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greenygreenland · 3 years

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Dream A Little Dream of Me Pt. 2: Norman x Reader

-part 2 requested by anon

-kinda spicy??? because yeah but u can always skip that if u don’t like that stuff

-CHARACTERS AGED UP (so don’t call fbi on me lmaoooo)

MANGA SPOILERS/BRIEF MATURE CONTENT (at end)

WARNINGS: spicy/18+ (near the end, so you can SKIP if you’d like), arguing, death mentions, MANGA SPOILERS, etc.

Summary: It’s time to talk to Norman with Emma and Ray. Only issue is, he's not there yet, and his 'squad' is occupying his office.

PART 1

Time waited for no one. Its hands constantly ticked back and forth, once, twice, until you couldn’t recall how long you’d been staring at the clock.

The first thing you did this morning was shoot out of bed and gulp down your breakfast. There wasn’t time to idly chat or greet every single one of your family members. You had a job to do, and that was to convince Norman that this 'Seven Walls’ plan was better.

The office door stood before you like a timed bomb. It towered over you, made you feel small and helpless. What if you were too late? What if there was nothing you could do?

An uneasy smile twitched on your lips. You had to stay solid for Ray and Emma. They relied on you, and you couldn’t let them down. “Ready?”

Their eyes were bright with resolve you didn’t seem to have.

“Yes.”

“’Course!”

Why were you so nervous? Just look at them, they were so confident that Norman would listen. But of course your Norman would listen, right? He wasn’t the type to brush you off or act all high and mighty. He was sweet, considerate, and wonderful.

You sucked in a sharp breath to steel yourself. “Nor--?”

Three heads turned to stare as you opened the door. One was a woman with curly hair, another a tall guy in a suit, and the last one, a guy in a military vest.

Norman wasn’t at his desk.

The three strangers sat sprawled throughout the room. Two on either couches, and one in the back. Crumbs lay on the coffee table where stray pieces of wrapping fluttered about. A tea cup sat a little ways away from the wrappings, still steaming and piping hot. They had to have been here for quite some time. The lady raised a brow and glanced at the tall guy behind her. “Who are they?”

You and Ray kept straight faces.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Ray.” Emma tried for a wobbly smile. “I’m Emma and this is (Y/n). We come from shelter b-zero-six-three!” You glanced at your companions, then back at the three adults in your path. The lady turned to the guy behind her again and asked another question, but you weren’t listening.

What were they doing here? Most importantly, were they dangerous? Sure, Norman trusted them (they were in his office after all), but was that enough reason for you too? He was revered as a god here, you reminded yourself. It wouldn’t be out of the park if he acted differently around these people.

“Where is...the ‘Boss’ at the moment?” you respectfully inquired. The guy in the vest adjusted his position on the couch. He swung his feet off the coffee table dramatically and said, “The Boss is out of the office right now. He’s on urgent business.”

You frowned. That didn’t sound good. “We’ll come back then. Talk can wait.” you decided. “Let’s--”

The vest guy stood up and the lady followed. Your chest tightened as he slowly turned to meet your eye. “No, wait a second.” He placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder and the lady set a hand on either side of you and Emma. They smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Why don’t you stay for tea?” the lady inquired. They steered you over to the couch and plopped you all together one after the other.

You didn’t like where this was going. Urgent business? What could be so urgent that Norman would decide to leave so early in the morning? You folded your arms over your chest in thought.

It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion.

Norman mentioned a bit about his plan last night, but not in full detail. You recalled the brief mentions of a poison, as well as the obvious portion of genocide and degeneration of demons. But what else did he say?

I've decided to officially start tomorrow.

Your frown tightened and your fist clenched. Of course he would go out of his way to start the plan as soon as possible. He didn’t need distractions, much less people against his will. You remembered the smile he forced onto his lips. It was wry, and hollow, and fake, and everything that he wasn’t.

Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want.

You wanted to be angry--no, livid--yet the aching in your heart said otherwise. Norman did everything in good faith. All he wanted was to save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood. But did he realise the guilt he’d have to carry once his plan was complete? Did he realise how much blood would stain his hands?

You heaved in a subtle breath to compose yourself. “So,” you began. “What did you wish to speak about?” Vest didn’t seem to welcome your presence. He planted an arm on the coffee table and leaned across with that stare that could burn straight through you.

The lady, on the other hand, sat at the edge of the couch with that giant piece of meat in her hand. You wondered if that was actually some regular type of meat. It was far too large to be a pig, much less a wild animal.

Was it just you, or were these guys kind of creepy?

“I’m Cislo,” Vest firmly announced. “That’s Barbara. That Egghead over there is Vincent.” The tall guy, or Vincent, poured three cups of tea. He silently made his way over and set them on the table. You politely nodded his way and picked up the cup, taking a good, long sip.

Until you were sure these people could be trusted, you decided it best to stay quiet.

Cislo leaned farther over the table. You instinctively took another sip of tea. “Emma, Ray, and (Y/n), right? From Grace Field?” Ray was about to answer, but Cislo interrupted. “We’re escapees too y’know!” He hastily jumped up and planted a firm foot on the coffee table. “And for the record, our escape was way better. We kicked that farm’s ass!”

You slowly nodded with false amusement. “Is that so?” Vincent adjusted his glasses almost apologetically. He was the calmest out of all his companions, as well as the most polite. “Right.” He sounded distasteful. “You guys feel the need to childishly compete all the time... Please, accept my humblest apologies.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Nah, you guys are amazing. Absolutely incredible. Show-stopping. It’s not like we could have done better, bra-vo.” You snickered behind your teacup and fist-bumped under the coffee table. He was trying to make you smile because he knew you were tense. And it worked.

You took another sip of tea and glanced over the rim. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a mark peeking out at the top of Barbara’s tank top. Norman had the same one right on his chest. These three weren’t normal people, weren’t they?

“Excuse me,” Emma said with a bright smile, “thank you so much for yesterday!” Oh right, you thought. Vincent was the the guy who treated Cristy and Dominics. “Yes,” you added. “Thank you, Vincent.” He returned Emma’s smile in a calmer manner and nodded. “The boss let me know about that. I wish the best for them.”

Emma’s smile brightened like the sun. “Thanks!”

The back of your neck tingled uncomfortably. Barbara’s stare was creepy, and it didn’t help that Cislo had joined in. Ray and Emma inched closer to your sides.

“That’s well and all,” Barbara started, “but we’d like to know!” Cislo eagerly nodded. He leaned farther across the table and you inched backward into the couch. “Yeah, how about you tell us? What you wanted to talk about with that guy...”

You raised a brow. “’That guy’?”

