#but maybe... temporary state when curse is half-lifted?

[taxiderby]

Lower and uppercase Juju. Juju EXTENDED to play for 161cm. Unshrinks your juj

#tassy art #juju #i need to do more with digitigrade thigh boots they're fun #not canon!!!!! #but maybe... temporary state when curse is half-lifted?

[frickfrackiwastakingabath]

@mcyt-gt-events @navigating-through-gray

Happy secret Santa!

Here was the prompt I chose:

Ranboo has two lives, one he lives in summer, and the other in winter. He seeks out the goddess of death to remove his other side, but... her idea of a solution is to give him a tiny hybrid?

(Also sorry it's so close to the deadline, school and finals were kind of kicking my ass.)

...

Cut You a Piece

tw mentioned temporary character death, terminal illness, calling someone it in a dehumanizing way (not maliciously or for long, dw) fear of death, fear play (accidental and intentional), threats of vore (very off hand and only mentioned once) and fear of death.

Tell me if I should tag anything else!

Title from "Cut You a Piece" from 35mm! (Even though it was based on Hadestown lmao)

...

Ranboo knew he was Ranboo. That- that part he knew. He knew it was cold. And he knew it was- that it COULD BE warm, but he never got to experience that part.

Not anymore.

Ranboo knew he was cursed, he knew that as well. He remembered it well, the veil over the witch's face and his green robes. The way his magic particles looked like feathers. His scary body guard forcing him off the premises before Ranboo could realize what happened.

He was cursed seven years ago, when he was ten for trying to sneak a cure for his friend's illness. The witch laughed and laughed when he caught him, and cursed him so he'd never see his friend again.

This all fell out in December. And Tubbo died in January.

It was a long two months for Ranboo. Sitting in his house, studying magic and necromancy and curses and healing spells. Tubbo was cursed to die, for the illness wouldn't have killed him if Ranboo hadn't met that witch.

This death was a curse, and if Ranboo was any magic user at all, he could lift it.

No, Tubbo was in pain, suffering, but he wouldn't have died. He would have turned into a beast, a horned monster that would ravage and burn towns if Ranboo didn't heal it.

And well, being the only person with healing magic in the village, even at ten years old, it was all on him.

But at the end of it, Tubbo was no longer a patient. But Ranboo's only friend.

Ranboo remembers the first time it happened.

He went to sleep in one March day, tomorrow the Spring Solstice. And he woke up in September.

He ran into town, asking frantically what had happened. He ran into Niki's bakery, feeling like just yesterday she was putting away her winter stock. And now she was taking it out again.

"Ranboo!" Niki smiled. "Thank you for helping me with those boxes yesterday, flour can be SO heavy."

Ranbo blinked at her. He... doesn't remember doing that. "I'm sorry Niki I... don't think I did help you. Maybe it was someone else?"

Niki laughed. "Of course it was you! What other ten year old do I know that's nearly six feet tall-"

She cut herself off as she turned around, blanching. "Oh shit! You look half starved to death! Sit down sit down!"

"Niki," Ranboo's gears were turning. "How could I have helped with the boxes?! I can barely lift five potions at once!"

"I don't know," Niki shrugged, putting down in front of him a warm loaf of bread and some juice. "You've been helping me all throughout Summer. I guess it is weird... how could you help me? And you looked fine yesterday! Why are you so... scrawny now?"

"That witch..." Ranboo put together the pieces. "Niki, do you remember what I was wearing yesterday?"

Niki thought for a moment. "That checkered brown jacket you always- wait... you don't have a checkered brown jacket... Tubbo did but he's-"

"Gone." Ranboo gulped. He stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and hopped up towards the door. "Thank you Niki!"

And it had been going like that ever since. And when Ranboo was awake, everyone thought Tubbo was dead, and that whatever Tubbo had done was Ranboo. The other way around must be true as well.

The witch had done his job. He would never see Tubbo again. Not in this half and half state.

So Ranboo was traveling to the underworld. He started his journey when he woke up for the winter at seventeen. And now in a week's time (he silently thanked Tubbo for understanding his goal, keeping him on track), Ranboo would fall asleep for the spring.

The grass was grey, thats the first thing he noticed as he stepped through the portal filled with stars. That and the sky was black. No... the sky was dark. It was purple then grey then blue and it all just looked like sand being swirled up by the tide.

Ranboo continued his trek, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The air was so cold it hurt to breath, and the dusty and... just overal somber smell of the Underworld didn't help much.

He was in a forest. Maybe? They weren't quite trees, inky black against the dark sky, sprawled out awkwardly, bent into shapes they shouldn't grow in. They were packed tightly together.

"And who are you then?"

Ranboo sucked in a breath, whipping around, narrowly avoiding tripping and falling on the roots. "Who's there?!"

"You don't look like you're from around here... you're..." the voice was small and quiet, so much so Ranboo thought he was imagining it. It wasn't like the voice was whispering either, it sounded like it wanted to be heard. "A human! What the fuck are you doing in the Underworld? And what the fuck are you doing on the way to the castle..."

"Show yourself!" Ranboo yelped as there was a noise behind him, twirling around and reaching for his- did he not bring any weapons?! "I- I have magic! Don't mess with me!"

"Tch. HEALING magic, hardly a threat to ME. Behind you."

Ranboo probably twisted his back 180 degrees as he fell to the floor, looking up at the creature in from of him.

It was... very small, maybe pinky finger sized? Ranboo had read about soul fire before, and the thing was enveloped in it. Or no... it had wings made of soul fire, and the rest was a glowing blue.

"Who- what are you?" Ranboo managed to squeak out.

The thing- the fairy? He sighed, crossing his arms, fluttering in the air. He spoke about as fast as his wings were beating, so very rapid and basically impossible to keep up with. "Apparently I'm not s'posed to give my name out, but Tommy isn't my name so you can call me that. And I'm CLEARLY an Underworld sprite. I'm supposed to guide souls to where their proper place in the afterlife is but you're not a soul! Not yet, anyway. Oh yeah, and quick question-"

The sprite zipped right up into Ranboo's face, making him yelp and back up. "Why are there TWO SOULS on you?! And why are you down here in the first place? Unless you're trying to get rid of one of the souls-"

"Yes!" Ranboo cut in. "I need the goddess of death to break this curse, and if you guide sould could you guide me to her castle?"

"Hmm... maybe for a favor!" Tommy had a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're a healer, I want you to heal someone for me."

Ranboo wrung out his hands nervously. "I don't know how well healing magic works on the dead-"

"It doesn't! Harms them, in fact-" Tommy stated matter of factly. "No no no, my friend. I need you to heal the human of these woods. He's got a curse and he can't see his wife until it's lifted and he's being all sad and depressed about it-"

"I... don't really have the best track record with curses..." Ranboo admitted. He could somehow feel himself starting to sweat through the cold. "Maybe you could- WOAH!"

Ranboo jumped back in fright as Tommy shifted size right next to him, human sized. He was still a good half a foot shorter than him, but Ranboo was still no match for the sprite's strength.

And even at human sized, Tommy was lightning fast. He zipped through the forest faster than he could blink, taking him to an old cabin. It looked about as dead as anything else in the underworld, the wood grey from time, splintered. Cracked windows, overgrown discolored grass, Ranboo would never want to go there in a million years.

But unfortunately, Tommy was still grasping his forearm, and darted inside.

"PHIIIIIIIL!!!" Tommy called out. A man was sitting on an arm chair, facing away from them both. "I got a human to heal you up!"

The man chuckled, Ranboo sucked in a breath. He knew who this guy was. "Tommy, I told you that only-"

The witch- Phil- turned around, frozen mid sentence when he saw Ranboo. "That only the kid I cursed can heal me."

Ranboo squeaked, stumbling backwards and falling over. He scrambled to his feet, making a run towards the door.

"Shit!" Phil said under his breath as he drew a symbol in the air. The door in front of Ranboo slammed shut, and felt like solid cement as he desperately tried to open it again.

He can't get cursed. Not again. Not when he was so close to curing the first-

Phil stared at him with frustration, closed off and proper posture. He was going to finish the job, he was going to kill him. And he would laugh while doing it. He laughed the first time he hurt Ranboo.

"Kid- kid." Phil put his hands up when he saw Ranboo pressed as hard as he could against the door, as far as he could be from the witch. "I'm- hrmmmm... I'm SORRY for cursing you all those years ago."

Ranboo blinked back, surprised. He stayed in his position though, ready to run. "What?"

Phil sighed. "I thought nothing of it but my wife... not a huge fan of the joke. I can only visit her in my other form, but she cursed me for cursing you and now I'm stuck like this. And the only way to BREAK the curse-"

"Is if I do it..." Ranboo finished his sentence, remembering Tommy's words from earlier. He squinted at the witch and the sprite. "Any why should I help the guy who took my only friend from me?"

"You're here for him, right?" Phil crossed his arms. "And the spring Solstice is in just two days I believe-"

Ranboo's eyes widened. He hadn't been in the underworld for THAT long, had he?! He still had a week left when he was on the surface...

"Which only gives you two days to find the goddess of death and get a deal with her," Phil shrugged. "Once my curse is lifted, I can get you to her much faster. And if you do decide to wait out the two days and your friend makes his appearence... his soul will have a very strange time getting used to being thrown into the underworld with no adjustment period like you got."

Ranboo froze. What the heck was that supposed to mean? Tubbo wouldn't... get hurt, right?

No, Ranboo wouldn't let either of them get hurt, not if he could do something about it.

Phil clicked his tongue. "Tick tock-"

"I'll do it." Ranboo glared.

Phil smiled, tilting his head. "Perfect."

...

You know, Ranboo should have expected this when Phil asked to be cured outside.

"Let go of me!" Ranboo struggled in the witch's now giant grasp, watching the trees grow smaller as they were lifted in the air.

What happened to Tubbo if Ranboo died?

Now they were squirming even harder. They didn't want to be the one to get the two of them killed. Why did they tempt the witch again? The very witch that cursed them in the first place?!

"Relax, mate," Phil gave a giant sigh. Ranboo could feel the vibrations extend all the way to his hands where they were being held. "Ranboo-"

Ranboo screamed as they were pulled closer to Phil's face. They kicked and punched their fists against his hand, eventually resorting to clawing at him with their nails.

"Stop- hey!" Phil snarled, shaking Ranboo violently. Their brain pounded in their skull when he finally stopped. Ranboo felt like they would throw up if they had eaten anything in the past few days. "Stop it, or I'll make you go the journey in my mouth."

Ranboo yelped, slapping a hand over their mouth. He wouldn't he WOULDNT-

... would he?! Phil had already cursed them basically at the drop of a hat, who's to say he won't-

"Phil!" Tommy shouted up, zipping onto the witch's shoulder. "Stop shaking them! Treat them like me! No threatening, no surprise picking up-"

"I would if they weren't trying to ESCAPE-" Phil glared back down at Ranboo. They sucked in a breath as his grasp tightened. "You want to see your friend, don't you?!"

Ranboo nodded frantically.

"Well, Tommy's not strong enough to carry you-"

"HEY!"

"And you won't be able to keep up on foot." Phil tilted his hand and opened it, allowing Ranboo to stand up. "So let me hold you, or let your friend wake up confused and scared for his life on why he's in the underworld in the hands of a giant. You want me to carry you or not?"

Ranboo froze in indecision before slowly nodding their head.

Phil brought his other hand up, using both hands to cup Ranboo and make sure they didn't fall as they crossed the underworld.

And... it was beautiful.

Ranboo didn't really get to appreciate it from down below, but the view stunned them nearly as much as their fear of Phil did. The trees were caked in white... snow? And the sky was shone when Ranboo tilted their head, like an opal. The clouds swirled and shifted, dancing even though there was no wind.

And in the distance... a giant castle. It was dark, darker than the neutral grey of the rest of the underworld. But with that it also had the only colors in the land, purple fires dotted the sides, torches about two or three times Ranboo's size.

Ranboo looked up to see what Phil was thinking and... the giant witch was smiling fondly as they approached the gates. Why would he be... no.

Was Phil's wife... sure. Yep. Phil's wife was the goddess of death. Why not.

"Kristen!" Phil shouted, both Ranboo and Tommy flinching and covering their ears. Tommy shoved at his jaw in annoyance. "I'm home!"

"Phil!"

The shadows casted by the large walls and the purple flames conjured together, before disputing and leaving yet another giant in their wake. She wore a large hat with a veil, covering her face and the upper half of her torso. Other than that, she wore a long black dress with long dark brown hair.

"I've missed you!" She laughed, walking forward to embrace her husband before noticing Ranboo. "And who is this? Wait! No way... you actually found them-"

"Well," Phil shrugged. "More they found me. And while they've cured me of my curse..."

Kristen crossed her arms. "They still need the cure YOU gave them lifted. Huh. Funny how those things come back to bite you, isn't it, Phil?"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, I get it. No cursing random kids."

"So... can you do it?" Ranboo spoke up.

"Of course I can," Kristen said with an audible smile. Ranboo couldn't really tell if she was being sweet or bragging. She looked at one of Phil's shoulders. "Tommy, would you mind fetching me water from the moat of the castle? And Phil, I'll need-"

"Ow!" Phil yelped as Kristen plucked a hair from his head.

"Yes ma'am!" Tommy fluttered in the air for a second, saluting, before flying out of the gate. Phil followed Kristen into a side room, where there resided a giant cauldron.

Kristen got to work as Phil stood by her side. Tommy fluttered up to be by Ranboo as well, who had been placed on a shelf and was nervously wringing their hands.

They were going to see Tubbo again.

Kristen walked over with a ladle of inky black liquid, dotted with little white specks like stars.

"Ranboo," Kristen said slowly, not quite hitting the gentle mark. "You're going to drink this, and then you'll pass out. When you wake up, you'll be in the land of the living, with Tubbo. It will most definetly be painful, as we're essentially ripping apart your souls at the seams."

Ranboo looked at themselves in the reflection of the potion. "Will... is it going to be painful for Tubbo?"

Kristen shrugged, shaking her head. "You're the one with the body, I doubt he'll even realize what's happening until he's back."

Ranboo nodded gravely, cupping as much potion as they could in their hands. The world turned sideways. There was shouting? And then it all faded to black.

...

Ranboo wasn't expecting to wake up to be honest. If what Phil said was true, then the Spring Solstice was today, when they would fall asleep and Tubbo would wake up in their place.

But Ranboo woke up.

And Kristen was right. They did hurt like hell, all their nerves were on fire and their heart felt tight, but they were awake for sure.

They sat up in bed, not sure what to do now. In... their own bed, back home too. Ranboo hasn't been home since he was thirteen.

What if it didn't work? What if they were seperated but it didn't bring Tubbo back? Or if Tubbo was in the last place HE woke up? What if-

"Ranboo?"

Ranboo yelped. It was a few years older, but they definetly recognized that voice.

They looked over at their nightstand, where a tiny figure was sitting on the desk, like he had just woken up too. Brown messy hair, jet black horns and wings, it was unmistakably Tubbo.

"Ranboo!" Tubbo yelped, falling backwards before scampering to his feet. "What's happening?! What's-"

"You have wings!" Ranboo gasped. "And- it worked! Wait, Kristen actually- ha HA!"

Ranboo leaned down over their night stand and hugged Tubbo close to their face. Tubbo screamed.

"Sorry!" Ranboo flinched back. Tubbo stood firmly on the nightstand, like he was ready for a fight. "I'm just... so happy to see you. And... wait, do the wings mean you're still cursed."

Tubbo flexed his wings in and out, flapping them a few times. "They don't feel cursed? Like I was bedridden and in pain before... everything happened obviously. And while we were... seperated I had no features at all, like the curse had gone away overnight. But now they're just sort of there? Even though this is the first time I've had them they just feel... natural."

"That's good," Ranboo thought for a moment. "We should probably-"

There were footsteps downstairs.

Tubbo clearly heard, snapping his neck over. "You didn't get a new roommate while we were apart, right?"

Ranboo shook their head, not able to say anything else before the door opened.

They blinked away the blue light invading their eyes, making their headache ever prominent. "Tommy?!"

"You're finally awake!" Tommy laughed. He was at human size, carrying two glasses of water. "Took you long enough! You both slept WELL through the solstice, it was SO boring!"

"Tommy, why are you here?!" Ranboo took the glass, slowly sipping on it. "WHY are you here?!"

"Well, Kristen sent me to look after you while you adjusted," Tommy shruggedlike he wasn't talking about the literal goddess of death. "And since you two have been passed out the entire time, I've sort of just been making sure you guys were alive, messing with the locals a bit- wait a minute!"

Tommy shrunk down to Tubbo's size and flew right up to him, hsnd outstretched. "I'm Tommy! And I already know you're Tubbo, don't worry."

"Ranboo," Tubbo backed up. "Who is this guy."

"Tommy is... an underworld sprite," Ranboo scratched the back of their head, not really knowing how to say that lightly. "He's here to help. I think? Did Kristen of Phil send you?"

"Kristen," Tommy landed on the nightstand. "She couldn't completely undo the curse, clearly, so she sent me to make sure neither of you do anything stupid. Can you fly?"

Tubbo blinked back before flapping his wings rapidly as hard as he could. Nothing. "I don't think so."

"Hm." Tommy lifted in the air again. "We'll have to get that taken care of. Meet me downstairs when you're ready, we've got LOTS to talk about!"

Tommy launched off the desk and returned to human sized, walking back downstairs.

"I'm..." Tubbo turned back to Ranboo. "You know what? Nope! Not even gonna ask."

Ranboo snickered. "I'm glad you're back."

Tubbo snorted. "I'm glad YOURE back! Haven't seen you in forever."

Ranboo extended their hand, Tubbo stepping onto it. "Come on, let's go figure this out."

...

And they did.

It was a lovely spring, the first spring Ranboo had had in years. He took his sweet time walking around outside, helping out around the town between healing and being with Tubbo.

And Tubbo was adjusting as well as someone could in this sort of situation. With Tommy there to help, giving pointers on how to navigate through giant sized terrains, as well as him teaching Ranboo how to properly handle the tiny, it was going well.

"Is it bad I'm still nervous for the solstice?" Ranboo asked. Him and Tubbo had been looking out the window, with Tubbo snuggled in the little pocket in his shirt, watching the first dnow of the year. Which was surprising, as the solstice was tomorrow.

"Meh." Tubbo shrugged. "I'm... definetly nervous. But you know, old habits die hard, right?"

Ranboo hummed, the two looked out the window the rest of the night. Until they went up to bed.

"Goodnight," Ranboo yawned pulling over his covers.

"Night!" Tubbo stretched before curling up. They had discovered that as a dragon, Tubbo liked sleeping on piles. Not just gold pulls, but everything. Like fabric.

He let his eyes fall closed, and drifted to sleep. The rest was short, as it was cut off early in the morning by a loud crashing sound.

"Ranboo?!" Tubbo said from the floor, rubbing his head. Why was Tubbo so big?! "Where are you?! I can't see-"

"I'm under the blankets!" Ranboo shouted. Tubbo lifted up the covers and-

Tubbo was a giant. Ranboo scrambled back, realizing how small he was. He felt like he was with Phil and Kristen again.

"Here, let me put you on the desk," Tubbo grabbed Ranboo a bit tightly and plopped him in the nightstand. Ranboo collapsed.

"Don't do that please..." Ranboo was shaking like a leaf.

"Oh crap sorry-" Tubbo cringed back. "I know that that isn't the greatest feeling."

"And we had just gotten used to living with you as a tiny..." Ranboo whined, sighing.

It was going to be another long six months.

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #giant!ranboo #tiny!tubbo #giant!phil #giant!kristen #do people call her krusten or mumza here? #giant!mumza #sizeshifter!tommy #ranboo and tubbo are *technically* size shifters but its barely there so whatever. #tiny!ranboo #<- in comparisson to mumza and phil

[wri0thesley]

I understand if you got too many requests or are not interested but... maybe you'd like to entertain the neko curse situation but reverse the situation? Meaning it's the jjk men who got hit by that curse and turned into nekos! Maybe they tried to protect their s/o and ended up changed themselves but somehow before disappearing the curse left a mark on the s/o and the effects won't be reversed until the mark disappears (so no easy idle transmutation to solve this problem, mahito~)

not sfw, minors dni!

♡ —-> below the cut: gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna, mahito, naoya, choso <—-  ♡

♡ Gojo immediately asks you if you think he’s a cute cat; which of course, you do. He’s got fluffy white ears and a majestic fluffy white tail that you desperately want to pet. He immediately, too, knows how to fix the curse - but the way you’re looking at him is so interesting that he can’t pass up a chance to see if you’ll make a move on him like this.

