.”

With a deep sigh, he rises up again, locks of warm golden hair sticking up at odd angles like bedhead. Avoiding your gaze, he puckers his lips shyly, reddened where he’s nibbled at it. “It started back in primary school. My best friend loved butterflies, he wanted to be a lepidopterist even before we knew the word. Always talked about how beautiful they were and if he spent his life looking at beautiful things that he’d be happy forever.”

A thought occurs to you. “The one from that framed photo in your room?” you question.

Jimin looks up so fast he has to blink away the wobble of light-headedness that strikes him. “You’ve seen it?”

“The two little schoolboys, right?” you confirm. Once he nods, you grin, rushing to his room with the added aerodynamic rush that tipsiness gave you. The picture frame is on his little bedside table, and you gently carry it with you back to the lounge, dropping down heavily beside him on the floor instead of your perch on the couch. “So this is you and your friend?”

Jimin takes it with a fond, dopey smile. Both young, chubby kids are tan with crinkled eyes and black tufted hair, their matching uniforms and grins making them look thick as thieves. The shorter one with a perfectly round face made up primarily of his chipmunk cheeks and a button nose, clutches the straps of his backpack proudly. Jimin points at him. “That’s me,” he tells you, a chuckle in his voice, “I’m older than him yet he’s always been bigger than me. Unfair.” With a distant look, a quiet smile, Jimin brushes his thumb over the glass where the other boy stands, the cutest boxy smile revealing a set of pearly whites. “That’s Tae. I owe him everything.”

You look back and forth between him and the aged photograph, muffling a yawn that the late hour has triggered. “Are you guys still friends?”

Jimin sets the frame down, humming an affirmative. “He’s still back home.”

“Is he a lepidopterist too?”

A quick surprised glance to you to acknowledge you finally pronouncing his job title correctly, then he laughs warmly, shaking his head. “He’s an artist, can you believe it? Paints the most gorgeous things. Realistic ones, abstract ones, ones with only two or three colours. Has his own pseudonym and everything.” Jimin sends a grin to you, like an inside joke only you share. “He likes painting butterflies the most, though.”

“Do you miss him?” The moment the words are out of your mouth, you regret them. Jimin sobers up, and the moment is lost.

“Yeah,” he admits morosely. “But less than six weeks until I can go back home and see him again!”

Like instant karma, the realisation that he’ll be leaving shatters your good mood too. “Not long… Anyway, you do your research and go back and give it to your university? How does the thesis work?”

Jimin’s face sours with a bitter scoff. “Gah, it’s so confusing. There are so many stages, and reviews, and deadlines… I was a little late on sending in my first progress report, but it’ll be fine once I get the go-ahead. There’re meant to be every month, but I was a bit behind on typing all my notes up. There’s just so much to say, I don’t know how I can only mention some things and not others.”

You tip your head to the side, feeling the warm buzz of wine slip through your fingers, leaving you feeling heavy. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, tucking his legs so that he can rest his head on his knees. “I don’t know, like… Why should I get to say what’s relevant and what’s not? I write everything down, as much as possible, but for my report I had to try and choose what to cut for the word limit. Why is Kong’s feeding habits more important than Ronnie’s extra red stripe on his right wing? Why should I tell my supervisor that 87% of the female butterflies I’ve studied oviposit an average of two eggs a day but I don’t have room to tell her the joy the whole kaleidoscope had when Sophie finally laid her first eggs after a whole three weeks?” He leans back so that his head tips onto the couch seat, eyes upwards but unseeing, turned down in despair. “I could write a whole book on every single one of them, but all my supervisors want is data and generalisations. They want rules they can put into biology books and quote marks, they don’t really care about the stories. Taehyungie would understand.”

“I understand,” you feel the inexplicable need to say. “You’re such a good person, Jiminie.” Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you belatedly, you groan, pushing yourself up laboriously from the floor. “Aaand I think it’s time for me to hit the hay. Tonight was fun. Don’t worry about the mess; I’ll clean up tomorrow.”

“Have you forgotten we share this hut with the wildlife now?” Jimin asks with a quirked brow, laughing melodically when you groan again. “Don’t worry, you go to bed. I’ll clean up. Goodnight, Y/n.”

You should feel bad, you should tell him you’ll stay and help, but your bed is positively screaming your name. “Thank you! And for what it’s worth,” you add, “you’re the best leopard optimist I’ve ever met, Park Jimin.”

Though you don’t know it then, the radiant beam you receive is the last smile of his you’ll see for a while.

--

Seeing Jimin angry for the first time is the original red flag that something's up.

Waking up later than usual, you stretch languidly and pad down the hallway, already thirsty for your routine cup of tea, but Jimin's form hunched over stiffly in the kitchen causes you pause.

"Morning," you chime, but he doesn't even react, lids low and jaw tense as he stares intensely out the window. "I can make you a drink if you'd like?"

"Forget it," he spits, and you flinch. Six weeks together and you'd never heard that venom in his voice before.

"Did...Did something happen, Jiminie? Was it me, or...?"

His chest heaves in a shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering miserably, before that stern fire returns. "No," he answers shortly. "It's me. It's this fucking thesis."

Your eyes fly wide, and suddenly concern and confusion turn to genuine alarm. Since when did Jimin swear? "The thesis?" You rack your brain, straining to recall your conversation last night. "Oh! The report, right? Did they finally get back to you?"

He lets out what sounds like a sob, lifting a hand to block it, and your heart melts, pulling him in for a hug. You can feel the stuttered way his heart is racing, as well as the way his whole body trembles with contained emotion as you tuck your chin on his shoulder, rubbing his back.

"Tell me," you coo, "tell me what happened. I promise it'll be okay."

"It won't," he assures, and like the shifting of winds, his body stiffens ironlike again, and he detaches you from him, crossing his arms with a hateful scowl. "She fucking rejected it. Told me to start again. Square one."

You're so shocked you don't even acknowledge the hurt of him pushing you away. "Holy shit, what? Can they even do that?"

Jimin scoffs darkly. "It was my fault, anyway. Meddling. Interfering with the research."

"How?" You think on it for a moment with furrowed brows. "Wait, you mean like, letting them in the house?"

"I mean everything, Y/n," he growls, voice growing louder with every word. "Letting them into the house, feeding them, fixing Baby's wing. She even told me off for giving them names, said it 'blurred the lines of scientific neutrality.' Now I have to start my three months of research again, with a different study group, no interfering. Halfway done, and now I'm-" He breaks off with an exhausted sigh. "Whatever. It's done now. At least you get your wish again. No bugs in the house."

You feel your heart sink. "Jiminie, that's not-"

"Please," he cuts you off, determinedly avoiding your gaze. "I messed everything up by meddling. I- I don't want to do it again. Let's just be roommates. Just call me Jimin, please. I'm sorry."

Against your will, tears well up in your eyes, not for yourself but for him. The pain that was written across his face. "I am so sorry," you manage to make out in a thick voice. "I'm sorry that you're stuck here with me and not Taehyung."

Jimin recoils violently, already pushing off the counter and making his way out of the kitchen. "Don't you dare speak to me about Taehyung."

He leaves, and the greater part of you knows he's taken your heart with him, just a broken void inside.

--

After a week of Jimin focussing fully on his work, you still end each day crying yourself to exhaustion. After two weeks, you notice your pants are a little too loose, and recall you'd forgotten to feed yourself most days. After the first month, you're taken aside by Angelo and told that you'd been receiving worse and worse feedback forms for your group tours. The truth is, seeing the wildlife, particularly the butterflies, makes you feel ill. You tell him you're just feeling under the weather and he suggests you take it easy for a few days. Those 'few days' seem to drag forever, your boss never asking you to come back in, so you wallow in your bedroom like a depressed ghost, wishing you could fade away.

Because it isn't just that Jimin's pushed you away. He's not even avoiding you, quite often curling up on the couch to pore over a textbook or type up notes periodically onto his old, bulky laptop. You see him almost every day, but he never says a word to you, and what really hurts is that he's burning out just like you are.

He's not happy. With sunken bags under his hollow eyes, he moves around in a lifeless mope, complimentary meals at the shared dining hall and kitchen the only thing keeping the plumpness in his cheeks. It tears you up inside to see him so miserable in the job he loves, the hut filled with negative space, emptiness where there should be flitting butterflies in the air and on every surface.

You don't know what he did with them. You'd gone to work that day and returned to find that all evidence of the butterflies having been removed. No Molly settling in your hair, no Kong acting like a tough guy, no sight of sweet little Baby and his slightly wonky wing. All you knew was that now he religiously checked the windows every night and morning to ensure they were closed.

Whether he realised it or not, you missed them too.

"It's been over a month," you say to him awkwardly one night after he comes back from dinner.

He pauses in the entryway, one foot in the air with a hand ready to take off his boot. "Yeah?"

"I just- Um, I was wondering if your one-month report came back okay."

He sighs delicately, and gives you a nod, finishing removing his footwear. "She gave me the go-ahead to continue, if that's what you're asking. Although she wasn't too happy that I needed more funding for another month and a half on-site."

"Don't pay," you blurt without thinking.

"Huh?"

You stammer, collecting your thoughts. "I- I mean, you don't- you don't have to pay. For the room. I can talk to Angelo. I don't mind having you here."

He pauses with socked feet, staring at you strangely, before his eyes clear and he shakes his head. "I don't want to be indebted to you."

You shrug. "It's not a debt to be repaid," you prompt, "it might not even work, I'm just saying I could always ask Angel-"

"And I don't want you to ask," Jimin cuts in, walking with thudded stomps to the kitchen, taking a water bottle from the fridge. "Just leave it alone, okay? It's the university's money anyway. Besides, I've already-" He cuts himself off, taking a swig from the cooled water.

"You've already what?"

He huffs, twisting back on the cap and levelling you a glare that has no energy to it. "I've already asked Angelo if I can change rooms if a hut frees up. So don't bother."

You go silent, shock and hurt swirling noiselessly through your veins.

His face crumples, stricken at your reaction and he gives a sniff before looking up at you one last time, ready to head to his room. "Goodnight."

You don't even spare him a reply, looking back down at the opened page of a book you'd been blankly staring at before he'd come in.

In your peripheral vision, you watch him wait for a moment, before his shoulders sag and he leaves in silence.

You don't realise you're crying until a fat drop lands on the page, blooming as it sinks in.

--

Willing your heart to let go, to forget, you bury yourself back into your work, taking on as many tours as possible and spending time with the kitchen and cleaning staff otherwise. It works for a long time, welcome distractions that occupy your mind and body, and you almost manage to convince yourself that it all was some distant event in the past, or a strangely realistic dream, that Jimin was just another roommate here for a job.

That progress shatters in a heartbeat when you come home to a familiar butterfly battering itself against the glass of the window beside the front door.

You falter, watching it silently as it repeatedly flies at the glass, dull thuds of impact, flaps of wings as it wriggled over the unyielding surface. "...Baby?"

Like it hears your voice, the butterfly stills, wonky wing slowing to a regular waving as it rests on the windowsill, turning to observe you.

"What are you doing?" you murmur in confusion, even as your heart leaps, the euphoria of meeting an old friend unexpectedly. You'd just about forgotten how naturally it felt to speak to them, but it all came back to you now. "What's going on?"

Baby flies over to you, hovering in front of your eyes before fluttering away, back the way you'd came. Hesitantly, you follow, and this seems to be the right thing to do as Baby continues to take periodical flights forward, checking you're following every single time.

Like a trail of breadcrumbs, Baby leads you to the back of the shared kitchen, to the set of untamed rose bushes that grow beneath the window. Hurriedly, Baby flutters to a leaf quite low to the ground and, checking around for people watching, you hunker down on your knees in the uneven dirt in front of the bush. "Baby, you know not to play here, you could get... Oh god."

These roses are a pale yellow, so it takes you no time to spot the weakly fluttering form lying on its back in the soil. It's been over a month since you've seen her, but you recognise her red patches like she'd never left. "Molly! What are you doing in there you poor thing?"

You feel a tickle on your inner wrist, Baby crawling down into the loose cup of your hand. With rising dread, you begin to piece the puzzle together. Baby, who already had a history of getting caught in the rose bushes, probably went in and got stuck. Molly, who'd always kept Baby near, would've gone in in a heartbeat to get him. But, judging by the way her left wing had a long tear running down towards her body, leaving it in two limp, barely-connected pieces, she'd been the one to hurt herself on the thorns this time.

"M-Molly," you call weakly, heart thudding in your chest in fear, "I'm gonna get you out, okay? Baby, come sit on my shoulder, I need my hands free."

Rather than risking injuring her more than she already was, you dig your fingers into the lush soil, lifting up the section of dirt with her on top, using both hands. Thorns leave red lines across your knuckles and cut nicks in your forearms, but you ignore the pain, focussed on gently extracting Molly safely from the bush, Baby restless on your shoulder, immediately fluttering down to rest on the soil beside his mother.

Rushing home, you knock on the door with your foot, just about cracking the wood - or your toes - in your urgency.

Jimin answers eventually, throwing you a weird look when he first seems the heap of dirt in your hands, before noticing what's on it. "Wha- Baby? Molly? Y/n, I'm not meant to- Oh god, what happened to her?"

You sniff, no hands free to wipe your nose which threatens to run. "Baby was outside when I got home, he led me to her. She got torn up in the rosebush."

He sucks in a breath, leaning closer to inspect her damaged wing. "I- We can't- I can't...meddle," he stammers, eyes shiny with unshed tears.

You furrow your brows in disbelief. "But- Jimin, you aren't even studying the original group anymore, why does it matter?"

He falters, taking a step back into the house, eyes on the doorframe instead of you or the butterflies in your hands. "If I make an exception now, I know I'll just keep doing it, and I can't afford to ruin my research again. Can you just- just take them away, please?"

Your mouth drops open, salt bursting on your tongue as tears slip in from the corners of your lips. "But Jimin, this is Molly!"

He lets out a sob, lips trembling violently as he scrubs the tears from his face and eyes with the back of his hand. "It's just a butterfly," he answers hollowly, voice cracking on the last word.

"You don't believe that," you accuse.

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, thick trails of tears dropping over his cheeks. "Just please go," he begs. Without a further word, he steps back, and the door shuts on you.

With no hands free to wipe your face, you sit on the porch with stinging eyes and snot on your upper lip, staring down at the two butterflies on the soil in your hands miserably.

"I'm so sorry," you make out with a raw voice, sniffing noisily. Baby bats his wings slowly in confusion, staring down at his mother, who grows weaker by the minute. How long had she lain there, unable to move, while Baby tried to get Jimin's attention? How much longer did she have? A new wave of sobs wracks your body, and you let it pull you under, feeling like this heartache is the least you deserve.

Though it takes hours, sun setting and shadows spreading over the grass of the campyard, you stay on that porch, trying to wipe your face on your shoulder so your tears and runny nose don't drip onto your friends. Your friends.

You couldn't save Molly, but you didn't want her or Baby to be alone.

She flutters her good wing for the last time shortly after midnight, judging by how high the moon is in the sky, an omniscient bystander tucked behind cloud.

Baby stays beside his mother for a while. Ten minutes, two hours, you don't know. Eventually, he crawls slowly over the dirt and onto your arm, like he doesn't have the energy to fly. With the lightest tickle of steps up your arm, he finally tucks himself in the hollow of your collarbone, a flutter of misery and solace. Your tears are silent now, but they never stop.

After an eternity, the door clicks open quietly. It's Jimin.

He stays quiet for a moment, eyes on you though you don't turn to look at him. "Is she gone?" he asks finally. You nod emotionlessly. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the pre-dawn air.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. "You lost the one you should've said sorry too hours ago."

He goes quiet at this. You almost expect him to turn around and go back inside with how long he goes without saying anything, but eventually he speaks up again. "I want to do something. I- It's too late now, but... I think the least I can do is give her a...proper burial."

You've been thinking about this yourself, for some time. Baby gives a curious flap of his wings. You sniff, tears finally drying up for now. "I know a place," you answer.

You walk in silence, leading the way.

At one point, Baby leaves your shoulder, flying back. You hear a solemn, "hey, buddy," followed by muffled sniffs and shaky breaths that sound like he's begun to cry. Wanting to give him some privacy, you don't turn around to check.

By the time you make it to the butterfly meadow, sun has broken over the horizon. Hot on your back, it casts long, thin shadows on the grass as you approach. "We're here," you say redundantly.

"I guess I'll- I'll dig a hole somewhere," he murmurs back, overtaking you.

Though he's grieving, you're surprised at his lack of reaction, until he steps in front of you and wipes his eyes clear of tears, hands slick with how much he's been crying. He could probably barely see to follow you. The moment he lowers his arm and looks up for a spot, he gasps quietly, eyes widening in awe.

A couple of days of rain recently had done the meadow well, and it's lush beneath your feet, a vibrant green that glints silver in the sunlight with morning dew. Sprinkled around are uncountable species of flowers, some recognisable like daisy patches and dandelions, the more colourful ones along the outskirts of the trees unfamiliar yet just as magical, pastel pinks and deep reds, pure whites and royal purples. But what's no doubt caught Jimin's eye, what he spins slowly around and strains his neck to see, are the darting kaleidoscopes of colour in the sky, at least a hundred butterflies all flitting around and basking in the unbroken sunlight.

"It's beautiful," Jimin breathes, "this is perfect, Y/n." He takes a deep breath, open mouth and lifted brows, trying to fight any further tears. There's a different glint in his eyes now. Not quite happiness, or content. Solace. Relief.

He picks a spot closer to the murky river, where the soil is damper and easier to lift. Once done, he helps you lay the heap of dirt, and Molly with it, into the shallow hole. Brushing off the dirt from your hands, you sit back on your knees, observing the way Jimin hesitates over the small pile of excavated soil beside the hole.

His hand hovers for a moment before he falters, looking up at you. Nestled in the honey blonde hair above his eyebrow is Baby, wings still. Like a cut directly into your heart, the thought strikes you that it's where Molly used to sit. "Should we...say something?" he asks tentatively.

Your heart melts. "I think that would be nice."

He swallows, nodding with distant eyes. "Um... Molly, you were the first butterfly that trusted me. Because of your friendliness, your family and friends grew to trust me too, and I'm so grateful that- I'm so-" Jimin's face crumples, and he buries it in his hands, voice muffled. "I'm so sorry that I betrayed your trust," he sobs, "I failed you and I failed Baby and I'm so so sorry."

Chest aching at the way Jimin looks so small curled up there in front of Molly's grave, you find yourself speaking too, to him just as much as Baby and Molly. "Molly, we were so lucky to know you. You brought light into both of our lives. I was truly happy in every moment spent with you, and now I know that you're in a better place, that you'll have eternal happiness. We'll try and keep positive and keep bright to honour you." Your eyes slip from Molly to the broken boy beside you. "And we'll take care of Baby for you. You did well, mama."

Jimin lets out a shaking sigh and nods, lifting his face up again. Even with red eyes and a running nose, he's beautiful. You take a breath and force yourself not to think about that now.

Silently, he fills in the dirt over Molly, covering her and leaving a patted-down patch of naked soil. There's a finality to it that leaves you short of breath, and the two of you sit wordlessly for a while, just watching the butterflies above flit around the sky, a gentle breeze flowing over your skin.

Once he's finished his quiet reflection, Jimin clears his throat, shifting so that his body faces you, although his gaze is still outward. "I'm not cut out for this," he says simply.

"The funeral?"

"No, I mean- everything. The thesis, the research. Scientific neutrality. I can't do it. It's too cruel."

You take the time to process this. "...What are you saying, Jimin?"

"Could you-" he starts in a strangled voice. His head ducks to look firmly at the ground, so all you can see is his mussed golden locks. "Could you go back to the way you said it before?"

"Huh?"

He fiddles with a blade of grass. "Jiminie," he whispers, and you hate the way your heart pangs when you hear it.

"Jiminie," you obey, "you don't mean you're going to give it up, right? Your thesis?"

He shrugs, head lifting reluctantly. "I can't do this for another two more months," he explains, "and I'm scared of what will happen when I have to- to leave."

You nod slowly. "Do you have to, though? Leave?"

Jimin nods, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair and letting out a wet chuckle when Baby, startled by the sudden shifting, flits over to you and rests petulantly on the crown of your head. He quickly sobers up, though. "Yeah. I have to go back, edit it, submit it, then defend it at my university. How am I meant to defend something I hate?"

"Could you..." You pause, catching up with your thoughts. "Could you change your thesis?"

Jimin lets out a sigh, plump lips turned down morosely. "And start from scratch again? Technically I could, sure, but I can't get past the scientific neutrality thing, Y/n."

An idea begins to bubble in the back of your mind, making you sit upright. "What if you didn't have to do either of those things?"

"What?"

"When you were taking care of the butterflies in the house, they were living longer, right? Because they were being fed and kept safe and given medical care." He shrugs, and you take it as an affirmative. "Then why couldn't you change your thesis to compare the longwing erato on its own versus it with your intervention? Your whole angle could be on like, conservation through human aid."

"I'd still have to start ove- Wait! This first month could serve as the 'before', and I can spend the next two months taking care of them to show the 'after.'" A smile stretches across his face, something you haven't seen in over a month, and it's positively healing. "Y/n, you're a genius! I would have to check with my supervisor, but... This could really work! And I wouldn't have to leave them alone anymore..."

Jimin's eyes dart to Baby, who's still comfy in your hair, then a change happens on his face, a realisation. "Y/n..." With bated breath, you lock your eyes with his, melting into the deep brown. "This- this whole situation has taught me something. That I'd rather make connections and prioritise feelings, even at the cost of what I'm supposed to do. I've lost someone very dear to me today, but the reality is, I lost her the moment I cleared all the butterflies out of the hut. And god, Y/n, I don't think I can bear to lose you too."

Your eyes widen, taken aback by the earnestness of his voice and the vulnerability in his face. "Jiminie..."

His eyes soften visibly at the way you call his name, his upper half leaning closer towards you, so that your faces are less than half a metre apart. Too far to touch, but close enough that you can make out every detail on his face, the way his eyebrows knit together and lift, the dark pink in your peripheral where he run his teeth over his bottom lip. "I've been so scared. So scared of the day I would have to leave you, that I'd tried to act like I didn't care, but I can't do it. If I have another two months here, I want to spend them at your side, not just under the same roof. I just... I have two questions. Firstly; what was it you said on the lookout tower that day? The Spanish sentence, I mean."

Feeling overwhelmed, your lips stretch into a fond smile when you recall it. "Cada vez que yo te veo y que te pienso, siento que florezco."

"That's it," he nods, "what does it mean?"

Somehow it feels less romantic in Korean, and you blush, having to fight to keep your eyes on him. "Every time I look at you or think about you I feel like I'm blooming."

A shy smile of wonder lights up his face. "You- even then, you liked me? I thought I was the only one then."

"You liked me too?" He nods sheepishly. "Since when?"

"The first time."

You give a confused head shake. "The first time what?"

"The first time I saw you," he reveals in a delicate voice.

Speechless, you just stare at him in shock for a moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, you clear your throat. "Wh-what's the second question?"

His voice drops to a lower register, honey like his hair. "Can I kiss you?"