The air thinned out as quick as one could say ‘Quidditch’. A bashful grin broke out on Barbara’s lips and her face went red as a cherry. “The boss of course!” she cried. “Minerva James!” She said ‘Minerva James’ like he was a god. Cislo mimicked Barbara’s bashful expression. “What did you want to talk about with...Nor--‘Norman’, is what you guys called him?”

You didn’t have the strength to be question them.

“Even if you try to hide it, you idiots love the boss.” said Vincent. Barbara rolled her eyes. “Shut up! You love everything he does too!” Vincent turned to you, Ray and Emma. “Because you’re long time friends of the boss, they can’t stop themselves from being nervous.”

Ah, so these three were Norman’s fan club. You scoffed to yourself.

Cislo rounded on Barbara and Vincent with a newfound energy (seriously, where did that come from?). “I mean, aren’t you curious?” he inquired, clenching a fist in the air all dramatically. “When we came back from morning patrol, they were all making a fuss upstairs. Yesterday, the boss was a totally different person!” He clasped the sides of his head with a shout. “I thought, ‘what’s up with that’! I got super curious, and turns out, you guys are super good friends!”

Cislo stamped a foot down on the coffee table again. “What kinda guy is this ‘Norman’?” Barbara mimicked his elated expression. “Yeah, tell us!”

You glanced at Emma and she smiled as amiably as always. “Well, he hasn’t changed that much since back then.” She elbowed you. “Tell them!” You knitted your brows in confusion. “Tell them what?” She giggled and Ray playfully smirked. “That you’re his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?!” Cislo and Barbara screeched.

You sent Ray a subtle glare, to which he smugly shrugged off. It was clear that he purposely said that to get a kick out of Barbara and Cislo. What a total--

“So you’re his girlfriend?” Vincent questioned, casually pushing his glasses up. “I didn’t think the boss would be ‘that type’.” You raised a brow. “What do you mean by that?” Vincent smiled and it was almost playful.

“Well?” Barbara expectantly inquired, resting her chin in her palms. “What’s he like? As a boyfriend I mean?”

You thought for a moment. Norman was kind, sweet, and gentle. He knew how to cheer you up when you were down, and he was a great cook. Sometimes, he thought too much about the little things, or became secretive and changed the subject. Sure it could be troublesome to bother with that, but it was just who he was.

And you loved him for him.

“Norman is so soft and kind,” you began, “he’s smart too and smiles so sweetly. I’ve never met anyone else like him in my life.” A fond sigh left your lips that hung in the air. Just by looking at you, everyone could tell how unconditionally your love was. You were more than just his girlfriend, you were two halves of a whole.

“He smiles sweetly?” Barbara echoed. Cislo blinked in disbelief. “‘Soft’?” They glanced at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. You knitted your brows together questioningly. “Is he that different?”

“Stiff.” said Barbara.

“Cold.” answered Vincent.

“An emperor.” added Cislo.

That wasn’t a surprise to you, but for your siblings, it was earth-shattering. Ray spat out his tea and Emma let out a ‘WHAAAAAT’ that could have reached the heavens. Then Ray chuckled, and that turned into a stifled snicker.

“So he’s stiff and cold?” you muttered, placing a hand to your chin in thought. Barbara nodded. “Yeah, kind of like how you were before we started talking about the Boss.”

You almost chocked. Was it plausible that Norman took after your rock-solid façade while running this revolution? Logically speaking, it was normal, smart even, to make yourself known as an unshakable being. That was why you walked into this room full of strangers as quietly as you could. It gave you time to observe and figure out the little details in untested waters.

And because you stayed headstrong and cool, others followed your example.

Sometime in the conversation, Ray shared embarrassing stories about Norman with the occasional pitch from you or Emma. Seeing Ray and Emma smile over the old memories made you relax just a bit. It was refreshing to think about something other than fifty ways to save the world. The trivial, the peace, the mundane. Yes, you missed that.

A smile etched itself onto Barbara’s lips. “So even a long time ago, the boss was cool.” she noted. “Thanks, it was nice to hear so much about him.” You almost smiled at her. She and Cislo were nice to be around when they weren’t all up in your personal space.

“He’s a good man.” Vincent stated. “He cares for his companions.” A grin broke out onto Cislo’s lips. “Not with a sweet smile or softly though. For the sake of all of us, he works without sparing any time to sleep. He saved us and made use of this ‘power’ we all have.”

You carefully watched the way he and his companions shifted. As Cislo explained his time in Lambda, silence fell upon everyone’s shoulders. Lambda was far worse than any hell. Mass production was commonly practiced, and it worked to the benefit of the demons and doctors who worked there. Experimentation day by day. New medicine. New pills and syringes.

The very thought of that place made your skin crawl.

“He was a twleve-year-old brat,” Cislo stated. “But it was like I saw a god.”

There was that word again.

“The boss constructed a plan,” he added. “And the four of us, including Zazie, executed it. Until now, all five of us have been destroying and freeing the farms. It’s like I told you! We’re amazing.” His eyes carried a dark glint you didn’t like. “You don’t have to worry.”

Oh, but you did worry. Not just for Norman, but the world he wanted to make reality. That look Cislo shared with his companions didn’t help. It was bloodthirsty. It was dark and filled with a deep hatred that sent shivers down your spine. They wanted this revolution, this chance for revenge, and they wanted it now.

“With the boss’s perfect plan and our power, victory will definitely be ours.” Cislo stared off into a horizon you didn’t care to see. “I can’t wait to kill every last one of them.” He broadly grinned. “Every time I kill a demon, I get this real nice feeling in my chest.” Barbara stared at the bare bone in her hand. “Me too. Whenever I eat meat from demons we kicked, this nauseous feeling just goes away.”

You stared at the bone with wide eyes. That wasn’t a ridiculously large leg without a reason. Demon meat. It was demon meat.

Ray followed your gaze uneasily. “Uh...then that meat you just had was demon meat?”

“You must be surprised!” she exclaimed. “I wonder if it was an employee from that mass-production farm we slammed the other day. It makes me sick, us being cattle to them. Even now, I still can’t forget.” She gripped the bone so tighty that her knuckles turned white. “Their eyes...that pain...that agony every. Single. Day.”

She stood straight and bared her teeth. “Everyone here has the same enemy, but just killing them isn’t enough for me. I’ll slaughter them all and the Ratri clan!”

Emma pursed her lips together with wide eyes. Everyone in the room could see the blatant fear etched in her bright eyes. She worried, not just about the chaotic way Barbara pranced around with the bone, but for what was yet to come. If everyone else in the hideout were like Barbara, then would any of you stand a chance with fixing Norman’s estranged plan?

The woman’s gaze sharply flickered from yours to Emma’s. “What’s with that face?” she demanded. “Are you sympathising with the demons Emma? Aren’t you happy?”

Barbara leapt on the table. Her heel dug into the wood with an inhuman amount of strength. “I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t want to kill the demons. You’re cattle. They don’t care about you!”