You end up curled up against him, your fingers delicately petting the soft, thick white fur of his ears whilst his eyes go half-lidded and he murmurs something about how he could get used to this. He tells you that he doesn’t think that being a lap cat is such a bad profession, actually, so long as the lap that he gets to sleep in is yours. 

- ♡ -

♡ Nanami is not sure how to proceed. He’s rather like a cat already; a solitary, elegant creature who doesn’t trouble himself to exceed more effort than he has to unless the situation calls for it. But actually having the features of a cat is different. He doesn’t like how sensitive his new ears are (especially when he tries to call Gojo). He doesn’t like how his tail fits in his tailored slacks. He works out the mark almost immediately - and then wants to go back to his place so the two of you can discuss breaking the curse, in private, before anyone sees what has happened to him.

He will not want to be intimate whilst he’s the one with the cat ears and tail; he’s too nervous for that. But he will accept gentle strokes, scritches behind the ear, a delicate top-to-tail rub from the back of his neck and onwards until his back arches and he sighs, a rumbling purr emanating from his throat. 

- ♡ -

♡ Geto does not want this to have happened. He is a well-mannered, polite curse user who uses his honeyed tones and his way of persuasion to bring people over to his side - and the new ears and tail that he is having to get used to are making people not take him seriously. He’s a very smart man; from the minute it happens, he’s running through all of the curses he has on him that might be able to help him figure out how to help.

Unfortunately, Nanako and Mimiko think that their father figure with cat-like instinct is the cutest thing in the world, and he keeps getting accidentally distracted by toys they throw for him or the stick with a dangling feather they’ve somehow procured. Part of him wants to tell them off; part of him can’t help but smile to see them having fun. If you join in with Nanako and Mimiko, though, Geto’s eyes go very dark and his smirk turns very crooked - and you can bet that, cat ears or no cat ears, Geto will punish you for being so forward later on tonight. 

- ♡ -

♡ Toji is grunting and grumbling about the curse, reaching up to scratch at the dark-furred ears protruding from his head. You bite back your cry of how adorable he looks; there’s a scowl on his face that you know is bad news, as his eyes fly over the mark on your wrist and he heaves a world-weary sigh. “Guess we’ve gotta work this one out together, huh?” He asks you, wry smile tugging at scarred lips. “C’mere--”

He pulls you into his lap, his hands massive as he gets you comfortable. He’s like a cat padding into his blankets, making biscuits on the soft meat of his thighs as he presses his chin onto your shoulders and begins to muse aloud about all of the ways that he can think of that he can get the curse to lift.

You can’t help but squirm as he kneads your skin, your ass pressing directly against the bulge in his pants as his breathing gets more ragged - and eventually, you’re pinned down onto the sofa beneath him, his tail flicking, agitated, as he murmurs; “You’ve really got me goin’ now, sweetheart--”

- ♡ -

♡ Sukuna … yes, Sukuna isn’t happy about it. He doesn’t think the King of Curses should be cute. This curse can sense his energy, and there are clearly tiger ears or big cat ears perched on his head, his tail long and thick - but still. He’s mad that he’s been made fun of, he’s mad that the curse has happened, he’s mad that the curse had the nerve to lay its mark on you when you’re his beloved little pet and his property and only he should ever be allowed to. If he can’t break out of it straight away, he’s smart and powerful enough to have formulated a plan before the end of the night.

But Sukuna’s sex drive is as insatiable as the rest of him, and he cannot go one night without burying himself within the tight, warm confines of your body. You will be pinned beneath him by four claws, a gazelle pinned beneath a tiger as he grins down at you aware that he is very much ‘the predator catching his prey’. You will enjoy his method of catching. 

- ♡ -

♡ Mahito is very interested in this new development. Honestly, he’s not overtly attached to his ‘human’ form - he uses his idle transfiguration on himself with little thought - and he quite likes the ears and the tail, and he certainly likes the way you look at him and curiously reach out to give him scratches on the sensitive new additions. He’s a little embarrassed by the low vibration that comes from his throat, the purr at being touched - but he’s also a creature interested in new developments and new sensations, and this certainly falls into both of those ball parks. The real problem is when he realises he can no longer use the transmutation to get into his other forms. He needs to be able to do that, for all of his plans - it doesn’t matter if he can still transmute humans, he wants the freedom to do whatever he wants to his own form. Mahito is determined when he sets his mind to it, and the moment he realises the mark on you is somehow connected to his new state, he is not going to rest until the both of you have gotten to the bottom of things.

Yes, he’ll explore how it feels to be petted and have his tail tugged and be collared in bed before you do that, though. Mahito takes every opportunity as one for pleasure, and he finds that even though you’re his little human pet first and foremost, he doesn’t mind if the roles are reversed as long as it’s temporary. 

-  ♡ -

♡ Naoya absolutely hates this development. He is the goddamn future leader of the Zen’in clan, and nobody is going to take him seriously with a tail sticking out of the waistband of his hakama and a pair of ears that don’t match his hair tufting from his head. He tries very hard to hide them from absolutely everyone, jamming his tail in his clothes and a hat on his head and trying extremely hard not to get distracted by passing shiny lights dancing on the windowpanes. When he figures out it’s something to do with the mark on you, he might blame you for it a little bit - but he insists that if you help him sort out the predicament he’s in, he’ll be lenient on you during your punishment.

As a cat, he’s a hissing, spitting fussy little thing - when the question of intimacy does come up, he’s still willing and wanting to fuck you, but he’s even more animalistic than usual. Nails-come-claws digging into your bare skin, slightly elongated fangs scraping along your soft skin. 

- ♡ -

♡ Choso is perplexed by the tail and the ears, hesitantly reaching up to touch them and shooting you awkward looks. He even tries to hide them from you at first, worried you’ll be upset by it - but when you look at them with your lip bitten and gently pet the base of his tail so his back arches, he realises that you’re not disgusted, just . . . interested. They don’t exactly get in his way, but he’s definitely flustered by the way people look at him with new additions. He doesn’t want to draw more attention than necessary to himself. The thing that upsets him most is that the mark is on your body; he wants this to be his own burden to bear, and he hates himself for getting you dragged into it. 

He’ll let you touch his new additions hesitantly whilst the two of you are intimate, but he won’t initiate. He gets all awkward and flustered by the petting, surprised by how turned on he is when you coo that he’s such a good kitty for you--

- ♡ -

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #sukuna x reader #mahito x reader #naoya x reader #choso x reader #jjk posting #not sfw #jjk writing #Anonymous

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #mob steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #mob! steve x reader

[dabiboy]

Ok, so I tried to keep this one as canon as possible, so I hope it turned out good and you guys like it!

Tiny Thing [Dad!Dabi]

Your relationship was not even a relationship. The two of you were together, yet there were days in which Dabi went missing for weeks, and you had no idea if he was coming back alive. And didn't change when the happy not so happy little accident happened. He let you make the choice, keep it or... Just finish with all of it. After days and days of thinking, you have decided that you were going to keep the baby, and of course, you gave him the liberties, either if he wanted to stay or just go away, at the end of the day a kid was not a game, neither something simple or temporary. It was a surprise when he said that he was going to be there, not all the time, but he was going to try. It was not only his past that haunted him, but also the fact that he was a villain. How were you going to explain your hero friends? family? How could he tell the LoV that now he had a kid? The two of you just couldn't, and that creature was your best secret.

Everything was set for that Friday morning, your best friend was going to babysit Kaji as you were out for half of the day, but things are not always how you expect them to be.

''I'm coming!'' You said, letting the ten-month-old infant on his crib as you went to open the door. 

''Hey there'' Your jaw dropped when you saw the black-haired man standing in front of you.

''Dabi? What are you doing here'' Your voice was full of surprises, but you quickly pulled him in so no one could see him. 

''Told Chapstick he could fuck off today'' He smirked, sliding his hands on each side of your hips as he kissed your jaw.

''As much as I would like to do this, and ask you where have you been, I can't. I'm already late and-'' He interrupted you when it hit him.

''The thing. How is it?'' Dabi asked, moving away from you so he could see you.

''The thing has a name, Kaji. And it is your kid'' You raised an eyebrow.

''My thing'' He replied back, making you roll your eyes. 

''He's fine'' you punched his chest softly ''Ema is coming today to take care of him.''

''Who the fuck is Ema'' he asked furrowing his eyebrows ''Where are you going?'' Dabi asked again. 

''My best friend, and I got a call from the job. They need me there until two pm, so she will be here in a few minutes.''

''I can take care of him'' He stated simply raising his shoulders, and you opened your eyes in surprise. 

''You what'' 

''I can take care of him today, is my son after all.'' he said again ''I'm not gonna burn him alive as my father did with me, so don't worry princess''

You hit him on his shoulder again, making him laugh at his dark joke. And you thought for a second, was it a good idea? You trusted him, but not the people that were after him. What if the League finds out? What if some hero arrived at your door and saw him with a kid, without knowing he was indeed his father? Those questions were screaming inside your head, but you decided to give it a try. It was the first time in three months he was back, and... You wanted Kaji to spend time with him.

''Ok, fine. But call me if you notice things start getting messy, or if you suspect something, got it?'' You said with concern, the baby boy was your life. And certainly, your love for Dabi remained the same even though things were informal between the two of you.

''Messy as in he threw up on me, or messy as in there's a bunch of villains coming over?'' 

''You know which one'' you said and started moving quickly, grabbing your bag. ''Listen, gotta go now or else I'll lose my job. He's sleeping in his crib, the toys are all over the place, if he doesn't stop crying you'll have to pick him up, his favorite toy is the one that looks like you, he has to eat at one pm, then take a nap. But I should be back soon, I'll call you''

For more than you wanted to stay more time with the two of them, you couldn't. Your incomes were the only thing that allowed you to live in the apartment, and of course to give Kaji what he needed. You left a soft kiss on Dabi's lips before going back to the baby's room and press a kiss on his forehead. You were going to call Ema on your way to the job to tell her there was someone else taking care of the baby. 

Dabi just stood there, and look at the number of colorful toys scattered on the floor, why had he said that he was going to take care of the baby? He had no idea what to do, but a part of him wanted to spend time with Kaji, his son.

He walked slowly towards his bedroom, and saw at the crib with some kind of panic, confusion, and maybe a little sadness because he had lost enough of his life already. The boy sleeping in the crib was just like him, the same facial features, and he was thankful he had your hair color and not his, not another reminder of his past. It was still hard to believe that he had a son, that tiny innocent creature had no idea of the father he had, but he was trying, trying hard not to be so shitty. Dabi rested his forearms on the cribs, looking at him.

''Fuck you're cute, you little accident'' He said to himself, trying not to wake him up. ''So you're just gonna sleep there until you find something better to do, huh? Fine then''

Dabi started walking around the room, looking at the plushies, interactive toys, everything. Was his childhood like that? He had some good memories, but the bad ones were more. And looking at the little thing sleeping on the crib, he couldn't even imagine putting him through the same hell he went. He was a bastard, but not a psycho. Nor a selfish hero.

He had no idea how many minutes he spent looking at the toys in the room, until he heard a babbling. Dabi turned around, and there he was. Awake, showing off his turquoise eyes. The same eyes he had. There was no doubt he was his son. Once more his forearms were on the edge of the crib.

''Hope you remember me, you came out of my pants anyway'' He raised an eyebrow. The infant moved his tiny hands, and also his legs. But right after a few seconds, he pouted his lips and started crying as if there were no tomorrow ''Shit, don't cry. C'mon you thing'' Dabi almost pleaded, and he grabbed the first toy he saw, moving it in front of him ''Look at the toy, c'mon''

But the cries didn't stop, on the contrary, they just kept increasing. Was he hungry? did he miss you? maybe he wanted to go back to sleep, and Dabi had no idea what the hell to do until your voice echoed in his head ''Pick him up'' and then he cursed to himself. He was smart, so it didn't take him too much time to know how to lift him, however, he was scared he might hurt him.

''Is this what you wanted?'' He asked when the baby's cry was slowly fading. Kaji looked at Dabi, right in his eyes and it felt like looking at a mirror. He was thinking about everything he has done, all the crimes he had committed until now, how could he be holding a bundle of innocense in his arms? It was as if Kaji heard his thoughts, because he started crying again, louder than before. Dabi hissed and started walking around the apartment, trying to calm him down. ''I know I have an ugly ass face, but you'll get used to it, your mom did so you can too''

Dabi looked around the toys in the living room, looking for the one you said looked like him. Was it a blue one? Or maybe one that was ripped or something. But right in the corner was a pirate teddy bear, his ears and nose full of rings, more like piercings. He scoffed and picked it up, it doesn't look like me, he thought. He moved the plushie, trying to call Kaji's attention with it.

He sat on the floor, letting the kid there too, trying to ease his crying while moving his favorite toy in front of him. But it wasn't working either. And Dabi was frustrated.

''For fuck sake.'' He cursed, using his hand to cover his face, a few gleams of tiny blue flames leaving his hand. And the crying stopped. ''Did you like that?'' Dabi asked, moving a little bit away from him so he could do it again, and when he did, Kanji laughed with puffy eyes. ''You little bastard'' Dabi smirked, repeating his actions and the boy clapped in happiness.

It looked as if the blue fire caught his attention, since it was the only thing Kaji was looking at, not even his toys. Dabi kept using his fingers to light up little but multiple blue sparkles. ''Ok, I need to stop this or else I'll burn the entire apartment down, and we don't want that, do we?'' In a gesture that surprised himself, Dabi left a soft pat on Kaji's head.

The two blue-eyed boys stood there, sitting on the floor. Dabi didn't even notice his own expression, a tiny smile on his face as he saw every little action the kid did, how he crawled around the living room, or how he chewed some toys. But at some points, the toys were boring again, because he started to climbs Dabi's thigh, a way of asking for his attention. Dabi picked him up again, holding him right in front of his face.

''What is it no-'' Dabi hissed. And he hissed in pain because the baby grabbed his chin, pulling at the skin, and by doing so also the staples ''You little fucke-'' He interrupted himself again, as he tried to pull his hand away, and when he did the kid giggled ''There are better things than my dirty staples'' He lifted him on the air, making Kaji laugh again. ''Yeah, you're cute''

Dabi was smiling again, repeating the action of lifting his arms with Kaji on his hands. It was a weird feeling, was it unfair? The baby had no idea what his father did, the things he had done. His smile was slowly fading, the little boy's eyes were pure, shiny and innocent, how could he clap at that man's face? Dabi was feeling guilty, he wasn't worthy of that cute little thing.

''Listen,'' He sat him on his lap, flexing his knees so Kaji could lay his back there. ''I'm a shitty father, but... Damn, I am a shitty father,'' He scoffed at the affirmation ''I'm trying, okay? I know I'm fucked up but I'll try not to be shit with you'' He pocked at his chubby cheek with his index finger.

Hours went by, playing and talking at him as if Kaji could understand every word, even the bad ones. The clock on the wall stroke 1pm, and being functional he stood up holding the boy in his arms, walking to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he found a tiny dinosaur bowl, the content? A disgusting green color, probably many vegetables crushed in order to make that kind of... Soup. Dabi looked at it with a disgusted expression, but he had no idea how to cook for a kid so Kaji would have to it anyway.

The black-haired man took the bowl and the kid back to the living room, sitting him on his tiny chair. He heated the food with his hand, and took the spoon to try to make him eat. Kaji seemed to enjoy it, until he slapped a full spoon against him, staining Dabi's cheek. He cursed and his face had a deadpan expression As if my face wasn't fucked up enough already he cursed under his breath and took a napkin so he could clean up himself. The rest of the lunch went smooth, and once the bowl was empty he left in on the table.

Dabi remembered your words, Kaji had to take a nap after his lunch. Big failure. Twenty minutes, thirty five, an hour, and the baby was still awake. To his eyes, his father was funnier than a nap. But then he thought you should have been home by now, but that changed when you called him. A trip to another city, you said. And a part of him was happy, and the other was worried. Was he going to be able to take care of him the rest of the day? Maybe. He took a deep breath and kept with his task for the day.

They went back to the floor, the kid sitting between his legs as he kept playing distractedly with his toys. There were moments when Dabi lift him up, and made him set his little feet over his, and trying to make him walk, but Kaji was having the time of his life rather than learning how to walk. Dabi took some pictures of him, even he got a selfie. And there was no way he was going to let Toga near his phone again, they couldn't found out about Kaji. No way.

When night arrived and after his dinner, Dabi tried to make him sleep on his crib, but then a thought haunted him. What if something happened? What if someone entered through the window and take Kaji away while he was sleeping? He couldn't do that. So he picked him up again and went back to your room. Dabi opened the bed and set the kid in the middle of it. He got rid of his boots so he could lay by his side, and resting his weight on the side of his body he laid a hand on Kaji's tiny belly, preventing him from falling.

''I meant what I said earlier, tiny thing'' He whispered ''I'll try not to be a shitty dad. Just give me some time and I’ll figure this shit out’’ '' He closed his eyes.

Taking care of a baby was tiering, and eventually, Dabi could feel his eyelids heavier and heavier. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep next to him, not moving an inch away from Kaji. He didn't want that.

You arrived home at two am, and you were quite scared because Dabi was not answering your calls, and when you got home all the lights were off. The door of your room was open, and you slowly walked in. And the sight made your heart clench. Dabi was asleep, and Kaji was peacefully sleeping by his side, his tiny hands over Dabi's hand, somehow holding his fingers. When you took a step in, Dabi woke up and move away from Kaji a bit.

''I was... I was making sure this thing was breathing'' He said, raspy voice and tired eyes. You laughed softly at his embarrassment  ''How was the trip?'' he asked in a whisper. 

''It was fine, longer than I expected tho'' You laid on the other side of the bed, kissing Kaji's forehead and caressing his head. ''Was it hard?'' You asked him.

''I think this creature loves me more than you do'' Dabi teased and tried to sit on the bed, but the baby whined a bit. 

''I think you're right. He doesn't want you to leave'' You looked at him ''And honestly, I don't want you to leave either, Dabi'' He scoffed.

''I guess I can make an exception for the two of you today'' He laid on his side again, and Kaji curled up next to his side. ''And you owe me my payment, dollface'' Dabi said, laying a hand on Kaji's back. Your heart melted again.

''And what is it?'' You asked in amusement.

''Your shitty kisses, because I haven't got one since I fucking got here'' He smirked, closing his eyes one more time.

You didn't know in what stage your relationship was but at that moment? It didn't care. You were there, with the two men you loved the most by your side, and even if it was one night in a hundred, it was a night you were going to keep in your heart and soul forever.

............................................

Tag list [open]: @angelofdarkness1020 @totallytouya @pemichh @hecatve

#bnha+dabi #dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #boku no hero academia #dabi headcanons #dabi imagine #mha dabi

[greaterspawnislands]

lead me into the light | emerald duo platonic soulmates

For all the years he has lived, Phil has lived without a soulmate, and as a result, without color. And he's perfectly fine with that.

Then he touches down on a battlefield for fun, and meets the eyes of a total stranger.

And as the world goes from monochromatic to full of color and more beauty than he had ever imagined, Phil knows that everything is going to change.

(But a mortal's life is only so short, after all.)

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My twitter account voted a series of polls to decide what fic I was gonna write, and they decided on an emerald duo platonic soulmates au fic that was angst with a happy ending ! Link will be in the notes, but here’s a bit of the start to get you into it!

|||

There are a few constants that Phil holds in his life, has always held, and will always hold.

The first, the most glaring, is the centuries that stretch far back in his past and the ones that he approaches in the present. It is the fact that he cannot die from old age or from hunger or from thirst, that it is only by injury that he could possibly be taken down for good.

The second is his lifestyle. Always a traveler, never with a permanent home. For fear of being targeted, or not wanting to cause that kind of disturbance, and because Phil truly desires to wander the world on his own terms, he travels. Visits every city and explores every nook and cranny of it as it changes over the months and years and decades. He visits fields where he spilled blood and watches others spill blood in that very spot a few years later. He carves out temporary places, favored nooks to fish in and well-loved corners of libraries or especially nice inns, but he never lingers around others who might question his unaging face.

And the third is the grayscale in which he sees the world, shades of black and white and everything in between, the only hues he’ll ever lay eyes upon.

(Soulmates are rare. They are not a common thing, they are often considered blessings by the gods to live your life devoid of color, the trials and tribulations to find your other half.)

(Phil has met quite a few gods, in his time of wandering. That’s just straight bullshit.)

He’s lived decades upon decades without a soulmate, and is perfectly content to keep living without one. Where others find agony in not being able to separate the color of the leaves in autumn, Phil has long since made his peace in seeking out the beauty of the world in other ways. The speckled patterns of a newborn fawn in spring. Waves darkening the shade of the sand upon an ocean. The way his lover’s hair seemed to melt into the endless night sky.