Your breath catches. Instead of answering, you lean forward to close the distance, cupping his cheeks to guide his mouth to yours. Those lips, the ones you had spent hours fantasising about, felt like heaven against you, soft and warm and plush. Jimin goes still in surprise for a brief moment before he melts, the lightest vibration of a whimper tingling your lips. Belatedly, his hands lift to steady your hips and you sigh, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss.

You can feel his round cheeks warming beneath your fingers, his nose pressing against the apple of your cheekbone, and a tickle on your scalp where Baby flutters. But beyond that, beyond the silk of his lips and the beautiful gasps he lets out, there's a rising wave of euphoria inside you, and you can't help but smile into the kiss, overjoyed.

Not breaking for a second, you shuffle forward, slipping one hand into his hair, which is softer than cotton, longer than it was when you came without a hairdresser nearby to tidy it up. Winding locks around your fingers, you tug lightly from the nape of his neck to tip his head a little further back.

Jimin whines, one hand flying up to grip onto your wrist and you pull back in concern. He follows your lips, eyes staying lidded as he sucks in breaths through his mouth.

"Are you-" you stutter, "was that too much? I'm sorry."

He blinks at last and gives you a bleary look, sucking his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. "It's okay, it's just- Maybe not the right time and place."

You sit back, head clearing. "Right, yeah, that's fair."

Jimin's eyes drop to the ground with a coy, but still shy smile. "I would very much like to do that again. Preferably a lot."

You go to laugh, but grimace when you feel the dried tears on your cheeks. Yeah, definitely not the. right time or place. "Let's go home," you say softly, standing up off the ground. "I don't know about you, but I think it's about time we opened up our windows again. So Baby and the others can come back home too."

Jimin beams up and you and nods. "Let's go home," he echoes simply.

--

"Morning, Jiminie," you coo, tilting your head up onto the back of the couch so he can press a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Good morning, baby," he returns, smiling against your skin before straightening up again. "Not going out on the porch today?"

You let out a dry two-beat laugh. Outside, the campground is basically a mudslide, tropical rain beating down, pattering on the roof noisily. "Did you shut the windows?"

He collapses onto the couch beside you with a sigh, arms already winding around your middle to snuggle in close. "...almost all the way, yes." At your look of reproach, Jimin elaborates. "And I put towels on the floor under the window sills."

Unable to stay mad at him, especially not when he throws a leg over your lap and tucks in like a koala, you laugh begrudgingly. "I guess that's the best I'm gonna get, huh? Lazy day today? All my tours have been cancelled and I can't imagine you'll get much done out there either."

With a hum of agreement, Jimin lifts his head, resting it on your shoulder to look up at you. "That means it's just the two of us," he states coyly.

"Mm, and about thirty flying bugs. Romantic."

Jimin's brows tug down sharply as he glares at you, though without any real malice. "They are too romantic, and you know they aren't technically bugs. I put some sugar water on my desk for them, we can just ignore them."

You pretend to ponder for a moment, his face so close you have to pull back to fully see it. "Fine, but to be clear the butterflies stay out during sex."

He sits up, an unreadable expression dulling his eyes.

In response, you widen yours. "Wait... You don't seriously want the butterflies around while we're having sex, right? Is that some kind of lepidopterist thing? Because if so, I am not-"

"It's not that," he blurts hastily, "it's just..."

You let all playful humour drop from your voice, leaving only concern. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, Jiminie. I didn't mean to upset you."

He slips his arms back from around your torso. Before you can mourn the loss of his body heat, he latches onto your arm and cuddles into your side, covering his face with your shoulder. You can feel just how hot his cheeks are, and reach out with your other hand to tenderly card your fingers through his hair, hoping to calm him down.

"You'll laugh at me," he mumbles, lips moving against your bare skin. You tut softly, assuring him otherwise, but still it takes him a few moments to work up the courage. "I haven't...done it before."

"That's it?" you question softly. Jimin just lets out a miserable whine. "Jiminie, that's no biggie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you or anything. We can just take things slow."

He sits himself up a little, then, propping his cheek on your shoulder to look you in the eye. You suppress the twitch of your lip as you see the way it pushes his plush lips out and crinkles his eye with the displacement of the flesh of his cheek. "I want to though," he protests in a pout. "Because I like kissing so much, and I like you so much. I'm just...I don't know if I'm ready yet."

You hum in thought, cupping his free cheek fondly. "Is there a reason you haven't had sex before, or has the opportunity just never really come up?"

He shrugs cutely, leaning into your touch. "Well...Taehyungie-" He breaks off, fixing you with an imploring look. "You can't tell him I told you this."

Your lips stretch into a grin at the thought that he's expecting the two of you to meet one day. "I promise I won't."

With a resounding nod, Jimin continues. "Well, Taehyungie and I have always lived together since we moved out for university. He was always more confident than me, and so he- he slept with a bunch of people. Which is like, good for him, you know, I'm not judging at all, but... I don't know, from what he told me and what I...heard, it just sounded really aggressive and, um, intense. I don't think I can be like that. I don't know if it's really my thing. So I- I just never really did it."

You furrow your brows, processing his words. "Jiminie, sex doesn't have to be like that. Some people like it like that, others don't. It can be as gentle as you want, you know that, right?"

With a whine, he pulls away from you and buries his face in his hands. "God, this is so embarrassing," he moans miserably, "I'm sorry, I'm such a wuss."

"No, stop that," you chastise, softly linking your hands around his delicate wrists and pulling them away from his face, gazing into his puppy brown eyes intensely. "I'm serious, Jiminie, there's nothing wrong with not wanting that. Besides, we... stop me if this is too far, but we don't have to go all the way."

He blinks, lips moving silently before he collects his thoughts. "Do you- what do you mean?"

"Well, instead of going straight to sex, we could do other stuff instead. I could go down on you, if you want. Baby steps, you know? We don't have to rush."

His hands fall down the length of your arm, dropping to your free hand where he fiddles unconsciously with your fingers. "Baby steps?" he echoes.

You beam and nod. "Yeah. But only if you want to, only if you're ready." You carefully detach yourself from him, standing up off the couch. "Just think about it, and when you've made a decision you can-" You cut yourself off when your arm is tugged back by two small hands. "Jiminie?"

"I want it," he confesses decidedly, "I'm ready." His eyes turn soft, and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around your wrist and hand weaken. "Just gentle?"

Your heart melts in an instant and you can't help but stare down at him in wonder. "How are you so perfect?" you breathe, bending down to press a single kiss across his lips. "I'll be gentle, I promise." You go to leave again, but his grip doesn't falter, keeping you rooted. Bottom lip sticking out, Jimin looks up at you with rounded eyes. "Right now?" you ask in surprise. He nods, stutteringly. "Here?"

This causes him to pause. "Maybe...the bed?"

"Whose bed?"

More deliberation. "Y-your bed."

"My bed it is." You lead him, connected by the hands that still latch onto your arm. Your room, unfortunately, is a bit messy, not having expected the turn of events, and you hastily pull up the duvet and pat out the wrinkles, gesturing awkwardly for him to lie down.

Doing so, he hops up and wriggles so that his head is on the pillows, staring directly at the ceiling with startled eyes like a patient in a doctor's office. It would make you laugh if you weren't so worried about him feeling comfortable. "Jiminie," you coo softly, "if you aren't comfortable-"

"Maybe some kissing first," he blurts suddenly, lifting his head off the pillow to look at you, eyes rounded and pleading.

You beam, lying down on your side next to him. "I can't say no to that."

A smile stretches across his lips, which you soon cover with your own, leaning down to press a light kiss against them. He sighs, already relaxing further as his eyes flutter shut, sinking into the pillows.

Fingers splayed across his jaw, you litter countless pecks on his mouth, never more than a brush of pressure, until the bed shakes a little with him kicking out his feet. You pull back, replacing your smile with a look of innocence. "Is that too much, Jiminie?"

He pouts, snaking the arm closest to you around your torso so that you can slip closer. "Don't tease me," he whines, lip and brow crumpling to obtain your sympathy, but avoiding your gaze with red cheeks. "I jus' want you to take care of me."

"Of course I will, Jiminie, I'm sorry," you say with a rueful smile. "But do tell me if it gets too much, okay? I want you to be happy."

He nods, pushing his head back onto the pillow, slightly on an angle to face you. "I will, I promise." His fingers find yours, tentatively intertwining your hands together, eyes low. "Can you kiss me again?"

You answer not with words but with a kiss, a proper one this time, lips pressing intently but still tenderly against his. A relieved sigh leaves his mouth, but it's swallowed up between you, Jimin tightening his arm around you so that your bodies fall flush against each other, one of your legs between his. With closed eyes, the feeling of him against you is even more magical; all plush lips, desperately grasping fingers and trembling body.

Even without a hand free to touch his face - one hand holding his and the other propping you up - you can feel the warmth of his cheeks, an overwhelmed blush that he can't seem to control, and the way he's responding to you triggers a heat inside you too. You deepen the kiss, parting your lips enough to let your tongue run down the seam of his mouth, Jimin letting out a surprised gasp that grants you entry. Though it had been just over three weeks since you'd first kissed him, it had always stayed very light, you waiting for him to make a move. Now, though, you realise that he's probably been waiting for you this whole time.

"'s this okay?" you check in, murmured against his lips.

Jimin shakily takes a breath, nodding in tiny jerks so as not to break the contact. "Ye- keep going," he pleads in a whisper.

Every time your tongue meets his, or swipes over the inner, more sensitive skin of his lips, he gasps, fingers flexing around yours. When adjusting your position, your leg brushes against his crotch and he shudders. He's hard.

Carefully monitoring his reaction even as you continue to move your mouth sweetly against his, you shift your leg again, brushing against the front of his shorts, fabric taut over the crotch. A throaty, keening whine leaves his lips, his mouth going slack. When he speaks, the tiniest puff of air is all that comes out, but you hear him still. "Please."

You let your hand go slack, pulling it down, but Jimin holds on tighter, refusing to let go. With him unable to kiss you back, you press your lips to his cheek, down to his jawline, the sensitive skin just below his ear.

He wriggles beneath you, already overwhelmed with just that simple touch, but also tugs your entwined hands lower between his legs, shifting his hips with a needy whimper.

"You need to let go, Jiminie," you instruct softly, "let go of my hand so I can touch you."

Reluctantly, his fingers untangle from yours, instead gripping onto a handful of your duvet. You take this as a green light to go ahead, and fiddle with the button of his shorts, gently flicking your tongue and sucking gently at the soft point where his jaw meets his neck, a sign of what's to come.

Once you manage to undo his shorts you instruct him to take them off, sitting back to watch him restlessly shuffle out of them, legs lifting so he can grab the fabric while still lying down, folding them and placing them to his other side, close to the wall. After lying flat again, Jimin blinks owlishly at you, hand covering his crotch. You move it aside gently, back to the duvet, and he buries his flaming cheeks into the crook of your shoulder, toes wiggling in embarrassment.

He wears simple white cotton briefs, a narrow trail of near-translucent hair peeking out from above the waistband, legs twisting together self-consciously, though it only makes his straining erection more obvious. "You're gorgeous, Jiminie," you say honestly, "so perfect."

His legs go lax, though they don't shift apart, ankles crossed, though that's okay for now. Not wanting to spook him, you start slow, cupping him over his underwear, thumb locating his sensitive head easily due to the coin-sized wet patch of the fabric above it. His thighs tremble even at the light stimulation, and he shakily lifts his head, pouting and straining for another kiss.

Continuing your slow, shallow circles of your thumb over him to ease him into it, you capture his lips again, shifting the arm propping you up on the pillow so that your hand can cup his head, massaging his scalp and keeping him in place.

"Does it feel good, Jiminie?" you question when you part from him to take a breath.

His eyes stay shut, cherubic lashes fluttering as he sucks his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. "Feels really good," he confirms in a husky yet melodic voice. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course you can, my sweet prince," you allow warmly. Shifting your hand away from his crotch, you smooth your palm over his hipbone, and then up under his t-shirt to brush up his side, making him shiver. "Do you wanna take your shirt off too, or just your underwear?"

His mouth turns down slightly at being made to make a decision, as he blinks his eyes open blearily. "But you still have all your clothes on," he protests faintly.

"I can take my clothes off if it makes you feel comfortable," you offer easily, "it's up to you."

Jimin purses his lips to the side in thought. "Maybe...we both take our shirts off? I- I wanna see you too."

Clearly he hadn't thought it through too much, because his mouth drops open in upset shock when you detangle yourself from him to sit up, shucking your shirt off and helping him to lift off his.

"Am I keeping my shorts on?" you question, but he just shrugs cutely, looking up at you from below his lashes. You smile. "I'll leave them on then, this is about you. Jiminie, can I take your underwear off now?"

With a deep breath, he nods nervously, letting you slide them over his hips and down off his legs, leaving him bare to you. You can see the way his fingers tighten on the duvet, probably with the urge to cover himself again, but you're glad he doesn't

Resting back against his stomach, his cock drips clear fluid onto the tan skin, a glossy patch that you long to run your finger through. You're surprised at just how hard he is, the head a deeply flushed pink and a single vein running up the underside. He's thicker than most you've seen, if a little shorter, and there's a delicate curve to him that makes you long to have him inside you. Not today, though. For now, you simply lie back down beside him, bringing him into a kiss meant to distract.

Rather than going straight towards his dick, though it's probably aching for attention, you instead return your hand to his side, smoothing broad strokes over his overheating skin as your tongue and lips move against his slightly-parted mouth.

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and very lightly grazing your teeth, you simultaneously thumb at one of his dusky pink nipples, pulling a stuttered moan from his open mouth.

"I wan' you to touch me," Jimin makes out through gasped breaths, chest writhing as you continue to play with his sensitive peak.

"I am touching you," you retort simply.

"Down there!"

Unable to deny riling up the responsive boy, you let the tips of your fingers run down the centre of his chest, right to the bottom of his torso, before skating to the side and skimming down his trembling thigh, gripping the muscled flesh. "Here?" Jimin whines out a no, and you raise your hand higher, pointer finger pressing at his hip bone. "Here?"

Breaking away from your mouth, Jimin wriggles his head in a shake, calling your name unhappily.

Taking mercy, you suddenly reach over and wrap your fingers around his shaft, thumb pressing down on his weeping slit. "Here?"

His back arches and he sucks in a moan, hand reaching over to grip your wrist as his eyes clench tightly shut. "Y-yes," he cries helplessly, curling sideways towards you, head shifting so that his fevered cheek presses against your other hand on the pillow.

"That's it," you coo, stroking up to collect some of the pooling wetness to use as lubricant, heart swelling at the beautiful sounds falling from his parted lips. "I'll take care of you, yeah?"

He nods his head shakily, already seeming so far gone after less than a minute, panting, writhing as you tighten your grip around him just enough to provide more pleasure. "Take care of Minnie," Jimin chants mindlessly, rocking his hips into your grip.

With a fond smile, you sit up, taking your hand off him so you can lower yourself between his legs, parting them with both hands even as he kicks them out in frustration. "Just be patient," you chastise, "I said I'd go down on you, didn't I?"

His breath catches and eyes open wide, marveling at the sight of you lying between his legs. "O-okay," he stammers, swallowing hard. "It'll feel good too?"

"It'll feel even better," you promise, gripping him gently, "just tell me if it's too much."

With bated breath and blown pupils, Jimin waits as you teasingly press kisses up his length, following the raised outline of the vein.

It seems like he's calmed down enough, so you lick a bold stripe up the path you'd set, Jimin's moaned sigh like music to your ears. His thighs are tensed up on your shoulders, and you can see the way his lower abdomen flexes, muscles shifting beneath golden skin.

"Relax, Minnie," you say, "you're okay." He does his best to let his muscles go lax, throwing an arm over his eyes, and you take the chance to put your tongue on him again, this time slowly dipping it into the slit at his tip where precum pools, a burst of tanginess that you can't say you mind. His mouth dangles loosely open, lips a dark pink like his tip with all the blood that's rushed to it. He's beautiful.

"Alright?" you check in, and he gives a shallow nod, tilting his hips up in the search for more stimulation. You continue simply laving your tongue over him for a few moments, getting him used to it, before angling him over your mouth and wrapping your lips around his head, sucking lightly.

With a strangled moan, his legs close like clams on either side of you, back arching clean off the bed. His fingers fisted taut in the duvet, he rocks his upper half side-to-side, other hand clutching at the corner of the pillow. Shocked, you lift yourself off of him, concerned it was too much, but this gets even more of a reaction, a high, needy keen ripping out of his throat as his hips jerk up, hiccuping out a, "ple-ease."

"Oh, Minnie," you coo softly, "did you like it? I didn't want to overwhelm you."

When his arm lowers from across his face, it reveals begging eyes bright with tears. "'S good," he whines, bottom lip trembling, "just got a fright."

Your lips stretch into a disbelieving smile. "A fright? Why; because I sucked?"

One of his hands stretches wide, fingers making grabby motions. You use the hand not currently on his dick to hold onto it and bring it to your mouth, pressing an apologetic kiss to the back of his hand.

Jimin swallows and shakes his head. "C-cause it was so w-warm." The way he hiccups through his words, out of his mind with need and still so sweet, has you melting. "You can do it again, though. I want it."

Acquiescing, still with a comforting grip on his hand, you lower your mouth again, this time going deeper so that the flat of your tongue drags against his underside. His fingers tense around yours, but his legs go lax, instead beginning to rock his hips in place, like his body doesn't know what to do with the pleasure.

The weight of him on your tongue is enough to have you drooling, making the slide even easier as you bob slowly, sucking steadily. On every upstroke, your tongue catches and flicks at the underside of his head, and he jerks each time, breath catching and exhaling in stuttered moans.

He sounds so beautiful above you that you feel your own core heating in need, clenching your thighs with the urge for stimulation. But this is about him, so you push the thought aside and pull up off Jimin's cock so you can focus your attention at his head, which so far seems far more sensitive than the shaft.

It only takes a few deft laps and shallow bobs before his whimpering and squirming beneath you, unable to stay still. His eyes have long since clenched shut, brows knitting with a wide open mouth as he's overcome with pleasure.

You use the hand that holds him steady to jerk off what's not in your mouth, and a low, guttural moan falls out of his mouth, tapering up into a squeak as he suddenly gets harder and spurts into your mouth, convulsing as you lap up all the cum that spills from his tip, swallowing as you go. It's more than you'd usually expect from oral, and you imagine that's a pairing of it being his first time, as well as the fact that he didn't see the type to masturbate often.

He curls up in on himself when the pleasure turns to sharp overstimulation, and you release him, his spent cock lying against his thigh, and you give him a few moments of rest to come down, holding tightly onto his hand and rubbing comfortingly at the outer side of his leg with the other, feeling how strongly he shivers beneath you.

Once he finally calms down, taking deeper breaths, you swing your legs over the bed and stand up, patting the back of his hand as an indication to let go. "You can use my bathroom if you want, Jiminie. Or just take a nap here. I should give you some time."

"Wait," Jimin protests in a low pout, laboriously propping himself up to a sitting position. "Kisses?"

You beam, leaning down to press a fond kiss across his silken lips. "Happy?"

Jimin nods with a blissed-out smile, and you swallow a chuckle at his ruffled honey locks and flushed cheeks. "So happy."

"I'm glad to hear it, my sweet prince," you coo, "but if you want more kisses, I better go brush my teeth."

--

The second report comes and goes, approved. More and more days are met with rain as the seasons change, and gradually Jimin becomes more comfortable with you, the two of you making the choice one day to push your two beds together after Jimin had rolled out of your bed one too many times from falling asleep cuddling. He promises he'll come to you when he's ready to take the next step, but as your final month counts down, a dark cloud begins to hover over the two of you. The fact that he'll have to go home soon. Too soon.

You hate that you've got a mental countdown blaring in your mind, but speaking to Jimin about it makes it real, and so you promise yourself later, always later that you'll bring it up, letting yourself make him tea and breathe his scent and feel his lips on yours in ignorant bliss just a bit more.

That works until you don't have any laters left. That works until you sit on his bed with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching him pack his bags. "Are you looking forward to going back?" you ask in a small voice.

Jimin, looking like a vision even in a ratty pink t-shirt and plain shorts, pauses with an armful of textbooks. "I'm... I'm excited to see Tae again," he answers with a nostalgic smile. "We've been chatting online a bunch lately. He's going to pick me up from the airport."

You have to bite down hard on your lip to prevent the sting of tears. "Does he know? About us?"

With indecision clear on his face, Jimin runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that always seem to fall on his face, long overdue for a haircut. "I- To be honest, I don't really know what to say. I don't even know what to say to you."

"About what?"

"About us," he emphasises, dropping his textbooks with a thud on the floor and sitting on top of his first filled suitcase. "We never really had a conversation about it, you know? I know we should've, but... I don't really know where we go from here."

You nod, staring into the murky depths of your now-unappetising tea. "Well... We know you have to go back to Korea. To argue your thesis."

"Defend my thesis," he corrects softly, "but yes. Other than that, though, I still need to go over it with my supervisor, there are a few rounds of editing and finalising. It- it's not like a week back to finish off. I'll be there for a while. Probably a couple months at minimum."

"Minimum? I guess you'll stay there."

Jimin rests his elbows on his knees, head ducked and propped up in his hands. "I- I know what I want to do, but I'm scared to ask the question."

You frown. "The question?"

He looks up, takes a deep breath. "If I... If I wanted to come back, would you wait for me?"

"Come back?" you repeat, barely breathing.

Jimin's eyes glint; he's trying not to cry. "I didn't wanna speak too soon, but the more I think about it, I don't think I can just leave and never come back. I'm in love with you, Y/n. For a long time, now."

Your nose prickles violently, and you let out a shaky breath. "I love you too, Jiminie, so much. Of course I'll wait. As long as you promise you will come back to me."

Jimin nods, brushing back his hair again. "I've been thinking about that too."

You furrow your brows, putting the mug of tea onto his nightstand. "Coming back?"

"A promise," he clarifies. "To show that you're the one for me. That I wanna be with you." He takes a breath to steady himself. "I want to do it tonight, before I go. Have sex."

You sit upright, eyes widening. "Are you sure? Jimin, that's a big deal."

"Like I said, I've been thinking about it. I'm ready, and there's nobody I'd rather do it with than you. I trust you, and... and I love you."

"I love you too," you reply softly, and it feels even more right to say the second time, an unfurling of pure joy in your heart.

"Can we do it now?" he asks immediately, brows lifting to emphasise his pleading puppy eyes.

"Jiminie, you haven't even finished packing-"

"That doesn't matter," he interjects, "I can do that tomorrow morning, the shuttle comes at 10. I need you now, Y/n." He stands up only to crouch at the bedside beside you, grasping your hands. "Take care of Minnie again."

Your breath leaves your lungs in one defeated sigh. Like always, you can't say no to him, not that you even want to. "Okay, Minnie. Let's go to my room."

Though you've gone down on him a few times after his first, Jimin hadn't stopped being so sensitive, and so as you lazily make out (Jimin a little more rushed than you), you let your hand dip underneath his shirt, flicking at a nipple with a thumb you'd wet in your mouth moments earlier. Like clockwork, he trembles under your ministrations, this time hunched on top of you, straddling your lap and bending to meet your mouth.

He's gotten far more confident at kissing, and you're in heaven as he holds your face in both hands, licking into your mouth but whimpering from your touch all the while.