She ripped her gaze from Emma’s and met your own. You kept a straight face and stared right back with stone-cold eyes. “Oh, and that ‘talk’ you wanted with the boss.... I bet you were going to spew something like ‘change the plan’, weren’t you? How dare you betray us like that? If you think you’ll change his mind just because you’re his--!”

“Barbara!” called Cislo. “Stop it, you’re breaking the table.”

“--I don’t care who you are. Demons should be exterminated! Every single one of them until we’re the only ones left!”

“Barbara!” Cislo’s eyes were cold and dark. “Stop it.” His goal wasn’t to save anyone from unnecessary conflict, only to protect the poor table under Barbara’s boot. You eyed the table uneasily. Chestnut wood splintered and peeled against itself, burying the thick demon bone in broken chips. When Barbara begrudgingly stepped off the table, a clear dent sat where her boot had been. The poor table was helpless.

Just like you.

Would convincing Norman be enough? If his followers didn’t see eye to eye with your ideals, then a new plan risked ripping the whole resistance apart.

You steadily rose from the couch and smoothed down your skirt. “Thank you for the tea and the pleasant conversation.” Your voice was silky smooth. “I think it’s time we got off your backs.” You turned to leave.

“If you’re still thinking about changing the Boss’s plan, then I believe it’s time to reconsider.” Vincent announced. “You can’t stop it, it’s too late for that.”

You paused in your step and glanced over your shoulder. For a moment, you were unrecognizable. You weren’t (Y/n) anymore, or that Grace Field kid from bunker B-zero-six-three. You were another player, another great mind in this sick game of chess.

“Is that so?” you coolly inquired. “Well it so happens that working until the very last minute is a special skill of mine. The ‘Boss’ decided to hasten this ‘perfect’ plan, yes? Where is he?”

The way you looked at everyone rubbed Vincent in the wrong way. It was like you were on a completely different level, cattle or not. You didn’t care what position you stood in because you would get it done, and for that reason, you were on a pedestal higher than Vincent and the rest.

“The Boss went to meet them,” he slowly replied, “the demons.”

You nodded in thanks. He knew that look, the one where your eyes glinted and shone with a quiet roar. There was only one other person whom you shared that look with, one other man who had those same, calculating eyes.

Yes, Vincent thought. You had the same eyes as the Boss.

-----

You hated waiting. After being on the run or constantly fighting to walk step after step, it didn’t feel natural to stand around and wait the day away for Norman to arrive. And so you sat in the hospital wing with Ray and Emma, staring at the sleeping face of Christy, who had yet to wake up.

Waiting was excruciating.

“Are you okay (Y/n)?”

You met Emma’s worried eyes. They watered with unshed tears, as if she already knew the answer even if you wouldn’t acknowledge it yourself. You forced a comforting smile to your lips and gently squeezed her hand. You had to be strong. “Don’t worry,” you said, “everything is perfectly fine.”

Ray snorted to himself. “You’re a really bad liar.” You shifted in your chair uncomfortably and slowly met his eyes. “No I’m not.” Ray huffed. “If you’re a good liar, then why did you act so cold around Vincent and the others? You only do that if you think it’s necessary, like the time we first met Yuugo.”

You shrugged absentmindedly. “Sometimes, it’s to let people know I mean business. The way Barbara talked to Emma wasn’t okay, but if I started an argument it would’ve made things worse.” Emma knitted her brows together. “So you acted distant instead?”

“Precisely.”

Ray huffed again, this time more dramatically than the last. He was about to say something else, but a voice cut through the air. Norman was back. Norman was back.

In no time, you three caught up to him in his office.

“Sorry for bothering you as soon as you got back.” you half-heartedly muttered. Ray sent you a curious glance you shrugged off. Norman kept his gaze to the window behind his desk and removed his heavy cloak. You watched the way he shifted from foot to foot. There was a sluggishness in his step so subtle that if you blinked a second too soon, you wouldn’t have seen it.

“You wanted to talk?” Norman inquired, keeping his back to the window. Emma made her way over to the couch with a nod. “Yeah, about a lot of things.” You and Ray followed, settling side-by-side. A ‘lot of things’ had to be the biggest understatement you’d ever heard. There were a few points in your new plan that needed to be addressed, and you were sure a five-minute talk wouldn’t suffice.

Ray folded his hands together. “But before that (Y/n) and I would like to know...” He sharply stared at Norman’s back. “What kind of plan do you have to ‘exterminate the demons without losing a single person’? Is it a civil war?”

Norman whipped around and snapped his fingers. “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “You both always catch on so quickly.” The way he smiled in congratulation reminded you of your time at the House.

You were eleven again. Grace Field’s forest surrounded you on all sides, and Norman and Ray stood only a little ways away from you. They were arguing about something you couldn’t quite hear, and that was because you weren’t meant to hear it in the first place. Ray had yanked Norman by the collar so harshly that he stood on his tippy toes.

You didn’t understand why Ray had been so angry. Norman was just trying to figure out the best path to safety. It was for the future of not just you, Ray, and Emma, but for your family. All of them.

Everything suddenly clicked. Ray had been angry at Norman because he had done something stupid just like now. Sure, it was smart, but was it worth the risk? Was it worth all the trouble to reach the goal he wanted?

Norman’s lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him.

Objectively speaking, his plan was genius. A civil war utilising the demon clan Giran? There wasn’t a flaw in sight. No rips to break and no disruption between each consecutive step. The Giran clan didn’t care for humans, and the humans didn’t care for the Giran. It was an equivalent exchange.

According to an old book you read, ‘humankind cannot gain anything without giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value had to be lost’.

In this case, that toll was the Giran clan. They would face their demise as soon as they clashed heads with the Regent Homes, leaving Norman and his team time to poison the helpless citizens of the Neverland.

But that wouldn’t work, not when demons like Mujika and Sonju existed.

“Norman,” you said. “Do you know about the demons who don’t regenerate despite not eating human flesh? If your plan succeeds, then you’ll have to find a way to deal with them.” Ray nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if there are a lot of demons out there who don’t need to eat humans, your plan will fail from the onset.”

The room went unbearably quiet.

Norman placed a hand over his face in thought, and it was then that you realised just how desperate he was. “How...how do you guys know about that?” You frowned. That wasn’t an answer you expected. “Why do you say that?”

Norman began by explaining the differences in demon social statuses, then the whole ‘hunt’ for this ‘Evil Blood Maiden’, or Mujika. “They don’t know how we’ll revolt,” Norman thoughtfully said. “And it would be trouble for them if we got caught by the Ratri clan since you know their whereabouts.”

He paused.

“We need to track down and kill them.”

Your heart stopped. Kill Mujika and Sonju? You couldn’t do that. They saved your family when you all could have been left for the wild demons to eat you alive. They taught you all how to survive and thrive when you were all alone.