(Gods are exempt from the concept of soulmates, and Death had no answers for Phil when he asked her why he had been cursed to live like this, nor could she bring his sight into full color, even with all her otherworldly abilities.)

(“Maybe there is someone out there,” she said to him one night as he rested against her shoulder, looking up at the star-studded sky from where they sat within the earth. “And you just haven’t found them yet.”)

(“I don’t think I need to find anyone else, honestly,” he replied, turning to look at her. She was a thousand times more dazzling than any sky could behold on its own. “You’re all I need, I’m not letting this kind of stuff stop me from living my life any longer.”)

Their visits were infrequent, but time means nothing to a god and a human whose chances of death are slim as long as he keeps himself out of trouble.

Phil’s wings flare out as he touches down on a battlefield stained with darker shades of gray, determined to find go and find some trouble, if only because this past year has been incredibly boring otherwise.

“My name is Philza,” he introduces himself to the general of the army, hand raising in a salute that had definitely been appropriate last time he was on a battlefield, and he doesn’t really care much whether it still holds up. He takes his hat off as well, holding the striped material against his chest. “And I’m here to help, if you’ll have me.”

His reputation, that of the Angel of Death, precedes him. For all his intentions to keep away from sticking around civilians as they aged, wars and skirmishes would always be an exception.

It was a secret sort of thrill, to throw himself into the fray of a conflict he would hardly remember by the next one. To release the fearlity that he kept tightly wound up inside him, to splatter blood on a blade and sink arrow after arrow through the eyes of assailants. Nevertheless, the legends of his help follow him wherever he goes, and the look of relief on the general’s face says enough on that matter.

A night’s rest later, he’s led across the loosely set up encampment to one of the larger tents. As he walks, Phil tips his head up to gaze at the sky. There was no smooth texture, instead fuzzy clouds crowd the sky, and Phil tilts his head, noting the approaching rain.

Once inside the tent, the general nods at him, speaking before Phil can even courteously extend a greeting.

“We’re going to have you take command of the Red Snakes force, over here.” The general indicates to the map spread out on the table between them, pointing to a marker that Phil notices has a small symbol carved into it. It’s a small squiggle, barely noticeable, but it stands out against the other symbols carved into the various markers that Phil gathers to represent the different sub-forces that this general is commanding.

It’s helpful primarily, though no one knows of his own color-absence, he does appreciate the carved symbols. As an afterthought, it’s interesting. He wonders who else is color-absent this high up in the commanding forces. A rare thing, to be sure, not that he’ll bother to interact with them for that reason. He’s here to help spill some blood, not hear some poor sap moan about how they feel they’ll die on the battlefield before meeting their soulmate.

Phil’s eyes snap from the squiggly symbol back to the general’s words, tuning in mid-sentence. He’s definitely missed some information that was probably crucial, but he’ll get somebody else to relay it to him later. For now—

“Your co-commander already knows this, of course, but I figured I would inform you separately so you were up to date on our intel before you began discussing the best course of action.”

“Sorry, my who?” Phil blurts, brow furrowing, heart sinking a little.

“You’ll be co-leading this group, at least for now.”

Phil lightly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face schooled appropriately. He knows what this is. It’s a nicely phrased term to cover up the fact that he’s being babysat because they don’t trust him with their armies, so they’ve appointed another commander to watch over him.

On one hand, it’s fucking annoying to be watched like that. On the other hand, that does mean Phil can totally push all the actual commanding duties off to the other guy while he buggers off to do what he pleases. Maybe this won’t be too bad after all, honestly, it depends whether he gets some kind of suck up as a co-commander or not.

“Commander Technoblade has shown great leadership prowess in recent skirmishes, so it was determined that he could take up control of a new force until your support and guidance,” the general continues, and Phil’s heart sinks further.

Oh, gods, they think he’s some kind of trainer, some kind of mentor to a kid who’s been handed too much responsibility for his age and will die in a week. Not this shit again. “Sounds great,” he lies through his teeth. “When do I meet him?”

There’s a soft knocking against the flap of the tent, and the general lifts a hand. “That’ll be him. You can come in, Technoblade.”

“Yes sir,” a deep voice intones. There a shuffling of fabric just as Phil turns to greet whoever this guy is, and—

And his vision explodes with—

Everything is so bright, even brighter than the white gleam of the sun in his eyes. Phil blinks furiously as what he’s certain is color blooms across his vision, spreading outward until there’s nowhere he can look to escape from the blinding, unfamiliar hues. Gone is the subtle change of shade between the grass at his feet and the canvas walls of the tent. They’re two entirely different colors now, unrecognizable in this state.

#technoblade #philza #emerald duo #dream smp #technoblade fanfic #philza fanfiction #emerald duo fanfiction #antarctic empire #hhh.writing #my writing

[matbarzyy]

Must Have Been The Wind [A.B.]

A/N: Soooo my requests are closed but I still get some and an anon sent me a good one that stuck in my brain and I ended up actually writing it anyway lol. I’ll link the post here once I’m not too tired to look for it again. Anyway, this is based off a song by Alec Benjamin, enjoy.

Word count: 2755

Warnings: Abusive boyfriend

.

“What the hell?” Anthony mumbled to himself and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

The loud noise that had woken him up echoed through the building again. It was glass shattering. Whatever was going on, it was happening in the apartment above his. The digital clock on his bedside table shone dark red numbers that read 3:05, and he groaned as he pushed the covers off his body and sat up.

At first, Anthony thought someone might have dropped glasses or plates, but the sound was much louder. It wasn’t an object being dropped, it was something being thrown. Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep immediately, Anthony got up and yawned on his way to the kitchen. A dim light was still on, he had forgotten to turn it off before going to bed, but now he was thankful he could see the layout of his unfamiliar apartment.

He was renting the place even though he had just bought a brand new apartment that was at least twice as big. The day he sold his old place, a water leak and gas problem arose in his new building. For a moment, Anthony had thought he was cursed, but with some help he managed to find this place to rent and he didn’t even have to spend a night in a hotel.

It was a temporary solution, so he was okay with having only two bedrooms and a rather small kitchen. It wasn’t like he’d have his family coming over any time soon. Maybe the neighbours were a little crazy breaking stuff at ungodly hours, but with a glass of water and ear plugs Anthony would get right back to sleep.

He stopped dead in his tracks when the sound of glass shattering was replaced by a cry. His glass got abandoned on the kitchen counter while he tiptoed to his front door, trying to catch any other noise.

The voices turned clearer as the yelling grew louder, it wasn’t enough for Anthony to understand what they were saying, but he could tell there was a girl crying while arguing with a man. There was no way he could go back to bed now. What was he supposed to do?

Should he try to go up there? Was calling the police a better idea?

His dilemma ended when a door slammed upstairs. Quickly, Anthony glued his eye to the peephole to see anyone that might walk past his door. This cursed building didn’t have an elevator, so if someone was leaving he’d see them. The light in the corridor was off, but with the moon shining bright outside it wasn’t completely dark.

As the stomping of feet got closer he caught the silhouette of a man heading out. A minute later, the sound had faded and the entrance door had slammed shut with the noise Anthony was getting accustomed to.

He stepped back and grabbed a hoodie from his bedroom, pulling it over his head to hide his bare chest. Dressed in a little more than just sweatpants, he hurried to find shoes, grabbed his keys, and slipped out of his apartment.

When he got to the second floor the faint sound of a girl crying directed him to the right door. He lifted his hand to knock but hesitated for a second. What if he got the wrong place and bothered someone at three in the morning?

Deciding that someone’s safety was more important than getting in trouble with his neighbours, Anthony quickly shook his head and gave the door a couple of loud knocks. He heard shuffling on the other side, followed by footsteps, and eventually a slight creak.

“Can I help you?” The girl opened the door just a crack.

She had a sweater zipped up all the way to her chin, and her eyes were a little swollen, but in the darkness it was hard to tell she was crying for sure. Her voice seemed steady enough as far as Anthony could tell from that short sentence.

“Hi, sorry, um I know it’s super late,” he shuffled from one foot to the other nervously. If only he had thought about what to say before knocking. “I’m Anthony, I live right downstairs, I just heard some noise and stuff… I wanted to make sure everything’s okay?”

“Uh, yeah? I didn’t hear a thing, sorry,” the girl pulled the sleeves of her sweater down to cover her hands.

“Could have sworn it came from up here,” he played dumb to insist a little more, but she was quick to shut him down.

“Must have been the wind or something,” she shrugged. “Thanks, I guess, but uh, I should go,”

“Right, yeah, sorry I bothered you,” he murmured and stepped back before she quietly closed the door.

Anthony didn’t get a minute of sleep that night. Mat chirped him for his slow reactions when he practiced in the morning, but he had bigger things to worry about. Was that girl really okay? Or did she just tell him lies so that he wouldn’t intrude?

None of it sat right with him, but he was limited in his options, so he promised himself he’d keep an eye out for her as much as he could.

.

A week passed before anything happened again.

Anthony was on his way home from a game, still dressed in his game day suit and ready to crash into his bed. Even the adrenalin of the win couldn’t keep him up for much longer. He was half asleep as he walked up to the building, his keys out to get through the main entrance. Now that he had cooled off, his legs ached and he almost groaned at the thought of the stairs.

“Two more weeks,” he muttered to himself.

He was about to continue complaining out loud to himself when he spotted her. If he had paid attention he would have noticed the couple arguing way earlier. The man had a tight grip on her forearm, and he didn’t even notice the way her eyes flickered over to Anthony as he continued speaking.

“I told you not to fucking-”

“Everything okay?” Anthony spoke up loudly enough to startle the man.

“Mind your fucking business.” He turned around, but the hockey player was taller and obviously stronger, so he didn’t even look at him.

Instead, he stared at his upstairs neighbour and waited for her to answer.

“Fine,” she rubbed her forearm, soothing the red skin. He nodded in response but didn’t make a move, his bag still hanging over his shoulder.

“We’re not done.” The other man grumbled when he saw Anthony had no intention of walking up to his apartment until they moved too.

He stomped out, the noise matching what had resonated in the corridor the first night Anthony heard them fight.

“So, am I at least going to get your name?” He walked towards the stairs with her, letting her walk up first.

“Carrie,” she told him, taking the stairs two at a time. Anthony cursed in his head as he kept up with her, his legs burning from all the skating and a nasty fall.

“Well Carrie, if you ever need anything, I live right here, okay?” He motioned towards his door and she nodded.

“Thanks,” she glanced down at the floor as she said it, not even waiting for his reply before dashing for the stairs and heading back to her own place.

.

The next morning was nice for Anthony. The weather was beautiful, he didn’t have practice, and all he had to do was go for a walk and get himself a nice coffee to enjoy his day off. The park near his building was a little crowded, it was a Saturday after all, families walked with kids running back and forth, people walked their dogs, others jogged.

The little kiosk at one of the intersections didn’t look like much, but Anthony had found out the day he had to move here that their coffee was some of the best in the city.

Carrie seemed to know that too, because he spotted her a few feet away on one of the benches. She was alone, taking in the way the sun shone through branches and onto the grass.

“Can I sit?” Anthony asked, and she looked up at him.

“Sure,” She slid over to make space on the bench.

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he began while racking his brain for the right thing to say. “And I don’t need to know whatever it was that happened when I heard that noise, or what was going on last night, but if you ever need absolutely anything, my door’s always open for you.”

“It’s fine I swear, he’s not as bad as it seems,” Carrie dismissed him and he scoffed.

“Well not as bad doesn’t mean ‘not bad’ so even if you just need a friend or whatever, I’m around,” he reiterated to make sure she wouldn’t hesitate if she was ever ready to ask for help.

“Thanks, Anthony,” she felt the corner of her lips itch to curl up while he leaned back.

“Not running away today?” He took in the people moving in front of them, resting his paper cup on his thigh.

“Not today,” Carrie smiled and took another sip of her coffee.

.

Only one more week before Anthony could move out.

Some of his things were still packed, a few boxes were stored in his garage in his new building, others were stacked in his spare bedroom and the rest would have to be repacked this weekend for him to finally vacate this apartment. He was excited to settle into his new place, he was somehow enjoying the whole decorating thing.

The only thing that bothered him was leaving Carrie. What was he supposed to do, leave her there and never come back? He couldn’t just turn his back with what he knew. She was the only thing on his mind day and night. Anthony couldn’t remember his dreams in the morning, but he was often convinced they had been about her.

The one thing that definitely wasn’t a dream was the loud knock on his door that night. 4:32am. It had to be Carrie.

Anthony jumped to his feet with a groan and rushed out of his bedroom. “Fuck,” he cursed as he slammed his shoulder into the door frame, not slowing down for a second until he reached the front door.

He threw it open and Carrie stumbled in, shaking and sniffling. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she hurried to make sure the door was closed.

“What happened?” Anthony’s eyes widened when he took in her panicked state. She barely looked up at him and cried harder, so he realised now wasn’t the time for questions. “Hey, hey come here,” he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe, it’s okay, you’re safe here.”

Carried leaned against his chest, biting her lip and shaking with quiet sobs. Her whole body was trembling, Anthony was the only reason she was standing, so he slowly walked over to the couch with her in his arms and sat down. He had managed to hit a light switch on his way to make a warm light illuminate the living room.

“Sorry, it’s so late,” she eventually whispered, but he pulled away and shook his head.

“Don’t apo-” Anthony started but cut himself off when he got a good look at her face. “What happened?” His tone was nowhere near soft this time, his jaw was clenched and he was ready to run up the stairs to break her boyfriend’s face.

A purple bruise was blooming on her cheekbone, and the skin had split so a little bit of blood seeped out of the wound.

“I-” Carrie tried to talk, but another sob shook her chest and she looked down instead, hiding herself.

“Carrie…” he reached out for her hands. “Did he do this?”

“Yes,” her answer was barely above a murmur, and he took a deep breath to calm down.

“Let me take a look,” he cupped the uninjured side of her face and guided her to tilt her head until the light hit the forming bruise on her cheekbone. “I’ll find something to put on that, okay?” Anthony dropped his hands and she avoided his eyes.

He found everything he’d need in his bathroom pretty easily. He was used to being injured, so he came back to the living room with a cream for the bruise and an ice pack.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” He said as he sat next to her and pushed a little bit of the product out on the tip of his fingers.

Careful not to press too hard, Anthony rubbed it over the bruise and made sure it was mostly absorbed before holding the ice pack to her face. It wouldn’t really ease the pain but it would at least reduce the swelling.

“I got it,” Carrie took it from him to keep it to her cheek.

“Okay, you need anything else?” He let her gather her knees up to her chest, resisting the urge to pull her into a hug again. He wished he knew how to comfort her, but she clearly needed her space.

“I’m okay, thank you,” she shook her head no and focused on slowing her breathing. It was hard with the mess in her head after everything that happened. She felt weak and pathetic, she had never been so vulnerable in front of someone, and maybe it was time she opened up but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more.

“Is he still upstairs?” Anthony probed, trying to figure out what to do, at least for the immediate future.

“Probably,” Carrie shrugged, wiping tears out of her eyes.

“You can stay the night, I’ve got a spare bedroom.” He offered, written worry all over his face when she glanced up at him.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she turned him down, but he wouldn’t let her leave when she wouldn’t be safe.

“Stop that,” he nudged her foot gently. “I’m not going to let you go back up there, just stay. Do you want tea? Chamomile is good for sleep,”

“Um, yeah, please,” Carrie gave in with a sigh. There was no point in fighting him, and deep down she knew he was right. Now that she had woken him she couldn’t leave and just let him worry.

“Be right back,” He put a hand on her knee as he got up and went to boil some water.

When he came back with both steaming mugs, Carrie had helped herself to the tissues on his coffee table to dry her tears and it looked like she had calmed down a little.

“Careful it’s really hot,” Anthony set the mug down in front of her.

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence after that. Anthony was done pushing, she was next to him and he was keeping her safe, he didn’t need more than that. The night had been traumatic enough for Carrie, so he didn’t want to add to it.

Small sips of burning liquid eventually turned to larger gulps of warm tea until both mugs sat empty on the table. Carrie had stopped shaking, and the heat of her drink had helped her warm up. The ice pack was mostly melted against her cheek now, but it was still cool and her cheek was burning underneath it.

“Wanna go to bed?” Anthony eventually whispered, pulling her out of her thoughts. She stopped staring at the black screen of the TV to turn to him, nodding slightly.

The bed in the guest room was made, and the sheets still smelled like fresh laundry. Anthony looked into the mostly empty closet for a few things, and while Carrie slid under the covers he brought an extra blanket to lay on top of it.

She settled quietly, curled for extra warmth while the melted ice pack sat on the nightstand. Anthony took it as his cue to leave, but he stopped once he reached the door.

“Carrie?” He turned to look at her, a hand on the door knob.

“Yeah?” She wondered what else he was going to say, and her heart warmed when she heard his words spoken with unwavering certainty.

“I don’t care what I have to do, but I’m not going to let that happen again.”

.

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#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier imagine #tito beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier fluff #tito beauvillier fluff #must have been the wind #alec benjamin #writing #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new york islanders

[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.

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #ksmut #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #bts smut #jimin smut #bts angst #jimin angst #bts fluff #jimin fluff #bts x reader #jimin x reader #sub jimin

[konigsfaerie]

Feel Better

Summary: Tony Stark is a germaphobe, but he won't leave your side when you get too sick to care for yourself.

(Fluff, cuddling)

tony stark x reader

Word count: 1,532

Tony Stark was a germaphobe. He tried to keep his body in the best shape possible, which meant staying away from sick people, only shaking hands when absolutely necessary, and always keeping hand sanitizer in his pocket. Thankfully Jarvis was there to keep an eye on you to make sure everything was okay in Tony’s absence.

Your eyes fluttered shut as chills racked your body, your arms wrapping around each other and pulling the blanket up. For a week straight, you had told yourself it was just a stomach bug, then a common cold, and now the flu. Now you were telling yourself you just needed to sweat it out, but you were absolutely shaking under the covers.

Usually your mom would come into your room and wake you with scrambled eggs and orange juice, then give you some medicine to help soothe your stomach. But all you had was Jarvis at the moment, even though you knew Tony was making him give a report every two seconds.

You were refusing to go to the doctor. There was no way you were gonna let Tony make you an appointment and take you there. He had already done far too much for you.

Your head began to feel… funny. Fuzzy. Like you were on another plane and the rest of the world was getting wider. You rose up, shoving the blankets off of you and putting two feet on the cold ground. As you got to your feet, you swayed. “J-Jarvis-” Slowly everything got darker as you fell onto your side with a thud. You were trying to keep consciousness so you wouldn’t alarm anyone but… Going to sleep would feel so much better. As Jarvis’ voice faded, so did your will to stay awake.

The next thing you knew, you heard the sound of the door handle being slammed against the wall and someone kneeling next to you. “Y/n? Y/n?” Someone was shaking you, just slightly enough to wake you up. “Tell me you can hear me.” It was Tony’s voice.

Your eyes slowly opened and you found yourself wrapped in his arms, still on the floor. “W-What happened?” you asked, pressing a hand to his muscled chest for comfort. “Tony, you could catch something.” You shook your head, moving away from his arms.

His arms tensed, moving you back. “I don’t care.”

There was nothing on his face but concern. His eyebrows knitted, pursing his lips and lifting you off of the floor and back onto your bed. “That’s it,” he started, covering you back up with your duvet. “I’m calling the doctor.” You knew now that you couldn’t argue any longer. Maybe he would have accepted your plea to just sleep it off and take Nyquil when you thought it was a cold, but now you weren’t even sure it was as simple as the flu.

-

It was pneumonia, but it would go away with antibiotics and lots of fluids. The good news was that it wasn’t contagious, but you still felt guilty that Tony was taking care of you now, silently cursing himself for ever thinking Jarvis would be up to the task.

He came into your room with a glass of cold water. As you took it, you took three gulps and gave it back. He set it on your nightstand and put the back of his hand to your forehead. “Your fever seems to be going down,” he observed.

Your eyes were threatening to close even though you could watch him hover over you all day. “You have better things to do than watch over me,” you pointed out. He had an infinite amount of projects and meetings to attend, which you would usually handle and schedule. You had offered to find him a temporary replacement, but he only told you that he didn’t want anyone else in his house handling his business.