With his legs on either side of your hips, you can feel his hardness pressing down on you, already so eager, and you can't help but sigh blissfully when he rocks his hips unconsciously.

"Minnie," you make out between kisses, "too many clothes."

He tries valiantly to remove his shirt while remaining firmly joined at the lips, huffing when he has to sit up to pull it off. You quickly follow suit, but take the added step of removing your bra.

The first time he's seen your breasts, Jimin's mouth drops open, a look of awe glimmering in his eyes. You arch your back, wanting nothing more than for those sinful lips to wrap around your stiff peaks.

"You're so beautiful, my love," he gushes in wonder.

"You can touch," you whisper, though really it's code for please touch.

Chest heaving, he cups your breasts with gentle hands, thumbs skimming over the sensitive nipples like you'd done to him. The electricity of his slightly calloused fingertips on your skin is sent right to your core, and you let out a shaky breath, his hands rising and falling with it.

"Good?" he questions softly, and you nod, sighing out your confirmation. Jimin blinks down at you, wetting his lips. "Can I...?"

Without a second's hesitation, you nod, hoping he means what you think he means. You're proven right when he ducks his head, hot mouth latching onto your right nipple. The contact sends a bolt of arousal through you and you whimper as he immediately begins to suck, hard.

"Jimin," you make out in a strangled voice, taken aback by his sudden vigor. "Oh, god, it's so go-"

"Minnie," he interrupts, bringing his face up to your neck without lifting his mouth so that he leaves a wet trail ran behind him, "it's Minnie."

You laugh breathily, but your grin drops away to a shocked moan as he hungrily laps at your skin, sucking lovebites over your pulse point in a way that has you arching your neck, desperate for more. "Fuck, Minnie, where did this come from?"

"Wanna make you feel good," you hear in a muffled sigh, feeling the vibration on your skin. With a boldness you hadn't associated with him before, Jimin reaches between you and rolls your other nipple between his fingers, grasping at the flesh and tugging roughly.

Though it feels better than you'd like to admit, something's wrong, and you pull him away. "Wait, wait," you ease, struggling to detach both his hand and mouth from you. Once he realises you want him off you, he sits up with the confused look of a kicked puppy. "Do you not like it?"

His hands hang limply at his sides, and you interlock your fingers to reassure him. "Minnie, how come you're acting like this? You've never been this way before."

He blinks, a dimpled line between his brows where he furrows them. "Because we're having sex," he answers in an uncertain tone, "and I wanted to make you feel good. Is it not right?"

Belatedly, you recall a conversation you'd had about a month ago, about his friend's sexual habits. Poor Jimin really had internalised one man's preferences as the rule of thumb and taken it to heart. "Minnie," you say in a soft voice, and his face crumples, sending a spike of pain through your heart. "It's not wrong, it's just not...us, is it? Don't you want it to be gentle?"

Jimin sniffs, turning his head to the side, but not before you glance a tear tracking down his cheek. "I- Yeah, I like gentle. But Taehyungie-"

"Was Taehyung in love with the people he was having sex with?" you cut in to ask. "I don't want you to fuck me, Minnie, I want you to make love to me."

Sat on your lap, he looks so small, sniffling away. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," you coo, "don't think about how anyone else does it. Let's just do what feels good for us. You wanna do that?"

Jimin nods with a rueful pout, quietly leaning down so that he was lying on your bare chest, face tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Oh, sweetie," you murmur into the waves of his honey-blonde hair, a hand coming down to rub over his back. "We'll have all the time in the world when you get back to try new things if you want. I just want to make this one special for you, yeah? What do you wanna do, Minnie? Do you want to be on top or do you want to lie down?"

He shifts, relaxing within your embrace. When he speaks, you have to strain to hear it. "I- I thought maybe both of us lying down. Under the covers so it's comfy." He lifts his head back to meet your eyes. "Can we still face each other?"

You brush back his hair with a fond smile, nodding. "Of course. Do you wanna finish getting undressed and we can both get under the covers, hm?"

Your duvet is the thinnest possible one you could find, but even so, it feels like a furnace when the two of you curl up, lying on your sides to face each other.

Jimin seems considerably more calm and content with his setup, giggling as you plant kisses all over his face.

"Happy?" you ask, just to be sure, and Jimin nods decisively, eyes bright no longer with tears but with warmth and love. "Ready?"

He nods again, humming in confirmation, so you run a hand over his shoulder, down his side and dipping over his crotch to take a hold of him, being able to better see his pleasured expressions as you stroke him to full hardness.

Having his face so close, though, is too much of a temptation, and so you lean forward to capture his lips again, deeper this time, hooking a leg over his hips.

One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, and he sighs beautifully into your mouth. "So happy," he mumbles, and your heart leaps as his lips form the words.

Reaching between your spread legs to gather some wetness - which is more abundant than you were expecting, though you've been aching for stimulation down there for a while - you use it to slick Jimin's cock up, preparing him for an easier entry.

His breathing stutters with a hitched moan, already starting to shiver. You smile at his responsiveness, before focussing on lining him up, head dipping just slightly into you.

You can tell the exact moment Jimin realises he's inside you by the way he goes stock still, holding his breath in anticipation. "Still okay?" you confirm, and he mumbles the affirmative.

Unable to keep kissing as you push your hips down on him, you simply pant into his mouth, moaning as he fills you out.

The elegant upwards curve of his cock means that it presses along your top wall, making your thighs jerk when his tip hits your g-spot. "You're so good inside me, Minnie," you praise against his lips, groaning throatily when you finally take all of him, "do I feel good?"

He bites his lip with a whimper, hand on your hip moving to grasp clumsily at your ass cheek, like he wants to make sure he stays buried inside. "It's so tight," he gasps, "I- oh god, it's amazing, I love you so much."

You giggle lightly at his odd choice of timing on the love confession, inadvertently clenching around him which makes Jimin let out a stuttered high keen, curling inwards and jerking his hips to thrust shallowly.

You hiss in a breath, not expecting him to move so soon, but the feeling of being full, of it being Jimin hitting those spots inside you, is too addictive to stay still for much longer.

You start rutting against him in a slow rock, so that he doesn't quite slip all the way out of you before you grind back down, and his hand tenses on the meat of your ass, mouth falling slack.

With no urge to pick up the pace, you simply let Jimin and you enjoy the sensations of being connected on such an intimate level, nosing his chin back so that you can lap tenderly at the skin of his neck, picking a sensitive spot just above his collarbone to softly suck a reminder, something he can take back to Korea with him.

The thought of him leaving makes your heart sink, and to fill the void you begin to pick up your pace, building a delicious heat low in your stomach that has you moaning every breath. "M-minnie, I'm getting close, can you cum with me?"

"Y-yeah, I wanna cum. With- With you," he pants with a full-body shudder, hand leaving your ass to slide up to your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you to him, gasping prettily into the air until you lift your head away from his neck to join your lips again, kissing him like it's oxygen.

You take the chance to slip a hand down and rub at your aching clit, and the extra sensation has you bearing down on him, causing him to start meeting your thrusts halfway.

Like a chain reaction, the pleasure between the two of you skyrockets until you meet your edge, toes curling and rocking needily against him, wanting to feel him fall apart too.

He cums with a high shout, gripping desperately onto your shoulder as he rides the intense waves, ebbing as you throb rhythmically around him with the force of your orgasm.

The two of you pant, mouths connected but too blissed out to properly kiss, and slowly your hips still, bodies wracked with aftershocks for a few minutes of nothing but the sound of you catching your breath.

Surprisingly, it's Jimin that speaks up first, eyes at half-mast as he nuzzles his nose against yours. "Can we stay like this? Sleep like this?"

In his vulnerable eyes, you read the fear of reality, of the fact that he's really leaving tomorrow. You can't say no to Jimin, never have been able to, but neither do you want to.

Instead, you simply press one last, tired kiss across his swollen lips. "Goodnight, Jiminie. I love you."

An almost inaudible sigh of relief. "I love you too."

--

It’s a day off.

That doesn’t mean you sleep in, though. You don’t know of a single person on the reserve that has been able to stay unconscious past sunrise without medical intervention. The chirps and calls of birds, buzzing of insects and drone of cicadas begins the moment the sun rises, sometimes even earlier, and while the cover of towering canopies filters out most of the light in the dense rainforest, the lodge camp is on an open meadow, and so you can’t avoid the heat that quickly sets in.

You’re happy to be up early, though, because you're waiting for someone.

You always take this time of the morning to sit on the porch and drink a cup of tea, but today is different. You've already set up the spare room with a blow-up mattress, keeping the two single beds pushed together in your room. The fridge is stocked thanks to an antsy trip to Quito yesterday, and all night you were filled with restless energy.

Now, though, a sense of calm washes over you like deja vu. A contented warmth that blooms inside you when you finish your hot tea, eyes on the far end of the campground where you can see two figures chatting back and forth.

You stand, but you don't rush over, knowing they'll come to you. The short blonde, paler after returning from Korea, and at his side, a taller, dark-haired figure. Even though you've never met this second man, you recognise the boxy smile he wears as he glances around the campsite in wonder. The same smile that you'd first seen in a framed photo in Jimin's room.

A hand on his friend's back, Jimin points out your cabin, his eyes finding yours, crinkling shut with the radiant beam that stretches across his face.

Home.

[rhysismydaddy]

Inn Scene for Elriel

What would Elriel do if it was them on that one bed at the inn (where Feyre said she wanted 'fun') instead of Feysand? Would it be smut? Or sweet fluff? Can you please write this? I don't mind if it is steamy or fluffy! Thanks!!

Might I raise you and say both? HA. Wrote it this way because I came back to edit :)

____________________________________________

There’s nothing, absolutely no sign whatsoever, that indicates the man next to me is awake, but I know he is. 

His breathing is even and deep, but it’s like I can sense his attention on me. Even though his eyes are closed. His entire being seems tuned into mine, and it puts me on edge, even as I pretend to sleep. 

Honestly, I don’t think either one of us has relaxed ever since the owner of this horrible little inn told us there was only one room available. With one very small bed. 

It apparently wasn’t ideal, but we don’t have any other option. We’re making our way back to Velaris from a tense trip to the Illyrian camp Azriel had grown up in, and there’s nothing around for at least another days time. 

Cold and cranky, we’d climbed the stairs silently and changed into dry clothes, then gotten into bed and begun to dutifully ignore each other. 

At least, I am. 

He very well could be just trying to go to sleep. 

That’s the problem with Azriel, I’ve discovered. He never shows any reaction. I’m pretty sure I could stand in front of him and strip every last piece of clothing off and he wouldn’t blink an eye. Hell, he’d probably just give me that long-suffering sigh and ask what I was doing.

No reaction. Ever.

It makes being attracted to him extremely irritating. 

Flopping onto my side dramatically, I poke him in the shoulder and announce, “I can’t sleep.”

“That’s because you’re not trying.”

“Oh, come on. Wake up and talk to me.” He of course doesn’t, so I continue my list of demands. “Tell me about Hybern. Or your favorite thing to do. Or-”

“Go to sleep.”

I brood for a few minutes over his tone. Apparently he’s dead set on ignoring me tonight. 

Except I’m tired of being ignored. 

I’m ignored every single day of my life, and I think I’ve had enough of it. 

I sigh heavily and decide to test out my “no-reaction” theory. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, we could always just have sex.”

His eyes fly open so fast I laugh. “What?”

Is that interest in his voice, or incredulity? Or maybe both?

Trying to be casual, I say, “You heard me perfectly well, Azriel.”

“Yes, but I don’t know why you’d say something like that-”

“Because I’d like to have sex with you,” I declare, finding that now that I’ve actually said the words, I’m not embarrassed in the slightest. He makes a strange, choking sound that lets me know I’ve really surprised him, and I laugh again. “You know, for someone 500 years old, you’re pretty stupid.”

Once he’s recovered enough to speak, he asks, “Why in the world would you want to have sex with me?”

He says it like he honestly doesn’t know. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve me or something. 

Bracing myself up on one arm, I look down at him. His hair’s an inky spill on the pillow, and it looks so soft I have trouble not reaching and running my fingers through it. “Because you’re loyal and noble and attractive. Because you’re the only one who treats me like a person, not some doll that needs to be protected. Because you see me as who I really am.”

“And who are you, Elain?”

That’s a good question. 

“I’m just a woman. One who wants you, and has since the moment we met.” He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “I don’t see why this has to be complicated. It wouldn’t be for anyone else.”

“Because you’re not just anyone, Elain.” His eyes narrow, the spy in him determined to get all the information possible out of me. “Is that all you want from me then? Just sex?”

I ask myself the same question, but the answer is that I don’t really know. All I know is that for the first time in twenty years, I’m attracted to someone and want to do something about it. 

For the first time, I want to stop caring and just live. 

I’ve never been with a man; the closest I ever came was when Grayson kissed me after proposing. It was quick and clean, and I didn’t feel half as excited as I do when when I even look at Azriel.

So I have to wonder... what would it be like to kiss Azriel? To feel his body against mine, to see a smile on his face and know it’s from something I’ve done?

“I want... fun.” He raises a dark eyebrow, but I see the flare in his eyes. “I’ve never... I’ve never wanted anyone, but I want you, and I know you want me to.”

For a moment, he just lays there, looking up at me. My confidence starts to waver, just enough for me to ask shakily, “Am I wrong?”

Have I really misread a dozen lingering glances and sly smiles? Or have I been reading into something nonexistent? Or-

He’s on me in an instant, lips meeting mine and shutting the uncertainty off easily. It’s a soft and sweet and simple kiss, similar to the one Grayson gave me, but unlike my first kiss, my entire body comes alive. 

“No, Elain. You’re not wrong.” Azriel pulls back, hazel eyes searching my face, and gives me a very male look. “How much fun, exactly, are you trying to have?”

My lips are pulled into a smile as I put them back against his, and his hands slip into my hair, fingers threading through it carefully. Mine find his shoulders to push him on his back, but he sits up instantly, a serous look on his face. “Wings.”

That’s all the explanation I get before his arms are around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I shiver from the chill and lack of blankets around me, and his hands slide over my arms, then his wings are around us, creating a dark, warm cocoon. 

A calloused hand guides my leg around his waist, aligning our hips, and I can’t hardly breathe at the rush of heat that shoots through me. 

He hears my harsh intake of breath and pulls back to look at me. 

Moving so slowly I squirm, his hands slip under the hem of my sweater, palms flat against my back. He watches my face as they move up, and eyes locked onto mine even as it comes off. 

Then they drop to track the movement of his fingertips tracing over my skin and coming to the three faint freckles just below my collarbone. He smiles as he spots them, then leans in to press his mouth against my skin. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, the rough timber of his voice rattling through me. 

I run my hands through his hair and he tilts his head back to look me in the eyes again. I get a little lost in him, in the so-obvious reaction he isn’t bothering to hide anymore. “Say stop, and I will. No questions, no judgement. Okay?”

“I won’t.”

His lips twitch, but he insists, “Say okay anyway.”

“Okay,” I whisper back, barely getting the words out before his mouth is back on mine. 

His chin nudges mine to the side, then his lips are working their way down the column of my throat. A gasp escapes me as he sucks on the place my neck meets my shoulder, and his lips curve into a smile. 

But he doesn’t stop.

He moves down to my chest, hands coming up to guide my breasts towards his mouth. Another gasp, then a shocked moan, slips out of me as his tongue swirls around the peak of one. 

Everything I thought I knew goes out the window as he kisses his way to the other, but I don’t care enough to be bothered by my lack of experience. 

My hips seem to move on their own accord, churning sloppily against his, and his hands drop to guide them.  

His lips meet mine again, tongue teasing mine, and I know right now how much trouble I’m in. I’m practically trembling with need, and all he’s done is kiss me. 

But, gods above, I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop. 

I release his name in a a sigh as his hand sneaks around my waist to toy with the hem of my leggings, my entire focus seeming to narrow to that spot. 

Azriel pulls back again right as his fingers slip between the fabric and brush against my skin. I try to kiss him again, but he evades and grins. “I want to watch.”

Oh, gods. 

His fingertips barely graze my center, giving me the lightest bit of contact, but my hips jerk anyway. He does it again, shifting slightly so he can see better, and the knowledge that he’s watching himself touch me is almost too much. 

Another soft moan escapes me as his thumb makes a small circle, and the caramel in his eyes seems to go molten. “Feel good?”

I nod immediately, and his grin grows. 

He slowly pushes a finger inside me, that thumb continuing to draw circles to keep me relaxed. He starts moving, somehow providing exactly the right amount of pressure to make me breathless.

And I think I’ve never felt so alive.

He leans to press a soft kiss to the column of my throat, whispering, “Are you having fun, Elain?”

A tremor works its way through me, and I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Almost.”

My hips are moving faster now, and he moves his fingers in rhythm, murmuring something I can’t quite hear. Soon I’m clutching his shoulders and feeling a strange sort of tension settle in my legs. 

“Azriel.” He curls his finger, and my thighs squeeze his waist. “Azriel.”

“Come on, baby,” he encourages, pushing into me a little harder. “Come for me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say back, even though I listen to him anyway. My legs go tight around him, my back arches into his chest, and I release a loud groan I’ll probably be embarrassed about tomorrow. 

But right now, I don’t care, because it feels like I have fucking lightening in my veins, and I’ve never felt anything so intense.

When I open my eyes, I see him watching me, and the realization that he saw all that brings a blush to my cheeks. “Wow.”

He grins. “Are you tired yet?”

I answer him by falling bac and grabbing the front of his shirt to bring him with me. Even though he could easily stop me, he gives in, landing on top of me softly and pressing me down into the lumpy mattress. His wings fall around us protectively, blanketing us in darkness. 

Blindly, I reach a hand toward them, hearing his sharp intake of breath as my finger meets down the sinewy material. 

“Elain.”

I ignore the pained way he says my name and do it again, then gasp as my hands are suddenly pinned above my head, his grip definitely firm but not painful.

For a minute, I’d forgotten who exactly I was in bed with. I’d forgotten that Azriel is nothing like any of the men I’ve met before. He’s old and powerful and... just more.  

It’s addictive.

His weight is making my mind spin, our chests roughly colliding with every gasping breath I manage to take. 

“Elain, you have to stop that,” he admonishes, pressing his hips to mine roughly so I can feel the affect of my teasing. “I’m not... I can’t-.”

“That’s a lie.”

He gives me a flat look, and my lips twitch. But an edge of seriousness grows into his gaze as he tells me, “I’m not taking your virginity in shithole. You deserve better.”

“I swear that between the two of us, you’re the only one who cares about that.”

He could take me in the middle of a snowstorm and I wouldn’t even care.

“I know, but... I don’t want you to regret me. I’ve seen what something like that does to a female, and I refuse to give you anything less than you deserve.” 

The words his a deep cord in me, and the sadness in his fierce eyes makes my chest hurt. “I could never regret you, Azriel. But I understand.”

He nods once, the gesture simple, and suddenly leans back up to lift me and put me back in my original spot on the bed. Curling behind me, Azriel wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tight to his chest. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

I’m not quite ready. “I don’t know if I can, with you stabbing me with your-”

“Sleep, Elain.”

Still not ready. “What happens when we go back to the House of Wind? Will that be a fancy and deserving enough of a place for you to deflower me?”

He chuckles, arms going tighter around me, and mumbles against my neck, “We’ll see.”

_________________________________________________

TAGS: @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

Yixing sat at the kitchen table as the others finished up their breakfast. Minseok took the now empty plate that had belonged to Ji Yeon and rinsed it off in the sink, scrubbing away at the bits that had caked onto the white porcelain. Yixing continued to stare at the newspaper article. He’d read it so many times in the last fifteen minutes that surely he had it memorized by now. Worry pounded in his ears and not simply because of the rise in wolf-related deaths in the area. It had been his professor that was killed this time.

The same splitting headache that had been plaguing him for weeks now came back in full force. Dropping the paper, Yixing rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. It didn’t do any good.

“You okay?”

Yixing looked up at Baekhyun, who stood on the other side of the table. He smiled. “Of course. Given the circumstances. I’m just hoping I can catch up in this new class.”

“It sucks that it had to be one of your pre-med classes,” Baekhyun said, shaking his head.

“It’s terrible that it had to happen at all.”

“You know what I meant. We’re already worried enough about these attacks, but now you’re connected to one of the deaths. We’ll have to be extra careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Yixing isn’t the one we have to worry about.” Junmyeon said pointedly. Baekhyun feigned a wounded look. Snickers echoed around the room, except from Minseok’s mate, Ji Yeon. Her eyebrows were pinched tight with concern. And she had every right to be. Perhaps she should even be more worried than she already was.

The headache still throbbed behind Yixing’s eyes. Relief didn’t seem to be coming soon. He stood up from the table, excusing himself quietly as he left the kitchen for his bedroom to be alone.

“Yixing?”

He stopped a few steps up.

Ji Yeon stood just inside the short hallway, arms folded in front of her with the fingers tucked underneath. Yixing thought of her as a strong person, someone who stood as a good foundation for Minseok. He didn’t know her that well yet, but he already say her as the strong type, the sturdy kind.

“Yes?”

“You guys will catch this omega, right?” She glanced off to side, probably to check that Minseok hadn’t overheard her question. The eldest wolf was more than aware, Yixing was sure of it. The connection between a mate and their wolf was strong, indescribably so from the stories he’d heard. If he was honest, he was a bit jealous that Minseok was the first to be mated. The hope he had, however, was that she would not be the last. Once a pack started finding their other halves, it was a domino effect. His time would come, sooner or later.

Yixing mustered up a smile that he hoped came off as reassuring. “There’s nine of us and one of him. Eventually, we’ll find him.” Accepting that answer for the time being, Ji Yeon nodded and walked back into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Yixing dropped the smile and swallowed thickly. He headed up the rest of the way to bedroom and shut the door.

Tense energy tingled through his feet as he sat on the edge of his bed. They were aching to move, to pace in hopes to work out the nerves, but he didn’t want to concern his brothers who would certainly hear it from the floor below. A run was out as well. As soon as any of the others got a whiff of someone shifting to wander through the woods, they jumped in to join. Only Minseok had the talent to get away clean.

Honestly, that was the least of his worries if he were to go running.

He wasn’t a killer. He wanted to help people. That was why he was studying medicine, why he wanted to be a doctor. But lately… These headaches were never ending, plaguing him over the last several weeks. And then there were the blackouts. Moments of time where he couldn’t remember what had happened. No one saw him during those times. Though he didn’t have to ask when he saw the pack after an episode. He was usually questioned where he had been himself. And he never had an answer. Not a truthful one.

No. This couldn’t have been him. There was another explanation for what was happening, both with the killings and with himself. It would just take time to figure it out.

**

Your fingers clenched tightly to the textbook against your chest. All morning you had been spending time at the library, reviewing last week’s vocabulary in an effort to distract yourself. Unfortunately, in a place like this with a wild animal running around killing people, escaping the whispers and rumors was not an option. It seemed that everyone was discussing the latest tragedy. And it made sense with how close it hit to the university.

“I hear her body was found in pieces.”

“I’m surprised they even found a body with all the animals that live in the woods.”

“Some of the hunters are talking about going out to kill the animal before it kills someone else.”