“Wait!” cried Emma. “Sonju and Mujika are our friends! They’re fine--they're our saviours--our friends! If we used their blood, then we wouldn’t have to worry about...about...” You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to Norman. His eyes danced with a dangerous light.

“I agree with Emma. Not just because they haven’t done anything wrong, but because they could be the solution.” You wrung your hands together. “Your plan is perfect, I admit. It doesn’t have a single flaw, but it’s not...right. We’ve thought of something that could work, something that doesn’t involve killing everyone.”

That look in Norman’s eye intensified. It held a quiet flame, yet burned brighter than any fire could. “Who’s to say what’s right and wrong?” he slowly inquired. “(Y/n), you know full well that this world isn’t as simple or kind as any of us hoped it to be. They’re demons, right?”

You saw Cislo and Vincent and Barbara in his eyes. They all had that same look, that same hatred for their hunters. But if only they saw what you saw. If only they hadn’t been to Lambda and met Mujika and Sonju instead.

“Don’t you think we should close our mouths and watch them go extinct?” Norman grimly added. “Do you think you can forgive them for what they’ve done?”

No, you couldn’t forgive them. Not after seeing Conny’s body in the back of the truck. Not after what happened to Yuugo and Lucas and all your other friends. The demons made you and your family suffer.

Your throat constricted.

You almost died by their hand more times than you could count too! But how could you blame them? How could you hate them all from the bottom of your heart when you saw the vast majority for what they really were?

Your fist clenched.

Demons had families too. Just like you. They struggled to survive. Just like you. They did nearly anything to make sure their kind lived to see another sunrise. Just like you. Most demons ate to live. Just like you.

You shot out of your seat and threw a hand out. “You can’t kill a whole race!”

Norman’s eyes widened. It was rare for you to lose your cool, much less, shout during a conversation. This time, you couldn’t do that, not when Emma’s eyes were sad and glossy, and not when Ray relied on you to make the right decision.

You paused and thickly swallowed, gingerly fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“You can’t just...you can’t just kill a whole race.” you echoed. “That’s genocide. Will you be able to sleep knowing that your hands will be stained with the blood of thousands? Millions?! History always repeats itself no matter where you go or what world you escape to! Why do we have to take vengeance when we could be the bigger people? Genocide won’t bring back the dead and it won’t solve anything either!”

“(Y/n),” Norman muttered, intertwined his hands with yours. “Has this been on your chest the whole time?” You nodded and he looked at you like you were far away. “Even if we do give the demons their blood, what guarantee will we have that they won’t come eat us anyway? The king and nobility have been doing this for the past seven hundred years, the same goes for Giran.”

He released your hands and averted his gaze to the splintered coffee table. “If you were told not to eat (f/f), would you say, ‘understandable, have a great day’? You might have that self-control, but the demons don’t because they can’t sympathise with us. We are the prey, and they are the hunters.”

You heaved in a deep breath to steel yourself. “Then let’s run away, all of us beyond the Seven Walls to reforge the Promise!” Norman’s jaw went slack and he stared at you, baffled to silence. “Even though we don’t know what the human world has to offer? We don’t know if they’ll accept us or if we’ll have safe entry. How can you bet everyone’s fate on that?”

Norman eyed the way you tightly gripped the hem of your skirt. He sucked in a sharp breath, as if what he was about to say would be the hardest thing he’s ever. “(Y/n),” he softly said. “You have to think realistically. Genocide or not, the world doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. You, more than anyone, should know that.”

He was right again. You knew how cruel the world was because you were able to keep needless emotions from rushing to your head. You were cynical. You were tough. But that was only because you needed to be for your family. They looked up to your strength and your decisive decisions that always led them to victory.

“If we don’t wipe out the demons,” Norman stated, “there won’t be a future where our family can smile.”

You firmly shook your head. “No, that’s no true. Ray said the same thing when we were at Grace Field, didn’t he? He thought only you, Emma, and I would be able to escape, but in the end, we took all the older kids with us. We survived this long, not because we cared about probabilities, but because we saw the path before us!” You needed him to understand--no, you were begging him to. “It’s there, so why can’t you...why can’t you see what I’m seeing?”

Norman silently stood. His gaze left your own as he placed a hand to his chin in thought. “I don’t see any hope in this plan,” he honestly stated, “but for the sake of this argument, let’s concede and say that we can cross over to the human world and so on.”

You heaved out a relieved sigh. At least he was considering.

“Even then, the part about the Seven Walls is unclear.” He continued to explain a few different points, some you could dispute and others you had no answer to. But by the end of it, you were feeling great. There was hope.

“We’ve already found a way to reach the Seven Walls a year and a half ago.” you matter-of-factly said. “We have everything we need, and when the conditions are met, we can go at anytime.” Norman’s jaw dropped. “You--you found it?”

You nodded. “Yes. But like you said, there are a lot of uncertainties, so if you still need more constants before stopping the plan, then I’ll go and figure out the rest.” Norman’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

You intertwined your hands with his and gave them a good squeeze. “If I come back and reforge the Promise, then you will have no choice but to stop the extermination of all demons.” He knitted his brows together in alarm. “Wait a minute.... What is this about ‘if’ you come back?”

“Regarding the risks,” Ray noted, “right now, we’re only aware of two things. We know how to get in, but not how to get out. It appears that most who went there never returned so--”

“WHAT?!” Norman cried, staring between you, Emma, and Ray. “What kind of crazy--that’s too dangerous!” You gently patted his cheek. “Well, if I don’t go, then you’ll have to carry a burden too big for your weak shoulders, right?” You giggled and it was like music to his ears. “We talked about this yesterday, and we’re all ready to go.”

Norman gave your hands a shake. “How does that make it okay?!” You offered a comforting smile. “If the first Ratri did it, then so can we. Even though we don’t know it now, we’ll find it. We want to stop this extermination, right?”

Emma and Ray nodded.

“So let us carry a bit of your burden.” A brief frown settled on your lips that didn’t slip past Norman’s line of view. “I told you this once and I’ll say it again: You don’t have to be a god and you don’t have to do everything on your own either. We’re here, right? So rely on us.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle and pulled him close. “And for the record,” you whispered, “I know you’re hiding something.” Your breath fanned across his neck and he shivered. “You’re such a naughty boy, you know that?” You pulled away.

Norman’s wide eyes narrowed deviously as a soft smile rose on his lips. He made his way over to Emma and Ray, patting their shoulders amiably. “Be careful. I can count on you all to take care of each other, right?”

“Of course.” said Ray.

“No duh, Norman.” Emma added.

“What she said.” you pitched in.