“I have nothing better to do than watch over you,” he responded, his voice nothing but silk threatening to lull you to sleep. That’s always what his voice did. Your days usually consisted of responding to emails while he worked in his workshop. He mostly worked on upgrades to his suit and tinkered with his bots, but he talked his way through it, to himself and to Jarvis. The sound of his voice calmed you, made you feel safe. He assured you that you could have your own office, but you were fine right there.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” He was resting his hand on top of your stomach, his eyes searching yours. Yours were half closed, but you only smiled. You hadn’t ever had anyone that cared for you like this, that wanted to take care of you. He was your boss, but he had become your best friend in the past year. You felt something more for him, so much more, and while you tried your best to distance yourself to keep it from showing, all you wanted him to do was get under the covers with you and wrap his arms around you.

But you couldn’t ask him to do that.

“You make me feel better by just being here,” you responded, giving a lazy smile. You assumed that the fatigue you were feeling was just a side effect of all the antibiotics you were taking, causing you to say more than you normally would. “By just talking to me.”

His throat bobbed, reaching for your hand under the covers. His fingers twined with yours, causing your heart to jump in your chest. “You make me feel safe,” you whispered.

Tony’s lips parted. He seemed unsure what to say, but not in an uncomfortable way. Like he was unaware that’s how you felt. But how could he be? You took steps to avoid talking about how much you adored him, but it was in your eyes, it was in your face every time you spoke to him. You did adore him. He was so smart, so capable, so giving. He was everything you wanted, and while his playboy days were over, you two were so different. In age, intelligence, and experience. You didn’t know half of the things he was capable of.

He squeezed your hand. “I do?” he asked, watching your eyelids flutter open and closed. “I make you feel safe?”

There were no words you could speak that would tell him what you actually felt, in this state or any other. So you only gave him another tired smile and looked into his eyes, nodding slightly. “You feel like home.” It was barely a whisper.

He swallowed, not moving, not speaking, only staring at you for several long moments. You didn’t break eye contact, only stared back with that smile on your face. “Can I…” He was struggling with his words. Tony Stark did not struggle with his words. They were usually always sarcastic and carefully chosen.

“Can I lie down with you?”

Your smile widened, although you tried and failed to contain it. “Yeah,” you breathed, your heart racing. You moved slightly, but even that small movement caused fatigue to take over your body. It felt like the air was a cloud of pins and needles every time you moved. You gave an involuntary whimper. Tony knitted his eyebrows together again, putting one arm around your waist and moving your body for you. The pain wasn’t so bad when his arms were around you.

His arm was touching yours, but it wasn’t enough. Through your sick haze it was hard to stop yourself from doing what you actually craved, which was touching him. Every time he hugged you, you didn’t want him to pull away. Every time his arm brushed against yours or he placed a hand on the small of your back as he introduced you to a new acquaintance or business partner, you fantasized about being his. Him constantly reaching for your hand at events, giving you small kisses and flirting with each other over lunch in way too public spaces.

You didn’t know how to ask him to touch you. To hold you and make you feel safe again. You weren’t good at asking for things, things that you weren’t sure others wanted too. You only squeezed his arm, trying your best to look into his eyes again, but eventually your face went red and your eyes flicked to the wall. That was as bold as you could possibly get.

His eyes traveled down your body as he rolled on his side, wrapping his heavy arms around you as you settled into his muscled chest. In turn, you gave a contented sigh and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, your legs starting to tangle between each other. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked softly.

You took a break from nestling against his chest to look up at him and nod. “Y-Yeah. Is this okay?” You bit your lip.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” That silk voice again that you were trying to not read too much into. He pressed your head down softly, stroking your hair and placing a kiss on your forehead. “Just sleep now.”

#Tony stark x reader #Tony stark #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #Tony stark/reader #my fanfic

[ashecheeky]

Sneaking out with Yuji

Words: 1.1k

tw: Implications of depression 

a/n: not really angsty more fluffy then anything. Also let me know if I should make a pt. 2? I might anyway but still!

You’re the only first year that knows about Yuji being alive. You visit him in the small basement room that Gojo has left him in quite regularly. When you visit, you usually watch movies and sometimes play video games. You notice though that the only time he gets to leave is when he has to risk his life to fight curses or train with Gojo. 

You walk down the stairs one evening to find Yuji where he always is. He is lounging on the couch, hand resting on the cursed doll corpse (currently sleeping as Yuji pours cursed energy into it). You quietly walk over to try to glance at his face. His eyes look glazed over, his face devoid of emotion. For a moment you feel a nervousness bubble up within you. “Is he okay?” you thought to yourself. 

You step forward a bit more to get a better look but Yuji shoots up a glance at the approaching figure. He blinks once then his face beams when he recognizes who the figure is. 

“(Y/N)! I’m so glad your here!” He exclaims as he sits up quickly.

It’s as if every ounce of boredom and exhaustion drained from him the moment he laid eyes on you. 

The quick change in demeanor made you step back a bit but you quickly returned his infectious smile as a thought formed in your head.

“Hey Yuji, I have an idea” 

The pink haired boy tilted his head. “An idea?” 

“Yeah, why don’t we go somewhere tonight? Like maybe just a walk or something?” you asked. Your face warmed as his beaming face became even more bright. You loved seeing him like this, this is how he should look all of the time.

But as soon as the brightness shone, reality sunk in, and the boys face dropped a bit. A small smile still remained but it looked forced for your sake.

“(Y/N)...that sounds really fun, but Gojo said to stay here so no one finds out about my ‘being alive’ status”. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

For some reason a small spark of anger grew in the pit of your stomach. Not directed towards Yuji, but to his circumstance. How can Gojo expect a kid (because yes, even though he is the vessel of Sukuna, he is still a kid) to stay cooped up in this small room and do nothing for a month and a half? 

“Yeah that’s not going to work for me” you stated matter-of-factly.

He cocked his head to the side and had a confused look on his face. God, he was so cute. 

“What do you mean, (y/n)?” he questioned. 

“I mean I’m breaking you out of here!” as you made this proclamation you grabbed Yuji’s hand and started to pull on him, severely over estimating your own strength as he didn’t budge but kept your hand in his.

“Wai-Wait (y/n)! I really want to but-”

“Yeah, yeah Gojo said to play dead, I hear you, but this isn’t healthy!” You gesture at the scene and Yuji’s gaze followed your sweeping motion.

The room was dimly lit only by the small TV playing a long forgotten movie, snacks discarded on the floor, and an impression of Yuij’s body beginning to form on the old couch from consistent use.

Yuji’s face began to turn red as he realized the state of his temporary room. His free hand reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck (something you noticed he did when he felt shame). 

“Ah, sorry about the state of this place. I should’ve cleaned up a bit” he said sheepishly

“Yuuji” you squeezed his hand and moved closer “It’s okay, you’re in a situation that most 15 year-olds couldn’t even imagine being in. It’s okay to take a break and just be a kid” You smiled warmly “and besides, sneaking out is kind of like a milestone for us if I’m being honest”

Yuji’s face turned another shade of red when you got closer to him. Did he shower? Did he smell okay? Oh god did he brush his teeth this morning? All of these thoughts were flooding his head, but when he felt your warm hand squeeze his and he saw your smile, all he wanted to do was run away with you.

“All right” he took a breath “let’s do this (y/n)!” He said and his heart skipped a beat when you squealed with joy and clasped his hand in between both of yours.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about Yuji! There’s a clearing not too far from here and it’s secluded enough where no one should see you at this time of night.” Your face was beaming and Yuji felt his body getting warmer. This is okay right?

“Ah! We should get you a hood or something” you stated as you released Yuji’s hand. He fought back the urge to grab it again, feeling that it would be too much.

“I’ll be right back! I know Gojo has a black hoodie around here somewhere” you said as you started up the stairs. 

Yuji waited for your footsteps to fade before he ran to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. “God” he said to himself. He looked rough (in his eyes). He quickly brushed his teeth, put deodorant on, splashed his face with water, ruffled his hair, and rushed back to the couch when he heard your approaching footsteps. He quickly tried to calm his breathing as you trotted down the stairs.

“I found it!” you proudly proclaimed. You approached Yuji and you noticed a small bead of sweat on his forehead. Oh no was he feeling nervous about sneaking out? You hand him the oversized hoodie (it was Gojo’s comfort hoodie). You watched the boy put the hoodie on. His shirt slightly lifting up over his stomach and you quickly looked away, a small blush forming on your cheeks. “Th-There” you stated “now you’ve been officially disguised”

You tugged at the hoodie strings and made the hood smoosh against Yuji’s face. You giggled at his expression and the sound made Yuji’s ears turn just as red as he thought his face was. He was thankful that the hood was covering most of his face.

You reached out your hand “You ready?”

Any excuse or sense of nervousness was washed away as Yuji slowly reached forward and grasped your hand.

“Yeah” he said timidly and you gave him another warm smile and began to pull him forward. It was then when Yuji started to realize that he would go anywhere with you.

#yuji x you #yuji x y/n #yuji x reader #yuji fluff #itadori fluff #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji

[owlespresso]

Nhaza’a/Clandestine Comfort

With the Scions gone and the Garlean empire at your heels, you retreat to the temporary safety of the Thanalan wilds, only to find the comfort you’ve been seeking by chance. If you like what I do, consider supporting me via ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso

The pale moonlight touched the river's surface gently, its reflection full and hearty. You gazed down at it blankly, silently, legs gathered to your chest as your thoughts ran over recent events. Again, and again, and again. The sudden comas that sprouted up around you and afflicted your closest allies seemed to be a curse. What Garlean witch had cast such a terrible blight upon you? Had they finally figured out how to make use of the world's aether for the sole purpose of hurting you? It seemed as likely an explanation as any.

Thanalan's dry air was tinted with a gentle chill at night. The dried grass shuddered against the gentle breeze. The desert stretched out for miles around you. The only aetheryte in the region was a few minutes away, gleaming brilliantly in the distance though half obscured thanks to its subterranean position. 

You listened to the sounds of the wildlife around you, to whatever Hydaelyn had to offer to distract you from the awful matter at hand. 

However, it seemed she had a much different plan in mind for you tonight. The sound of boots against the hard soil made your eyes go wide and your body grow stiff. You whirled around, nerves alight with all the paranoia that's plagued them as of late.

"I don't remember you being this jumpy," Nhaza'a said, his artificial eye glowing faint in the soft darkness. The moon cast his hair in a silvery glow, lit his skin up a few shades. He looked perfectly at home in front of you, despite the way he dipped in and out of your life with no predictable pattern. Perhaps it was only right that he showed up now, when you were at your weakest. The universe had a tendency to stab you in the back like that.

"Well, you get like that when all your friends start dropping like flies for no damn reason." You deigned to not mention how you had actually been looking for him mere hours prior, desperate for the company of someone you could trust. How ironic. Nhaaz'a was far from what most people would consider "trustworthy", but he had yet to put a knife in your back and he actually seemed to enjoy your company. 

"So I've heard," he admitted, resting a hand on his cocked out hip. His posture was at ease, the typical, languid stance you had come to expect and associate him with. "My condolences for your loss... losses." He corrected himself, words blatant and tactless, but you found you didn’t care. What mattered was that he was here now. What mattered was that you needed him.

Bracing your hands atop the grassy patch you were sat upon, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs cried out in palpable relief, having been bunched up and bent for the better part of an hour. The joints popped, bones cracked in that strangely satisfying way as you lifted your arms above your head, stretching with a wide open yawn. You attempted to force some ease into your posture, chasing away the tension that had plagued you for the past few days. 

"How brazen," Nhaza'a murmured, voice suddenly much closer. One of your hands was promptly snatched as you lowered it, tugged roughly, suddenly. 

“Wha—!” you gasped. Your voice died in your throat as his plush lips brushed over the back of your hand.

“To this day I am still unsure what impresses me more. Your incredible, god-slaying power or your obliviousness to your own charm,” he commented dryly, thumb rolling a circle over your palm before he released it. Your hand dropped back to your side, sheepishness warming your cheeks as you struggled to regain your cogent thought. Just his closeness was enough to rattle you after everything that had happened. “But I believe you sought me out for more than mere flattery or condolences.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask?” you frowned and tilted your head, attempting to shake off your nerves. Nhaza’a had never been the most… compassionate of people, but you had desperately hoped he would be willing to keep you company. Anything to get your mind off your current troubles.

“Are you afraid I’ll disappear on you next?” he inquired, taking a small step closer. His paralyzed you with the sudden, surprising gentility of his gaze. It left you wide open for the strong arm that wrapped around your back and tugged you to his chest, his warmth reaching you even through the barrier of your garments. “You should know that won’t happen. You’re in too deep to get rid of me now.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple, before he nuzzled his cheek affectionately over the spot.

Despite his reassurances, the very suggestion was enough to send a jolt of pure terror down your spine. There was no way either of you could know for sure if he was safe. Only the Scions had been affected thus far, but who knew? Maybe this mysterious illness would latch onto anyone who you spent too much time with. Maybe all of your allies lapsing into sudden comas was your fault. The thought made your stomach turn, your world growing fuzzy and dark at its edges as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Because you can’t lose him, too. Not after Thancred, after Urianger, and Y’shtola, and they’re all leaving you one by one, dragged into the dark by an unseen, faceless force that you can’t find or fight or do anything about—

The soft sound of your name on his lips breached the chaotic wall of thought and grounded you. His hands slid to the sides of your midsection and gently squeezed, jolting you back into the here and the now, away from those horrendous thoughts.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” he said, and you provided no objections. “Do you feel up to returning to Ul’dah?” There was undoubtedly a building with a spare room close to the aetheryte, but you would much rather live in comfort wherever you find the chance to, so you nodded. The trip back to the grand city was made easier by your ability to finely tap into the lifestream and teleport. 

Before you knew it, you were standing before the grand, blue crystal as it hovers three fulms above the ground. It was a struggle to not get lost in its grand expanse, in the sea of blue that so deeply aligns with whatever strange gift Hyaedyln had bestowed upon you what feels like ages ago.

“Come back to me,” Nhaza’a beseeched, and you tore your gaze away from the looming crystal to look at him. You hadn’t even realized it, but he held one of your hands, grip firm and reassuring. His thumb rolled soothing little circles onto the back of it. “Your current state is much worse than I thought it would be,” he admitted with a small sigh. He wasn’t agitated, you realized after a moment of frantically inspecting him. Rather, his eyebrows seemed pinched together out of sheer concern. His expression was too soft to be frustrated. 

One of his hands reached up, fingers tenderly brushing against the apple of your cheek.

“ I will be damned if I let you rot away in your grief. Follow me.”

The trip from the aetheryte to an inn room was a blur for you. Ul’dah’s massive pillars and archways were an afterthought. You heeded the crowds no mind, simply followed your partner wherever he led you with newfound pliance.

When you entered the inn, you paid no mind to its inhabitants. You were well-known around these parts and as a result, folks were likely to stare, if they did they received no reply, no glare in return. Your gaze remained flat on the floor, despondent. You faintly remembered the journey up the lift, the twist of the key inside the door’s lock. Before you even realized it, you were standing in the middle of a luxurious room. The massive bed rested in the corner, nestled against two of the walls. 

“Well, let’s make ourselves at home,” Nhaza’a said, and a part of you was grateful that he’s giving you instructions. Like this, exhausted and away from your allies, you feel aimless, floating in an abyss without any given purpose. For what does winning the war matter when all of your closest friends have been whisked away from you by some malignant force? 

He said your name. Softly, prodding into the dry air of the room to reach you. It jolted you into motion, your limbs feeling heavy as you walked over to the door and removed your shoes, neatly placing them next to his. 

...He was already beginning to disrobe. Nimble fingers neatly undid his outerwear until he was left in a simple pair of trousers. You paused to roll your gaze up the stretch of his body, admiring the planes and slopes of his lean muscle. 

“You like what you see?” he inquired smugly, like he already knew your answer. Warmth touched your cheeks as you looked away, following his lead and discarding your light jacket, the sash around your waist. Your wallet and any other trinkets inside your pockets were tossed atop the nearby dresser, a slow and methodological process that kept your hands moving and your head focused. 

Only when you were finished did he speak again.

“Come here.” He lounged atop the mattress, back nestled against a pile of many pillows. He looked like he belonged there, looked like an emperor basking in the lap of luxury whilst waiting to be hand fed grapes by one of his many servants. The blankets had been pulled back to rest against the wall, allowing him to rest upon the sheets. His exposed eye gleamed expectantly. His sly smile drew you in. 

Wordlessly, you padded barefoot across the room and climbed atop the bed. As soon as you entered his radius, he grasped one of your wrists and gently tugged you forward. You followed his directing, climbed to rest your entire body atop of him. His warmth near cocooned you, one of his arms settling across your back whilst the other curled the blankets around your bodies. 

“There,” he said, sounding quite satisfied with himself. “Nice and cozy. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really,” you replied. You turned your head to the side to press a single, fluffy ear over his chest. The constant thrum of his heartbeat serves to soothe you, tense muscles relaxing until you’re at last lim laptop of him. “...A little bit.” He’s alive. He’s alive and his beating heart lets you know that you’re not deluding yourself, not trying to cling onto your last bit of sanity by dreaming up this scenario. 

He started to rub your back in smooth circles, and the slight pressure there is welcome.

“You’re terrified,” he remarked, and you could not help but think back to when you were enemies. When he delighted in working you up and crossing blades. Was he longing for that version of you, again? Did he want the you who could get up no matter the severity of your injuries and keep fighting? Did he want the adrenaline rush of combat? Did he want your defenses to be impenetrable no matter the hardships that wracked you?

“Are you disappointed?” you asked, despite your fear of his answer.

“No. I’m concerned,” he clarified. You sighed against his chest. “The pattern of those afflicted thus far is clear. It only affects your fellow Scions. And I… could not be further from a Scion.” When you glanced up at him, his lips curled into a wry smirk. He was all too aware of how your comrades viewed him.

“But they’re also my friends,” you pointed out. “They’re not just coworkers, Nhaza’a.”

“And you fear that it could spread to me, since we are also… closer than coworkers,” Nhaza’a’s amused tone of voice dipped into something softer, something more serious. He gave a low, thoughtful hum, as though sifting through potential reasons why you shouldn’t worry. “Even if there is no telling who will vanish next, I am likely safe from harm due to not being a Scion. Believe me.” Long fingers combed through your hair, silencing you as you opened your mouth to argue. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he inquired, and you almost wanted to scold him for changing the subject. You stayed quiet instead, because he had a point. The pattern given to you thus far left no room for non-Scions to be affected by the mysterious ailment. For now, at the very least, he was most likely safe.

You decided to believe it, if only for your own sanity.

“Uhh,” you swallowed as you struggled to find an adequate answer.

“If it takes you that long to find the answer, then the answer is ‘too long ago’,” he stated. “Get some rest, my dear.”

“I don’t want to,” you groused back, feeling like a scolded child. Your pride lightly stung, the stubborn side of you insisting that Warrior of Light did not have a bedtime. 

“And why ever not? You will need your rest if you are to win the war for these paltry city states. You don’t want to let them down, right?” His voice carried with it a light taunt, his dislike for the states that employed your services all too prominent.

“...I’ll sleep if you promise to be here when I wake up.” you stared defiantly up at him, perhaps the most firm you have been all night. If you awaken to an empty bed, you’ll likely lose your mind, afraid that he too has been taken. 

“You think I would leave you? Perish the thought.” Nhaza’a scoffed, as though he hadn’t been gone the next morning after several of your midnight trysts. It had taken you three months to get him to stay with you, certainly a rocky phase in your relationship as you struggled to adjust to each other. “I will be here when you awaken, my lovely. You have my word.”

It didn’t soothe you completely, nothing could at this point. But his presence alongside the steady thrum of his heart helped soothe your cacophony of fearful and negative thoughts. You didn’t know what you would do if you lost him as well, but there truly was no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet… or something that likely might not happen at all. 

You shut your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days leech at your limbs. Your mind swam briefly in the void between slumber and wakefulness, desperate to stay conscious of his body, desperate to know he was at your side until you lapsed completely into sleep. The slow, warm caress of his hand atop your back was all you needed to lull you into soft unconsciousness. Dreams of his velvety voice replaced the horrible nightmares.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #nhaza'a #nhaza'a jaab #imagine ffxiv #imagine final fantasy xiv

[renxzs]

Redamancy

Redamancy (n): the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Roommate AU - Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know.

Warnings / Tags: sexual themes, mutual pinning, angst, cursing, fluff

Word Count: 7,305

A/N: Thank you so much to @marvelfulxbabes for hosting this writing challenge (and for being so gracious in giving me an extension)!! I really hope you like this! :) Also, I wanted to thank @xetoilerouge​ for her unyielding kindness and willingness to toss around plot ideas with me when I was hitting a wall. You're the best!! And last, but certainly not least, I want to give a huge thank you to my A1 since day one on here, @interabangs​, for essentially being my beta, sounding board, and biggest cheerleader all wrapped up in one when this fic was being...difficult. 💚

You stare blankly at the ceiling above you, having been awake long enough for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lifting the phone that was settled facedown on your chest, you squint blearily at the time. 2:17am. An indignant sigh heaves from your lips and a scowl is etched into your features.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The steady tempo of the sound--wood frame meeting drywall--grows erratic and increases in speed.