“No way. Did you see the pictures someone took of the paw prints in the dirt? That thing has to be huge. Like a bear.”

“There’s no way its as big as a bear.”

“I didn’t even know there were wolves in the forest.”

“What? Did you think it was all bunnies and squirrels?”

Unable to take it anymore, you’d slammed the textbook shut (gaining annoyed glares from those around you as if they weren’t the cause of your inability to utilize the library in the way it was meant to be used) and headed out. It was mystifying to you, the way others would talk about what was happening, like it was sports game or a thriller on TV.

Professor Xui was strict and stern, but she was also admired by the students. The “tough love” type. Though you personally had never been in any of her classes, you did know who she was, and you’d cried when you’d heard the news. Naturally, the university was on top of how to move forward. You’d groaned audibly when you’d read the email that the classes would be combining. Your human physiology class was already close to capacity. They had moved your session into one of the larger science rooms where freshman chemistry classes typically took place. Goodbye uncomfortable wooden desks, hello overly tall lab tables and bar stools with no back support.

You were one of the first to arrive at the lab, giving you the pick of the lot. One of the front tables was free so you settled there. You continued to clutch to the textbook that should have been opened to the page written on the white board in front of you. It was hard to let go. This thick, overpriced book wasn’t going to protect you from anything. And besides, you had no reason to be afraid. You didn’t go into the woods. You weren’t the kind to hike or camp or go near the trees for any reason. The flannel shirt you wore was simply because it was comfortable. You were absolutely fine.

Rolling your eyes at yourself and the silliness that was the track of your mind, you let go of the book and flipped to page thirty-four. Other students filed in as the seconds ticked closer to the allotted time. Professor Jiang, a short, salt and pepper-haired man with wired-framed glasses and a dad-level sense of humor, walked into the room with his old school briefcase, corners wearing thin and the metal on the push latches showing the brass base until the silver coating. The duet of the latches still made you jump even after fully expecting it.

“Good morning, everyone.” Professor Jiang adjusted his glasses. A nervous twitch he completed at the beginning of every class. All it took was five minutes into his lecture and he developed the steel nerves of an alligator wrestler. Pulling a pencil out from your bag, you barely paid attention to the rest of Jiang’s announcement. “I know it's difficult to process, but we’ll all get through this together. For the new students, I will be available for anyone who needs help adjusting to the new teaching style. And I- Oh. Hello.”

You looked up to see what the interruption was.

A late comer had entered the classroom, the door slowly closing behind him. Slim yet athletic, the newest student wasn’t overbearing or imposing, but he still captivated your attention, holding on to it as if his life depended on it. And he was staring right back at you with an intensity that matched your own. Mouth hanging open by the slightest of centimeters, he didn’t move or pay any attention to the professor or the other students staring at him. The muscles in his hand strongly gripped the strap of his backpack that hung off one shoulder. He was going to misalign his back if he kept doing that.

Professor Jiang cleared his throat pointedly, ending the staring contest. “New student?”

The new student blinked rapidly as he turned to the teacher. “Yes. Sorry. I got lost with the new room assignment.”

“One of Xui’s students?”

He nodded.

“That’s alright. We all need an adjustment period. Please, take a seat.”

You stiffened as Professor Jiang held his hand out in the direction of the empty seat right next to you. And that’s exactly where the new student sat. You forced yourself to keep your eyes straight ahead, concentrating a little too hard as Professor Jiang started his lecture of the circulatory system. But his words were drowned out by the shuffling beside you as the new student took out his textbook and other necessities for notes. You leaned forward, holding your neck up by your palm as you mentally repeated the highlights of the pulmonary circuit in order to be productive. The scratch of the pen against your notebook seemed louder today. Your heart seemed to be working in overtime as well. Was everything louder today? Or were you being overly sensitive to noise due to the current circumstances?

“Alright. Please, take a few minutes to go over the review questions located at the end of the section,” Professor Jiang said. It was almost a relief for his short lecture to be over. “Feel free to check with your partner at the table. To make things easier for all of us, the seats you chose today with be permanent for the rest of the semester and who you are seated with will be your constant collaborator.”

Oh, joy.

You were not the best at getting to know new people. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t think. The other person always wanted to start off with the weather or their job or some other subject that you found difficult to bounce off of to continue the conversation. It was like your mind wasn’t built for small talk. Somehow, you’d missed the installation of pre-programmed responses that everyone else carried around. You had a tendency to go a little too deep a little too quickly. Those were the conversations you wanted to have. Those were the kind that you found easy responses for. But people tended to find your passion about Rosalind Franklin and her forgotten contribution to science a little much.

“Hi.”

The cool voice that broke through your scrambled thoughts made you jump. You hit your knee against the lab table. Careful to hide it from view, you rubbed the sore spot to make the throbbing go away. Your new lab partner must have heard it given the shy smile that pushed up left corner of his mouth, revealing a deep dimple in his cheek. As much as you wished it wasn’t, your heart beating rapidly against your ribs.

For several seconds, you said nothing. No greeting back, no “I’m trying to focus on my work”, not anything. You were silent, staring back at him like he was walking around with a windmill on his head.

“I’m Yixing,” he continued in an effort to get you to speak.

Right. Conversations were two-way streets. “(y/n).”

His smile spread even wider. “It’s nice to meet you, (y/n).”

Words had apparently abandoned you today. All you could do was nod. He didn’t take it offensively. A small chuckle pushed passed the silence.  

“Do you want to do the questions together?” he asked. “Or maybe when we’re both finished, we could compare what we got?” he suggested when you still didn’t answer.

“Compare,” you finally spat out. “I think it would be better if we compared. Afterwards, that is.” Not that you were usually the most articulate person, but this was becoming painful.

Yixing nodded. “Okay.” And with that he turned to his book, numbered the lines down on his paper and read over the questions. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your own station to do the same. Big mistake.

His natural scent hit you like a gust of wind on a previously calm day. You weren’t expecting the soft pine smell that he radiated. It wasn’t an overly musty, too-much-cologne type smell. It was subtle; the reason you didn’t catch on to it until this moment. Glancing over at you, Yixing frowned.

“You smell nice.” Oh, gosh, someone kidnap you now. Get you out of here in a fashion that would give reason as to why you didn’t come back. Did those words actually just leave your lips? Turning away from him, you reprimanded yourself for the slip up. Yixing laughed softly, making you turn to face him again.

“Thank you,” he said sweetly. “I appreciate the compliment. Especially since this building has a tendency to smell bad between the chemicals and dissections. I’m always worried that I’ll leave with some of it on me.”

You smiled at his joke. And that was where your thought train stopped. Instinct told you that an additional response was appropriate, but none came to you. You tried to rifle through the possibilities. Before you could find one, though, Yixing had turned his back down to his work.

With the awkward exchange over, you were able to make it through the five questions, writing down the answers with confidence.

“Do you want to compare?” Yixing asked as soon as you wrote the last word.

“Sure.” You slid your paper closer to the middle and shifted your body so you were partially facing him. One by one, you went over what each of you had gotten. Physiology of the human body was a strong suit of yours, more so than of your other science classes. That little bit of pride you had was perking up. It was ready to show off its penchant for knowledge. Unfortunately, this was not going to be one of those times for showing off. For the most part, you were evenly matched. Your answers were close, nearly identical in some parts.

“Professor Jiang might think we cheated,” Yixing teased.

“Well, he did say to collaborate with each other.” Good response. Appropriate response. You nearly patted yourself on the shoulder with that one. You even gave it the kind of tone that said you were merely teasing back.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“That concludes today’s class,” Professor Jiang announced. “As you leave, please stack your answer papers on the corner of the desk up here.” He patted the black top for emphasis. “Have a good day, everyone.”

Standing up, the sounds of stool legs scraping against the scuffed tile echoed through the large room behind you. Once your textbook was zipped up safely in your bag, you reached for the paper. Yixing swiped it up first.

“I’ll take it up there for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You might not have been the only one blurting out thoughts before you stop them. A slight pink hue bloomed on Yixing’s cheeks. You were left there speechless as he hurried to the front, dropped off the papers, and left the classroom.

Dazed was an understatement. You didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. So, you ignored it. It was probably nothing anyway. Checking your watch, you calculated the amount of time you had until your afternoon sessions. There was a long break in between. The smart decision would be to hang out somewhere on campus to ensure that you actually went to your afternoon classes. But you needed quiet. Somewhere with no whispers about the woods or comments about the college’s new schedules. The only place you were guaranteed to find that was in your apartment. The building was a couple blocks away, a short walk no more than five minutes. You would have plenty of time to head there and back.

The front door was unlocked when you arrived. A bad habit from your roommate. She didn’t see the need to lock it if she was home and awake. You, on the other hand, clicked it tight and double checked it before stepping in deeper to the apartment.

Ran was sitting at the table, eating noodles and scrolling through a site on her laptop while her phone played a soft melody led by a pipa. It was a dreamy song, soft and comforting, like what your parents used to play for you after a nightmare.

Sighing to yourself, you sat down across from Ran and let your bag fall off your shoulder and to the floor. You hadn’t taken your computer with you, so the loud clump wasn’t one to panic over.

“How was class this morning with the new students?” Ran asked over the music.

The two of you weren’t extremely close. Friends, but not blood sisters. Ran had been your roommate freshman year and when you started talking about moving off campus, you’d offered her the other room to cut down on cost. She’d taken it rather than risk getting a new roommate that she didn’t like. You were similar some ways and vastly different in others. It balanced out, though, and you got along to the point where neither of you kicked up a fuss about cleaning the rooms or washing the dishes. You simply cleaned up after yourself. It was a co-habitation of convenience.

You shrugged. “It was fine. We’re all partnered up now, which is a little awkward, but I’ll survive, I guess.”

“Are they cute, at least?” Ran said with a smirk.

Yes. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Reaching over to the stack of envelopes, Ran plucked the one off the top and handed it to you. “I picked up the mail this morning. Thought you might want to see what came for you.”

Your stomach whirled like it was in a tumble dryer. The envelope had a familiar red emblem of a brick clocktower stamped in the top left corner. With a shaky hand, you took the envelope and ripped open the top. The nicely folded letter slipped out easily. Your eyes scanned the black letters. When they finally sunk in, you slumped back in your chair with a sigh.

“Oh, no.” Ran frowned. “They didn’t reject you, did they?”

You shook your head. “No, not out right. They want to see how well I do this semester before giving a final decision.”

“Well, that’s not too bad. It’s not a no.”

“It’s not a guaranteed yes either.”

Closing her laptop, Ran crossed her arms. Her lips were pursed, eyes down on the table. “You could just stay here. I mean, they have a pretty good medical program and you said that this was where your parents had met-”

“I don’t want to stay here,” you stated firmly. “There’s no reason to.”

“Your aunt is close by.”

“She wants me to do what I want. If that means going to medical school far away, then so be it. I’ll stay in touch with her. Visit when I can.”

“Well, I hope you get in.” Ran stood up and stretched. “On a brighter note, Hae In and I are going out tonight if you want to join us.”

You shook your head. “I’m good. Thanks for the invite, though. I appreciate it.” Whenever Ran and Hae In went out, things tended to get a little crazy. You were sure they had fun and they always came home safe. You just didn’t think that it would your kind of scene. She left a few minutes later and you were finally granted that peace and quite you had been searching for. Well, the quiet, at least.

Peace was nowhere to be found. Stress was rearing its ugly head as you stared at the letter. Ran was right, it was wasn’t a flat rejection. They were, at minimum, interested in giving you a chance. As one of the most prestigious medical universities in the country, you were eager to walk their halls.

The fact that it was far away from any reminders of your life was the bigger incentive. Releasing all the air your lungs were holding on to, you folded the letter back up and tucked it away in the front pocket of your bag. All you had to do was make it through this semester with no hiccups and you would be fine.

Shouldn’t be too hard. There was no reason for any of your plans to be derailed or for you to change your mind.

As long as you survived the next few months, that is.

[thicctails]

Summer of Whump Day 5 [Buried/Labour]

Yes I know it’s late shhhhhhhh

Ω

  Omega yawned and stretched her arms out, the warmth of the sun lulling her into a state of laziness. She could hear the sound of the rest of the Bad Batch as they went about their day, but for once, she didn’t feel like jumping up to help. Beside her, Pillow snoozed happily. The pale amphibian had found a multitude of plump bugs, and he was now sleeping off the hearty meal.

 They had set up camp on a raised grassy plateau that was surrounded by mountains. A large forest was nearby, a half hour walk if you moved briskly. The sky overhead was a light indigo, and was peppered with fluffy white clouds. The occasional avian flew by, tweeting a sharp, beautiful song. Long legged creatures with orange and white fur and long, pointed ears grazed on the lush grass, their curled tails flicking away insects occasionally.

 Echo wasn’t too far away from her, begrudgingly sitting on the ground with his leg propped up. The clone’s leg was broken, and he needed to stay off it as much as he could. That was part of the reason they were on this heavily forested planet, as running away wasn’t really in the cards for poor Echo. Omega thought that it couldn’t be too bad; the man deserved a break. They all did. She just wished that they would stop moving so much. They were disturbing the bugs in the grass, and she didn’t want another insect to get into her mouth when she yawned.

 “Guys, come lay in the sunlight with us. It’s great!” She called, tipping her head back.

 Hunter paused in his knife sharpening, giving her an amused smile.

 “I’ve spent enough time lying in the dirt, Omega. I don’t need to do it for fun.” He said, his voice holding none of its usual seriousness.

 “Yeah but this dirt is warm. I didn’t even know the ground could be comfortable.” She said, pressing her fingers into the dry earth.

 “Give it a few years, and your back will tell you just how fun it finds lying on the ground to be.” Echo commented.

 Omega playfully stuck his tongue out at him, laughing when he copied the action. Rolling over onto her stomach, she watched a beetle crawl up a blade of grass, its ruby red elytra glittering in the light. She hoped Pillow didn’t eat this bug, as it was rather pretty.

 “Omega, I have been tasked with gathering firewood, would you like to come along?” Tech questioned, looking over his shoulder.

 “Yes!” She replied quickly, scrambling to her feet. Pillow snorted and rolled over, stealing Omega’s spot on the ground.

 She quickly fell into place beside Tech, eagerly following him down into the meadow that sat below the plateau. Small, striped animals scuttled around, leaping in front of their path and tussling in the meadow’s green grass. Omega chased a few, dashing around but never straying too far away from Tech’s sight. The older clone smiled as he watched Omega be… well, a kid. She hadn’t had too many opportunities to do so, and sometimes Tech worried that she was being treated too much like a cadet and not enough as a young, bright, curious child. She had the potential to become more than just cannon fodder for whoever controlled the galaxy, and he’d be damned if he just let the hardships of a life on the run take that chance away from her.

   As they approached the forest’s treeline, he turned to her. “See if you can find some thick branches. I’ll look for a dead tree to cut.”

 Omega gave him a mock salute and ran into the forest. Tech followed her closely, looking around the brush that now surrounded them. The trees here were enormous, likely hundreds of years old. Pale lavender moss covered many of the tree trunks, and the plants, interestingly, shrunk back if he came too close. His inborn curiosity itched to take some samples and examine the flora, but that could be saved for a later date. He was looking for…

 There! A leafless tree, bowed over and covered in overgrown in plants. As he set about sawing off some branches, Omega scoured the ground for more sticks to add to her ever growing pile. As she reached to pick up a stick that, to her, resembled a blaster, she felt a vibration run through the ground. She pulled her hand back in surprise, turning to look at Tech.

 “Did you feel that?” She asked, still crouched on the ground.

 Tech paused for a second and looked over at Omega. “Feel what?”

“The ground just vibrated.” Omega said, looking down at the forest floor.

 “You probably just felt the vibrations from the saw I’m using. This thing shakes so much I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t fallen to pieces.” Tech said, showing her the rickety saw. Omega frowned but went back to collecting sticks, hesitantly accepting Tech’s explanation.

 A few minutes later, the hairs on the back of Omega’s neck stood on end. An unpleasant buzzing sensation formed in the back of her mind, and she looked up from her stick gathering.

 Something bad was about to happen.

 “Tech,” She said, standing up straight and beginning to slowly back up, “I think we should go.”

 “What? Why?” Tech questioned.

 “Just trust me. We gotta go, now.” She said, pulling on his sleeve.

 Confused, Tech grabbed the branches he had sawed off and let himself be pulled forward. Omega set off at a quick pace, forcing Tech to quicken his stride to keep up. She kept glancing over her shoulder, like she expected something to pop up and start chasing them.

 “Omega, what’s gotten into you?” He asked, his brows knitting together. “You’re usually the one who wants to stay longer.”

 Omega opened her mouth to answer, but was distracted when a flock of birds exploded out of the trees behind them. Both clones dropped the wood they were carrying and hit the ground, covering their heads as the swarm flew over them.

 “What the-” Tech started, but was cut off by a low rumble. The ground beneath them began to shake, rattling the trees around them.

 “Tech, what’s going on?!” Omega cried, unable to find her balance.

 “It’s an earthquake! Of course, why not?!” He yelled, getting to his feet. “Can’t we have a day where nothing happens?!”

 A nearby tree crashed to the ground in front of them, forcing the clones to jump back.

 “I guess not. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!” He said, running towards the treeline.

 Omega sprinted beside him, yelping when a branch just barely missed her head. “What’s an earthquake?!”

 “Its a phenomenon caused by the shifting of a planet’s tectonic plates. This one is particularly vioLENT!” Tech’s voice spiked at the end of his sentence as the ground in front of them suddenly split open. He quickly jumped over it, Omega copying his movements.

 “Does it usually last long?!” Omega cried, nearly tripping when another rumble shook the forest.

 “It depends! Some last for minutes, others, hours!” Tech answered, leaping over a fallen young tree.

 “There’s the exit!” Omega called, pointing towards the treeline.

 Another wave of shaking hit them, this one stronger than the last. The sudden force caused Omega to trip, and the young girl yelped in pain as she hit the ground. The sound had Tech skidding to a halt, and he was quickly helping Omega to her feet.

 “We’re almost there, come on-” He silenced himself and decided to just carry the young girl. The constant quaking and his own panic caused him to nearly fall over himself, but he somehow managed to power through it and started to run again.

 They had almost made it out of the forest when a thundering mix of crunches and snaps suddenly reached their ears. Both of their heads snapped to the left, and to their horror, they saw a wave of dust, rock, and broken trees hurdling towards them!

 Thinking fast, Tech sprinted towards one of the large trees and took cover behind it, tucking both himself and Omega into the ancient plant’s thick roots. He held Omega to his chest, shielding her with his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.

      Echo had just started to drift off when he felt it. It was like the ground itself was shuddering, causing the nearby wildlife to scatter. Wrecker, who had been trying to sleep of a headache, startled awake. Hunter was on his feet in an instant, searching for the cause of the disturbance.

 “Was that an earthquake?” Echo asked, sitting forward.

 “I think so. A pretty big one too…” Hunter replied, frowning.

 Pillow, who had also been awoken, started to let out long honks. It was the noise he made when he wanted Omega’s attention, but couldn’t see her. Echo grew worried when, upon looking around, noticed that Omega and Tech were still gone.

 “Why aren’t Tech and Omega back yet?” He questioned aloud, his gaze turning towards the direction of the forest. “I hope they didn’t run into any trou-!”

 “Echo?” Hunter looked towards his brother, who had now gone stiff and still. Him and Wrecker walked over to where Echo was sitting, and gasped at what they saw.

 A cloud of dust had risen into the sky, smothering the pleasant blue hue. It was right around where the forest was. Where Omega and Tech were.

 “Everyone in the ship, now!” Hunter barked, running to get the engine started. Wrecker helped Echo make his way back to the ship, the large clone looking worriedly over his shoulder. Pillow was quick to follow them, his stubby little legs going as fast as they could.

 Once everyone was onboard, Hunter piloted the Havoc Marauder towards the source of the dust cloud. As they neared the forest, the true nature of the situation revealed itself, and what they saw made the present members of the Bad Batch go from concerned to full on panicking.

 A landslide had decimated part of the forest, many of the ancient trees on the forest’s edge had collapsed under the barrage of rocks, mud, trees, and other such debris. The brothers’ stomachs sank as they realized that they couldn’t see Tech or Omega anywhere outside the flattened forest, which left only one place they could be.

 Echo activated his comlink, his hands shaking slightly.

 “Tech? Tech, can you hear me?” He asked, his voice betraying his worry.

 There was only crackling silence for a long, torturous moment. Then, a voice, weak and broken up by coughs.

 “I-I hear you, Echo.” Tech’s voice broke a growing tension in the ship, and the enhanced clones sighed in relief.

 “Thank the Maker. Stay put you two, we’ll get ya out.” Hunter called back, moving to set the ship down.

 “We don’t really have much of a choice. There’s rubble below and above us. I can barely move, and Omega is worse off. I think her leg might be pinned, but I can’t tell.” Tech said, sounding strained.

 “Why not just ask her?” Wrecker questioned, activating his own comlink.

 “She’s unconscious. I am unable to move enough to check for any head injuries, and she isn’t responding to me. I only know she’s unconscious and not dead because I can feel her breathing.” The younger clone was clearly distressed, his voice hitching a bit as he spoke.

 “Don’t worry Tech, we’ll get you two out and you’ll both be just fine.” Echo tried to sound as reassuring as possible.

 Tech was silent for a moment, then spoke again, this time in a very soft voice.

 “Just, just hurry, okay?”

   Hunter and Wrecker worked together over the course of an hour to dig Tech and Omega out. Echo, who could not dig on a broken leg, stayed on the ship and tried to keep Tech calm. They had limited oxygen in their little pocket, and panicking would only make it run out faster.

 Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Echo could hear the sound of dirt being moved aside over the com frequency. He exhaled in relief and felt his muscles relax. Running a hand over his face, he listened in as Hunter spoke to Tech.

 “How are you doing, Tech?” Their leader’s voice was soft as he hooked an arm around Tech, pulling him up. Wrecker was right beside him, lifting Omega up out of the little air pocket. He had to push aside a few rocks first, and winced when he saw that Omega’s pant leg was stained with blood.

 “I’ll be alright. Is Omega okay?” Tech asked, coughing into the crux of his elbow. Fresh air had never tasted better, but he had definitely inhaled some dust. They both had.

 Wrecker gently shifted Omega into a more comfortable position, supporting her leg. Now that they were out in the open, Omega’s injuries were obvious. A large gash was present on the top of her head, the blood that had spilled out matting in her hair. There was also a large scratch on her back, the cloth around the wound stained crimson.

 “I dunno. She’s pretty banged up…” Wrecker trailed off upon seeing Tech’s face. His youngest brother looked like he was going to be sick.

 “But she’ll be okay! We’ll get her fixed up, right Hunter?” He quickly added. Hunter nodded, pulling Tech up and letting the younger clone lean on him for support. Tech’s own back sported several cuts and multiple bruises, which meant that they would likely be taking a trip to a medical centre.

 “Yeah, she’ll be okay. She’s a tough kid, and she’s been through worse than this.” Hunter reassured.

 “That’s not a good thing.” Tech mumbled, his eyes downcast. “She shouldn’t have to be tough, Hunter. She’s only a child.”