Norman’s smile warmed as he led Emma and Ray towards the door. “That’s great to hear,” he said. “I promise to bring (Y/n) back before dinner.” Ray’s brows shot up. He let out a small ‘oooo’ and steered Emma out of the office at the speed of light. “We’ll stay out of your way then.”

The door creaked close and the lock clicked in place. Norman slowly turned to meet your eye. “What was that you said earlier?” he lowly inquired, loosening his tie. “About me being a ‘naughty boy’?” It was hard to fight the heat spreading throughout your body when he looked at you like that. Like you were a glass of water to quench his thirst. Butterflies rose in your stomach and your breath caught in your throat.

He was so alluring, so freaking hot that it made you freeze in place. Norman’s lips twitched up into a sly smirk, and it was then that you realised he was enjoying this.

Norman liked the way you got all flustered. He liked the way your cheeks flared up with red. And he loved the way you struggled to keep a straight face. There was mischievous glint reflecting in his eyes as he placed his tie on the couch and strode right over to you.

Gosh, you wanted--no--needed him. Now.

You were practically panting for air and Norman hadn’t even laid a finger on you. He set your heart ablaze with a single glance and knew how to make you feel all lightheaded in the best way possible.

You paused in your step and your back hit the wall. Gosh dang it, why did you fall for that again?

"You can't think straight." Norman noted, caressing your cheek. "But that's okay. You're always in good hands." Your breath hitched and Norman chuckled. It was low, it was attractive, it was hot. How could a cutie like him act like this when you were alone? Not even you could have expected this type of unexpected, not that it mattered though. After all, Norman knew how to treat you right.

“You’re so adorable.” he said, resting a cool hand on your thigh. “I wonder what will happen if I...?” You shivered under his light touch. How dare he act so cool. How dare he make you gasp and lean further back into the wall. His touch made your cheeks burn and your lower regions go warm. He gave your thigh a squeeze just to watch you gasp again.

"N-Norman..." you moaned.

He smiled.

"You like that, don't you." His breath fanned across your cheeks. "You won't be able to stay quiet for long. I'll make sure of it." He leaned into you and your lips connected. The kiss was sweet and warm, but far from innocent. The bastard knew exactly how to make your knees buckle and your breath hitch. Somehow, it made you want more of him.

He bit at your lip and you yanked him closer. Kissed him harder.

Norman found himself snaking a hand under your shirt. He trailed over your sides with a gentle touch that made your back arch and your insides tingle. You liked it--no, you loved it. To have his hands on you and his body practically glued to you...

What more could you ask for?

Norman placed a hand on the top of your collar. "May I?" You nodded and he skillfully unbuttoned your shirt. As he pulled it over your shoulders, you squeezed your thighs together. You were wet. That much you just knew.

"Am I that irresistible?" Norman inquired. He didn't let you respond. Instead, he undid the clasp on your bra and gave your breasts a good flick. Norman watched the way you breathily inhaled.

You were so, so beautiful. An absolute masterpiece.

He experimentally fondled your breasts, squeezing and groping. If it could get any hotter in here, then you were sure it would've been a hundred degrees.

He didn't seem to mind though. Instead, he sucked in a short breath with a satisfied smile, as if your moans were the only thing he wanted to hear.

Norman's lips slammed into yours. He licked your bottom lip and you moaned. Moaned. Norman's cheeks reddened. He suddenly realised just how far he had gone. In the heat of the moment, none of you were able to register the fact that you were half-naked, or that Norman was dominant as fuck.

Don’t forget to reblog (do it for Norman!)

"You have such a gorgeous voice,” Norman slyly said. "Can you do that again?"

PART THREE

TIP JAR

#plz reblog #i'm begging at this point #do it for norman #tpn #tpn manga #yakusoku no nebarando #ynn norman #tpn norman #tpn ray #ynn ray #ynn emma #tpn emma #the promised neverland x reader #I'M SORRY OKAY #but like y'all #read pt 1 so like #ur also thirsty #the promised neverland

303 notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 3 years

Note

Halu! I love reading your rivetra fics especially the heart skips a beat <3 you're such a great writer! was hoping if you can try to write rivetra modern au during the pandemic? :D

here you go~ ah, i always take a long time to write now, but at least it was out before the pandemic is over ^^" (as much as i would like it to be over ...) i hope you like it ~

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

Love in the Time of COVID-19

Rivetra. COVID-19 Pandemic AU.

9543 words.

Read on Ao3!

Levi Ackerman is hugely germaphobic and antisocial. For him, the COVID-19 global pandemic is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened. People have finally begun to wash their filthy hands, cover their mouths with the crook of their elbows when they sneeze, and wear masks over their mouths to slow the spread of airborne contamination. All non-essential workers have stopped going outdoors, which makes Levi look less like a recluse and more like a normal person.

Of course, even these basic precautions couldn’t stop the coronavirus outbreak from growing into a full-blown pandemic. Maybe if everyone were more like Levi — washing their hands for a full five minutes rather than the CDC’s recommendation of a measly twenty seconds, bringing around a pack of disinfecting wipes and wiping down everything he touches, and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer at least three times after he touches anything — the world wouldn’t be in this mess.

The worst thing about this pandemic, however, isn’t the fact that people are taking the bare minimum precautions, but the people who aren’t taking any precautions at all. For every person wearing a mask, there are at least ten people outside not wearing a mask. Hell, there are even people dying in the hospital of COVID that are convinced this whole pandemic is a hoax rather than a mess of their own making because they refuse to wash their own hands. It’s because of these people that Levi has to be especially careful on the few occasions he leaves his apartment, stripping off all his clothes as soon as he walks through his door and tossing them in the laundry basket before he takes a shower with scalding hot water to kill off all the germs he may have brought home with him.

For the most part though, Levi doesn’t mind pandemic life. It’s a lot like his life pre-pandemic, but he disinfects everything twice as much as he normally did before COVID. As a data analyst, he hardly went into the office anyway and he didn’t bat an eyelash when his company declared that everyone would be working from home until further notice. With delivery services becoming more popular, Levi found it was easier to get things delivered to his apartment. Even his neighbors are bearable. People are too busy working to be a bother during work hours and by the end of the day they’re too tired to do anything except turn on Netflix until they fall asleep on the couch. Really, Levi doesn’t have a problem with anyone except the woman living in the unit next to him.

Prior to COVID, Levi wasn’t even aware of her existence. He sometimes heard about her from the chatty woman in the unit across from him. The nosy woman somehow miraculously knew when Levi (or anyone, really) would be coming out of their apartments, popping out and ensnaring them in a conversation that always seemed fifteen minutes too long.

The gossipy woman loved the person who occupied the unit next to Levi’s. Levi’s next-door neighbor had moved in a few months before the pandemic started and was never at home, the talkative neighbor explained, because she was an actress.