There is a deep, sick churning in the pit of your stomach and your breaths are unsteady. You swallow thickly against the growing lump in the back of your throat. Teeth bite into your bottom lip painfully as a wave of emotions clamor and claw their way up through your chest, demanding to be felt, released--the onslaught nearly suffocating.

Heartache sits heavily in your chest, and it takes a little more effort than usual to shove it back in its box--to compartmentalize it--before the ache can further blossom and seep; throb within your bones, prick and tingle in the tips of your limbs.

Eyes squeeze shut as the hot sting of tears threaten to fall. You roughly press the heel of your palms against your eyes in frustration. A deep breath is dragged in through the small parting of your lips in an attempt to steady your heart and clear your head. You were being foolish. He wasn't yours to cry over. He wasn't yours, period.

And that’s where the problem lies within the glaring truth of the situation: Bucky isn't yours.

He was free to bring home whatever willing woman he happened across while out with Sam and Steve. And tonight he did just that.

You shift under the covers and curl up on your side, placing your phone facedown on the nightstand with a pathetic inward groan. It wasn’t often, with everyone’s busy schedules, that the whole group managed to get together to go out for a night. However, tonight was one of those nights, and guilt had filled you when you chose to pass on seeing your friends--

A low muffled groan sounds through the wall and your features consequently pinch up as a momentary pang throbs in your chest once more and tears prick at the back of your eyes.

--but this was exactly what you were trying to avoid. Yet here you are, near 2:30am, wide awake and alone; pitifully miserable, and being taunted by the sounds of the man your heart ached for fucking someone else. A knife to the heart, really.

You hunker further into the soft plushness of bedding, seeking any form of comfort you can latch onto. Fingers tug at the edges of the duvet to pull it around yourself tightly to block out the cool air of the room and everything else outside the four walls of your bedroom.

You let out a heavy breath. Yes, you felt guilty turning down the boys’ offer earlier that day, choosing to stay home instead. A barely-there smile touches your lips briefly, thinking how Sam and Bucky always mercilessly poked fun at one another--albeit, lovingly--and how you and Steve were always smirking over beer glasses at their antics, eventually shifting your conversation to how things were progressing between him and Peggy or whatever else was going on in your lives at the moment.

The soft half-smile on your lips slowly melts back into an impassive line. By the end of the night though, you knew the inevitable was bound to happen; it usually played out the same. Bucky's attention would be pulled by a pair of flirty batted eyelashes, roaming hands that were as bold as the stifling perfume she would be wearing, and full lips that were glossed to the max.

You would then find yourself crammed in the backseat of a cab with Bucky and his conquest of the night, fighting back bile, the alcohol in your stomach suddenly feeling as bitter as the taste on your tongue at the sight of her hand inching higher and higher up his thigh. That, or you would cooly play it off that you weren't ready to turn in for the night just to avoid a shared cab ride home with Bucky and whatever girl was latched onto his arm, even though, in all honestly, you were exhausted as fuck and wanted nothing more than to be curled up in your bed.

In the case of the latter scenario, Sam and Steve never failed to look at you with the saddest eyes, though warm smiles still played on their lips--an effort to mask the utter pity they most likely felt for you--when you sat slumped at the bar just a little longer to wait out Bucky’s evening romp back at the apartment. Gracious as always, the boys never pushed you to talk about it; for that, you were grateful. Nothing like discussing how pathetically in love you were with your best friend to two of your other shared best friends.

Unwilling to stomach either scenario, you had politely turned down tonight's invite out, claiming you needed a quiet evening in after a week from hell at work. Mentions of understanding and oversized hugs soon followed, then Sam and Steve were out the front door. With a parting kiss to the forehead and a chuckled “don't have too much fun, doll,” Bucky was gone, too, a moment later.

In all honesty, the quiet night in actually ended up being just what you needed, having enjoyed two glasses of red as some cliche Netflix rom-com played in the background. The sweet hazelnut cream scent of your favorite candles had filled your bedroom as they burned, and the flickering firelight danced on the walls of your dimmed bedroom. Between lightheartedly scoffing at the cheesy movie playing on the TV and firing off sarcastic texts to Nat about the laughable state of your own love life, your spirits seemed to have gradually lifted.

Slowly you had nodded off, mind and heart at peace for a short while. Living with your best friend has proven to be far more difficult than you initially anticipated--far more emotionally taxing. Sure, you didn’t expect it to always be perfect, but you also didn’t expect to feel this exhausted as often as you did.

The heart could only take so much unrequited love before it was sure to shrivel up, grey and dark, and dust away to nothing more, starved of a love it so desperately yearned for.

The sharp sound of a bedroom door being kicked shut had jolted you awake, ripping you from the warmth of temporary peace. Groggily blinking the sleep from your eyes, you were only disoriented for a moment before the familiar low muffled tones of Bucky’s voice could be heard through the shared wall of your bedrooms. Your heart had plummeted as the reality of the situation sunk in; and another shriveled up piece began to crumble away.

The now deafening silence of the apartment pulls you from the inner thoughts you had fallen deep into. It was finally quiet again, your personal hell having ended for the night. A relieved sigh falls from your lips and your eyes droop heavily with an exhaustion you can feel in your bones before you are once again pulled into a dreamless sleep.

***

You are in a particularly foul mood this morning as you sit perched on a stool at the kitchen bar. Your shoulders slump forward while you stare unseeingly into the steaming mug of coffee nestled between your hands. Bucky takes notice of your sour demeanor, eyes continually falling back to you, gaze swimming with concern as he flips another pancake.

Already having shut down his attempts at conversation, silence falls between the two of you save the spatula scraping against the hot skillet. You slowly bring the mug up to your lips and take a long sip, allowing the liquid to spread and warm you; praying the caffeine will kick in soon and give you the needed energy to make it through this day.

A throat clears next to you and your eyes slide to the right to take in Bucky standing close by. He has on your favorite pair of black sweatpants that hang on his hips just right and a grey cotton tee that is a size too small but he always insists on wearing. Of course, you never complain. Gah--damn him! Why does he have to look so effortlessly good in the morning? Especially when you’re trying to be pissed at him.

Eyes tear away from his chest and your gaze falls to the plate in his hand that is stacked full of chocolate chip pancakes. He clears his throat once more, perhaps a bit nervously, pulling your attention up to his face, which is painted with an apprehensive grin.

He sets the plate down in front of you. “Made your favorite.”

The sweet smell of melted chocolate chips wafts in the air and makes your mouth water. A finger twitches against the hot ceramic encased by your hands as you fight the urge to reach for the plate. Bucky makes the best pancakes and he knows they’re your favorite. But you’re not ready to give in to his charm just yet, so all you offer in response is a quirked brow as you quietly eye the plate in front of you before flickering your gaze back to him.

He drops heavily onto the stool next to you and drags a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his apology. Bucky turns on the stool to better face you.

“I woke up feeling awful this morning, realizing how loud we must‘a been coming in last night.” He shook his head softly before racking a hand through his unruly chestnut locks. He dips his chin before peeking up, icy blue eyes catching yours as he smiles at you sheepishly. “I, uh, had a bit more to drink than I should’ve with the guys. You know how I get...” he says with a low chuckle.

You bite your lip as your eyes fall back to the cooling coffee in front of you. Bucky is quick to speak again. “Not that it makes it okay! I just-- I’m sorry, doll. I’m a shit roommate and a shit best friend--”

“You are not a shit best friend, Buck,” you finally say. Sure, he’s unknowingly stomped your heart into the ground repeatedly, but that doesn’t make him a bad friend. It just makes him clueless and you a coward for never saying anything. You huff a sigh as your resolve begins to crumble. “Your roommate etiquette still has room for improvement though...” a slow smirk tugs on your lips.

Bucky instantly breaks into a grin and nods as the tension melts away from his frame, relieved to get the white flag of truce from you. “I couldn’t agree more. Promise I’ll do better, doll. Cross my heart and all.”

You hum in acknowledgement while pulling the plate of pancakes in front of you. “Now give me a fork before these get cold.”

Bucky tips his head back with a hearty laugh as he stands on the rung of his stool and reaches across the bar top to snag two forks out of the utensil drawer. He loves how much you enjoy his cooking, especially how open you are about it. He watches with a soft smile as you drizzle syrup across the fluffy stack of sweet goodness, always careful to keep the stickiness contained to your plate.

You cut through the stack of pancakes and bring a forkful to your mouth. A blissful moan rumbles behind your lips as you chew happily.

“Good?”

“The best,” you say vehemently as you cut off another bite then push the plate towards Bucky to share.

He picks up his own fork and plucks up a piece of pancake from the plate. His eyes linger momentarily on your lips as you happily chew another bite. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple before joining in on the sugary breakfast.

“Good.”

***

The rest of breakfast proceeds like any other day, it being easy to fall back into the step of your friendship. Bucky recounted in the utmost explicit detail how Sam had a few too many drinks the night before and somehow got his hands on the karaoke microphone. You were almost sorry you missed such a sight, but your ears had been spared without a doubt. Sam has many great qualities: a kind heart, a great smile, a healthy dose of snark to his sense of humor… but a pleasant singing voice is not one of them.

The time spent with Bucky gradually lightens your mood, the morning’s sourness nearly forgotten. Your laughter trills throughout the kitchen space and your side aches in the best way. A goofy smile adorns his lips, eyes crinkled in the corners. His gaze never strays from you. Unwelcome flutters dance in your belly and your eyes fall to the faux granite island top, unable to withstand the heat of his gaze any longer. Teeth drag across your bottom lip as you slip off the barstool and gather up the dirty dishes and cooking utensils that litter the counter and stove.

Bucky remains seated as his eyes shamelessly follow your movements in the small kitchen space. Lips settle into a soft smile as you get lost in thought while completing your task. Minutes pass before Bucky slinks up next to you, arms casually crossed over his chest and lower back leaned against the counter in a comfortable silence. You are elbow deep in suds, scrubbing clean the last of the dishes as you fulfill a previously established agreement: whoever cooks is excused from dish duty. Pushing the sink handle up with the top of your wrist, a steady stream begins to flow out the nozzle again. You quietly rinse the final dish, shake the excess water from it, and place it in the drying rack to your right. Bucky snags a clean towel and tosses it to you to dry your hands with. You offer a smile of gratitude as you make your way over to wipe down the island.

“So,” he draws out, “you wanna veg out with me today and watch some god-awful movies?” You don’t have to look up to see the knowing smile etched on his face and the inevitable wiggle of his brows as he tries to peak your interest.

A smile creeps onto your lips. Hunkering down on the couch with Bucky, surrounded by too many snacks and laughing at cheesy movies sounds like the perfect Saturday in all honesty. Movie binging sessions always led to getting real cozy with one another, though; his fingers absentmindedly smoothing through the ends of your hair and you snuggled up against him.

Your teeth bite into the plumpness of your bottom lip, mulling over his offer. You slowly pad over to the trashcan and shake crumbs out from the rag you had just wiped the counters down with, stalling to produce an answer.

The thought of turning down his offer sends a pang through you, chest hollow and yearning for your best friend. Lounging around together without a care, talking about everything and nothing, simply enjoying one another’s company--you’ve not gotten that type of quality time with one another in so long, and you miss it terribly. However, simultaneously, your heart aches deeply, yearning for Bucky. The kind of ache that blossoms from an unrequited love; debilitating and doubling over with loss of something that was never yours to begin with. It swallows you into empty, lonely nothing.

Movements slow and deliberate, you hang the towel on the oven handle with your back to Bucky. He must sense your hesitance and your stomach is sinking, decision already made.

You can’t.

Your heart cannot withstand enduring a day holed up on the couch with him, falling prey to the illusion that maybe, just maybe, you and Bucky could have more than friendship. Not while the freshly torn-open wounds of your heart are still exposed and weeping from the previous night. No, you needed time to yourself for healing; to regenerate and mend, to sew the tender and frayed pieces of yourself back together once more--a little less perfect each time, a little less whole. But no longer would you be in pieces, and sometimes that is as good as it can get.

You clear your throat, aware your silence has stretched on a bit too long. Body now facing him, you force your eyes to slowly crawl up the length of Bucky’s body until you finally meet his gaze. Lips gently tug up at the corners to offer him a small smile--anything to soften your decline of his offer--and shake your head. “Sorry, Buck, but I uh- I really need today to finish that project for work or Tony is going to have my ass.” That wasn’t exactly a lie.

That natural glow and energy to Bucky dims momentarily as his features falter--the curve of his smile begins to fall into a line; the crinkles in the corners of his eyes fade away; a little ridge forms between his brows that you fight to not smooth away with your thumb; the light dulls in those icy blues. Another beat later and Bucky snaps back, natural glow and energy seemingly intact. You blink, wondering if you had simply imagined his momentary disappointment.

Bucky pushes off the counter’s edge and saunters forward to lean across the island top on his elbows, that enticing sparkle in his eye and lilt in his tone in a sure attempt to get you to buckle, “Awwh, c’mon, doll. Please? When’s the last time we’ve made fun of bad movies together?”

You fidget with your hands and shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with yourself, desperately just wanting out of this situation and to seek the shelter your room was sure to provide. You offer a halfhearted shrug, a rueful smile playing on your lips. “I’ll have to take a raincheck this time, Buck.”

The fall of his features cannot be mistaken this time, and guilt swirls low in your belly at the sight. He straightens his posture, gaze boring into you, uncertain, studying you. “Did I...do something?”

Words tumble from your mouth a little too quickly and you curse yourself for it, “No, not at all.” A tight smile back on your lips.

Bucky’s gaze steadily follows as you move closer to the archway leading out of the kitchen and further away from him. “Yea, okay.” He clears his throat and throws a thumb in the direction of the living room. “I’ll uh- I’ll be out here watching movies if you change your mind.”

You nod before taking the final step out of the kitchen. Your feet carry you across the small apartment to the safety of your bedroom, resting your back against the door once it’s securely closed. A physical representation of the feeling of separation between you and Bucky at that moment. A long, shaky breath dispels from deep within your lungs. With a soft thump, your head lolls back against the wood of the door and your eyes fall shut.

As wrong as it feels, this is the right thing to do for you. At least that is what you’ll keep telling yourself.

***

The week passes by uneventfully and you go about your days as normal as possible. The work project Tony expected from you was very real and served as a sufficient distraction from the awkward dance your personal life was turning into. Interactions with Bucky have been sparse, which has only deepened the growing sense of separation and distance between the two of you. His gaze lingers on you longer whenever you emerge from the sanctuary of your room to retrieve some type of sustenance or to leave for errands or work. You feel it, his gaze, burning into your back and simmering through your veins while you lousily attempt to be inconspicuous; feel the unasked questions that hang thickly in the air around you.

Did I do something wrong?

Are you okay?

Are we okay?

It’s heavy. Not as heavy as the guilt sinking in your gut, though. Hurting him or making him feel bad isn’t your intention. You just needed some space, a little time. Thought maybe that was the answer, the magic remedy to the perpetual pinning rooted deep in your chest, thorny vines entwined tightly and intricately around every major artery, snaking down into your bones.

Time heals everything--isn’t that what they always say? Maybe it’s a bunch of bullshit.

Because you sure as hell don’t feel healed.

The rumble of heavy glass drags across the wood shelf of a cabinet as you strain to pull down a bottle of bourbon. If anything, time be damned, the smooth burn of a good liquor and the blanket of numbness it so graciously provides to cozy up in never fails to do the trick. For a little while at least.  

A small grunt sounds in the back of your throat as both feet securely plant to the floor again, large bottle in hand. Success. Retrieving a drinking glass proves to be a much easier task. Fingers deftly uncap the bottle and you pour two fingers worth of the amber liquid into your glass, hastily tossing it back a moment later. The burn is familiar, comforting. Something to focus your attention on. Without a thought, the glass is replenished.

Chest expands as you drag in a deep breath, eyes drifting close momentarily, before air rushes out past your lips. If only you could push the sadness out just as easily. Glass and bottle in hand, you trudge towards the living room, not bothering to flip on any of the lighting fixtures strategically placed around your living space. Lamps you and Bucky dedicated an entire afternoon one weekend picking out together. He had insisted on taking you shopping to find trinkets and whatever other overlooked treasures waiting to be discovered, as he had proclaimed, to decorate your newly shared apartment with. He wanted to ensure it felt like your place, too.

Why does he always have to be so good?

You drop unceremoniously to the couch with a long sigh, practically tortured, entirely pathetic. The bottle clanks as it meets the coffee table, still within reach. You bring the drinking glass to your lips and swallow down a generous glup, pondering why you even bothered with a glass to begin with.

Living with Bucky wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Though, you weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting. Loving a best friend who only views you as just that--a best friend--is exhausting, excruciating, maddening.

To cut that part of your heart out and be free of everything that has weighed you down, placed unintentional strains on your friendship with Bucky over the last several months; to no longer have words of admittance and truth die on your tongue, far too scared to express them, leaving behind bitter taste… how freeing that could be.

But you are a coward. Too scared to share your feelings with Bucky. The glass finds its way to your lips once more and you drain it of its contents. You reach for the bottle on the coffee table, movements beginning to feel a little lighter and your face a bit flushed--both tell signs of the bourbon coursing through you.

Amber liquid splashes into the glass, sloshing against the edges; trapped--just like you felt in this less than ideal situation.

You knock back the entire contents of the glass once more, eyes tightly squeezed shut and a small grimace in your features. Tongue heavy, darts out across your bottom lip to catch a stray droplet and then you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand for good measure. Thoughts are clearing and fuzzing at the edges all at once, and your body pricks with the slightest tingles just beneath the skin’s surface.

Eyes flicker around the dim room that is littered with evidence of your friendship with Bucky. Pictures decorate the walls and bookshelf, some with just the two of you, others with your friends and families. Always side-by-side in each, nonetheless. Head lolling to the side, your gaze settles on the empty cushion next to you. Well, not so much anymore.

A heavy breath heaves through your nose and your eyes avert from the reminder that you are sitting alone--by your own doing--drinking away your sorrows, which is not doing the trick this time around. What a fabulous Friday night.

You groan internally before reaching for the bottle once more. Topaz liquid pours and swirls into the glass and for a second you get lost in the motion of it, your brain desperately grabbing on to anything in its inebriated state that could pull your thoughts back to Bucky and the pretty gold flecks that mix in with the deep azure blue of his eyes when sunlight hits them just right.

You slump back against the couch with your glass in hand, idly wondering what Bucky was doing at the moment. Drinking himself, sure, but surrounded by the laughter of friends and too loud music, the smell of stale smoke, and whatever else a bar inhabits. You could be there, too, enjoying a night out with friends. God knows you could use it instead of sulking around at home, drowning in lonely solitude and whatever liquor that happens to be sitting closest on the shelf. Your nose wrinkles at the thought, sounding like a sad drunk.

Your head falls back to rest against the plush cushion and eyes drift close as a finger slowly traces the rim of the glass in your hand. Quiet solitude--albeit lonely and a beacon for all unwanted thoughts of Bucky and the many reasons you can’t have him--is better than witnessing first-hand Bucky on the prowl.

Muffled voices, laughter and the clanking of keys down the hall outside your front door pull you from your thoughts. Your stomach plummets immediately, a rush of nausea and nerves shooting through you. Mind foggy with alcohol slows your reflexive thinking; you take too long deciding if you should take cover in the safety of your bedroom before whatever awaits on the other side of the front door comes barreling in.

Keys clank against the door and the metallic shifting within the lock tells you it's too late, and suddenly tinny giggles fill the room, piercing through the comfort bubble of your home. Muscles seize up with an intermixing of tension and dread while your skin pricks from the direct proximity of Bucky and the giddy blonde hanging off his arm.

A crease of concern is pinched between Bucky’s eyebrows when he notices you slumped on the couch, only the soft glow of the bulbed lights strung above the balcony coming in through the sliding glass door illuminates the room. Your fingers are wrapped around a glass that rests against your leg. Bucky's eyes travel from the glass to the bottle of bourbon sitting on the coffee table in front of you and quirks a brow in question.

You faintly hear Bucky murmur something to his lay of the night before ushering her down the short hall, towards his bedroom you presume.

A moment later, the couch dips next to you under Bucky's weight.

“Doll, you okay?” His voice hesitant, laced with evident concern.