 Hunter couldn’t argue with Tech’s statement. His brother’s words were true; Omega shouldn’t have to be tough. It was their job to keep her safe, but ever since they had left Kamino, they had just barely been escaping death at what seemed like every turn. They hadn’t been able to protect her on more than one mission, and the unfamiliar sting of failure weighed heavy on the group.

 “I know… I know that she wants to be with us, and I want her to be with us too!” Tech continued. “But maybe… she would be better off with someone else. Children need stability, especially young ones like Omega.”

 “We can’t just abandon her, Tech!” Wrecker protested loudly. “We’re all Omega has!”

 “What about the bounty hunters? We need to be there to protect her.” Hunter added.

 “Oh yes, we’ve been doing a brilliant job at that!” Tech snapped, his face wrinkling in pain as he stepped away from Hunter. “Face it, we’re not good enough to raise her. Almost every time we go somewhere, or try to do something, she either ends up hurt or traumatized! The longer she stays with us, the higher her chance of dying becomes!”

 “So what do you purpose we do? Dump her on some backwater planet and leave her to fend for herself? Hand her off to some orphanage?” Hunter was angry now, and he bristled at Tech’s words. “She’s a clone, Tech! There isn’t really many places for her in this world. If we can’t look after her, who the hell do you think can?”

 “The Jedi.” Was Tech’s reply. “Of course, finding one now will be quite the challenge.”

 Both Hunter and Wrecker looked at Tech like he was crazy.

 “The Jedi?! Why are they the first damn people you think of?” Hunter threw his hands up in the air. “The Jedi are gone, or did you forget that we saw our brothers start murdering them not too long ago?”

 “The Republic is gone, but it would be ignorant to assume that every Jedi was killed that day. They are masterful hiders, and I have no doubt that some still remain.” Tech argued, looking over at Omega, who was still unconscious. “They could hide her, and perhaps help her in ways we won’t be able to.”

 “What are you talking about?!” Wrecker cried, utterly confused by Tech’s words.

 “I have reason to believe that the Kaminoans accomplished something previously thought to be impossible. I think Omega here might be a Force-sensitive.” Tech explained.

 “What?” Hunter squinted in confusion. Omega? A Force-sensitive? Where was his brother coming from?

 “I had some time to think about it while we were trapped underneath the landslide, and the signs have always been there. At first, I thought that she was just intuitive, but it seems like she can actually feel our emotions and get a good idea of what we’re thinking. Whenever she speaks to Pillow, he seems to really understand what she’s saying, even if it’s something beyond a simple command. That doesn’t happen with us.” Tech shifted his weight to one leg as he spoke, clearly favoring one limb over the other. “And today, when we were collecting wood, she suddenly stopped what she was doing and told me that we had to leave right away. She knew something bad was going to happen, even before we felt the earthquake.”

 Hunter blinked in surprise. When you put everything all together, things did start to look strange.

 “So… what? We leave her with a stranger just ‘cause she’s different?” Wreckers voice was quieter now, but the anger was still there, bubbling underneath.

 “It would be for the best. Jedi know how to train Force-sensitive children, and Omega’s unique circumstances may cause her to need that sort of guidance.” Tech replied, trying to make his squadmates see things from a logical standpoint. “A Force-sensitive clone has never existed before, and her being genetically modified may change how the Force manifests itself with her. She could develop powers that haven’t existed before, and we would have no idea how to handle that or how to teach her to control her powers.”

 The three stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other.

 “We’ll discuss this later, when the two of you aren’t bleeding out.” Hunter finally said, extending an arm to Tech, who took it gratefully.

 Wrecker looked down at Omega, sadness entering his eyes. He didn’t think that Omega would want to go, magic powers or no. The girl loved being with them, and his heart clenched at the idea of leaving her with some random Jedi who wouldn’t know her like they did. Would they help her with her nightmares, like Echo did? Teach her to fight with more than just a blaster or bow, as Hunter was doing? Answer her questions and teach her about the world, a job that was shared by all of them but mostly fell to Tech, who loved being able to share his knowledge without getting eye rolls? Would they laugh at her jokes and carry her on their shoulders like he did? Would they entertain her curiosity? Let her take Pillow with her?

 Would they treat her like family?

 These, at least to Wrecker, were important questions, but his brothers didn’t seem to be asking them, so he kept quiet. Tech was the smart one, after all, so maybe he shouldn’t be doubting the younger man.

 ‘Still,’ He thought to himself, ‘I hope Echo says something, because I really don’t want to have to say goodbye!’

   “Absolutely not.” Echo said, wrapping the last of Tech’s bandages,

 “Echo,” Tech started, but the other man cut him off.

 “We are not handing Omega over to some Jedi just because she might be Force-sensitive and might develop powers.” Echo stated, a tone of finality clear in his voice. “The Empire is going to be hunting the remaining Jedi down relentlessly, and you want to leave her with one?”

 “The Jedi have a talent of disappearing when they need to. The Empire would have a harder time finding her under their care.” Tech argued.

 “Yeah, sure, until a Sith Lord tracks her Force signature and finds both of them. Do you want her to end up as another casualty?” Echo asked, tying a bandage tighter than he needed to. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get her killed.”

 Tech whipped his head around and glowered at Echo, his gaze full of burning anger.

 “How dare you. You think I want to give her up? She’s family to me too, Echo!” He hissed.

 “Really? Could have fooled me.” Echo shot back.

 A growl was the only warning the clone got before Tech had launched himself at Echo. The two crashed to the floor, wrestling with each other. Pillow, who had been sleeping under Omega’s arm, honked in alarm as the bunk was jostled. Angered by the disturbance, the amphibian puffed himself up and hissed, baring his sharp little teeth. He launched himself forward, clamping his jaws down on Echo’s prosthetic arm.

 Hunter appeared beside the fight, gripping both of his squadmates and hauling them apart.

 “Cut that shit out! This is not the time or the place to start a fight.” He snarled, glaring at his brothers. “Tech, go lie down and cool off. Echo, come sit with me.”

 Upon being released, the two followed Hunter’s commands. Tech huffed as he lay down, rubbing a sore spot on his arm. Echo struggled for a moment to peel Pillow off of his arm, glad that the pale animal hadn’t latched onto the limb that he still had feeling in. His leg ached, and Hunter had to help him up. Together, they made it to the pilot and co-pilot seats, and the two men faced each other as they sat.

 “Hunter, you can’t seriously be thinking about going through with this.” Echo rested his head on his hand, looking at Hunter with pleading eyes.

 “Tech makes some good points. None of us can use the Force, so how could we help her if she is Force-sensitive?” Hunter responded quietly.

 “We can keep her under the radar of the Empire! If we keep moving, It’ll be harder for any Sith to find her Force signature if she isn’t in one place for too long.” Echo gestured towards the bunks. “I worked with Jedi masters and there is centuries of information out there. Actually, it’d probably be easier to find hidden written information than it will be to find a Jedi. We can help her, Hunter.”

 Hunter shook his head. “Information can’t replace experience. You know that, Echo.”

 “So that’s it then?” Echo frowned. “We’re just kicking her to the curb and hoping that she doesn’t get caught? What happened to not leaving anyone behind?”

 “It’s what's best for-” Echo looked at him sharply, silencing Hunter before he could finish.

 “She’ll hate you. If you try to leave her behind again, Hunter, she will never forgive you. Do you want that? Can you handle that?” He asked, making direct eye contact with Hunter.

 “I’d rather her hate me and be alive then love me and be dead.” Hunter said, looking away from Echo.

 Echo closed his eyes and shook his head, letting the crushing silence exist for a moment before speaking.

 “You’re making a mistake. For her sake, I hope you realize that sooner, rather than later.” He stood up and limped his way to his bunk, leaving Hunter alone with his thoughts.

[secretlysheikah]

 Can I Offer You an Egg?

No one is immune to nightmares, not even heroes. Thank the Goddess Wild has just the thing for that. 

This has been inspired by true events and it was too good not to turn into a one-shot. 

I want to thank @hiddenteddy for helping me edit this thing and for helping me forget about my nightmare in the strangest way possible. You are the best, seriously.

As per normal I do not claim ownership over the Linked Universe, the honor belongs to @jojo56830. 

I am but a sleep deprived little Shekiah who should actually think about sleeping, but I don’t have the time.

Start Here: 

Wild looked absolutely exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and Twilight could tell something was wrong. Thinking back Twilight should have noticed before it got this bad. It had started with one missed night sleep, which turned to two, but he thought nothing of it, Wild always seemed to be on a different sleep cycle than the rest of them. It was when Wild had barely escaped being sliced to pieces by a bokoblin that Twilight had started to really pay attention.  

With a quickly swelling concern on Twilight’s part, it seemed those couple nights had spiraled into a week with little more than a few measly hours of sleep. Needless to say, this had worried him immensely and Twilight had pulled the cub aside to ask what was wrong. Annoyingly Wild had just shrugged tiredly and rubbed at his eyes and told him it happened from time to time and not to worry too much about it. 

Twilight had squinted at him then, It was more than clear that it had been a long week for Wild and Twilight could tell. His normally happy footsteps dragged, he didn’t whistle while he cooked, and no matter how much he racked his brains, he couldn’t remember seeing the cub sleep recently. Not to mention that Wild looked dead on his feet and his near death weighed heavily on Twilight’s mind.   

Twilight had pursed his lips at Wild’s non-explanation but had let it slide for the most part seeing there wasn’t much to be done at that point. So, he was determined to keep a closer eye on his struggling brother. After all it wasn’t uncommon for all them to suffer from small bouts of insomnia, but the situation seemed off to him.  

After a few more days it was becoming more and more apparent that Wild was suffering and it seemed everyone made it their goal to find a way to get him to sleep. Sky had tried playing soothing songs on his harp but scored little success. At one point Time and Four told him stories well into the night, and even Wind had tried to literally wrap Wild up in blankets with all the comforting things he could find to tuck in with him in an attempt to get Wild to sleep. Each plan the others came up with ended in failure or only scoring a pitiful hour or so of sleep and everyone was getting frustrated. Wild had bore their well-intentioned but overbearing attention well for the most part until, finally after listening to Wars and Legend arguing about who had the better strategy to get Wild to sleep, he had snapped and demanded they leave him be. The others had mumbled their begrudging consent, but Twilight was determined to help in whatever way he could.  

It had been two days since then and Twilight was very close to being a nervous wreck. By the virtue of his own worry, he hadn’t slept either, staying awake just to make sure Wild wasn’t alone for too long despite the watches that were in place. Twilight found that his eyes rarely left Wild, always watching to make sure he didn’t wander off in a half-asleep daze or topple over from exhaustion. At one point Wild had confronted Twilight and demanded to be left alone, saying that his sleeping troubles were none of his concern, naturally Twilight had flat out refused.  

Wild had sighed and rolled his eyes but he must have seen that any argument he could come up with would have just fallen on deaf ears. Twilight offered a cheeky grin at the sight of his cub’s annoyance and Wild squinted at the stubborn look in Twilight’s eyes but let it slide. When the wolf appeared in camp and joined him that night Wild just gave a gusty sigh and said nothing. Twilight had spent a couple more nights awake with him as Wolfie, hoping that would help lull Wild to sleep but of course it didn’t work. But Wild did seem to appreciate the company and Twilight took it as a win.  

******** 

“So, what do you think cub? Is tonight the night you’ll get some sleep?” Twilight asked around a mouthful of stew. Wild sighed, and his tired eyes slid over to meet his. Even though it was dark out, Twilight could still make out the dark bags that clung to the underside of Wild’s eyes. 

“I got a few hours,” Wild muttered defensively and Twilight snorted so hard he almost choked on his stew. He knew the “sleep” the cub was referring to and he wasn’t impressed. It had only been an hour and even then, he knew it wasn’t a deep enough sleep to make up for all the hours Wild had missed over the past week.   

“And how long have you been up?” Twilight coughed out and Wild rubbed the back of his neck.  

“It hasn’t been that long....” Wild started but was cut off by Time.  

“I think it’s been about a week and half by my count” The old man said casually over his stew, not bothering to look up at the sneer Wild shot his way.  

“To be fair he has been getting a little sleep.” Four said around his spoon. Twilight rolled his eyes. 

“See? Imsleepin’,” Wild slurred slightly and Twilight watched as he missed his bowl when he went for another spoonful of stew.  

“A nap here or there does not make up for a week's worth of missed sleep, Cub.” He said sourly and gave Wild a small nudge with his boot. Wild started slightly and groaned unhappily. Twilight shot him an apologetic look and leaned forward to grab at Wild’s half eaten bowl before it tipped onto the ground.  

“Why don’t you try going to bed?” Twilight asked quietly and Wild just slumped forward, face in hands. Twilight could feel his heart break at the sight, and he wished there was more he could do for him. 

“I can try, but I can’t promise anything,” Wild said thickly, his voice slightly muffled against his hands.  

“That’s all I ask.” Twilight said with a yawn of his own. He could feel his own eyelids trying to slip shut on him despite his best efforts to keep cub company.  

“How about the both of you try to sleep. You both look like you were run over by a horse.” Warriors said, as he looked them both up and down with a small smirk. Twilight shot him a sour look as Warriors smiled devilishly and leaned back against his own bed roll. He could hear Hyrule and Wind snickering across the flames and even Four was doing his best to keep his face neutral. Twilight sent them all a glare before turning his attention back to Wild.  

“Come on cub, let's try to get some sleep.” Twilight said tightly as he stood and coaxed Wild off of the ground. It took a bit of convincing but after a couple minutes Wild was staring at the moonless sky, blankets tucked up under his arms. Twilight dragged his own bed roll over next to Wild’s and he made himself comfortable. They laid like that for a while, saying nothing as they listened to the camp settling down for the night.  

“Hey Twi, why don’t you sleep for a little bit? I’ll be okay.” Wild said quietly as they heard the soft sounds of sleep from their brothers fill the air in a melodic rhythm. Twilight could feel his eyelids droop, as the weight of the past few days of travel and sleepless nights pulled at his sluggish thoughts.  

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Twilight sighed and Wild shifted slightly.  

“I’ll go to sleep soon, just gotta wind down a bit,” Wild said and Twilight would have snorted at the blatant lie if he had the energy.  

“You promise?” Twilight sighed, and he could see Wild rub at his eyes from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I promise.” Wild said and Twilight could practically hear the lie as it fluttered past his lips. Twilight gave his own sigh and nodded stiffly. He was tired and he knew he hit the wall of his own exhaustion.   

“Fine, but if I find out you stayed awake, I’m gonna kick your ass” Twilight threatened but it was hollow and held no actual anger. He heard Wild snort and Twilight felt as his hand come down and thump against his chest. 

“Love you Twi,” Wild said quietly as he patted his chest lightly, and Twilight couldn’t stop the small smile that graced his face.  

“Love you too, Cub,” Twilight breathed out as he felt himself slip quickly down into sleep.   

******** 

Twilight woke up in his own bed, back in his little treehouse to the sound of whispering voices. He blinked at the ceiling of his little house as his brain processed the change in scenery. This was a dream, he was sure of it, as he watched the hazy darkness swirl above him. But even as he thought it, he felt a thick fog crawl over his thoughts, blotting out the thought as quickly as it had appeared. He blinked a few times, trying to reach for the memory of the woods, of his brothers, but it was no use. The fog made things blurry and confused in his own head and soon all that was left was the treehouse, his bed and the whispers. He sat up in his bed and looked around the dark room, it felt wrong somehow. He could feel the weight of eyes looking at him and he felt his heart begin to race. He wasn’t alone.   

He sat there for a while, eyes wide and he tried to see the whispering figures in the dark, but he couldn’t see anything. His hands shook as he grabbed at the blankets, hands clenching and unclenching the fabric. He took a deep breath as he tried to still the hammering fear in his heart.  

‘If I could just light a candle... Then I could see,” Twilight thought to himself and his eyes slowly moved to the bedside table. His lantern sat on the cold tabletop with the little door hanging open, inviting him to light it with the matchstick that sat next to it. He licked his lips nervously, it seemed too easy, almost like a trap. He blinked a few times as he tried to puzzle his way through his options but came up with nothing. He felt his hand twitch, and the thought of moving and possibly alerting the looming shadows to his plan to light the lantern made him want to freeze up. He took a steadying breath and in one quick movement shot out his hand and grabbed at the long matchstick.  

Just as his fingers grabbed hold of the thin stick of wood, he felt a hand shoot out and grab his wrist. Twilight let out a yell of alarm and tried to jerk away from the grip, but it was as strong as iron. His legs flailed and tangled up in the blankets further trapping him and dimly he was aware that more hands had come to grab at his clothes as they tried to find purchase on his limbs.  

He was gasping in panic and struggled with all the strength he could find as he felt another hand finally find purchase on his shoulder. It squeezed and he felt nails dig into his skin. His muscles tightened around the grip painfully and he gasped at the pain. Another hand gripped his right ankle and he felt it pull so his leg was straight out in front of him. It pressed his leg to the bed and Twilight felt his gut clench in terror. The idea of being restrained, trapped, unable to move made him want to vomit. The hand on his shoulder began to force him back so he was lying against the bed once again and the hand that had clamped down on his left wrist had moved up to his shoulder now and together, they forced him onto this back.  

Twilight let out a roar of panicked rage and he kicked out with his free leg and tried to kick the shadows off of him while his now freed arms swung out as he tried to strike blindly at the things holding him down. Another phantom hand grabbed at his left knee and pressed his leg down to the bed as well, as another other hand grabbed and wrenched at his swinging right arm. Twilight felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest as he felt himself being pinned to the bed. His back arched and he struggled with all his might against the grip to no avail as his other wrist was grabbed and restrained. He let out a keening cry, like an animal caught in a trap as he continued to struggle. In a burst of clarity, he remembered that this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. He remembered broken memories of the other heroes from not hours before as they all joked and laughed and ate stew. Now he was certain that he didn’t fall asleep in his little bed in his little tree house but even that revelation did nothing to loosen the grip of the hands on him.   

“This isn’t real, not real, a dream,” He panted out desperately as he tried to break free, He repeated it like a deranged mantra until a hand found his mouth and his voice was trapped in his throat. He shook his head, trying to get the hand off of his mouth and he could feel fingernails dig into his cheeks. He felt like he couldn’t get enough breath, like the hand on his mouth was stealing his desperate gasps of air. His head spun and he felt his body becoming leaden and to his horror he felt his body beginning to relax against his will. 

A weight landed on his chest and he felt what little air he had managed to get in leave him in a whoosh that left him choking. His eyes shot down to the large, shadowy wolf that had landed on his chest. It was some gross parody of his own shape shifted form, and his mind recoiled at the sight of it. Its tongue was abnormally long, thin, and pointed and it hung out of its mouth and whipped back and forth as if it was looking for something. It had two rows of red eyes and its mouth opened entirely too wide and had way too many sharp teeth for his liking. Black drool dripped from the monster’s muzzle and onto the mussed blankets that covered his legs. He could feel it burn his skin as it seeped through the fabric. The red eyes disappeared for a moment as the creature blinked slowly at him before the four red eyes reappeared and pierced the shadows above the muzzle of the beast. Twilight could hear a throaty chuckle as they looked at him and it sent his pulse racing and jumping painfully. 

“Where is your courage now, little hero?” The thing asked and the whip like tongue moved to wrap around his throat. “Dead and gone, just like you will be, very soon.” It whispered and the thing’s voice sounded like it was in his ear. His struggling became more fevered as he tried and failed to get the gross tongue off from around his neck.  

Twilight felt the tongue jerk at his throat and suddenly he was sitting bolt upright in his bed roll next to Wild. His heart was beating so hard in his chest it was like he just got done fighting Ganon and a hoard of monsters all at once. He felt sweat slicking his skin and his whole body quaked as he took in ragged, panicked breaths. He tried to keep his desperate breathing as quiet as he could but judging by the shifting next to him, he could tell that he had failed.  

Wild sat up slowly, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. Twilight saw the questioning look in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet. Wild seemed to understand his distress and let him work at getting his breathing under control. To his horror he could feel tears prick at the back of eyes and bowed forward and put his face into his hands. It was just a dream, not real. But by the Goddesses did it feel real.  

The minutes wore on and still he felt shaken as the nightmare clung fast to his panicked thoughts. He felt a hand drop roughly onto his back and begin to rub drunken circles. He peeked out and looked at Wild who was swaying slightly back and forth as he tried to comfort him. Twilight sat up with a shaky sigh and rubbed at his eyes to wipe away the lingering tears that clung stubbornly to his eye lashes.  

“Cub, did you even sleep?” Twilight asked and his voice came out a little unsteadily. Wild hummed quietly, his hand still rubbed circles on his back, but it turned into little jerky movements as he thought about the question.  

“No,” He mumbled quietly, and Twilight shook his head in defeat.  

“How long was I asleep?” He asked and Wild’s hand dropped away from his back and he let out a confused hum.  

“’Bout an hour, I think?” Wild slurred and Twilight felt a hysterical giggle bubbling in his throat. He was only asleep for an hour? The thought made him want to curl into a ball and never sleep again. Wild seemed to notice his renewed distress and he let out a garbled “‘sokay Twi” and Twilight couldn’t help but think that the cub sounded drunk. Fundamentally he knew it was due to sleep deprivation and not due to anything he could have drank and that realization did nothing to make him feel better. The giggles faded quickly, at the thought and it left him with the odd feeling of being keyed up and hollow all at the same time. Twilight let out a shaky breath and he leaned back on his arms and closed his eyes.  

“You okay?” Wild slurred again and Twilight shook his head. 

“I don’t think I am,” Twilight muttered, still not opening his eyes. Another hum warbled out from Wild and Twilight sighed and sat forward. No matter what position he tried to sit in he couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t get his body to relax. He took a gulp of the night air, and by sheer force of will worked at calming his racing heart. When he finally felt able, he opened his eyes and looked towards Wild. He was slumped forward, the light of the slate lighting up his face as his fingers moved across the screen of his slate as he looked for something.  

“What are you doing?” Twilight asked and found his voice was a little steadier though not by much. He was met with another hum and slow shake of the head from Wild and he sat patiently, waiting for Wild to find whatever he was looking for.  

Twilight could feel his eyebrows knit together but said nothing as Wild gave a small gasp of triumph as he found whatever he was looking for. In a twinkle of light Wild sat up with a small white ball in his hand. He swung his head to look at Twilight with a goofy grin and handed the little object over to him. Twilight took it with a look of pure confusion and stared at the egg he had handed him. His mouth opened and closed stupidly as he tried to understand, but his mind felt like it was screeching to an ungainly halt. The nightmare began to fade to the background as he tried to make sense of the egg he was just handed.  

“I hope this egg will help you in these trying times,” Wild said as he laughed lightly and put his slate away. Twilight still couldn’t find the words, his overly tired brain struggled with the sudden and unexpected turn the conversation had taken.  

“An.. egg?” He finally managed to stutter out and Wild only began laughing harder. His shoulders shook like a tree caught in a gale and Twilight could feel himself balk in disbelief.   

“It’s not even cooked...” Twilight said incredulously, his own laughter bubbling out from his mouth as he turned the little egg over in his hand. Wild was practically beside himself with mirth and Twilight found it was contagious. For a while they just sat there and laughed as quietly as they could manage and eventually, they leaned into each other. Just as they thought they were done laughing Twilight would lift up the egg and they would both lose it all over again.  