“An actress in the theater. Musical theater, darling,” the woman emphasized, her eyes as wide as saucers like being in theater was the most magnificent thing anyone could ever do. “Poor dear is never home though. If she’s not rehearsing or on a show, she’s working part-time jobs at the diner downtown.”

Levi didn’t think very much of it after hearing about the woman next door for the first hundred times. It wasn’t his business what other people did. Anyway, if the woman was hardly ever home, that was even better. Except now that there’s a pandemic and everyone is required to stay home, the woman is home almost all the time and if Levi hadn’t believed the woman had a career in theater, he certainly does now.

The woman likes to sing on the balcony after work hours. It’s considerate of her but somehow also very infuriating to Levi because he can’t complain that he’s working. She also stops at an appropriate time (usually 8 or 9 at the latest), so it’s not as if Levi can send in a noise complaint without feeling like a dick. He just has to grit his teeth and listen to his neighbor belt out “If I Loved You” from Carousel while he cooks dinner.

She doesn’t have a bad voice either. It’s just that it’s incredibly loud. He supposes if she were any quieter, she wouldn’t be any good for musical theater. Maybe his other apartment neighbors are elated to have a living Disney princess sing for them for free every night, but it’s grating to the ears if you’re living right next door.

He probably should have said something when she started singing more dramatic songs, songs that crescendoed and built into a climax that Levi could probably hear if he were living on the other side of the apartment. It’s those goddamn musical ballads that Levi hates the most. If it’s upbeat, at least Levi knows what’s coming but those ballads always have to build and build until the woman is belting out to the heavens.

Levi thought he could bear it. Surely, the pandemic would only last for a few more weeks or even another month or two, but new coronavirus cases kept climbing and Levi knew he’d be listening to entire one-woman musicals for the next year if he didn’t say anything. One night when the woman begins yet another musical ballad, Levi finally throws open the sliding door to his balcony and is surprised when he sees his next-door neighbor sitting cross-legged on her balcony, a pink floral mask on her face, and a guitar in her lap.

The woman stops strumming her guitar and looks up, her amber eyes wide with surprise. “Hi,” she says, voice slightly muffled through her mask. She waves awkwardly at Levi even though he’s frozen in place on his balcony and hasn’t made any move to greet her.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he asks her as if he’s not wearing one too. It makes sense that he’s wearing one. He always wears a mask when he steps outside even if there’s nobody around. He knows most people don’t because they don’t see the point if nobody else is around, so why is she wearing one?

The woman’s nose scrunches up from under her mask while her eyebrows are knit in confusion. “We’re in a pandemic. Isn’t that why you’re wearing one, too?” the woman asks, gesturing towards Levi and then her own mask. She pauses for a moment as if thinking about whether or not she should continue. “Also, I heard you’re a huge germaphobe.”

“Who told you that?” Levi snaps.

“The lady who lives across from you,” the woman replies.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“But I don’t even come out here that regularly,” Levi points out.

The woman shrugs. “Just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry anyway,” the woman says. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal to wear a mask.”

Levi’s not sure if it’s because he’s been stuck in his house for months, but he’s just fallen a little bit in love with this woman and it’s all because she said wearing a mask isn’t that much of an inconvenience. He doesn’t even know her name. After meeting for five seconds and realizing that she’s considerate for wearing a mask on the off chance that Levi might go out on the balcony, Levi’s starting to feel like a dick for coming out here to yell at her for singing too loud. She’s a lovely singer, really, and he should probably be thankful she’s not a part of a screamo metal rock band or something.

Levi fights the urge to disappear in his apartment. He slides the glass door behind him, trapping himself outside on the balcony and forcing himself to speak more with the woman. He’s not exactly sure what he should say. Should he ask her name? Compliment her singing? Ask her about how she’s handling quarantine? He sits down cross-legged facing her.

“What song were you singing?” he ends up asking the woman.

“Oh,” the woman says as if she’s surprised Levi’s still speaking with her. She looks skyward, trying to recall the name. “‘Please Don’t Make Me Love You.’ It’s from the Dracula musical.”

“Oh.” Levi hadn’t been aware that there was even a musical adaptation of the Bram Stoker gothic novel.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says with another nose scrunch, her mask shifting upward from the movement. “There’s a musical for everything nowadays.” She hums a few notes and strums a few chords across her guitar. “But what about you? How are you spending your quarantine?”

“Me?” Levi repeats. “I just … am hanging in there.”

“That’s good,” the woman says. Levi can’t see her smile behind her mask, but he does see the edge of her eyes crinkle. She sets her guitar beside her and leans back on her palms. Her head tilts to the side and her ginger hair falls away from her lithe neck. “I’m Petra, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

That’s probably because Levi has never made the effort to be neighborly. In fact, the only reason they’re meeting right now is because Levi was going out here to complain about her singing, but he won’t mention that. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Levi.” It’s a lame introduction. Even he cringes at it, but Petra doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never seen you out here, but maybe because I’m only on the balcony in the evenings,” Petra says. She picks idly at the guitar strings, letting their sound reverberate with every twang before she moves onto the next string. She stops suddenly and looks at Levi, eyebrow raised. “Oh, you didn’t come out here because it was too loud, did you? I know my voice is pretty … resonant, especially in a small space like this.” She winces apologetically.

Levi is thankful that his mask is able to cover the blush that is surely rising in his cheeks. “N-no,” he stammers. He sits up a little straighter as if this will somehow make him a less obvious liar. “I just … wanted some fresh air.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Petra hums. Her eyes crinkle again and Levi’s heart does something weird in his chest. “Good to get some fresh air circulating in the apartment. I always have my air filter on nowadays too.”

Levi realizes with horror that she’s absolutely right. He usually keeps his apartment windows closed, opening them only in the early morning and the late evening for the fresh air. He hadn’t accounted for the lack of fresh air in the entire apartment complex. There’s no telling whose dirty air he’s been breathing these past months. Sure, he has at least one air filter in every room, but he can’t count on these machines to filter out every germ flying around the air. Why hadn’t he accounted for the poor air circulation through the building before this? He should have been keeping his windows open this entire time. The air outside is filled with germs as well, but the concentration of germs from other people who may or may not be spreading COVID within this apartment complex is much higher here than it is inside.

Levi stands up, grabbing the railing of his balcony for support. He feels a little dizzy right now and has the frantic urge to clean his entire apartment again even though he had cleaned it this morning. This time, he’ll be sure to deep clean the carpet.

“I have to go,” he tells Petra, but he doesn’t give her the reason. He doesn’t want her to think he’s an idiot for not thinking about air circulation sooner.

Petra raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised and perhaps a little bit sorry to see him go. “Alright then,” she says. She picks up her guitar once more, strumming a few pleasant chords. “Have a good evening, Levi. It was nice meeting you.”