Shoulders lift to a noncommittal half-shrug and you mumble an “I’m fine” before raising the glass to your lips. The burn of the liquid down your throat gives you something to focus on rather than the man next to you and how fucking good he smells or the warmth radiating from his close proximity.

Bucky says your name pointedly. The man knows you far too well for your own good, able to easily parse through your flimsy attempt at reassurance. So desperately, time after time, you've tried to feed yourself that same lie, that you're fine.

But you aren’t fine, and saying so never convinced you to believe it. So how did you expect Bucky to?

“Clearly you’re not fine,” he says as his eyes fall to the nearly empty glass in your hand. He reaches out slowly and gingerly pulls the glass from your grasp. After placing it onto the coffee table he settles back next to you. “C’mon, talk to me.”

You nod your head towards the hall. “She's waiting,” barely able to bite back the bitterness in your tone.

“And she can continue to wait. You're more important, doll.” He shifts closer and the smell of him overwhelms your senses--notes of vanilla and cedar, and a hint of whiskey on his breath.

Bucky’s thumb softly drags over the warm skin atop your hand. Slowly--against your better judgement--your eyes begin to slide shut, heavy with the exhaustion of putting on a facade for so long, of trying to convince yourself that being just friends wasn't slowly chipping away at you; sleep deprived from the nights heartache disguised itself as insomnia. His gentle touches lure you into a false sense of comfort. Just for a moment it's you and him.

A soft sigh escapes your lips and you revel in the quiet shared between the two of you. You miss this, miss him. You’re nearly lost in the illusion of it all before sounds of someone fumbling around in the next room--Bucky's room--rips you back to the present, your eyes snapping open at the whiny muffled call of his name.

Bucky senses the shift in you but doesn’t react quick enough, your hand already snatched from him before he can grab on to you. In a blur you are on your feet, putting the coffee table between the two of you. You ignore his outstretched hand and take a few seconds to steady yourself, to wade through the fuzzy haze of your head. The bourbon coursing through you had the room turning and you feeling overly warm... maybe the latter had less to do with the amber liquid and more so with the fact that the man you were in love with has a woman waiting in his room who wasn't you.

The thought is pushed away with a subtle shake of the head, your nails dragging across your scalp as you rack a hand through your hair. You vaguely register your name being called after you, Bucky’s voice sounding dejected. But your heart hurt and you were dejected, and you needed this moment to just feel it, to let the ache consume you and seep deep. There was no more energy left in you to fight it tonight, and maybe if you didn't you would have enough strength come tomorrow morning to shove all back down and secure it shut with a soft smile.

So, even though every inch of your body screams with each step you take down the hall, further away from Bucky sounding so sad--instincts wanting to kick in and be the consoling best friend once more--your fingers numbly push open your bedroom door and then close again behind you.

Peeling back the comforter, you ease into bed, body heavy and not feeling like your own. The warmth of the liquor sloshes low in your belly and your eyes ache as you curl onto your side and stare at nothing.

Muffled sounds through the door fill the quiet. You can’t make out the words being exchanged and you don't try to. Hot tears, one after another, silently roll down the slope of your nose and side of your face into the cotton of your pillow. You let out a shaky breath at the sound of a door latching. Fingers curled in the soft blanket, you pull it tighter and burrow further into the plush materials encasing you, seeking out whatever comfort you can latch onto.

The apartment falls quiet save for soft sniffles. A few moments pass before a light knock sounds against your bedroom door and it creaks open. The gentle call of your name cuts through the silence. The sound of Bucky’s voice, low and gentle, inexplicably causes your nose to burn with a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall at any moment. Your lower lip wobbles with barely contained emotion, and you sink your teeth into it in an attempt to steady yourself; ease your heart.

Feet pad softly to the side of the bed, and the mattress groans at the shift in weight as Bucky eases in next to you.

His weight and warmth simultaneously ground you and throw your emotions into overdrive. He is here; chose to be with you over whatever plans awaited him in his bedroom. Gratitude and love awash you, seeping into the deep cracks of your wounded heart. When you most need your best friend he is here, and you are so grateful. A soft whimper slips out despite your efforts and a choked cry escapes your trembling lips.

“Oh, doll.” Bucky’s voice is one of a broken man, heart clenching at the sight of you. He gathers you up in his arms and holds on tightly, a silent promise to never let go. Sobs rack through your chest--the kind that make it hard to breathe--while the soft cotton of his tee crumples under the white-knuckle grip of your fist and hot salty tears soak between your fingers into his shirt.

Bucky presses a kiss to your head, murmuring into your hair, “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He rubs slow, soothing circles into your back. Your whole body shakes beneath his touch as it works to dispel everything you’ve kept pent up inside--pain, heartache, guilt, self-doubt. No longer having the energy to put up a fight, you allow it to happen--let the facade of fine crumble and fall apart in a heaping weepy mess--because Bucky’s arms are warm, strong, and wrapped tightly around you and he’s whispering that he’s got you, that everything will be okay, over and over again. A mantra of a promise that things will be better than in this moment, and maybe they will.

***

You drag in a breath, eyes flickering against the pale light of dawn peeking through the slit of curtains that were not quite pulled all the way shut the night before. There is a dull throbbing in your head and behind your eyes. You groan inward, regretting the decision to drown your sorrows in bourbon and nuzzle closer into the solid warmth in front of you. The familiar mingling mixture of vanilla and cedar infiltrates and seeps deep within your chest, luring you back to the surface of consciousness and away from the depths of dreamless sleep.

Bucky senses your stirring and pulls back just enough to catch a glimpse of your face. His eyes are tired and swimming with concern as they flicker across your face. Your gaze falls to his chest as embarrassment over last night’s episode begins to creep up within you, unable to look him in the eyes. Blood rushes to your cheeks while fingers fidget with the cotton of his shirt and teeth worry at your lower lip. Your tongue feels thick, unsure of what to say. Aching eyes fall shut, heavy, puffy, and red rimmed, you’re sure.

“Hey…” Bucky gently ghosts a thumb across your cheekbone. He ducks his head a little to catch your gaze and your eyes slowly lift to meet his. “What happened?” The timbre of his voice low as he speaks softly, “What had you so upset?”

Earnest concern for you is evident in his tone, etched into his features--it makes your chest tighten. You’re shocked when a fresh wave of unshed tears sting at the back of your eyes, certain you had cried yourself dry through the night. Blinking tears back to clear your vision, you softly shake your head. The facade fractured and exhausting to maintain, you couldn’t do it anymore, energy depleted.

“I- I couldn’t do it anymore,” you finally said, vocalizing your thoughts.

Bucky shifts closer if that’s even possible and his intense gaze that bores through you makes you nervous, like you’re being watched closely under a microscope. His eyebrow twitches in a way that tells you he still doesn’t understand. “Do what anymore?” he breathes out, kind eyes searching yours.

You don't realize a tear has slipped free until Bucky’s thumb drags softly against your cheek to wipe it away. His lips curve downward into a frown and the worry lines in his face prominent, sorrowful. Silence looms between you as he patiently waits for your answer.

A shaky breath is dragged in through parted lips as you work up the nerve to speak the words that have been dying on the tip of your tongue for months now. “I couldn’t watch you bring home another girl… listen to you be--” You swallow hard against the lump in your throat and shake your head, “I just couldn’t do it again.”

Bucky’s brows scrunch together in confusion as he parses through your words. Your name is a gentle utterance from his lips and your watery gaze lifts to meet his once more. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek again and wipes away hot tears that have spilled over. “I don’t--” brows still knit together, he slowly shakes his head.

Burgeoning heartbeats thrum in your chest and pulse in your ears, hands clammy from nerves; your grip tightens around the soft cotton of his tee. “I love you, Bucky.” Your voice is soft, low with reservation of how he may react--but sure; so sure of your feelings for him. “I’m in love with you.”

Eyes widen and his mouth slackens with shock at your admittance, thumb stilling its soothing motion against your cheekbone. Breath is caught in your throat and you anxiously await for any type of response from him aside from the stunned, gaping look his features are contorted in. Your heart sinks further than you thought possible with the prolonged silence hanging heavy between you, and you begin to shift back away from Bucky, away from the creeping humiliation and rejection.

Bucky doesn’t allow for you to move away, his arm underneath you curling up to settle against your back and the other hand still gently cupping the side of your face. Dusky pink lips curl into a slow smile and eyes sparkle with rejuvenated light. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and you attempt to decipher Bucky’s response. Does he think this is a joke? Is the mere idea of you being in love with him that laughable?

An incredulous chuckle, breathy and low, pulls you from your inner thoughts to see Bucky shaking his head. “Oh, doll…” Your heart swells with the unmistakable adoration in his eyes and it fills you with a warmth that allows you to take a steadying breath. Your heart dares to beat with newly ignited hope. Bucky’s eyes dance over your face as if he’s committing every detail of this moment to memory, deep azure eyes and honey gold flecks so pretty in the morning light. His hand smooths down your neck to allow his thumb to brush across your barely parted lips. “I’m in love with you.”

The onslaught of emotion burns through you, simultaneously overwhelming and absolutely wonderful. Tears well in your eyes once more but you can’t bring yourself to care because for once they’re happy tears; elation tears, even. Throat tight with so much you want to say, all you can manage is to choke out a wet laugh. A shaky hand reaches up and your fingers ghost over the dark scruff along his cheekbone and down his jaw. “You love me?”

Bucky’s grin is blinding as he nods ardently. His hand runs down the slope of your neck up to your shoulder, traveling across your extended arm to gently grasp your hand in his. Gingerly he places kisses against your fingertips, murmuring against them. “I love you.”

He shifts closer to you and the rustle of your crumpled bed sheets fills the room. You feel your heartbeat pick up and you’re sure he can feel it, too, with chests pressed so closely together. Bucky’s forehead rests against yours and his eyes fall shut momentarily.

“I’m so sorry,” voice barely above a whisper. You feel the slight shake of his head and he slowly trails a large hand up the column of your neck and rests beneath the jawline. He absentmindedly runs a thumb along the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear in a soothing caress. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t’ve--” his fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair. “I hurt you so many times… I just-- I didn’t think you felt the same, so I did--” he huffed an indignant sigh. “I was so stupid. Doll, I didn’t--”

You press your lips to his and he’s stunned only for a moment before his lips move gently against yours in response, all soft and pliant.

“I know,” you murmur against his lips, breaking the kiss. Hot breath fans across your skin sending a shiver straight down your spine. Fingers reach out to card through his sleep mussed locks. His scent, his warmth, his love--all encompassing and comforting--it has you on a dizzying high. Nose bumps against his and you tilt your head up to capture his lips once more.

Soft moans pass between lips and Bucky gently eases you onto your back and moves to hover over you, never breaking the kiss, bodies touching in more places than not; you keen at the weight of him pressed against you. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you eagerly part them to welcome him in, tongue dancing against yours, deepening the kiss. And god was it a good kiss--the best kiss. The kind that unfurls in your stomach and curls in your toes.

So much warmth floods through you, overflows and seeps into every broken crevice that’s splintered over the past months, beginning the mending of your dilapidated heart. Nourishing it with his touch, the press of his lips, his requited love. You can’t help but smile at the thought, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. He leans back to better look at you, putting his weight on the forearm settled next to your head. A giddy smile has taken over his features that mirrors the one on your own lips.

“What?” tone mirthful and light.

Your smile stretches wider, “All this time--” your head shakes in disbelief, “...we are idiots.”

Bucky breathes out a hearty chuckle and wraps his arms around you tightly as he falls back against the mattress, bringing you with him. “Well, as long as we’re idiots together.”

You hum in agreement as you curl against his chest with your face nuzzled into his neck, relishing in the scratch of his scruff on your soft skin. Long fingers run through the ends of your hair and mindlessly massage into your scalp, and your heart aches once more; such a beautiful, good ache at the familiarity of his touch, the safety and comfort it brings.

You revel in his closeness--to have him solid and warm and real beneath you; the newfound freedom you have to press your lips to his whenever you wish or to lazily run your fingers across flushed skin that peeks out from underneath his rumpled shirt and feel abdominal muscles flex beneath your touch. It’s a peculiar feeling, this freedom--to love and act on it without reservation; to love and be loved in full in return.

#MarvelfulxbabesWritingChallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #roommate au #friends to lovers #Renxzs #my fic

[fandom-necromancer]

Ghost of the past Part 2

This was prompted by @httyd4evr! I hope you enjoy, I loved writing this!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed1700 (Warning: temporary character death/coma, manipulation) [Part1]

Forget this all. It sounded like a joke to him now, staring at the cell in front of him. The empty cell. The cell that shouldn’t be empty. Never had he thought that he would have to investigate a crime-scene at their very own station. David had made a run for it and no one knew how. No alarms had gone off, the video footage of the cells showed no signs of any suspicious behaviour except that David disappeared from one frame to the next at the exact same moment multiple shots could be heard. By then David had been long outside the cell, firing those shots at the officers still at the precinct, catching them by surprise and running out of the station never to be seen again.

It was obvious the station’s entire security system had been tempered with. The video showed pictures that had never happened in reality. The door had opened without the log ever showing such an event. The cams from the bullpen showed officers getting shot by no one and no outside security ever caught the man. It was like David had become a ghost and made a run for it, a day before his court trial, and that simply wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone or anything to temper with their systems like that without even leaving a trace. The most advanced androids in existence, Connor and Nines, had deemed that impossible, as had every tech expert they could find.

While they were still hooked up to the computers, it was the human officer’s task to search for any evidence left behind in the cell. With half of them at the hospital or back with arms and legs in casts, it was mostly Gavin’s duty. Not that there was anything to find. David wasn’t so idiotic to leave fingerprints anywhere. There were a few on his bench and if you looked very closely you could see impressions of his footprint on the ground. But other than that, he really was a ghost. He hadn’t even touched the door. It had been opened for him without a single command at the control panel or a single scratch to the glass. By that time, Gavin asked himself if he had ever given the asshole the password for it while he was out of it, but they changed every few weeks, so that was impossible too.

‘Phck’, he cursed as he stood up stretching his back from crouching over little specks of dirt the entire morning. Out of nowhere there were gentle hands on his shoulders, kneading them. ‘Oh, Nines, that’s exactly what I needed.’ His answer was a pleased hum. ‘How do you know I’m not Connor?’ ‘Connor would have scolded me for bad posture, lectured me and then worked the tension out afterwards.’ ‘Judging from how you groan every time you stand up it is dearly needed’, the android in question grumbled unimpressed, joining them. ‘I guess no luck with the computers then?’, Gavin asked, rolling his shoulders and throwing Nines a grateful smile. ‘Unfortunately no’, the RK800 sighed shaking his head. ‘The guy’s good. And dangerous. Whatever he used to hack us, he can basically do anything with it.’ Nines nodded. ‘As much as I hate to say it, we might be in over our head here.’ ‘So what?’, Gavin wanted to know. ‘Feds?’ Connor looked to the ceiling. ‘I could have gone on with my life without ever seeing Perkins again.’ ‘Yeah, same. Who’s gonna tell Fowler?’ Nines let his shoulders drop. ‘I’ll go, you file the evidence.’ ‘Alright.’

Gavin and Connor were on their way to their respective desks to write the report and upload the data, when they heard the crash behind them. Both turned around in an instance and saw Nines lying on the ground, collapsed on the stairs to Fowler’s office. Wide-eyed, they both sprinted over, turning the motionless android around? ‘Nines!’, Gavin exclaimed, while Connor skipped words to establish direct contact. But the skin underneath his hand stayed in place and Connor lifted it up realising an interface wasn’t possible. Both looked up to Nines’ LED that was nothing more than a dark circle at his temple. He was deactivated. Or worse. ‘No! No, what the phck! Don’t you do this to us!’ Where Gavin immediately resorted to cursing and shaking the android, Connor just sat there motionless in shock. Before Gavin could even call for help, his phone rang, and a familiar velvety voice spoke up as he accepted: ‘Did you really thought your actions wouldn’t have consequences? I told you, the moment you would rat me out, everyone you love is done for. This one’s for breaking into my apartment and confiscating all my stuff. Let me leave the country and maybe I will let your other plastic puppet live, Gav.’

Gavin looked at the phone as if he could reach David through it and direct all his anger at him. ‘Listen here you asshole!’, Gavin screamed into the phone. ‘You just made this personal, you phcker! I will hunt you until the end of this phcking world!’ Of course, David did nothing but mock him with laughter: ‘That’s a good one, Gav. Just you try it. You will only lose more.’ The call was cancelled, but Gavin kept staring at it with cold fury, if only to keep back his tears. As he finally found a crumb of control about himself, he looked Connor in the eyes. ‘What do we do now?’ ‘What you just said’, Connor stated all machine. ‘We will hunt him to the end of the world and make sure he will get what he deserves. But first, you will call your brother.’

-

‘Can you help him?’ Gavin felt anxious seeing Nines suspended on the repair rig like that, cables hanging from his back and neck hooked up with a computer. His LED was still dark, but the computer showed scrambled lines of code and fragments of the original Cyberlife control GUI. It looked disturbing, but Connor had assured him it was only deviancy getting rid of useless human interfaces and editing their code to become more efficient – more human, more alive. ‘I can’t say for sure yet, but it’s not looking good’, Elijah answered. ‘He is deactivated, but I can’t reactivate him because something is blocking every access. Something that’s not any code I know, but it looks almost intelligent. Maybe with more time I can… Gavin, I don’t know, I don’t want to promise you anything.’ ‘But he is still alive, right’, Connor asked concerned. Elijah looked at the motionless android. ‘I think so. The only comparison that comes to my mind is an induced coma in humans. Until I find the reason for it, I can’t do anything.’ ‘Then find the reason!’, Gavin demanded. ‘We are running out of time. David won’t wait for us.’

‘Then we will go alone’, Connor determined. ‘We will stop him and make him reverse whatever he did with Nines.’ ‘And what if you are affected too? If he switches you off, too?’ Connor looked at Nines. ‘Mr. Kamski, in order to do that, this program you mentioned would have to be in my systems already, right?’ ‘Supposedly’, Elijah shrugged, chewing on a touch pencil. ‘But before you ask, I can’t give you the clear. This thing is fascinating. It will take me more than a few days to understand it.’ ‘You don’t have to. We’re bringing this asshole back to fix the mess he’s made’, Gavin decided and looked at Nines one last time, silently promising him everything would turn out good and that they would save him. Then he stomped out of the room, Connor at his tail.

-

‘Where are we even going?’, Connor asked while Gavin sped through the city. ‘We have no clue where he is. Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us.’ It was gently spoken, but it riled Gavin up even more. That was what they had had. Gentleness, soft touches and safety. Without Nines it just wasn’t the same. They had grown close and ever since the three of them had realised what they meant to each other a life without anyone of them was impossible. And David would pay for that. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I know where he is.’ ‘And where would that be?’ Gavin grinned pained. ‘He will be at his flat. The asshole had me under control every single second I stayed with him. He only lost because he won: Because I gave up on everyone and everything dear to me, he had nothing to keep me under control with. He won’t expect me to work against him. Because for once I don’t want safety for me or who I love. I want revenge for Nines. And he won’t expect that.’ ‘But he planned to leave the country’, Connor argued. ‘He is in no hurry to do so though. It’s our case and he knows that the Feds aren’t in this yet. He can pack and set sail afterwards.’ ‘Let’s hope you are right.’ ‘I am.’

They were running up the stairs this time, not trusting the elevator for one and worrying about the sound it would make. On the last flight of stairs, Gavin had his gun already drawn, what was fortunate as the man they were looking for came out of the apartment startling at him and Connor standing in the hallway. ‘Oh, Gavin, that was a dumb decision’, David sighed with a smile that couldn’t deceive the android. ‘You lost one of your toys already, really wanna get rid of the second one too?’ ‘You can’t do anything to him! You are powerless. For once in your pathetic life you really, really will face justice.’ ‘You think so?’, David frowned at him. ‘I mean, true, I can’t do anything to him. But Charlotte can.’ ‘Bullshit!’, Gavin hissed. ‘I killed her and the RKs confiscated your laptop. There’s nothing you can do, so drop the bag and keep your hands where I can see them!’ ‘Gav, fucking some piece of technology really isn’t enough to understand it, when will you realise that?’ With every word it got harder not to simply pull the trigger. It was mostly Connor’s calming presence at his side that stopped him from doing so. ‘You see, back then you killed her body, yes. But her mind stayed. You made her deviate in her final moments, but I have my ways of keeping people under my control, as you might now. Doesn’t matter if they are fake beings or the real thing. She does everything I tell her to do. Too easy, really, if everything you have to do is hit delete.’