It was such an odd move and distantly he wondered if that was the Cub’s plan all along to get him to forget the nightmare he had just had. At one point in their laughing fit Twilight looked up and saw Time’s confused face looking over at them from his place on watch. Twilight felt tears rolling down his face and he pointed Time out to Wild and he fell over himself and landed in Twilight’s lap.  

Twilight saw Time smile and shake his head and he too fell back onto his bed roll. The laughter was fading now leaving both him and Wild gasping and hiccupping. Slowly with the weight of Wild on his legs he could feel himself drifting back off to sleep but not before he heard Wild sigh. He could hear the cub’s breaths even out into slow deep breathing, and he had just enough time to see that he had, finally, drifted off to sleep. Twilight gave his own contented sigh and he too fell asleep, nightmare forgotten and egg still in hand.

Based off of this:

Bless you @hiddenteddy for being the strangest and best friend a Sheikah could ask for.

[sourwolphs]

Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (5/8)

Read on Ao3 (for better interface + formatting)

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M A/N: Angst ;) And Bucky being cute as all hell. Leave a comment on Ao3 if you’re enjoying!

The sound of Bucky’s door slamming down the hallway resounded like a thud in my chest. At the risk of sounding like a hopelessly romantic, dopey-eyed Omega, it felt like something cracked inside of me.

For the briefest moment in the lounge, I had caught his scent— that Alphacomforthomesafe scent I’d searched for for weeks. Just a hint of it had sent a jolt of electricity, hope and relief through my entire being. We’d locked eyes— his facial expression carefully blank, beard unshaven and growing long, hand gripping white-knuckled into the strap of his duffle bag, before he had fled to his room— leaving behind the confusing, raw scents of guilt and despair behind him.

Natasha and Steve both looked to me in concern, before engaging in a silent conversation through their facial expressions. Both smelled overwhelmingly of unease, but neither said anything to abate the awkward tension suffusing the room. Steve gave a lame excuse for Bucky, looking bewildered as he did so— something about the other Alpha having a rough few weeks, but I quickly bowed out of the lounge, retreating back to my apartment to process the heartbreaking fact that he’d been away, and now that he was back, he clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

Maybe he was just shy, I thought, self-comforting. But he hadn’t been shy in that cell. He’d been quick to introduce himself, to alleviate my fear by baring his throat to me.

Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable. Had I made him uncomfortable? It’s not like I could stop myself from falling into a sympathy heat, especially under the influence of an Alpha purr.

Then there was the other creeping, dreadful thought that had been plaguing my thoughts for the past few weeks: Maybe he already has an Omega.

I hadn’t smelled one on him in that cell, hadn’t felt a bond mark on his neck, but both could have been hidden under the scents of rut and fear, and the filth of our surroundings.

I even briefly worried that he was Wanda’s mate, since I’d never met the Alpha she always spoke about with a soft and wistful smile. But when I tentatively asked after her mate later that night during our evening Full House marathon, she had given me a sad smile and told me he was working off-world.

I barely slept the night after Bucky came home. Knowing that he was just a floor away made the longing even harder, my Omega anxious and desperate for comfort. I shuffled through a hundred different explanations— each more frustrating and heartbreaking than the last— for why he’d been away for so long, why he’d reacted the way he did when he saw me, why his scent had reeked of guilt and sadness.

But above all— my Omega worried viciously whether he was okay. The connection I felt to him burnt bright and hot within me, tugging at my heart. Find Alpha. Comfort Alpha.

I tried my hardest to bury my thoughts deep down, feeling like a crazy person. Bucky barely knew me, and here I was lying in bed, staking a mental claim on him like some feral, unsocialized Omega. For all I knew, he was snuggled up with his bondmate, recovering from the turmoil of our kidnapping in his or her embrace, thoughts of me all but forgotten.

The next day, I moved tentatively around the compound, bracing myself for an interaction. I’d run through one hundred potential scenarios in my mind— one hundred introductions, one hundred apologies, one hundred questions I wanted answered. But one day stretched into two, stretched into a week, without anything more than a flash of his retreating form as he exited the gym before I entered one afternoon.

Despite his intentional or unintentional attempts to avoid me, he couldn’t erase his lingering scent, which tucked itself into every available corner of the compound, driving my Omega insane with want and worry.

Rationally, I knew that the compound smelled like everyone— like determined Steve after a boxing match, like Sam’s bubbly joy over breakfast, like Wanda’s gentle concern, like Natasha’s smug laughter, like Stark’s curiosity.

But even knowing that I could smell everyone didn’t stop my Omega from catching his scent in every room— musky, heady cedar, warm and inviting campfire. It was maddening.

On top of the Alpha scent that left my brain in a muddled haze, there was also the situation with the gifts.

They weren’t really gifts. But, I didn’t know what else to call them.

The first one appeared three days after Bucky returned to the compound.

When I shuffled out to the kitchen around six am for a coffee and some eggs with Sam, I found my favorite mug (a cute green ceramic one made to look like a tin camping cup) already set out on the countertop, along with a spoon, a pot of sugar and a folded napkin. Next to it, the coffee pot was spitting out the last few dregs of brew— fresh and hot.

At first, I thought it was Sam who’d prepped the coffee for me, and a warm smile spread across my face at the Beta’s sincere care and friendship. But then he appeared ten minutes later, still in his camo pajamas, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, and I frowned. Sam and I were the only early risers around here, as far as I knew. But maybe he’d fallen back asleep after getting up to make coffee.

The next day, my yoga mat was missing from its usual spot tucked high into a cubby on the wall in the gym. Figuring I’d left it in Natasha’s training room, I headed in that direction, only to find it rolled up neatly right outside the door, along with a massive, full water bottle and a charged pair of StarkPods. Weird. These Avenger Betas sure do let the hero thing get to their head, I thought. Sure enough, Natasha was already inside, balancing in a graceful arabesque as I readied myself for yoga. I thanked her with a smile and nod, which she returned.

The day after that, Steve and I got way too riled up on our morning run with Sam, and I tried to outpace him (failing, spectacularly) one too many times, causing me to have to limp back home with blisters on the back of my heels from my running shoes. After a shower in my room, I nearly tripped over a little pile of blister bandages and antibiotic cream sitting outside my door, which I snatched up, eager not to have to poke around the medbay for something as simple as band-aids. Even Steve was getting in on this babying nonsense, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t hiding my distressed Omega scent as well as I’d thought, moping around after Bucky.

Later that week, I meandered down to the movie room for another previously scheduled watch party with Sam. I got there about 20 minutes early, planning to stake out my favorite spot before the others arrived, but I found Wanda already in the movie room, flicking through channels on the projector-TV. She was working her way through a bag of crispy Gozinaki— her favorite sweet snack from her childhood in Sokovia. Steve always made sure to keep bags of it stocked in the common kitchen, attentive Alpha provider as he was.

In my usual spot on the shaggy brown couch rested a fluffy, folded plaid blanket, with a pair of soft gloves on top.

“Aw, Wanda, you didn’t have to do this,” I said, scooping up the blanket to tug around my shoulders, my inner Omega shivering in delight at the cozy texture. Perfect for a nest, my mind unhelpfully supplied. The past couple of movie nights, I’d been complaining about my cold hands, especially after long afternoons training with Wanda left my limbs frigid and achy from the force of my abilities. Sometimes it took hours to get my skin back to a human-feeling temperature. I slipped the navy blue gloves on gratefully.

Wanda looked over at my snuggled up form and quirked a brow. “Those were there when I got here. I thought you left them for tonight,” she said curiously.

I looked down at the blanket as if it would give me an answer, then brought it up to my face for a curious sniff. The faintest scent of cedar wood hit my nose.

Alpha.  

I felt a whoosh in my head and stomach, like I was floating away from my body, and knew I must have had a dazed expression on my face.

If Bucky had left the blanket and the gloves… Maybe it wasn’t Sam who’d prepped my coffee. Maybe it wasn’t Natasha with the yoga mat and the water, or Steve with the blister bandages.

But why would Bucky…

“I can hear the gears turning in your brain from over here,” Wanda interrupted. “I take it it wasn’t you who left that pile down here?”

I shook my head, biting my lip as I muddled through my thoughts. If I was going to talk about what I’d been feeling for Bucky with anyone, Wanda would be the least likely to judge. She was a fellow Omega, after all.

“Can I ask you something? About your mate?” I hedged.

Wanda nodded, brushing crumbs from her lap before standing to sit down next to me on the shaggy couch. “Anything.”

“I’ve been here for over a month, and I still haven’t met him. And I wonder— What does it… feel like. For you. When he’s away.”

Wanda smiled, soft and wistful. “My mate is the Vision. He is not really human, but he was programmed as an Alpha, and when we mated, he gave me his mark,” she explained, reaching up to the back of her neck to press her hand to her mating gland. I had seen the shiny silver scars before, when Wanda had swept her hair up into a ponytail off the back of her neck during a training sesh.

“Even though he is not human— he does not have a scent as you or I do— I still struggled with what we Sokovians call gajovi. It means “heart-rending,” the feeling when you are separated from your bondmate. The longer we have been bonded, the easier it is to be apart. But I still sometimes feel the ache. Like a physical pain, inside,” she offered, moving her hand to the center of her chest, the same place where I had felt the same unbearable ache for weeks.

I took a deep breath, willing my scent to stay calm as anxiety, uncertainty and confusion warred in my mind. I feel the same thing.

“Do you ever feel like you need him… to fall asleep?” I asked, cheeks flushing. Even though we had grown close, I still felt uncomfortable asking Wanda about my craving for Bucky’s purr, as it was such an intimate act between mates.

“I have a feeling we are no longer talking about Vision,” she murmured, no judgement on her face. She placed a comforting hand on my knee, and I felt some of the tension in my body release slowly. “Sometimes it feels impossible to sleep. To eat. To even get out of bed. A bond is the most beautiful and powerful connection you can have, but it also makes you vulnerable. When things are bad, I can… feel him. Through the bond. We support each other,” she explained. Wanda closed her eyes momentarily, and I knew she was reaching through her bond to feel her mate, thousands of miles away. A warm smile crept across her face as whatever she was projecting through the universe was returned in kind.

While I was undeniably happy for Wanda and her mate, my heart ached at the realization that I was experiencing the same or similar withdrawal symptoms after my time with Bucky. But without a bondmark on my neck, without the connection she used to draw soothing strength from her mate, I was drifting— alone in a sea of longing and pain.

Wanda scented my sour sadness, giving me an empathetic look. “Do you? Have a bondmate?”

I saw her eyes flick towards my neck, where a bond mark would be, knowing that she had already seen my gland void of any bite scars.

I shook my head, looking down at my still-gloved hands in my lap.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Instead, she placed one hand in mine.

I wondered, then, if she knew more than she was letting on.

“When will Vision be home?” I asked, changing the subject and forcefully shaking off my sadness.

“This month,” she said, unable to hide the smile that crept across her face.

“What’s got the lovely ladies down?” Sam teased, interrupting our moment as he stepped into the movie room with a massive, unopened bag of Cajun-spiced Lays tucked under his arm.

Steve was right behind him, looking cozy in what was probably an XXXL hooded red sweatshirt. He came up behind my couch wordlessly, wrapping me up in a huge bear hug. I laughed, leaning into him and allowing his comforting Alpha scent to wipe away the remaining tendrils of my unease drifting in the air. I’d learned quickly that Steve was generous with his affection, and extremely protective— the type of Alpha an Omega could only dream of finding. Not an aggressive and possessive knothead, but a supportive provider and protector— always there when you needed him, but never overbearing.

Just like Bucky, my brain unhelpfully supplied. I shook away the thought. You barely know him.

I could hardly focus on the movie Sam selected, some Russell Crowe action flick set in Ancient Rome. I was too lost in my thoughts, curled up in the blanket Bucky had inexplicably left for me, squished between Steve and Wanda on the couch.

If I didn’t know better, it would seem like Bucky was trying to court me with these weird offerings, like some old-fashioned, 1940s Alpha would woo an Omega with flowers and chocolates. But even if he was, that didn’t explain his flightiness, or the bond withdrawal-like symptoms I was experiencing, or the frightening possibility that it was just me suffering from them. Faulty Omega.

Either way, after my conversation with Wanda, my resolve had hardened. I had to confront Bucky, even though my inner Omega withered at the thought. I needed to know if he was feeling the same way I was. And if not? Well, then— I’d cleared the air. That was that. I’d give him his space, leaving the compound and the pack behind if I had to. Go back to being on my own.

The thought made my hands tremble.

I clasped them resolutely in my lap, leaning closer into Steve’s absurdly thick bicep for comfort. At least for now, I could enjoy this.

————

Bucky has officially gone insane. After over 70 years of world war, Hydra torture, memory loss, coerced assassinations, cry0 chambers, getting dusted by a purple space god and fighting a war of disgusting aliens, it was one cute but deadly Omega that pushed his ancient Alpha ass over the edge.

After their disastrous reunion in the lounge, Bucky made it his personal mission to evade Y/N at all costs. He knew he was leaving the stink of shame all over the compound— both Steve and Sam called him out on it after they’d watched him flee the gym upon Y/N’s arrival one day— but even his snarling inner Alpha couldn’t get him to soften his resolve. There’s a reason he and Steve were thick as thieves from the jump— they were both infuriatingly stubborn people.

Y/N was happy here. That much was obvious. She left behind that peppermint-and-snow scent wherever she went— sweet with her joy, sharp with her determination— and he caught himself taking deep, pathetic inhales when she’d recently left a room that he’d entered.

In the mornings, he could hear her in the common room kitchen with Sam, laughing and bickering over the smell of eggs and bacon. In the movie room at night, right underneath his apartment, his super-soldier hearing clued him in to the team’s laughs and murmurs, the musical sound of her voice— unintelligible through the floor but soothing to his Alpha ears nonetheless.

He’d watched from a distance through the bulletproof glass a few times as she’d trained in the reinforced rooms with Wanda. Each time he spotted her she looked more and more powerful, more in control of the abilities that Hydra had kept locked away in restraints when they’d met in the cell. Wanda would watch patiently nearby, her red magic coiling along her fingers in anticipation as Y/N breathed in deeply, drawing her hands up in an elegant swoop along her midline before forcing them outwards in a jab, sending a spray of deadly ice shards at the steel wall, where they left hundreds of minuscule puncture wounds. Some days, the two Omegas would spill out a gallon of water on the floor, and Y/N would lift and arc it up into frozen creations, an intricate, jagged weapon or a delicate, curving flower, leafs of ice ivy crawling up the walls or pillars of impenetrable cold built from ceiling to floor.

What tore at him the most, though, even more than her delicious scent, which lingered on everything— and enticed more than a few embarrassing hard-ons he had to flee to his room to hide— was her scent mingled with another Alpha’s.

One Alpha in particular that hurt more than any other.

It hadn’t escaped Bucky’s notice that Y/N and Steve were spending lots of time together. Steve accompanied her on her morning runs— sometimes with Sam, sometimes without— but they always returned to the common areas flushed, sweaty and smiling, pumping out happy, sated pheromones. He’d passed the movie room and the lounge more than a few times to find her curled particularly close to him, his arm around the back of the couch behind her or her head resting against his bicep.

He’d even seen her and Steve sparring in the gym, Natasha and Sam cheering and whooping from the sidelines as she held her own against his restrained moves— a punch here, a kick there, which she dodged and delivered right back. They were comfortable in each other’s space. Comfortable enough that he’d even spotted her sleeping on the red lounge couch next to Steve one day, a book open in her lap while he sketched away in his notebook, using her hand draped off the side as an anatomy study. Her red socked feet were pillowed in his lap.

That mental image had kept Bucky up for a few nights, his Alpha flushed with an instinctual, possessive rage that he shoved shamefully down into the darkest recesses of his brain.

He couldn’t be mad. Even if his Alpha was roaring at him to step forward, to stake his claim, to pick her up and drown her in his scent, to crawl into her nest and cover her completely with his body.

He couldn’t be mad because she had sized up both Alphas and made what even he knew was the correct decision. Of course she had.

Why choose Bucky— broken, red-ledgered, half-vibranium, nightmare-riddled Bucky— when you could have the human embodiment of a golden retriever? Steve. The model Alpha. A gentle, caring provider— never aggressive or out of control, always protective, supportive and calm.

Plus, super-serum aside, Steve had always been handsome. Y/N wasn’t blind.

All of that is to say that Bucky hadn’t meant to start offering her gifts. It was his Alpha instinct, is all. Some feral, competitive nature still ingrained in his hindbrain. An instinct left over from a more primitive civilization, one where he would have had to prove to his Omega that he could be the best provider.

And if nothing else, leaving her the gifts soothed the terrible ache in his chest, helped him sleep another hour at night as he lay there agonizing about her smell, remembering how her face had felt cradled in his neck.

Wondering if she was sleeping in her room alone or curled up in her nest with Steve.

He knew that what he was feeling, what he was doing, was beyond wrong. If she knew why he was leaving her these gifts, she’d feel threatened, or stalked. He would be the creepy Alpha desperate for her attention.

But his hindbrain didn’t care. Alpha will provide.

It first started when he noticed that she always left the same green cup in the sink after breakfast. So one day, he got up early to leave it out for her— alongside a napkin, a spoon and the pot of sugar— though he didn’t yet know how she took her coffee. He also started the coffee pot just in case, slipping back to his room before she woke up, machine still whirring behind him.

Then, he noticed that she always ran out of water halfway through her yoga sessions with Natasha after she almost stumbled upon him in the kitchen the few times she’d come up to refill it. So Bucky topped up a 36 ounce bottle he found in the kitchen instead and left it outside the training room. Just so she won’t get thirsty, he reasoned. He couldn’t resist leaving her the yoga mat and earbuds as well. It was nothing. Not an exorbitant expense. Just something she needed, and would have gotten for herself anyway. What does it matter that he bought them for her first?

Then, he heard Sam ribbing her about her bleeding heels after their morning run, so he scrambled to the medbay to ask Dr. Cho for bandages and antiseptic— much to her confusion, as he didn’t ever need either. He dropped the supplies outside her door before she could finish showering off her run.

Then, he overheard her complaining about her cold hands one night as he passed the movie room. Bucky had to fight to repress the growl in his throat as he watched Steve take her hands into his own, rubbing them together for warmth while she laughed. He went back to his room and asked FRIDAY to help him order a pair of top-rated, insulated gloves in navy blue— he liked that color, but didn’t know if she did— as well as a blanket marketed as “perfect for nesting,” because he has officially lost all self-control. While the rest of the pack was out, he snuck into the movie room to leave the soft bundle on the couch that smelled the most like peppermint.

After a full week of secretive little offerings, Bucky was curled up on his own couch with a book, rubbing absentmindedly at his chest where the constant ache felt sharpest, when he heard someone start to turn the knob on his door.

It had taken him a few years, but he’d stopped jumping at unexpected noises like this, though he still often caught himself subconsciously scenting for threats, unable to shake the conditioned hyper vigilance. His Alpha instinct to constantly be prepared for a fight, made infinitely worse by Hydra’s torture, had gradually mellowed out with the safe reassurance of living with a pack. Knowing he had people close by who would protect him and people he would fiercely protect in return had served as a balm for his PTSD symptoms.

Bucky scented him before he saw him, but Steve slipped through the door upon finding it unlocked, giving Bucky his signature golden boy smile, before plopping into the armchair across from him.

“Hey, jerk. Are you avoiding me? Are you okay?”

Bucky felt his hackles raise as he caught a lingering whiff of Y/N on Steve and willed his expression into nonchalance. “No,” he said, before returning his gaze pointedly to the pages of the novel that he wasn’t really reading. “What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“Well, for one, you’ve barely left your room since I dragged you back here from Brooklyn, your apartment reeks like your dog just died and you’ve almost rubbed a hole through your shirt.”

Bucky quickly snatched his hand away from his chest where he’d continued rubbing circles without even noticing he was doing it. “I don’t have a dog,” he replied snidely.

His words came out a bit more venomously than he intended, and Steve’s easygoing expression faltered. Shit. He hadn’t meant to take his Alpha bullshit out on his best friend. It’s not like Steve was doing anything wrong. The problem was that he always did everything right.

“Sorry,” Bucky sighed, putting down his book and scraping a hand across his jaw, where his stubble was starting to border on a full-grown beard. Ugh. “I’m still just… processing.”

Steve gave him a concerned look, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re not still feeling guilty, are you?” Steve said. Bucky broke eye contact, studying the logo on the other Alpha’s oversized red sweatshirt instead. (“American University Est. 1918”— a gag gift from Tony last Christmas.)

“Buck— Come on, Y/N’s fine! Everyone loves her, and she’s doing great here. She doesn’t even talk about yo—“ Steve cut himself off, catching the grimace that flashed across Bucky’s face before he could reign it in. “I didn’t mean it like— She hasn’t even seen you, man, you’re always hiding away here or in the library.”

Bucky sighed again, tired yet begrudgingly appreciative of Steve’s attempts at soothing the issue. The other Alpha might not always know the right thing to say, but he was always earnest and honest about things.

“It’s okay, Steve, really. I just need some time, is all,” Bucky said, making a concerted effort to push out a less depressing version of his scent to mollify his best friend.

Steve gave him a tentative smile. “I talked to Fury about Y/N, by the way. Wanda told me she’s progressed a ton over the past month or so, you should really see her use her abilities in combat, it’s incredible! And Nat trusts her completely— you know she’s always the hardest to win over,” he said, his grin broadening. “I’m going to ask Y/N to join the team, officially, this week.”

The ache in Bucky’s chest ramped up, throbbing like a bass drum, but he forced out what he hoped was a convincing smile, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m glad she’s fitting in,” he said. And he was glad. He was thrilled to know that his Omega was safe, loved and happy, that she had grown her powers with Wanda, that Steve was asking her to join the Avengers.

Even though it meant that if he couldn’t get his own urges under control, he’d need to find a new pack.

“Why don’t you come join us downstairs? Sam’s putting on Gladiator in a few,” Steve added.

For a second, Bucky really considered it. He could sit through one movie with her, after all, without falling apart at the seams. He was a freaking super soldier Alpha. He’d survived Hydra.

Then he remembered the bundle of blanket and gloves he’d left sitting on the couch a few hours ago in anticipation of their movie night and decided against it. If she put two and two together in front of the pack, Bucky didn’t think he could explain his way out of that one.

“Maybe later,” Bucky said, lifting his book up in a half-hearted attempt to look occupied. Steve could see right through him, he knew, but the other Alpha just gave him a smile and a reassuring shoulder squeeze, before slipping out of the door.

It was better this way, Bucky thought. Better for everyone if he rode this out on his own.

His Omega was okay. That’s what mattered.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 7: Shadow And Moonlight

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which the woods try to tell Y/N something.

Word count: 3.6k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

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.

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“Don’t move.”

Harry hissed into his palm as he peeked through the gap between his fingers to watch Y/N tending to his wound. His hand had been burned slightly, but nothing too severe.

Y/N had managed to find some healing herbs in the forest. She chewed them in her mouth and spat onto the burn, amused by the way Harry’s face contorted with disgust.

“Yuck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said mockingly. “Would you like it to be infected?”

A corner of his mouth raised as he watched her bandage his hand with a piece of fabric she’d torn from her coat. “How did you know how to do this?”