Levi pauses at the door. “You, too,” he says finally before he slips inside. He makes sure to leave the door open. The lack of barrier makes it easier for Petra’s voice to carry into his apartment. That’s not why he leaves his door open, of course. It's purely for the fresh air to come in, or at least that’s what Levi tells himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does not know why the news of the woman next door intrigues his friends so much. He had casually mentioned her once on a video call with them and now they won’t stop asking him about her, constantly requesting updates on little tedious things like the songs she had sung the night before and if she still wears her mask. Even more surprising, Levi finds he can’t ignore their questions and answers each and every one. He tells himself it’s because he knows their curiosity will never be quenched until he answers their inquiries and it’s better to respond than to be bombarded with the same question a half dozen more times.

“So you guys talk to each other every night?” Isabel asks. She sits closer to her laptop and her face fills the little square with her name in the right-hand corner. Her hands sit in her hands and she has a thoughtful pout on her lips. “That’s a lot, Levi.”

“We talk to each other every night,” Levi points out.

“And you complained that it was a lot!” Isabel says, which is true. He would have been satisfied with weekly Zoom calls or even fortnightly, but Isabel had insisted that going so long without seeing Levi and Farlan onscreen would drive her mad. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case with this mysterious next-door neighbor.”

“She’s hardly mysterious,” Levi snorts.

“She’s right, though,” Farlan comments. He isn’t perched at the tip of his seat. Unlike Isabel, he’s less intrigued about Levi’s new relationship with his neighbor and more amused about the whole thing. “You’ve never been interested in people enough to have regular meetups with them even if it’s a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the balcony every night.” Levi despises the way Farlan uses air quotes.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Isabel says with a nod. There’s a silence at the other end and Isabel adds, “Because of the balcony. Except this time there are two balconies and nobody is dying. Hopefully.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I just bump into her more often now that I go out to get fresh air now,” Levi explains. It’s a part of his routine now. Better to breathe good, clean (or at least cleaner) air than continue to breathe in apartment air that has been god knows where. “Which, by the way, you two should really consider as well. Who knows what germs are floating around in your apartment complexes?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “If that were a problem, I would have gotten COVID by now,” she points out, and Levi wants to groan. He doesn’t want to explain to her once more that, after exposure to the virus, contracting COVID is a game of chance and she’s just been lucky. There’s no telling how much luckier she can get as the pandemic continues.

“I’ll consider it,” Farlan says, and Levi is at least grateful for that. He taps his fingers on his desk. Farlan’s microphone is so sensitive that Levi can hear the tap, tap, tapping noise on the other end. “But that neighbor of yours … what do you guys even talk about every night?”

“I don’t know just … stuff, I guess,” Levi mumbles. He rubs at the back of his neck. He can’t quite recall what he and Petra talked about yesterday on their balconies. Their conversations always start out similarly with her asking Levi about his day and Petra asking about his, and by the time Levi retreats into his apartment he finds that an hour has already passed. After a moment, he says, “Well, she told me about how she was sewing face masks in her free time so that she could donate them.”

“Oooh,” Isabel coos. Her head is in her hands again and she looks starry-eyed. “This girl sure has everything, doesn’t she? Not only is she cute, but she takes COVID safety precautions seriously and she cares about other people? No wonder you’re so interested in her, Levi.”

Levi’s mind stutters for a moment. “When did I say she was cute?” he stammers.

“Is she not cute?” Farlan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Levi’s knee-jerk response is to say “no” just because he knows a “yes” will elicit more teasing from Isabel, but the question Farlan asks makes Levi realize that he’s never seen Petra without her mask off. Prior to this realization, Levi has never minded seeing Petra with a mask on. After all, they’re both still in a pandemic and, even if neither of them show visible symptoms of COVID, it’s possible that they could still transmit the virus from their minimal outings for groceries or other daily tasks that require them to leave the apartment. Now that he’s realized it though, he’s overcome with this strange desire to see Petra’s face behind the mask.

There’s only so much one can see of a person when they’re wearing a mask. Levi knows the top half of Petra’s face quite well: slender, expressive eyebrows, large eyes the color of amber, and even the dip of the bridge of her nose. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him, hidden behind the cloth of Petra’s mask. He doesn’t know what kind of nose she has, if it’s grand and shapely or sweet and button-shaped or adorably upturned. He doesn’t know the curve of her lips, if she has a well-defined cupid’s bow or thick, full lips the color of petals. Judging by the state of the pandemic right now, it’s unlikely that he’ll find out anytime soon and he can’t fathom requesting Petra take off her mask just to satisfy his newfound curiosity.

“I don’t know what she looks like,” Levi finally says.

Farlan snorts and Isabel erupts into peals of laughter.

“You’ve been talking to her for how long and you don’t know what she looks like?” Isabel titters. She’s even wiping tears from her eyes, although Levi doesn’t think the situation is that humorous. “It’s not like you guys are wearing hazmat suits when you sit on the balcony.”

“It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like at all,” Levi grumbles. “But we’ve been wearing masks this whole time whenever we’ve gone out on the balcony to talk to each other.”

“Aren’t your balconies, like, more than six feet apart? You guys could probably take your masks off and it’d be fine,” Isabel points out. She sees Levi open his mouth to speak and she rolls her eyes, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, fine, just wear your masks like the hypochondriacs you are! If it’ll make you feel better about the ‘sick game of roulette viruses play when infecting us,’ go right ahead!”

Levi scowls. He wishes he could kick Isabel out of the Zoom chat, but Farlan has forbidden Levi to do that after Levi cut short the first Zoom call he hosted and Farlan has been the host of their Zoom calls ever since. Thus, Levi has had to sit through various Zoom calls with Isabel mocking his informative lectures on infections and diseases. On the bright side, at least she remembers Levi’s lectures well enough to recite them back to him even if it is in a sarcastic tone.

In a tiny square on Levi’s screen, Farlan watches with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” Levi asks.

“You could ask her if she’s comfortable with taking her mask off,” Farlan suggests.

“I can’t just ask her that!” Levi splutters. He gets embarrassed at the idea of it — just outright asking Petra as if it’s as simple as asking her about the weather or what her favorite color is.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take off her shirt or something,” she says.

If Levi’s face wasn’t red yet, it certainly is now.

“Ignore her,” Farlan says. “But, you know, it is just a mask and you keep yourself extremely safe and she adheres to the CDC guidelines pretty well from what you tell us. If you two are both comfortable with it, why not just ask?”

Because it’s exactly as they’re saying: it’s not like asking her to take off her shirt. In a way, asking her to take off her mask is infinitely more dangerous and intimate than asking her to take off any other article of clothing. COVID-19 is a virus that is spread through aerosol droplets from infected persons. By asking Petra to remove her mask, Levi would ultimately be asking Petra to lower her defenses to these droplets and increase her chances of getting infected. If Petra were to ask him to remove his mask, Levi isn’t sure he would be able to say ‘yes’ for these very same reasons.