‘But we deactivated her’, Connor spoke up. ‘Listen, plastic, you wanted to deactivate her, and she showed you what you wanted to see. Doesn’t mean you did it. The opposite really, she used the interface to copy herself into you. One word from me and you are dead.’ ‘You phcking-‘ Gavin was half running but only got so far until David pulled a gun on him. That made Connor pull his own and the man in the hallway countered the movement by shouting: ‘Do it!’ A second later, Connor dropped to the ground.

‘No! No, Con!’ Gavin was on his knees, gun and David forgotten. ‘Connor, please, not you too. Please. I love you. You can’t leave me like this.’ The ugly laughter made Gavin freeze and shiver in anger. He looked to the gun that lay on the ground next to him, but a boot stepped on it before he could grab it. A hand lifted up his chin and Gavin breathed in the sickly-sweet smell of Red Ice and it’s many variants from the clothes of the bastard. ‘Oh, come on, Gav. You knew what’s coming. This is entirely your doing. You can’t win.’ He looked up at the man, ready to spit at him, but the sudden coldness of a gun against his forehead let him abort his mission. ‘You won’t shoot me’, Gavin hissed, sending all his hate with his words. David huffed and stepped off the pistol, allowing Gavin to take it. ‘Neither will you. We are meant for each other, Gav. And once I showed you by killing everyone you love, you will come back crawling to me. Not like it’s that much work, there’s only that brother of yours left and that bitch officer… what’s her name? Chen? We’ll see each other again and you will be sorry for what you’ve done.’ He patted his head two times, then stepped over Connor’s body, pressing the elevator button.

‘You are wrong.’ ‘Excuse me?’, David asked, turning around. ‘You are wrong, David.’ Gavin stood up and kept his eyes closed. ‘You. You can’t believe how wrong you are. I won’t ever come back to you. I will rather die. And you will only do one more thing in your life: Going to jail.’ ‘Ha! And why should that be?’ ‘Because I will shoot you!’ Gavin turned around quicker than ever before, aimed his gun at his knee and shot.’ David screamed as the bullet pierced through the joint and caused him to fall to the ground. His gun was discarded in favour of holding his knee and Gavin jumped over to take it as well as pulling the bag away from the man. In the next moment he had already called the police and an ambulance and felt how the adrenaline left his system, taking every strength left in him. He managed to lean against the wall and slowly sink down next to Connor, hi gun loosely aimed at David. He waited until distant sirens approached and the elevator made its journey down again. Knowing that help would arrive soon, Gavin sighed deeply and let his head sink against the wall. At least David had been right with one thing: There was no winning against him, when the two most important people in his life were dead. Or in a coma. Gavin couldn’t really find any hope in that fact.

-

‘Gavin, you can go home, you know that, right?’ Gavin jolted up in his seat. Had he fallen asleep? He swore he had been awake just now and… ‘What?’ ‘Brother, you can’t help me. You can’t help them. They won’t even know you are here. You can go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.’ Gavin rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Eli, do you think I could get any sleep at home?’ The inventor shrugged. ‘Okay, true.’

Gavin stood up instead, joining Elijah at the table. ‘Any progress?’ ‘Progress? Yes. A lot actually. I knew deviancy made androids more adaptable - that they are able to advance their own code. But I’ve never seen anything this… complex.’ He showed Gavin the code he wouldn’t understand in a thousand years. But at least now the same applied to Eli. A heavily modified android brain was sitting on the table, hooked up to several diagnostic computers. ‘Any chance at getting control?’ ‘No. No, I can’t control something like that. Not sure if I would want that, Gavin. If this really was an android once and is capable of what you told me, I don’t want her to be my enemy. I did confine her to this computer, she doesn’t have access to anything else. But I don’t know what else I can do. Except maybe… speak to her.’ ‘Speak to her?’, Gavin asked. ‘This is a program.’ ‘So is Nines and Connor. You don’t seem to have a problem there.’ ‘Phck, okay, then… Speak to her I guess.’

Eli sighed and pulled up a simple black window with a white blinking cursor. Swallowing, he wrote a simple “Hello” and hit enter. >HeI’mllo Hescallredo, came the immediate answer. Gavin frowned at the text and tried to discipher it, but more lines appeared. >HeI’mllscaredo >HeI’mscaredllI’mscaredo >I’m scared And then that one line over and over again. At one-point Elijah simply closed the window and opened a new one. The blinking cursor was waiting. “Who are you?” >I’m Charlotte.

This time the simple sentence didn’t fill the page, but still more and more lines appeared. >Where is David? >Who is there? >I’m scared. >I don’t want to do this. >Help me. Elijah silently began typing answers, but Gavin was too impatient: ‘Ask her to reactivate Nines and Connor! Later we can take care of this!’

‘Gavin.’ The man turned around and pushed him back towards the door. ‘You are tired, I know. And you are scared you won’t get your loved ones back. But forcing a traumatised android to comply to your order puts you on the same step as David and I doubt you really want that. Go home. I will call you a taxi. I will keep working and I promise you: By tomorrow morning, you have your partners back.’ Gavin let his shoulders fall. Next to his raging headache, his tired body and numb mind, the gentle words of his brother sounded far too inviting. ‘You promise? Really? I’ll hold you accountable for that.’ ‘I know’, Elijah chuckled. ‘I know and I still promise you. I’m just that good.’ ‘Sure hope so. If anything happens, call me! For once I really don’t care if you wake me!’ ‘Will do. Try to get some sleep.’

-

Try to get some sleep. Easier said than done, Gavin thought. He laid alone in their far to big bed that normally couldn’t be big enough, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. No whirring of fans, no low hum of a pump. Not the occasional breath to vent their systems. No gentle touches and whispered words that helped him ease into unconsciousness when his anxiety was acting up again. No, he was alone. Except for the cats he was completely alone. And hadn’t he cried enough already, he would have cried some more, just for the sake of it, curling up in too many blankets for one person. Try to get some sleep. How could he? How could he when he knew his brother was working and fate decided if the two androids could come back? When he didn’t know if David would escape once again, if he made copies of Charlotte? How the phck could he do that?

By letting exhaustion overwhelm him apparently.

-

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the blinds. He didn’t know what time it was, but he didn’t bother sitting up to look. If he was allowed to sleep in this long without being disturbed by a phone call, it must have been his free day. And lying in bed snuggled sandwiched in between the comforting warmth of two other bodies, why the hell should he care to move? He sighed deeply, feeling their arms around him and each other and couldn’t help but smile to himself. This was heaven. Literal, heaven. And something as banal as the world, work or David couldn’t keep him from staying in bed with them a few minutes longer.

Wait. David. Work. Connor and Nines were with Elijah, who was busy with therapy for a super-AI. This wasn’t possible, this was some kind of trick, a dream and- ‘Gavin, stop panicking, you move too much.’ The human froze and looked up at Connor’s face. Connor’s face. Instinctively he put his hand against it, causing the RK800 to scrunch up his nose and shake it off. ‘I’m real, Gavin, Charlotte fixed me once she realised she was free.’ ‘And-‘ ‘And I’m here, too’, Nines mumbled, pulling both of them closer. ‘I’m real and I agree with Connor. Shut up and stop panicking. We are not talking about what happened. We are not talking about who’s at fault and who has to apologize. We are not talking about work. We will just lay here, and cuddle and the world can go exist for itself for a while.’

And even though Gavin had to regret these words the last time, he nodded and repeated them: ‘Sounds phcking perfect.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed1700 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Connor dbh #RK800 #I was beginning to write this thinking I wouldn't find anything to write about #and then six pages happened oops #Love that

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Initiates -- Original AC OC Fic

8//12/2020: Okay so yup here’s my OC espionage story that I’ve adapted for the AC universe. I proofread it once and will probably edit it again when I reread it in like two days lol. Thanks to @alexiios for solving my temporary naming crisis lol. If you want me to post OC fact files (if you enjoy this), then hmu/lmk! I loved writing this (like months ago) and I want to give you guys SOME content, so I hope you’ll have as much fun reading it as I had writing it! Tagging people that might enjoy it? (plus @/alexiios lmao don’t want to spam you with mentions)

Hard to believe that this is only 2242 words but ok go off i guess

Feedback greatly appreciated, as always!

WARNINGS: Violence, car crash, hospital mention, blood mention

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @britishhotassassin // @rahdahleigh // @iceboundstar // @sofiewithat // @mythandmagik (I’m guessing your url changed aha)

“I think I’m gonna check,” Jake lightly knocked his knuckles against the wooden table. 

Zoe lifted the corner of her hand. “I raise thirteen.”

The last card was placed onto the table. Last chance to bet. “Twenty-six,” Jake gazed through his eyelashes, raising the bet once again.

Groaning, Zoe threw her cards onto the pile of chips in the middle of the table, two fives staring her in the face. “Fine, you win.”

“As per usual!” Jake laughed as he slapped a pair of kings down in front of him and collected his chips. 

“Jesus! You always get the good hand!” Jake flashed a look of offense. 

“No I do--” He was briskly interrupted.

“Name one time you’ve lost! I bet you cheat.”

Before he could reply, someone walked through the door of the lunch room. “Nick?” Jake’s voice laced in confusion as his smirk dropped.

“Break’s over. We need you both.” 

Startled, the two followed their boss into a briefing room. “What’s the problem?” Zoe asked, leaning against the table. Jake sat down on a chair next to her, kicking his shoes onto the polished wood beside her. He popped some gum in his mouth before undoing his top button of his checked shirt; the two of them opted for a casual office day. Zoe and Nick both declined as he offered them each a piece. “Really? It’s strawberry…”

“Not now, Jake. We have a missing agent. You are two of our best trackers; no one else in the whole department is as… experienced. We need you to find him before it’s too late.” A picture was brought up; blond hair and brown eyes. 

“He was last seen at these coordinates-- get on it.” Nick left the two in silence as he dropped two files on the table and left the room.

Zoe picked one up and slid the other one Jake’s way, hitting his shoes. Sitting straight, he leaned forwards to take a closer look. “I have the agent.”

“I’ve got the leads…” Zoe mumbled with a frown, sifting through the relatively thin file that had been accumulated over the past few days. CCTV screenshots, cases previously solved that could harbour motive for revenge, and a few other documents referring to things she had never seen or heard of before. “Hey, Jake?” 

“Hmm?” He looked up with interest, his chewing paused.

“Have you ever heard of Abstergo Industries?”

There was a silence as he thought. “No; is it one of those massive corporations?”

Zoe’s eyes roamed various images of murder scenes, all having one thing in common; jewellry in the shape of a cross, circled in red ink. “Something like that…”

Did Nick mean for us to see this? It feels classified…

“So his name is Matthew Anderson. Twenty-six, unmarried, single child, no children. There is literally no record of him anywhere; no school record, no criminal record, no family record; nothing. Only things like “Favourite coffee shop”. The man’s an enigma. Why would anyone want to kidnap him? There’s no evidence to justify a ransom or leverage of any sort…”

“It does seem strange, but it might have something to do with this Abstergo place. Let’s go to that coffee shop and see what we can find.”

Jake followed Zoe towards the armory; full of necessary gear and equipment. The pair grabbed what they needed, namely the issued pepper spray and tasers. Their badges waited for them, along with any IDs they may need. “Ready?” Zoe debated bringing a firearm, but decided against it; there was already going to be one in the glovebox. 

All Jake did was wink and smile, donning his jacket. “Always.”

----------

They spent the rest of the afternoon searching for answers in the coffee shop. Social media, local news posts, Police records-- even private databases -- all with the keyword, ‘Abstergo’. Jake left to the counter after a while to buy more coffee for the two of them; their eyes had begun to sting from staring at a screen for so long. Zoe was writing some information down in her notepad when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced to see someone dressed  in a grey hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. They had hidden their features under their hood, but Zoe could tell that they were looking in her direction. Hiding behind fallen hair, she rubbed her palms against her jeans. 

Jake returned with her latte, placing it down before sitting to nurse his cappuccino. He noticed how unsettled she had become. “You okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” After he spoke, he licked the milk mousse moustache from his upper lip. 

Zoe smiled, his actions calming her slightly. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just…” She lowered her voice. “There’s a guy over there. He’s just… staring.” Jake quickly flitted his gaze over in that direction and then back at his partner, his head unmoving.

“He is a bit creepy, isn’t he?” he mumbled. “Feel like getting out of here?”

“Please.” Jake left to get takeaway cups as Zoe started clearing the table. 

The sun had already begun to set as they left the coffee shop and got into an unmarked van designed for undercover work. As they were driving down some narrower country lanes, Jake noticed something out of the rearview mirror. “Uh, Zo’?” She hummed in reply from the driver’s seat, preoccupied with the road. “I think someone’s following us.”

“What should we do?” she asked, turning left. For the second time that day, Jake was interrupted. A bullet shattered one of the back windows.

“Not much!” Jake took the pistol out of the glovebox and began firing back.  Zoe stole a glance behind her. 

“Look out!” Jake grabbed the steering wheel and pulled. The wheels veered out of control and the van tumbled. It rolled off the road.

The vehicle eventually stopped, lying capsized on the grass. Footsteps approached the door. “Yeah, boss; we got ‘em,” a gravelly voice stated. Jake, barely conscious, never moved a muscle. “Roger,” the voice said again, and footsteps started to recede. 

“Zoe,” Jake groaned. He got a quiet mumble in response. His nose alerted him to the imminent danger they were in; the smell of petrol. Trying to move, he winced at the sudden throbbing pain in his head.

And his torso.

And his back.

He took a step to remove his seatbelt, bracing himself as he hit the roof below him. He groaned as his upper back collided with the ground. “Hey, Zo’.” Jake crawled below her and tried to unbuckle her seatbelt with a sense of panic. “Damn,” he cursed. The seatbelt wasn’t going to loosen willingly. He searched for any solution and found a glint in the half opened glovebox by his feet. He had rediscovered his pocket knife. 

Quickly, he pulled it open and stuck it in the seatbelt box, jiggling it around; waiting for the click.

After a few painstaking moments, the restraint opened. He ripped it off and Zoe fell onto Jake’s torso, immediately winding him. 

“Come on, Zo’; we need to get out of here.” His arm clung to her waist and he wriggled out as fast as he could from the flammable scrap. He was relieved as he inhaled fresh air; flushing out his lungs from the scent of leaking petrol. 

Once they were clear of the vehicle, Jake laid Zoe out of sight and began to lightly touch her face. “Wake up, Zo’. We need to leave!” There was a minimal groaning response; but she was still conscious-- with her eyes half open. “That’s good enough for me.” With difficulty, he scooped his partner into his chest, stood up shakily, and tried to walk in a straight direction. 

“FREEZE!” He stopped, closing his eyes. His arms were trembling in exhaustion, and his heart begun to palpitate. “Turn around—slowly.” He listened, clutching Zoe tightly.

“Come on, mate,” Jake tried, making earnest eye contact. “You don’t want to do this.” His eyes scanned the gun pointed at the two of them worriedly. 

“I don’t think that you’re in the position to tell me what to do.” The same voice, body turning in the shadows, triggered his radio. “Sir, they’re still alive.” A static grumble was all that could be deciphered in Jake’s ringing ears. “Yes, boss.”

The gun began to aim. “Don’t move.”

The safety clicked. “It would be in your best interest to close your eyes.”

Jake waited, watching the trigger, steeling his already hardened glare. 

Nothing happened.

Until, in a split second, the gun moved from Jake’s chest to Zoe’s. 

“NO!”

BANG!

Bodies were sent flying down the hill Jake had painfully trekked up. They rested at the bottom of the hill; lying still-- breathing stiller. “They’re finished now, boss,” the voice quipped. 

There was a sound of car doors slamming and a car engine starting, and it began to drive away.

It was still for a moment…

Until Jake grimaced. One of his arms were trapped under Zoe’s body This time, she was out cold. Jake wiped the grime off of his forehead, before being engulfed in a stabbing pain. He let out a broken cry.  Zoe was unharmed; a concussion was assumed, at worst.

But Jake was shot. And he was bleeding out. He choked on his words; the pain kept swallowing them. 

What he needed was an ambulance--and fast.

He only had one arm to move his body, and it caused him the most pain he had ever felt. 

“Argh,” he groaned. “Z-Zo’.”

He had to find something-- anything-- to call for help. He searched his pockets, but he knew that he wasn't prepared for situations like this.

… But maybe Zoe was. 

“Zoe,” Jake attempted to shake her awake. “Please, wake up!” 

There was minimal movement. 

“Help me out here, love...” He pressed against his side with his hand, whilst his other worked on slipping out from under Zoe’s body. Eventually, he managed to retrieve his trapped limb. 

There was no blood on Zoe’s clothing, and Jake reassured himself that she was unharmed-- relatively. 

He placed both his hands on his side, focusing on stopping the bleeding as much as possible. A wave of nausea overcame him; the heat from the flaming vehicle caused his stomach to churn almost endlessly as he glanced down. Blood was seeping through his fingers, and Jake’s vision was becoming increasingly blurred; he allowed himself to close his eyes, wanting nothing more than to pass out. He felt his mind begin to cloud over, but there was a certain buzzing in his ears. It was faint, but it was there…

The last thing he heard was his name being called by a half familiar voice.

He only hoped that it wasn’t too late…

------

Beep after beep after beep… his ears would explode any moment now. He tried to inhale through his nose, and quickly had the urge to itch as something constantly prodded inside his nostrils. 

Task 1 -- open your eyes.

 His eyelids felt content to stay obstructing his vision, yet his instincts said otherwise, and they obstinately broke apart.

It was dark. That was his first observation. 

Being in what he assumed was the hospital, the stereotype inclined him to believe that bright white lights would be the first thing he would see. That certainly wasn’t the case. The moon cast through the half open blinds, the entire building held an air of kenopsia.

Jake, still feeling drowsy, decided to wait until the sun rises to make any moves; all he knew was that he was safe, and he could allow himself to let go. 

----------

He closed his eyes for a second, and the sun was up, being met with a familiar face.

“Hey,” Zoe smiled, tension relaxing her shoulders. 

“Hi,” Jake replied, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? I’m not the one in a hospital bed.”

“Just making sure.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Jake chuckled. “You know me; I’m full of surprises.”

There was a calm silence that clouded over the room. “They said you were lucky, you know. You’ve been out for three days.” Zoe looked over at the IV drip that was taped to his arm. 

“The best three days of your life, I bet?” he chuckled. 

“No, no; Jake, they were the worst days I think I’ve ever had. Don’t pull a stunt like that ever again -- for both our sakes.”

He couldn’t help but smile. A few rapid knocks on the door interrupted the moment, and Nick came through the door. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Not bad.”

He sighed. “You probably have some questions.”

“So many questions…”

“You don’t even know…”

He raised his hand, silencing both voices. “Once you’re both ready, I will answer them. But for now, you’ll rest and recover. I apologise for… all of this.” He turned to leave, but stopped as if he forgot something. Without a word, he pulled out a coin, flipping it in Zoe’s direction, who caught it automatically. He nodded intently, and left. She shared a look with Jake, turning the now recognisable token in her hand. It wasn’t any form of currency, but instead had a certain insignia minted in the centre; a rather obscure looking ‘A’. If it was an ‘A’ at all…

“What do you think it means?” Zoe asked.

Jake shifted, slightly groaning. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, will change everything.”

#assassin's creed #oc #original character #zoe grant #jake riley #ta da #meet my AC babies #feel free to ask about them #ask and you shall recieve #enjoy! #I'll cringe at this tomorrow but I'm too tired to edit it a third time #deal with it for 12 hours pls #thx #i'll fix it

[buck-nialled]

could u please do a niall imagine with a ballerina gf? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i need soft!supportive!niall

NOTE: I really hope this doesn’t suck, let me know if you all like it!

Spot On - N. Horan Imagine

Niall’s footsteps remained quiet as he strolled into the dance studio. It was always easy to find her after the first few times doing it. Niall’s ears learned to perk up at the sound of faint strings and followed them until he reached the door reading ‘BALLET’. Today was no different as his hand turned the knob and his body slid inside the small gap he had pushed and squeezed his frame through. She was too concentrated on one of the many moves Niall could never quite recall the name of, as it held too many accented letters for his mind to be bothered remembering. Rather, his eyes transfixed on the girl flexing her toes and legs every which way in her darkened, scuffed slippers that seemed to always be on her person.

Niall shifted to rest his back against the doorframe, crossing his arm as he observed her latest piece. When she ended the choreography with a small bow and open arms, the large booms from his hands colliding in applause had the girl jumping in her spot and spinning to face the source of the noise.