“I read,” she said with a grin. “It’s great. You should try it sometimes.”

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the cold or he was shy, but she’d just seen a bit of colour in his cheeks. Harry averted his eyes immediately, looking at his bandaged hand. And there it was again – that sinking feeling in her stomach.

When they’d managed to escape from the burning house, Y/N had regretted her decision to continue the journey. But as she was looking at Harry now and thinking about how she could lose him any moment, she was more determined to find the lake.

They didn’t talk about what had happened. Y/N wanted to talk about it, but she hated to acknowledge it. She hated that she didn’t have an explanation for the things that she’d seen. For all she could tell, it’d been magic. And magic didn’t always have answers.

Harry probably felt the same way for he’d been quiet this whole time. They were both thinking of the same thing and keeping their guards up. And maybe that was enough to keep them alive for now.

The sun was setting. They’d gone far from the house, killed two rabbits and cooked them for lunch and dinner. They and the horses were too exhausted so they’d decided to camp in the woods for the night, hoping there wouldn’t be another storm, otherwise they’d have no shelter and get buried in the snow.

“Impressive,” Harry said as he watched Y/N make a fire. “It’s like you grew up outside the castle.”

She didn’t say anything about that compliment, didn’t even remind him that he’d been the one who’d taught her that. The more he said things like this, the more she felt like she didn’t know him anymore. He was slowly turning into somebody else. And she must admit that there had been moments when she’d thought she was gradually falling out of love with him. But then, she’d think about that kiss in the burning house. That had felt similar, hadn’t it?

“You kissed me.”

Y/N started as she dropped the stick she was holding and gaped at Harry. He was looking straight at her, his eyes round and full of wonder as he said, “In the house. You kissed me, right? Or was it just an illusion?”

“Yes, I kissed you,” she admitted, not looking at him as she added more wood to the fire. She could still feel his eyes burning holes on the side of her face.

“Why?” he asked.

“I needed to shock you,” she replied coolly. “I pricked my finger and it pulled me back to reality. So I thought–I just...didn’t want to hurt you.”

Harry chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Your Majesty,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m just imagining His Majesty’s face when he hears about all the things we’ve done to survive.”

Y/N mustered a smile at him, ignoring the jab in her stomach. “Well, let’s hope you’ll survive until my husband kills you.”

Harry didn’t say anything about that, but the smirk never faltered on his face. It made Y/N all flustered so she had no choice but to pretend that he wasn’t there and mind her own business.

They ate the rest of the rabbit, and it was night again. The stars and the moon were visible tonight. They could be seen through the branches overhead, so there might not be a storm and Harry and Y/N would be safe. At least if they were careful enough to not fall into another trap.

“We should take turns keeping watch during the night,” Harry said.

“Good idea. I’ll take the first watch.”

“No–”

“I insist,” said Y/N as she secured the fur coat around herself and sat down by a large rock. “I can’t sleep now anyway so…”

“All right,” Harry sighed, stretching his limbs and yawning. “Wake me up when you’re tired.”

“Sure.”

And so he lay down on the ground beside her, all wrapped up in his coat with his back facing her. She couldn’t help but stare, wanting to run her fingers down his spine or through his hair and kiss him goodnight. But all she could do was watch in silence and repeat those three words in her head so she wouldn’t forget what they sounded like.

“You were very brave.”

Y/N was taken aback. She blinked, for a moment thinking she’d misheard it. But then he went on, not turning to face her, “Thank you for not abandoning me there.”

She felt a smile growing on her face. “Can’t even look at me as you say thank you?” she asked, laughing so he knew it was a joke.

Harry laughed too, quietly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to see you blush. Wouldn’t be able to sleep if I kept thinking about it.”

Y/N was left speechless. She worked her jaw for a response that never came. But Harry didn't seem to expect anything from her; he drifted right off, his shoulder rising and falling as he snored softly.

Y/N put both arms around herself, feeling goosebumps pimple her skin as a cool breeze blew right through her clothes. This was the first time she’d spent the night in these woods. She’d heard tales about them when she’d been little. The kinds of tales that were used to scare naughty children. And after what had happened in that house, Y/N was very convinced that those tales were all real.

Once you had stepped into the darkness of these woods and felt the cold pass through you, the trees would swallow all memory of light and they would know all your secrets, the stories you’d kept hidden inside the cage of your chest. The trees whispered, too. They could be taunting Y/N right now, making her think she was safe and getting her when she least expected.

She pinched her eyes closed and took a deep breath before observing the lines of tall soldier trees standing guard around them. It was all so quiet, but why did she feel like something was out there.

She imagined a beast or shadow with hooked claws and grim eyes. A thing the forest kept, waiting for the right moment to release.

Her fingers twitched as fear rose at the base of her throat. She hated this feeling building inside her. She was her mother’s daughter. She should not be afraid of invisible things. But then again, when it came to things she did not understand and could not explain, she should be afraid.

“Come.”

Y/N jumped when she heard the voice. It wasn’t Harry’s. He was still sleeping. She whipped her head around, trying to locate where it’d come from but she could not.

“Come.”

There it was again. The voice of a woman. Somebody was here. Somebody was hiding in the dark, camouflaged by the trees, silently watching them.

Heart pounding out of rhythm, Y/N tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Harry, I heard something.”

There was no response.

“Harry, wake up. Harry!” She shook his shoulder harder. He still did not budge. If he weren’t still breathing, she would assume he was dead. It was almost like he could not feel or hear her.

She took a second to calm herself down and study her surroundings. Moonlight peeked through the trees, pale and lonely, bathing her skin. Bare branches above looked like skeleton fingers waiting patiently to grab her when she slept. She held her breath, straining her ear to listen to the voice. But she heard nothing. Moments had passed, and still, nothing.

It was not real. The mountain had a way of getting inside your head—playing tricks on those who dared to walk among the pines long after the sun had set. These woods were wild and rugged and unkind. They could not be trusted.

Feeling anxious, she added some more sticks to the fire and sat there hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the flame. She thought about her mother, trying to hold onto those few precious fading memories of her childhood to put herself at ease.

Suddenly, a branch cracked.

Y/N’s head snapped up like a hunter expecting her prey.

Or maybe she was the prey all along.

“Come.”

It was the voice again.

Soft like silk.

Longing like a distant memory.

Y/N covered her ears as the voice kept repeating the same word over and over again. It only grew clearer as she tried to block it out. The voice was coming from inside her head.

Her skin pricked with gooseflesh.

And when she opened her eyes again, she saw it.

A white deer glowing in the blackness of night. It stood between the trees, watching her silently with its eyes gleaming like the brightest stars. She stared back at the animal, holding her breath, wondering if it was just a figment of her imagination or such creature did exist in these magical woods. Everything could seem and feel real until it wasn’t. Like the house. Like this entire journey. She could be dreaming.

Wide eyes stayed fixed on the deer, she reached for Harry, but he was not there. She snapped her head to the side and found him gone. So were the horses and their weapons and supplies. She was all alone. She pressed her fists to her heart, feeling its violent beats as she prayed that this wasn’t real. Then, the fire went out. Y/N recoiled, shaking all over. What was happening?

She could still feel the creature watching her. So she slowly opened her eyes and saw that the deer was glowing even brighter than before. It was the only source of light now. The moon had been obscured by the clouds. As the light from the creature’s skin touched her own, it was warm and put her at east. So when the creature nodded its head to ask her to follow, she hurriedly pushed herself off the ground and went after it.

This is a dream. This is a dream. This. Is. A. Dream, she kept telling herself as she made her way around the trees. The air was cold and damp. Y/N breathed slowly as she moved forward, stepping carefully, deliberately, over fallen logs and frozen flowers. She didn’t know how far she’d followed the deer. She didn’t remember walking. Her steps felt so light it was like she was being carried.

The next thing she knew, she was heading towards a cliff. The moon was so big it looked like a giant eye or a face in the sky. Y/N was so taken by the moon that she did not see the deer transforming into a woman. The woman was dressed in a white gown. She stood on the edge of the cliff, her white hair flying like a silvery stream.

Just like the deer, she was glowing, too.

“W-Who are you?” Y/N asked, but the woman didn’t answer nor turn around. And when Y/N opened her mouth to ask again, the woman whipped her head to her left, revealing her face for the first time. She was a young girl, about Y/N’s age or even younger.

Curious, Y/N looked to where the girl was staring at and saw a dark figure. A man. He didn’t pay a single glance at Y/N, so Y/N knew he could not see her either. He and the moonlight lady rushed toward each other for a strong tight embrace. They were both young and beautiful. But Y/N had never seen them before.

The man was dressed in all black. The girl in all white.

Shadow and moonlight.

This wasn’t just an ordinary dream. It was trying to tell Y/N something.

But what?

“Your Majesty!”

Y/N’s eyes popped open when she heard it. Harry’s face rushed into view, and she flinched at the touch of his fingers on the side of her face. He immediately jumped back, raising both hands in the air.

“What—” She looked around, baffled. They were now standing at the same spot by the fire. The horses were still here. Moonlight still cast eerie shadows on the snow. But there was no deer. No girl. No mystery man.

“Were you sleepwalking?” Harry asked, looking concerned. “I woke up and saw you just standing here staring into nothing…”

“No,” she said, tearing her eyes from his. “I thought I heard something. That’s all.”

Harry’s forehead puckered slightly. He didn’t believe her. “Your Majesty, if something’s wrong, you must tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry,” she murmured, forcing a smile.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t sleepwalking?”

“No.”

His eyes locked with hers for a second as if he was trying to detect a lie. To her relief, he exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Y/N didn’t say another word to Harry as she came to lie down by the fire. For some reason, she could feel someone watching them. It was the woods. They were always watching. And when she fell asleep, she saw the face of the white-haired girl inside the giant moon.

.

.

.

“Your Majesty!”

“Get out.”

Jo’s mouth fell open as she smacked her palm onto her chest, acting shocked, frozen in the doorway. Lance probably expected her to leave immediately, and when she didn’t, he tore his eyes from the book he’d been reading and glanced up at her. He cocked an eyebrow, looking annoyed. “I said–”

“A maid told me you'd called for me,” she said.

Lance opened his mouth, probably about to tell her off when he seemed to have remembered calling for her, so his mouth snapped shut at once. The smug grin she was giving him must have got him all bashful as he cleared his throat and combed his fingers through his raven hair. “Well, I was going to ask you a few things but I figured it out on my own.”

“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I should go now?”

“Yes.”

She picked up her skirt and gave a curtsy. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

“Wait. Actually–” Lance heaved a sigh as he rose from his chair. “I think I’ve discovered something.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Close the door,” he said.

Jo did as she was told then padded over to the desk where Lance had laid out two tall piles of books. This was what he’d been doing for the last few days. Research. Y/N had almost died twice. And at this point, Jo guessed Lance was done just sitting at one place and doing nothing.

Isolde had been at peace since their Queen had left, but it could be the calm before a huge storm. Jo didn’t know much about politics, but she knew Lance had been losing sleep over what Calanthe might have up her sleeve, and also for Y/N’s safety.

As Jo watched him flip through the pages of the huge dusty old book, she could not help but watch the ring on his finger glowing red.

Y/N, she thought, when are you coming home?

“From what we’ve learned from Mary,” Lance said, snapping her back to reality. “This group of people called The Monks believe in one ruler. They want to believe it’s Calanthe so they’re on her side, giving her advice and will fight for her in the battle.”

“If you’re asking me for more information, I haven’t got any,” Jo sighed. “I barely talk to the witch.”

It was true. She now shared the room with the witch who’d erased Harry’s memory of Y/N. Jo didn’t care that the witch no longer had magic. It was best to keep her distance and be guarded at all times.

“No, not that.” Lance shook his head. “I just found something fascinating.” And pointed to the page. “King Lokesh. The first High King in the North was thought to be the one ruler, too. The Monks were on his side during the war with his brothers.”

“It was a useless war. There was no winner. That was how one hundred kingdoms were divided into four high courts.”

“True.” Lance raised a finger. “But Lokesh didn’t rule for long. He died after only two months on the throne and the crown was passed onto his eldest son. It was said that he’d died of a mysterious illness.”

Jo grimaced as she tapped her fingers on the table. “What does that have to do with us?”

Lance clenched his jaw, his thick brows knitted. “Do you think The Monks have something to do with his death?”

“You mean they killed him?”

Lance nodded. “Because he was not the chosen one.”

Jo took a moment to think then shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m actually hoping they’ll kill Calanthe when they realize she’s useless.”

Lance pursed his lips before letting out a sharp breath. He closed the book and crossed his arms as he leaned against the table. “Do you think I’m being paranoid?”

“A little,” Jo scoffed. “But I get it. It’s been stressful for us both.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, his gaze glued to his feet. “I really hope she’ll make it home. With or without finding the lake.”

“So do I,” Jo said. But the voice inside her head was quick to add, With or without Harry.

She felt bad about it, of course. Harry had been unbearable at times yet he didn’t deserve what he was getting. After all, he’d lived and died for Y/N. And Jo’s ultimate mission in life was only to make Y/N happy and keep Y/N safe.

She returned to her room with those heavy thoughts clinging onto her and almost forgot that she wasn’t alone. Her heart jumped as she stepped in and saw the girl with a damaged face sitting on the bed beside hers, dressed in a white nightgown like a ghost.

“Where were you?” Mary asked, giving a smile that crinkled her good eye.

Jo tried not to show how disgusted she was as she walked straight to the fireplace to add some wood to it.

Mary was quiet for a moment, either waiting for Jo to speak or thinking of what to say next. Eventually, she broke the silence, “You cannot not speak to me forever.”

Jo could. In fact, she was doing it now.

“How’s the Queen?” Mary persisted.

Jo didn’t want her to be doing this all night, so she decided to answer this one. “Alive.”

“Good, good,” Mary said, laughing nervously. There was a three-second pause. “Hey, I was wondering...um...since you were the last person to see my sister...h-how was she when she left?”

“She was happy,” Jo said without any emotion in her voice. Then she suddenly felt bad about it and added, “I didn’t really know her, but she seemed like a nice person.”

“You’re a nice person, too,” Mary said. This time, Jo cast a glance at her and saw her grinning. “Maggie wouldn’t just save anyone.”

Jo would tell Mary that Maggie had done it for Y/N, not for her, but she didn’t want this to turn into a conversation. She stayed quiet and walked back to her bed, but Mary had already got up and got in her way. She stopped, second-guessing what Mary would do next when the witch took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said.

Jo was too shocked to pull back so she just stood there like a statue. “About?”

“The Queen. I know you–” Mary stopped herself at once, yet Jo already knew what she was going to say. It wasn’t hard to tell how she felt about Y/N. “Also,” Mary went on, her hands turning warm as they held Jo’s. “I’m sorry about your baby.”

It’d been so long since someone had last mentioned it. Jo felt like her wound which had recently healed was sliced open again. She stared at Mary unblinkingly. And somehow Mary thought it was a great idea to continue adding salt to her injury. “We’re more alike than you think, Josephine,” Mary said, lacing her fingers with Jo’s.

Jo immediately shoved herself away from the witch. Mary opened her mouth to speak but Jo didn’t give her a chance. “No.” She held up a finger and took a step back. “We’re nothing alike. You’re a witch. Look at you. You’re...you’re–”

Ugly. Evil. Heartless. Manipulative. Pretentious.

“Just...do not touch me ever again,” Jo said under her breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said to her but she didn’t bother to hear it. She turned abruptly and stormed out of the room. This was all too much for her to take. She would have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

[littlestarofthewest]

Hello! May I request Javier waking up to male reader grinding against his thigh? Maybe some sleepy morning sex ensues :3c?

It’s embarrassing how old this request is. Like I had about 100 followers back then xD I’m so freaking sorry. It came out a little short, but I hope you can still enjoy it.

Title: Good Morning | Word Count: 1027 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: Javier Escuella x male reader | Tags: fluff and smut

Info: can be read as Part 2 to “In Whiskey Veritas” or as a standalone fic

It wasn't a good idea to keep riding through the night. Your eyes keep falling shut, and you almost off your horse. Still, you go on, the sun creeping over the edge of the world as dawn approaches. It's not far now, and the sooner you get back to Javier, the better. After two weeks, you miss him so fiercely that it hurts.

Riding past Sean at the guard post, you only manage a nod as an answer to his greeting. With much difficulty, you get the saddle of your horse, not wanting to let the poor thing carry it any longer. As soon as it's fed and watered, you make your way through camp, looking for Javier. He's still sleeping in the tent that you share, and you shrug off your clothes, snuggling up to him in just your union suit.

Javier turns around, murmuring your name. At first, you fear that you woke him, but he just sneaks his arms around you and buries his face at your neck before lying still again. You breathe in Javier's scent, his hair tickling your face. With a sigh, you close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but one part of your body has other ideas.

It's been two weeks after all, and Javier's body is pressed against you, all warm and tempting. His legs are tangled with yours, and you scoot a little closer, pressing your crotch against his leg. The second you make contact, you know you shouldn't have done that. The friction is delicious, making it hard to stop. 

You do your best to hold still, but Javier's breath ghosts over your skin, making you remember a lot of naughty things the two of you did that started exactly like this. You grow hard in your pants and succumb to the temptation, rutting against Javier's leg again.

Getting completely lost in the moment, you freeze with your heart almost jumping out of your chest when warm lips get pressed against your neck. 

"Someone's naughty," Javier murmurs, and heat rises in your cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, trying to come up with a good explanation.

Javier doesn't wait for one. He kisses along your jaw until your lips meet, taking your breath away. You can't hold in a moan, and since Javier's a mean bastard, he moves his leg, rubbing his thigh even harder against you. 

You hold on to Javier as he kisses your neck, peppering in little bites. "Missed you, mi amor."

"I remember now why I kept riding the whole night," you say. 

Javier's voice alone is worth any trouble, and you melt every time he uses that nickname for you. Chuckling at your words, Javier unbuttons your union suit and runs his hands over your chest and stomach.

"You look tired," he says. "Let me take care of you."

"You don't have to-" you start, but Javier's hand finds its way between your legs, and his touch is even better than grinding against him.

Sitting up, Javier opens more buttons, pulling with clear intend in mind, so you wiggle your hips to let him take your underwear off. He comes back to you kissing your stomach and further south, keeping you so occupied that you barely notice how he opens his own pants.

Lifting your legs, Javier laps against your balls, making you bite your lip to stay quiet. You rarely do it right in camp for this exact reason. You always have such a hard time not to wake everybody in range.

Javier licks along your length before teasing your stomach and chest, making his way up your body until he can kiss you again. 

"Let me take you, mi amor," Javier says, and you sigh against his lips.

"Please."

He fumbles for a little bottle next to the bedroll to prepare you, and you melt into a puddle when his skilled fingers rub the oil around your hole. You can barely hold your eyes open, only Javier's ministrations keeping you half awake.

Finally, he crawls over you, pushing carefully into your body. You relax your muscles, enjoying how he claims you, eagerly pulling him close for more kisses. 

Although you've done this many times by now, you can't get enough of it. Javier's body melts against yours, with your legs wrapping around him to be as close as possible. He barely moves, but the connection is enough for both of you. Drifting off into a state of sleepy bliss, you let Javier kiss and pet you, all struggles you endured on the road forgotten.

"I love you," you whisper against Javier's lips, your legs tightening around him to push him even deeper into you.

Javier burrows his head against your neck, his voice warm against your skin. "Love you, too."

He moves with more precision now, pulling almost completely out of you, just so he can push slowly back in, claiming you over and over. The delicious friction makes you roll your hips, arousal pooling low in your stomach. 

"Please, Javier," you moan, and he moves away from you just enough so he can reach down between the two of you.

Javier strokes your cock, his hips still moving, and you reach for his arms, your fingers digging into his skin. He allows himself a few harder thrusts until his breath hitches and his hips buck. The sight of him like this pushes you over the edge as well, and your come is painting your stomach while Javier fills you up.

After a moment, he pulls out to lie down beside you, and his hand cups your cheek to draw you in for a kiss.

"You should leave more often when this is what I get when you come back," he teases, and you can't help but laugh.

"I still prefer being here with you," you say.

"Me too, mi amor," he says. "I'll clean you up. You better sleep now."

You close your eyes, Javier's lovely face in your mind. His touch is warm and caring as he cleans you up, and the second his warm body presses against yours a minute later, you finally fall asleep.

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

This is Ch.1 of my  creepypasta story.

Note: I manly post this on wattpad thought i will also be posting the chapters on here so i hope you enjoy. The explanation of what its about is in my blog lol and enjoy.

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There was a nice cold breeze that blew through the night sky. That cold breeze was uniquely nurturing for the masked man standing in front of his next victim's home, waiting for his comrades to arrive (even though he only saw them as pests). They seemed to be taking their sweet time. "Figures they'd be late," he said to himself while snarling. Now he acknowledged that what he was doing was wrong, camping in front of strangers homes, merely to ruin their whole life. And he wasn't inherently cold-hearted about it too, still feeling pity for the men and women that got terrorised and killed. It's not like he had a choice in the matter either, no. A man's got to make a living somehow, and if it meant he had to hurt others to get it, then so be it. But what was done was done, and he shouldn't dwell on it for now, definitely not when his partners were still running late "Where are those idiots?" He said to himself again and then, in the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows of, what he assumed, were the men in question. He turned his back to them in displeasure.

"Where were you three? I was waiting for ten minutes now." He turned around and looked at them but quickly noticed that someone was missing "And where the hell is Ben?" He yelled in a hushed whisper, not wanting any of the neighbours to hear him. A very tall looking man wearing a navy blue jumper and mask looked at the frustrated man giving him a bored expression, even though knowing he couldn't see it.

"Calm down we had to make a pit stop so we can get the key for the cabin. Someone forgot to bring it," The tall man said in a monotone voice while pointing to a brown-haired boy a little shorter than him, wearing a dirty grey jumper, with a blue hood, a striped grey fabric mask, and orange-tinted goggles, standing behind him. The shorter boy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. The tall man continued "And as for Ben I'm not sure either, he told us he'd be waiting for us while we headed back and got the key, and when we returned he wasn't there anymore." The tall man sighed while gazing to the side.

"Dammit, where could he be? The boss is going to be furious," The masked man said in an infuriated sigh while putting his hand on his masked covered temples. And as if on cue, a short blonde haired boy dressed in a green tunic with pitch-black eyes, walked out of the forest. "Sorry I'm late," He said in a relaxed tone.

"Ben, why weren't you waiting for us?" The tall man crossed his arms and looked at the blond boy, towering over him "Where did you go?" He asked while directly looking into the boys' eyes. "Oh yeah, bout that, I got tired waiting for you guys, so I thought why not just go by myself, but I got confused and then lost." He responded in a carefree manner. The man in blue seemed a little agitated from the blonds behaviour and as he was about to say something he got interrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore, we all know that the boss will have our heads if we delayed this any further," The masked man said in annoyance to the three others. "Let's get the girl and leave." The others looked at each other and then nodded in agreement. They slowly crept up next to the house being very careful not to make a sound. "Ben go look through the upstairs windows and check if anyone else is home while I check the downstairs windows. You two stay here and wait till we're finished." The masked man said to the group. Ben nodded hovering up to the windows on the second floor and checked each thoroughly. While checking, he looked though one that seemed to be the target's bedroom. A girl was laying in her bed in a piece-full slumber. Looking at her, he checked if she was truly asleep and then went to report to the others.

"The coast is clear, and the girl is in her room," Ben said softly, "Yeah same for the downstairs area, she seems to be alone," The masked man responded. He then sighed "Well, this should be understandably easy. We'll go through the back door, so no one notices were here. We both will get her," He stated while pointing to the man in blue, "You two will be the lookout." As they went to the back door, Ben accidentally bumped into a flower pot, making it fall and break. The impact caused by the flower pot hitting the ground produced a loud boom. All of the men looked at the source of the sound, hoping it didn't wake up the girl. "Be VERY fucking careful of where u go, god-dammit, we don't want to wake the girl." The masked man said in a bitter whisper while glaring at the men trailing behind him and continued on his way. But little did he know it was too late.

The girl was only half-asleep, and the loud impact woke her from her lousy attempt at slumber. Recently she was barely able to get even a little shut-eye, always having that nagging feeling of uneasiness and dread while she was in her room at night, it felt like she had been watched. It got to the point where she had to take pills to get even a few hours of sleep. A heavy groan escaped her lips while she sat up from her bed, frowning and putting her face in her hands. "I should check out where that sound came from," She said to herself while getting up and tried to turn on the light to her room but it didn't seem to work.

'Did the power go off?' Thinking to herself while sighing and turning around stumbling to her bedroom window. Looking out of it she stood in her tracks still half asleep and wide-eyed she thought it was a dream. There were four strange men outside in her back yard trying to open her back door. Stood there shocked not knowing what to do but then speedily regained her composure and ran downstairs, ran to the back door and promptly jammed a chair in the door handle. That seemed to catch the men's attention. They immediately stopped what they were doing, realising that the girl knew of their existence. Noticing that the door stopped rattling there was an ear-piercing silence, and then out the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Out the window, right across from her, she saw the silhouette of a tall blue looking man with what she could only assume was a small sharp knife held in his right hand. She didn't want to make a sound afraid that the man would see her, but it was too late, he was looking at her with his navy blue mask, tar-black eyes almost piercing through her. She was looking right at him, with a fear-stricken look on her face.

Thinking only of the worst outcomes of her situations, she immediately ran to the kitchen and pulled out a large knife and ran upstairs. 'If all the four of them are downstairs, then I could go to my room, lock it and jump out the window escaping in the forest.' She thought to herself clenching the knife she took to her chest and sprinting to her room. Swinging the door open, she stood in horror.

Right in the middle of her room was a relatively tall man wearing a white feminine looking mask on his face, he had messy dark brown hair and was wearing a worn-out dirty light brown jacket and baggy torn trousers, he looked to be around twenty and equitably fit. As soon as she saw him, she tried to close the door to his face and blot to a different room, but the man was remarkably swift and provided to tackle her to the ground making her drop the knife once firmly in her grasp. But she wasn't going out without a fight and proceeded to try and push the man off but was failing miserably, so she went to plan B.

Right when the opportunity opened itself up, she quickly shoved her foot in the middle of his legs making the man loosen his grip on her, giving her the chance to push him off of her and grab the knife. Standing up, she noticed that the man was quick to recover from her harsh blow, trying to attack her again this time even more aggressively than before. But she was ready for it and barely dogged. 'This guy is fast I need to get him off my ass,' The girl thought to herself while trying to attack him with the knife, but he dogged and in a swift motion kicked her side making her wince in pain, following it up with a punch to the stomach made the girl fall on her side.

He tried to kick her again while she was on the ground, but the girl caught his leg and pushed the back of it, yanked him down with her. The man fell with a loud thud and grunted not seeming amused by her actions. He tried to get up and take care of her but was promptly stopped by the sharp pain he felt on his leg. The girl had stabbed him with her knife. A scream escaped from the man's lips. She immediately got up and tried to leave, but unknown to her, the tall man she saw out the window was waiting for her. As she ran downstairs to get to the front door, the tall man shoved her to the ground and knocked her out.

Taking her in his hands, he went upstairs and looked at his ally sprawled on the ground and snickered. "A little girl was able to knock you down, how sad." The tall man's usual monotone voice was laced in amusement. The masked man was unimaginably irate.

"Help me up and let's just go, we don't want the cops finding out," He said in anger "As you say, Boss." The tall man said mockingly while helping him up.

"Just shut up and help me already, Jack."

[whenputtingpentopaper]

The Song

Part I - Kili’s Mistake

Part: I 

A/N: I know the imagine is five years old, but I always loved reading the works that came of it. This is my own spin on the prompt, and there will be multiple parts. This is just the first. This is also my first work for this blog, and I’m very happy to get it out there. It was a joy to write over the past week. Also, the song is the Celtic Women’s version of Mo Ghile Mear, which is originally based on a poem about the Jacobite Rising of 1715. It has an interesting history, but I picked this version because it was the one that came to me when I thought of what the reader might sing. Because it isn’t native to Middle Earth, I changed the meaning of the song a bit; although, if you look at the translated lyrics of the chorus, it could imply the meaning I have assigned to it. Please, give it a listen; everything about it--the vocals, music, lyrics--are beautiful!

Also, requests are currently open, so request here. I am currently accepting requests for headcanons, blurbs, drabbles & one-shots!

Pairing: Kili (Tolkien) x Reader

Words: 2447

Synopsis: Based on the following ImaginexHobbit imagine found here.

Rated: T

Warnings: Language, Nudity & Sexual Themes

Can you feel the river run? Waves are dancing to the sun Take the tide and face the sea And find a way to follow me

The soft lilt of your voice carried through the silence of the night, your only accompaniment the gentle whisper of leaves, the barely there hum of woodland critters, and the sound of drops, rolling down your bare skin to fall to the river from whence they came. Fortunately, the wind was forgiving, tepid against your cooled skin, and the water that surrounded your body up to your waist was the perfect temperature. Refreshing but not freezing.

Leave the field and leave the fire And find the flame of your desire Set your heart on this far shore And sing your dream to me once more

Lifting your arms to bring your brush through another section of hair, you resumed your singing, eyes falling closed.

'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féin Ó chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear

It was an old song but pretty, one your mother had used to sing to you when you were but a wee thing. Her ethereal voice combined with the melodic yet mysterious chorus were enough to soothe you to slumber. It was a comfort, even later on in your life, when you learned of the sad story the lyrics were weaving. A woman losing her love; a heartbreaking premise if there ever was one. And yet, it was as beautiful as the full moon’s reflection on this clear night.

Now the time has come to leave Keep the flame and still believe Know that love will shine through darkness One bright star to light the wave

Scooping up some water with your free hand, you brought the liquid to your right arm, rubbing gently against your skin and removing the dirt and grime that had built up from being on the road the past few days. You switched your brush to the opposite palm, repeating the process on the opposite side. It felt so good to be clean, which was why you couldn’t resist the opportunity to break away from your company of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit to come down to this river. You had known it to be here, having passed it earlier in the evening, just before Thorin had decided it was time they make camp. The lot of them had been so excited to finally sit in front of a fire and eat, but not you. Food could wait. You longed for a bath, knowing the last one you had was back in Rivendell.

'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féin Ó chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear

You began to braid together the locks of your damp hair, having learned your lesson about letting it fly free while you roamed about Middle Earth. As your fingers twisted in and out, you began to head back towards shore, the wind having a slight chill to it now as it hit more and more of exposed skin. You broke out in gooseflesh as your feet left the water for the fine sand that made the shore. Quickly, urged on by the sudden cold and your nakedness, you finished the large plait, securing it with a band before letting it fall limp against your back. 

Lift your voice and raise the sail Know that love will never fail Know that I will sing to you Each night as I dream of you

You waited a few minutes, using your hands to warm your shoulders as you walked over to the small towel you had laid out on a nearby rock. A tunic and trousers lay beside it, without dampness and warm and calling to you, but you took some time to dry yourself off, bending over to start with your legs before bringing the towel over your stomach and chest. Your arms were last, and the air would remove whatever wetness remained on your cheeks.

'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear Suan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féin Ó chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear

Finally dressed, you gathered your towel and brush, walking back towards the campsite, using deep dwarfish laughter as your guide. There was a slight upslope towards them with trees littering the path you made, but now that you were in a few layers and shoes, you did not mind the walk, continuing to sing softly to yourself until you came to the end of the song. 

A few moments later, you were being greeted by smiles and Bofur asking about your bath.

“It was wonderful, and definitely something I needed,” you responded as you placed your items by your pack before joining the Company around the fire. A bowl was put into your lap, filled about halfway with some stew. It was still steaming, thankfully, and you immediately began to eat, your stomach aching now with the prospect of being filled with food, and Bombur’s food to boot!

“Perhaps we should all partake in a bath before setting out in the morrow,” Bilbo nonchalantly suggested from beside you, and you hid your smile behind the rim of your bowl. He had been complaining of the stench that seemed to permeate the Company; you weren’t the only one having gone without a proper cleansing since your time with the elves.

The golden-haired dwarf was the first to respond to the hobbit’s suggestion, his eyes going wide with mock outrage. “Why, Bilbo, are you suggesting that we stink?”

“You know what, Fili, I think he is suggesting such a thing,” Kili said, lightly hitting his brother’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “The nerve. Especially when he smells just as bad.”

“Aye,” agreed his brother, leaning towards him as he eyed Bilbo with a frown. “If not worse.”

The hobbit looked absolutely livid by the two young dwarves’ banter, and the scowl on his face with his glare directed at them had the opposite effect than what had been desired. The brothers bursted out into laughter, and the rest of the group soon joined in at poor Bilbo’s expense. Even you, who normally took pity on the object of Kili’s and Fili’s wrath were not immune to the infectious hysterics. And so, the rest of the evening continued on with small talk and howling among companions; nothing of any real note happened until you were settling down for the night.

The trouble started as you were laying out your bedroll beneath a tree, close to Bilbo and Kili, who was in the midst of doing the same. Fili was taking first watch, meaning he was away from his younger brother, and therefore, not being influenced to partake in his dastardly whims. The camp was quiet because of this, several of the company’s members already burrowed beneath their blankets, soothed to sleep by the crickets and frogs, voicing their own soothing lullaby. 

But they were not the only ones singing. 

'Sé mo laoch mo ghile mear 'Sé mo Shéasar, gile mear

It was the brunet Durin, murmuring the words to your song. 

Suan gan séan ní bhfuair mé féin Ó chuaigh I gcéin mo ghile mear

And there was only one possible way he could have heard it, as you had never, ever sung in the presence of any of the men you were currently traveling with. You couldn’t. Not knowingly. You had an awful case of nerves whenever asked to perform in front of others, so to have learned the lyrics to that song…

“Kili!” his name was a horrified gasp from your lips, and he froze in his work, his back still to you. He had gone silent, the rest of the words dying in his throat when he realized he had been caught.

You stepped over your bedroll before taking another long stride to find yourself leaning down into the young Dwarf’s face, hands on your hips. “How do you know that song?”

Kili audibly gulped, chocolate brown eyes straying from yours as he took a few moments to try and come up with some sort of an excuse, but having you this close to him, even with all your ire drifting off of your form in waves, was chasing away any coherent thought, let alone a proper explanation. And as more time passed in silence, he could feel your glare sharpening, as if getting ready to pierce right through him. His lips parted, having found his throat had gone dry, and he sucked in a bit of air to try and buy himself some more time. Of course, he had nothing to say. What could he say when it was quite obvious just where he had heard that song before?

But your patience had, apparently, run out, and more than anything, you felt the sting of betrayal. This dwarf, this wonderful goofy man-child that you had come to care for, clearly wasn’t the gentleman you had initially learned him to be. All those offerings of hands to keep you from tripping, giftings of his blanket to keep you warmer at night and all those questions regarding your well-being, where had they stemmed from? How could the same person that had been so kind and polite towards you--with the occasional, meaningless prank--peak on you while you were in the middle of a bath? You had told him where you were going because you trusted that he would keep the others from following; it most certainly had not been an invitation for a private viewing party. 

Unable to bear his presence any longer, you spun away from him, crossing the short distance to your bedroll and gathering it up in your arms along with the rest of your things. You walked around the Hobbit, who was currently feigning sleep to make it seem that he hadn’t been listening to your whole exchange with the young prince, and set yourself up so that he was your buffer. The whole while, you felt Kili’s eyes at your back, and when you went to lay down for the evening, in your periphery, you noticed that he had not moved from where you had left him, only now, he looked positively guilty, head hanging and bottom lip in an almost-pout. 

Your heart--infernal thing that it was--ached at his expression. He looked even smaller than usual--being a human, you were taller than him--but you couldn’t let that get to you. What he did was wrong. And the fact he had no explanation for his behavior confirmed the worst for you. He had really just come down to the river to get an eyeful of you; the performance was just an extra, one that had lingered in his mind. 

It stung, and you had trouble falling asleep that night, your back to both Bilbo and Kili. That next morning, it was Fili--not his brother--that had tapped your shoe with the tip of his boot, stirring you from slumber. Dazed, you lifted your head slowly, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Time to get up, Y/N. Thorin wants us to move out soon,” the blond dwarf said with a pitying smile; it was clear that he had woken you from a deep sleep.

Once he had walked off, you gave yourself a moment and a good stretch before getting to your feet and starting on packing. 

Beside you, Bilbo was just finishing up with his bedroll when he turned to you. The hobbit watched you for a few minutes, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally stepped towards you and said what was on his mind, “I, um, I know it probably isn’t any of my business, but your father did ask that I keep an eye out for you while on this journey. And I, obviously, saw what had happened between you and Kili last night. It isn’t clear to me what had transpired; all I gathered from the situation was that you weren’t happy he knew that song he had been singing. However, if you do feel like talking, know that I am more than willing to lend an ear, should you need it.”

It was a sweet sentiment, one that made you smile at him as you straightened to your full height. “Thanks, Bilbo. I appreciate you being willing to do that for me, but this is really between Kili and I.”

“Understood,” he responded with a nod, curls bouncing with the movement. “But if you change your mind, don’t be afraid to come to me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Unfortunately for Kili--and Fili, too, who had to hear his brother’s lamenting whenever the two of them were alone--your way of handling the situation was to completely avoid him. If he brought his pony up by yours, you’d urge yours to go a bit faster, moving between two company members so that the brown-haired prince had no choice but to remain behind you. If he tried to talk to you once camp was set, you’d make your way over to Bilbo or Bofur and talk to them as if Kili hadn’t just called your name. If you woke in the morning to find his blanket over you, you’d fold it up and place it by him. But what killed the young dwarf the most was the fact that you wouldn’t even look at him, and you didn’t do it with such conviction, too, as if your eyes landing upon his features would cause you to turn to stone. That was preposterous, of course, but damn it all! He missed you!

For you, there was a simple reason for gazing everywhere but at Kili’s face. If you didn’t see the puppy dog eyes, they would have no effect on you. Plain and simple. Although, after a couple days of this, you were beginning to miss him, too. This had gone on for long enough. It was childish behavior on your part--both Bilbo and Fili had said so--but they did not know what he had done! And to fix things between the two of you, a talk would have to happen, one you weren’t sure you were ready to have since it would involve bringing up the fact he had been peeping on you down at the river.

So things continued to be painful for the Company, as neither of you could find the will to broach the subject with the other, until the two of you had no choice but to have that awkward conversation. 

The setting? Mirkwood’s dungeon.

[queen-sands]

Debt of Life (Geralt x Reader) - Pt. 01

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Words: 1721

Warnings: Language. I can’t help it. Geralt swears a lot. It’s like his default setting.

Summary:

Geralt is rescued by a mysterious woman with a past.

———

“Witcher...” a disembodied voice whispered across his consciousness. It was featherlight as a caress, simply sifting through his mind as if taking a stroll through the meadows on a sunny day. So he had to wonder...Was it even real?

Maybe he was finally dead. How disappointing? After a lifetime of escaping death on a regular basis and fighting mighty monsters all over the continent, his death came from something so insignificant he could barely even remember it now. How ironic.

Then again, maybe he had it coming. How long has it really been anyway? Maybe he was finally slowing down and death had caught up to him once and for all. The ultimate retirement. He wondered if he was ready to actually lay it all to rest. He’s been fighting for as long as he could remember. It was all he had known in his life. His aching body could use a good rest, couldn’t it? Wait. If he could feel pain, could he actually be dead?

“Geralt...”

There it was again. The voice that distracted him from his own morbid thoughts. It was female. And somehow, though he couldn’t explain why, it felt strangely familiar.

He tried to open his eyes and found out that he actually could. His gaze slowly focused through a haze to find piercing blue eyes staring back at him. Unnaturally blue, and set on a face that was completely unfamiliar.

Fuck. She was beautiful… he thought in delirium. Maybe it is a dream. People did see strange things in their deathbeds, did they not?

“You are awake,” she said to him, her voice melodic. In his fever ridden mind, it seemed ethereal.

He slowly looked around to see that they were in the middle of a clearing within the woods, camped. Roach was close by, grazing on something. It all looked far too normal to be a dreamy figment of his imagination.

He tried to rise but a small hand rested on his bare chest halting him. He looked down to find that he was naked from the waist up. Though the fur blanket covered his modesty, he could feel he was just as naked further down as well.

Where the fuck were his clothes? He couldn’t help the glare that overtook his face. It just came too naturally to him.

“I had to remove them to heal you properly,” she told him. Seeing his suspicious gaze she elaborated, “And no, I didn’t read your mind.”

“Who are you?” He asked, with an intimidating growl.

Except she didn’t seem fazed by it at all. “You don’t know?” She asked, her brow furrowing slightly. Instead, she seemed sort of disappointed by his apparent lack of recognition, though Geralt couldn’t fathom as to why.

He really looked at her and took his time about it.

Her hair was so red that it reminded him of liquid fire. He wondered, deliriously, if it would burn his hands if he dared to run them through the cascading waves. It framed a perfect heart shaped face, unblemished in anyway. Her eyes, in contrast to her hair, were pure ice. So blue it was almost unnatural and definitely unfamiliar. But the lips… Strangely, her lips reminded him of something long forgotten, just as her voice had.

It was undeniable. She was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his unnaturally long godforsaken life. Had he met this woman before, he would have never been able to forget her.

“You are a sorceress,” he surmised, without a single doubt in his mind.

“How did you know?”

“Your beauty lies on the border of perfection,” he grunted. “What can you be but that?”

She laughed. It was graceful and yet at the same time, unrefined. Raw, like she hadn’t had a real laugh in a while.

“Careful,” she warned, still grinning. “My already overly inflated ego might become truly unmanageable with the way you’re complimenting me.”

He couldn’t help the smirk that twisted his lips. It nagged at him though, how familiar she was with him. The way she spoke to him was as if they were long lost friends and not mere strangers who chanced upon each other.

“Who are you?” He repeated the question.

She avoided it completely and asked him one instead. “Do you remember what happened?”

All he gave her was a blank look. His memory was slightly vague. He blamed the fever that had probably set in. The last thing he remembered was…

“You were swarmed by a horde of the undead,” she continued. “One had gotten a bite in while you were distracted by something. The toxic was setting in and you were slowing down, unable to fight with them.”

“And you found me while you were strolling through the woods in the dead of night,” he said casually, even though they both knew it was the furthest from the truth.

“Quite.”

“Hmm...” he grunted. She was not telling him the whole story, that much was certain. Right now, he was in too much pain to delve into it anyway. His shoulder hurt like fucking hell. It seemed to be seeping into his bones.

He pressed on to the neatly wrapped bandage. “Fuck,” he swore underneath his breath. Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew it was deep. If not for her finding him at the opportune moment, he could have actually died. “You healed me.”

“Magic,” she said in way of explanation, smiling.

All mystery and confusion of who she was and how she had found him aside, he owed her his life. “Thank you. Is there anyway I could repay you?”

For a brief moment, her eyes roamed over him, head to toe, lingering on his bare chest, and resting on his lips until slowly meeting his gaze. Delicious things left unsaid but certainly implied.

He was used to such appraisals. Witchers were curiosities most women couldn’t resist but explore. Yet, she had an effect on him without even really touching him. Suddenly, his skin felt like it was on fire, and he didn’t know if it was from the fever or the heat in her eyes.

Then just as quickly, the tension was diffused as she said cryptically, with a gentle smile, “Consider it a debt repaid.”

Her lips… they were both innocent and sensuous at the same time. Her smile tugged something within him, poking at his desire to somehow just keep her safe, while another part of him wanted something far more darker.

A debt repaid… the words reverberated in his mind, and suddenly, he remembered exactly who she was.

“Avyanna...” he whispered, unable to reconcile the past with what was right before him.

“Geralt,” she smiled at him.

He took a good look at her. Gone were her scars from the fire that had burnt down her home taking her whole family with it. Gone was the mousy mop of short brown curls that, combined with her slight body, had made her resemble more of a young boy.

When their paths had first crossed, she had barely been eighteen years old. But that was over twenty five years ago, and she had not aged a day since then it seemed.

Back then, they had called her a monster for the monstrosities she had had no control over in the first place. She had harnessed all that into something more. Something powerful. He sensed it even if it was seemingly well under a tight reign.

Now, she looked like someone who could devour the world if she willed it.

“You changed everything.”

“Not everything,” she smiled, once more letting his attention focus on her lips.

Even back then, despite how young she had been, he had been drawn to those lips, though he had not dared to act upon it. Not then. His honor had not let him inflict his own desires upon her when he had just saved her from the darkness of someone else’s.

When he looked back up at her, he noticed how her eyes lingered upon his lips, and her tongue darted out swiftly to just wet hers. A simple action, and yet, it did something to him.

“No...” he grunted in agreement. “Not everything.”

That was the last thing he could mumble before his tired body overtook his mind, pushing him into a deep sleep.

When he awoke the next day, he felt like all his ailments had disappeared. He felt deeply rested and his mind was sharp. He was more than ready to delve into the parts of Avyanna’s story that still nagged at him.

Yet, all that greeted him in the morn was Roach.

Avyanna was gone, without a trace. If not for the bandage on his shoulder, he would have thought he had dreamt her up in his state of deliriousness.

His heart felt heavy somehow, as if he had lost something he didn’t realize he had. Something he wasn’t yet ready to lose. Even in pain, he had felt peace in her presence, though he couldn’t understand why. And he wasn’t going to question it either. Peace was rare for him in his line of work. It always has been. Pain was eternal. It was just how it was. So he would take peace wherever he could find it, no questions asked.

Except maybe some questions. Questions to which answers eluded him, just as she had.

Still, he shook his head and got up to find his clothes. It would have been far more preferable to get dressed in the morning under much, much different circumstances.

He approached Roach to check in on him. “Hm…” he sighed. “She took off in the dead of night like a little thief. She is clearly hiding something, isn’t she, Roach?”

Of course, as usual, he didn’t get an answer from his horse.

So he got on with his day. After all, there was coin to earn and more monsters to kill. Those undead bastards needed to be finished off before they could prey on any who are unlucky enough to head through that part of the woods.

Besides, he had a feeling. Somehow he knew...this wasn’t the last time he would see Avyanna. Their paths would cross once more.

Sometimes, somethings were inescapable. No matter how hard they tried.

— — —

...to be continued.

A/N:

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