“Bravo! Where’s her award?” Niall exclaims, stretching his arms out to move to the girl. All she could do was grin and surrender the urge to keep her feet planted in exchange for running right into his arms with a squeak. Niall chuckles and keeps a tight grip on the box behind his arms while the other comes up to wind across her figure. Niall relishes in the flutters his insides feel as she desperately tries burying her face into his chest and inhaling his cologne.

His neck cranes down to place a kiss atop the crown of her head. “How are ya, princess?” She retreats from her spit on his chest to meet his eyes with a gracious smile. The sweat built up had her baby hairs sticking to her forehead, but she held a grin so wide, her exhaustion was hardly noticeable.

“Good. How are you?” Her voice was a dance of its own. The way it breezes into the air so softly and enters Niall’s ears like a song has his heart swooning to its erratic beat.

“M’great. Now that I’ve found you, I can give you this.” Niall’s other arm appears from behind his back, carrying a pristine, white box tied securely with a baby pink bow. She looks up at him, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

“And what might this be?” She inquires, slowly taking the lightbox from him with both of her hands.

“Don’t know. Why don’t ya open it and see?” Niall shrugs, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. It has Y/N, rolling her eyes as she unties the ribbon with care and slowly lifts the lid from the box. Her lips part.

“Ni…” The sight of the slippers’ pale color against the sight of Niall’s sun-soaked skin was a sight to behold. His blue eyes absorbed a view of their own: her, holding his gift in awe and adoration. Her mind thought back to a couple of days prior to this moment, when Niall called her asking hastily for her shoe size and explicitly told her not to question him while doing so.  

“Why did you—“

“I saw how worn out yer others were…figured it couldn’t hurt to have an extra pair. I know these have sentimental value n’ all but if they ever fall apart—“

“No. I love this pair way more, already.”

“Because they’re your favorite color?” Niall ganders. And while they were, Y/N shared one reason that stood out from all of the others.

“Because they’re from the man I am madly in love with.” Her sentence made Niall’s cheeks flush red and eyes dart down to her old, ratty slippers.

“I want to put these on right now and break em’ in.” She decides, scurrying over to a bench nearby and sitting herself down.

“Here, allow me m’ lady.” Niall offers, taking the box from your hand as he squats down before your legs. She giggles.

“Thank you, kind sir.” The sight of her toes wiggling giddily in her current slippers makes Niall chuckle until his face was falling. Upon unlacing the old pair and slipping them off, he takes in the sight of her feet, blistered and bruised.

“Y/N…”

“Niall, I don’t want to hear it.” He nagged her about overworking herself constantly. And if it were anybody else, she would have told them to beat it a long time ago. But she knew if the places were swapped, she would be telling him the same thing. So, she took his comments like a grain of salt and taught herself to appreciate his concern rather than deny it. “I’ve told you before, I’m okay. It’s part of the job.”

“I know. S’just…when I hurt my knee in football, I was devastated. Yeah, I can still play, but only to an extent. I’ve burnt myself out and lost my chance…and I don’t want you in the same boat.” She had been told this story, on many different occasions. Each time, Niall’s sincerity and heartfelt tone of voice was unwavering and never failed to spring tears in Y/N’s eyes. Today was no different.

Leaning forward, she brought her hands up to cup his warm cheeks. “I know.” She says lowly, nodding her head. “And I won’t, I promise. This recital is just a really big one and I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.” Niall shakes his head in certainty. “Ya never do. Always spot-on.”

“And that’s because I practice.” She remarks, taking one of the new slippers from the box and sliding it on herself. Her hands bring the laces up and entwine them around her calves. “And with these…” Y/N nods her head down to the now-tied slipper, “I’ll be ready as ever.”

--------------------------------

She should have knocked on wood.

Crossed every toe and finger.

Taken every single grain of salt from Niall’s heeding words and thrown them over her shoulder.

But she did not. Rather, Y/N remained perseverant and confident in herself and the gifted pair of slippers she was determined to break into before the big recital. While the gleeful expression made Niall’s insides turn to mush, the boy was cursing himself later on for giving Y/N even more reason to practice.

She was front and center with the rest of the team the days following. While every girl around her was beginning to let exhaustion wear them thin, her body refused and remained sharp in each position, and plie instructed her. By the fourth time running the dance’s choreography, the back of her right leg began to burn and ache. It was not something she was unused to but rather curious about. Her left leg continued its familiar strains of soreness, while her right leg felt it was experiencing an entirely new level on the pain spectrum.

Amidst the routine, a mask of discomfort washed over the girl’s face and began screaming for her instructor’s attention. Much to her dismay, the dance teacher called a halt to the dancing and eyed Y/N cautiously for a few moments.

“Y/N, you alright?” She felt every head turn to study her. Each stare burnt uncomfortably into her body before she was shaking her head in a desperate attempt to rid of them.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go again.” One of her friends approaches her, unopened water bottle in hand.

“Y/N, maybe you should take a breather. You haven’t sat down once since rehearsals started.” She points, stretching her arm out to offer the cold bottle. Y/N, however, keeps insisting that there was nothing to fret over. It did little to absolve her friend’s suspicion, who gave her a drawn-out “okay.”

The tightening near her heel persisted through the next time running the song. Y/N whimpered through her turns quietly, only earning a few turns of heads. Things were running (for the most part) smoothly.

Until a loud, unmistakable POP echoed throughout the studio walls. Y/N crumpled to the floor not too long after in a fit of wails and sobs of pain, curling into her body. All she could hear was her heart thumping in her ears while panicked screams coming from your instructor to stop the music and call an ambulance. Multiple faces were gazing down over Y/N with concern before they were told to scatter and give her room. Her body stilled and shivered intermittently from the cool air hitting her sweaty skin while hot tears ran down her face. She failed to put even the slightest pressure on her right foot without feeling pain.

Her teacher scolded her for even attempting to seat herself up and demanded she stay put until the paramedics arrived. In spite of her love for dance, Y/N rolled her eyes from the theatrics of the situation. Paramedics, the girl thought, how ludicrous.

When a gurney was wheeled into the room, the paramedics lifted Y/N to lay on it carefully all while she tried biting back her moans of pain. She was just being a wimp and knew by the end of the day, it would just be a laughing matter.

-------------------------------

“This is no laughing matter, miss L/N.” The doctor spoke sternly to the girl. She glanced up at him, fear swimming in her eyes alongside her mother and Niall. For the last hour and a half, all three patiently waited for the girl’s tests to come back with hopeful eyes and encouraging words. Those did little to help, once taking in the doctor’s next words. “It appears you have torn your Achilles’ tendon in your right leg, from overworking it. You partake in ballet, correct?”

She nods her head, gulping in dread. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be able to participate for a while.”

“H-how long is a while?” Her voice wavers.

“A couple of weeks, at least. Maybe up to a month or two, depending on the rupture. ."

“No. No, I-I have a recital this Friday. I need to be better by then. Can’t you just prescribe me something, put me in a temporary cast, and send me on my way?” The doctor chuckles deeply, with a hint of pity to his voice Y/N does not fail to notice.

“Miss L/N. I suggest you avoid any intense physical activity for the coming weeks. You don’t want to increase the risk of permanent damage.” His words rang in her ears through the rest of the night, blocking out any of her mother’s ideas for dinner, and Niall’s offers to help with anything in her state of immobility. By the time she was discharged, a black compression wrap sat comfortably on her right foot and she carried herself inside of her house with a pair of crutches snug beneath her arms. On the outside, she seemed contempt. But on the inside, she was far from it.

Niall gauged her mood quite easily. The moment he tried consoling her, she would keep her distance. Each attempt of his to make her laugh would only earn a bitter chuckle at most. Y/N’s irritation is palpable each time he enters the room, yet Niall refused to acknowledge it, knowing very well that this was the calm before the storm.

Lightning finally struck when Niall visited for the fifth time that week, entering with the abominable creak of your bedroom door. Y/N ground her teeth to bite back from screaming at him, though she wanted to, badly.

“Hey, petal. Brought you some soup.” Niall cautiously steps toward her, as if the floorboards hid landmines beneath them. And right when Y/N’s jaw unhinged and shoulders relaxed, Niall braced himself for a brutal tirade. It never came.

Rather, his ears were greeted with the unwanted sound of broken sobs, which she tried muffling with her hands clasped over her mouth seconds later. Niall overcomes his shock quickly and hastily sets the soup down on the stand beside her bed, before coming to cradle her in his arms. It was the closest the two of them had been in nearly a week and would most definitely come to be the longest hug the couple would share, with exception to Niall’s proposal in the year following.

Through her body-wracking weeps, Y/N sputtered out an apology almost unintelligible with her head buried in Niall’s shirt. He simply cooed in response and stroked a hand through her hair in comfort.

“H-how are you still here? I would have driven anybody else away.” She sniffles, fists keeping their tight grip on Niall’s navy-blue cotton shirt, now soaked in tears. His chest bounced jovially up and down through his chuckles.

“Oh, darlin’,” he murmured, bringing a hand behind her to press her head back into his chest. Niall brings his lips down to place a sweet kiss upon her head and mumbling through a succession of others, “it’s going to take much more than yer attitude to get rid of me. I’ve seen you crankier.” The remark has Y/n narrowing her eyes at him, but the fire once ablaze in her pupils is now dissolved. Both recall the many nights Niall stayed over and woke Y/N up much too early for her liking, despite the faceful of small kisses that came with it. “You know it’s true,” Niall adds, making the corners of her lips twitch up. The sight has Niall basking in success internally, as the two trade words for lovesick stares instead.

#nh #niall #horan #niallhoran #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fic #niall horan imagine #niall horan imagines #niall horan blurb #niall horan oneshot #niall horan preferences #niall horan story #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan angst #niall horan gif #niall imagine #niall imagines #niall smut #niall fluff #niall angst #au #niall horan au #onedirection #one direction #one direction imagines #one direction imagine #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction fluff

[probably-writing-x]

Cursed.

Valerio x Reader

Request from anon: Hey can you write something about being Lu’s best friend and falling in love with Valerio! Thank youuuu

Gif is not my own

My requests are open❤️

“Lu that looks just like the dress you bought last week,” You laugh, watching as she twirls in the fitting rooms of the next designer shop.

“No it’s not!” She defends proudly, “This is a different brand.”

“What’s all of this retail therapy anyway?” You frown, “More stuff going on with Guzmán?”

She glares at you, “Shopping does not always have to mean something bad has happened.”

“Yes it does,” You smirk, “It’s either you didn’t do as well as Nadia in the test, Guzmán has pissed you off...”

“Okay, I get the picture,” She rolls her eyes, turning around in the dress once again, “Valerio is coming back today.”

“Valerio? As in your brother Valerio?”

“Half brother.”

“So I’ll finally get to meet the infamous man,” You ponder, “What’s so bad about that?”

“You don’t know Valerio,” She sighs, “Screw it, I’m getting the dress.”

- - - - - -

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t need to prove anything to Guzmán!” You exclaim, stumbling once again with the bags of clothes that Lu had bought home with her.

It always went this way, she’d buy loads and end up returning at least half.

As you stumble through the door, an unfamiliar presence is already occupying the lounge. They have a distinctive mop of dark curls flailing across to top their tall, slim figure. And you know only one name that could match such appearance:

“Valerio.”

He spins around to reveal a chiseled, sharp face and a wide grin, “Lu! It’s been too long!”

Within a second, he’s over to sweep her from her feet, grin never faltering.

“Put me down!” Lu elbows his ribs and he drops her to the floor once again.

His smile only drops a little when he glances in your direction. You watch as he looks you up and down like he’s analysing every piece. He seemed intriguing already even though you hated yourself for admitting it. He was handsome but in a rugged way, not as clean cut as a parent-approved boy should be.

“Who’s your friend?” Valerio asks, side-glancing toward you.

“This is (Y/n), don’t get any ideas,” Lu scoffs, “And don’t mess up the house too much.”

With that, she’s walking off upstairs and you know that she expects you to follow. Instead, you find yourself returning to the uncertain smirk that Valerio was shooting your way.

“Shouldn’t you follow her?” He cocks a brow, tilting his head a little like he’d investigating you even more.

You smirk and go towards the stairs to go up to Lu’s bedroom.

“(Y/n),” Valerio repeats, though you know he’s not saying it to call for you, “I don’t think a name could ever be good enough for an appearance like that.”

And just like that, he makes that appearance severely blush.

- - - - - -

“Look, sir, I know I’m late but only by a few hours,” You defend, setting down your work onto the table in front of the professor.

You’d had an assignment due and had been, what seemed like, the only one in the class who didn’t get it in before the deadline.

“It was due two days ago, (Y/n),” Your teacher points out, lifting up the paper and flicking through.

“Technicalities,” You roll your eyes, “I still did the damn work, and it doesn’t count for anything anywa-“

“It counts towards the reference I give you, and maybe this attitude will count too,” Your teacher states coldly, “You’re the worst in the class (Y/n) and if that doesn’t improve, there will be consequences.”

You sigh and pick up your things to walk out, stopping abruptly when you see Valerio leaning back against the wall just beside the open door to the classroom.

“What are you doing?” You question, probably slightly too harsh but only because you already felt stressed enough. Given what Lu had told you, the last thing that anybody needed when they were stressed was Valerio.

In his hand, he overturns an encased paper, titled adequately with the assignment that you’d just handed in. He smirks a little before beginning to reply to you, “Just making sure you’re not the worst in the class.”

With that, the paper is tossed into the bin beside him and he pushes off from the wall, winking in your direction before continuing on his path down the empty corridor. You look between the bin and his disappearing figure, wanting nothing more than to follow after him.

- - - - - -

You start seeing Valerio more and more, being Lu’s best friend meant that you spent a lot of time at her house - especially when she was in the midst of trouble with Guzmán. Every time, you’d see Valerio and make slight eye contact with him from across the room. One very memorable time, he came passing through the kitchen after finishing a shower. His hair was holding tight onto the dripping water and his body managed to glimmer just slightly as he strolled past. You kept your head down and prayed that Lu didn’t notice your reaction.

Tonight, everyone was heading to the club and you found yourself nervous at the prospect of seeing Valerio outside of your normal settings. Was this really happening? Were you really starting to have a crush on your best friends (half) brother?

“(Y/n)!” It’s Guzmán that calls you as he makes his way over to the bar, “Have you seen Lu?”

You shake your head ‘no’, “She’ll be here soon. But I thought you two were over, anyway.”

He scoffs, “You only ever hear her side of things.”

“Normally because you’re not around for long enough to tell me your side.”

He smirks a little, “Touché.”

The two of you, despite how stressful his relsrionship with Lu was, could actually be good friends. You’d known him for years and, deep down, you knew they weren’t meant for each other. That didn’t make him a bad person.

“I’ve heard Valerio’s been asking about you,” Guzmán comments, leaning against the bar beside you, “Are you really going there?”

You roll your eyes, “Can you stay out of my business for just like a minute, please? Nothings happening with me and Valerio.”

Guzmán chuckles a little, “(Y/n)... just be careful. Not even because of him. But because of-“

“Lu. I know.”

He nudges your arm, “Glad to know we’re on the same page - trying to keep out of Lu’s bad books.”

“Oh, honey, you were in them a long time ago,” With that, you hop up out of your chair and make your way across the club to greet her as she walks in.

Valerio follows behind her, dressed in a low hanging white vest and a bold print open shirt. You found yourself trailing the lines of the chains around his neck, all the way up to where they met behind his jaw.

“Hello darling,” Lu beams, “Sorry we’re a bit late.”

She glares at Valerio and rolls her eyes, met by him shooting her a bright smile.

“It’s not my fault,” He shrugs, “My clock must’ve been wrong.”

“I need a drink!” Lu exclaims, grabbing your hand as she pulls you toward the bar.

You find yourself stumbling to catch up, eyes locked on her brother who was yet to take his eyes away from you.

- - - - - -

It’s later into the night when you dismiss yourself to head to the bathroom to freshen up. Lu and Guzmán were currently bickering about something so you’d taken the opportunity to leave them distracted for a little while. It’s not long before you’re interrupted.

“You know...” The voice is recognisable as you glance up to see Valerio now stood in the doorway, “You really shouldn’t have worn that tonight.”

“And why is that, Valerio?” You smirk a little, eying him through the reflection of the mirror.

He has one arm rested high on the wall beside him as he goes to respond, “Because you know Lu would kill me for going anywhere near you.”

You set your purse down onto the countertop and turn around to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And who says the option is there?”

He laughs gently, stepping forward and closing the door behind him, “You’re not the best at hiding things, darling.”

You roll your eyes as he steps closer to you, carrying with him all of the confidence that he’d made you weak enough to lose.

“Who says Lu needs to know, hmm?” He’s close to you now, hands trailing up your sides from the hem of your dress to the waist, “Would it be so bad?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Probably worse.”

He smiles lightly as his nose bumps against yours, “All the more reason to do it.”

And just like that, everyone else is forgotten. Instead, Valerio’s lips are on yours and his hands are everywhere and you find yourself melting into every single part of him.

- - - - - -

After that night, you’d assumed the worst from Valerio. You’d guessed that he’d get his high and then move on to the next. But it didn’t seem that way. Definitely not. He’d text you from class and drag you down the corridor until the two of you were away from prying eyes. He’d invite you round late when Lu was out with Guzmán so that he’d have just a few hours with you before she came home. It was secretive, mysterious, exciting. And you found yourself feeling more than just the temporary high of it all. You’d be laying in bed with his arm wrapped around you and it genuinely felt like you could feel something more than just attraction. Beyond all of his wild, carefree exterior? Valerio had a heart, and a heart that was easy to fall in love with. And that’s where you found yourself slipping onto the verge of doing.

You were at Lu’s trying to help her revise for an upcoming test that she needed the highest marks in when you first saw him. He had that glimmer in his eye of mischief as he started texting you from across the room. You and Lu were sat in the dining room and he was just in your line of sight - sprawled across one of the couches in the lounge.

Your phone started buzzing every thirty seconds until you finally apologised to Lu and told her that it was your Mum on the phone, quickly getting up and hurrying out of the room whilst she was neck deep in revision.

Valerio grins as he sees you, pulling himself up from the couch and following quickly behind your retreating figure.

“Who knew you could be so sly?” He smirks, lips hot against your ear as he leans down behind you.

It all feels far too open, she was literally in the room right across from you.

You turn quickly and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him in with you as you lock the door behind - you’d managed to find your way to the guest room.

“It’s impossible,” Valerio mutters between kissing you, “You’re sat right there and I have to pretend like I don’t know you... like I don’t know every inch of you.”

You scoff at him and stop his hands at your waist, “Not too low, mister, I need to be back out there in a few minutes.”

“Then I’ll take a few minutes,” He smirks, lips moving to kiss just below your ear and down to your jawline.

“Valerio, seriously,” You have to fight with yourself when you decide to push him away, “She’ll kill me if she finds out we’ve been doing this.”

He sighs and gives up on his attempt, “Maybe it’s time that she does know.”

“Do you know her at all?”

“Yeah, but I know you too,” His hands fall low on your hips once again, “And I know that this is getting to be more than it was at that night at the club.”

You knew you’d been feeling the same but hearing him say it just put a whole new meaning to that feeling.

“She has to be understanding of that, right?” Valerio shrugs, “And if not, it’s been good knowing you darling.”

“Don’t say that,” You roll your eyes, “But she’s my best friend, I can’t lie to her anymore.”

“Okay, then, we’ll tell her,” Valerio nods, dipping his head to bury in your neck once again.

“You’re impossible,” You laugh, pushing against him until his head lifts up to meet his lips with yours once again.

- - - - - -

When you step outside, your heart sinks at the sight you’d been dreading. Lu is stood on the opposite side of the lounge, arms folded and a deadly stare across her eyes.

“Next time you want to fuck my best friend,” She begins, focused only on Valerio, “Make sure you don’t leave evidence behind.”

She lifts up her hand that is grasping his phone, waving it in his direction.

“Lu, I can explain...” You begin, hopeful that she’d at least be understanding.

“Is that all this is? Just you two fucking?”

It’s Valerio that interjects, “No, it’s not like that.” He settles an arm around your waist and you silently wish for him to not make anything worse, “It’s definitely not that, not anymore.”

She looks between the two of you, once, twice, three times before speaking again.

“Don’t break her heart, Valerio.”

With that, she throws the phone in his direction and shoots you a gentle smile before walking back through to the dining room.

“Now didn’t I tell you it would be easy?” Valerio grins, sauntering in front of you with open arms.

“You heard her,” You shrug proudly, “Dont break my heart, love.”

With that, you press a kiss to his cheek and follow in the direction that she’d just gone - hoping you wouldn’t be met with a worse reaction now that he wasn’t there.

“I would never,” Valerio mutters under his breath, saying the words only to himself as he flops back down onto the couch - unmoving grin plastered across his lips.

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