It’s something Levi mulls over even after the call ends and Isabel and Farlan bid him adieu for the night. He thinks about it in bed, imagining a different COVID-infected universe in which he musters up the courage to ask Petra to lower her mask for him and she says yes, revealing a beaming smile behind her mask when she lowers it for the first time. For some reason, just thinking about her smile and how it might look — if she has bunny teeth that stick out, if she has a cute underbite, if her teeth are just a little bit crooked, if she bothers to put on lip balm under her mask or if she forgets and leaves her lips chapped — makes it difficult for Levi to sleep. He spends his night tossing and turning in bed, haunted by a smile he’s never seen.

The thought of Petra’s smile follows him into the morning and well into the day. It’s all he thinks about as he cleans his apartment in the morning, he writes line after line of code at work, and as he cleans it once more in the afternoon. It’s all he thinks about as he opens the door to his balcony for his evening chat with Petra. It’s all he’s thinking about as he sits across from her and she tells him about his day.

He’s not brave enough to ask her to take off her mask, but he keeps thinking of it. He watches the movement of Petra’s mask as her lips move beneath it. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can see the trace of her mouth, can imagine the outline of her lips when she purses her mouth in a pout or when he thinks her lower lip sticks out as she ponders what to talk about next.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take off our masks?” Levi asks. He’s brave enough to ask this at least.

“Hmm,” Petra hums, and Levi swears he sees the shadow of her lips pressed in that thoughtful pout once more. It drives him crazy. “Maybe when enough people get vaccinated. It should be a few months? My friend mentioned it a little while ago. They said it’s amazing how quickly mRNA vaccines are being developed to treat COVID.”

Levi nods. He’s heard this as well when doing his own research, although the technical aspects of the vaccine and how it works to protect him against the virus are beyond him. Still, he trusts medical professionals more than he trusts random people on the internet swearing that vaccines are just a conspiracy theory.

“So if you were vaccinated and it was two weeks after your second dose … and you were only in the company of someone who also received their second dose two weeks ago … would you consider taking off your mask?” Levi asks. He doesn’t look at her, instead drawing circles on the floor of his balcony. He can feel the dust and grime coming off on his finger and makes a mental note to sweep and vacuum his balcony tomorrow morning.

“I’d consider it,” Petra says. When Levi looks up, Petra’s mask is shifted upward just the slightest bit and the corners of her eyes are crinkled. He wants to see her smile so much. “If the other person were okay with it, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Levi repeats, his voice a quiet murmur, and he leaves it at that because he’s afraid of asking more.

But he lets himself imagine that the vaccine will be out to the public soon and, once it is, he’ll finally have the courage to ask Petra if she’s willing to take her mask off. He lets himself imagine that she says yes. And he lets himself imagine that the first thing she does when she takes her mask off is smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi sits on the balcony with Petra at 1:58 AM. It’s the third night in a row that they’ve done this, sitting on their balconies with their masks on and the glow from their laptop screens illuminating their faces. Were Levi with anyone else, he would complain that this was an unreasonable hour to be up even if it is for the slim chance to snag a spot for a vaccine appointment, but because he’s up at this ungodly hour with Petra, Levi finds he doesn’t mind.

Technically, Levi doesn’t apply for a vaccine at this time. The rules are confusing, but he’s not supposed to schedule an appointment until certain other people have gotten their vaccines. People who are currently eligible are healthcare workers and essential workers. Petra, being a waitress in the food industry, is considered an essential worker and is thus eligible for the vaccine at this time. Is it irritating for Levi to watch other people get vaccinated before him? A little bit, but he’s glad Petra will soon get the vaccine. Unlike Petra, Levi works at home all day and is thus less likely to be exposed to the virus anyway. Even if he can’t book a vaccine appointment at this time, helping Petra book hers will help him prepare for scheduling his appointment when the time comes.

Petra yawns, using her elbow to cover her mouth even though she’s still wearing her mask. Levi feels horribly endeared watching her. She’s dressed in her pajamas — a cotton pajama set in black and white polka dot print and fuzzy cat slippers on her feet. Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head, stray locks of ginger falling around her face even though she wears a hairband meant to keep them away. Even as Petra continues to hit the refresh button, her eyelids droop and she looks as if she’s about to nod off to sleep soon.

“Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM,” Petra murmurs to herself over and over. It’s like a mantra she keeps repeating, hoping that it’ll help her stay awake until she books herself an appointment. Levi doesn’t know how much it’s helping. “Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM.”

“Should you really be staying up this late to book an appointment?” Levi asks. He hits the refresh button too, but the page remains the same. All appointments are full. “Don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

Petra squints at him, concentrating as she fully registers his question. “Mmm, if I don’t get one at 2, then I’ll head right to bed.” Petra yawns again. As usual, she uses her elbow to cover her mouth. “I don’t know how people are booking their appointments so fast, but at least it seems like it’s a ‘first come, first serve’ type of thing. I heard it was worse at the hospital when they were first giving the vaccines out.”

Levi remembers hearing about it on the news and then hearing about it second-hand from Petra when she was talking about her doctor friend. There were some hospitals that determined vaccinations for their staff members by raffle, not even prioritizing doctors and nurses that were working first-hand with COVID patients. In the particular hospital that Petra’s friend worked at, COVID vaccinations were given out to higher-ranking doctors first regardless of whether or not they were working with COVID patients, which also caused a flurry of criticism from the hospital staff as well as media when the news broke out. The current system being used for front-line workers to get vaccinated certainly is inconvenient, but Levi doesn’t know what a better one would be.

“Just keep refreshing, just keep refreshing,” Petra says in a sing-song voice. She hits the refresh button robotically, but her eyelids are still drooping. Suddenly, she looks up, a little bit more awake than she was just a second ago. “Do you think my finger will fall off before I get an appointment?”

The mask hides the upward twitch of Levi’s lips. “I don’t think so,” he replies. He hits the refresh button and his eyes flicker to his screen. His eyes widen when he sees 10, 15, 20 spots open up at different pharmacies nearby. Quickly, he begins to turn his laptop around and points at the screen excitedly. “Wait, look!”

Petra takes one look at his screen and begins to tap around hers. She doesn’t even tell him that she sees them or thank him for alerting her because that would take a few extra seconds that might allow the appointments to fill up before she can claim a spot. Levi watches as Petra sits hunched over her laptop, the light from the screen allowing him to see how her brows are knit together in concentration as she types her information on the screen. She even has her insurance card ready beside her, filling in the necessary information easily. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone type that quickly in his life, and he normally hits 100+ wpm when he’s writing code.

Suddenly, Petra hits the enter key one last time and looks up. Her typing has halted entirely and she stares at Levi with a blank expression on her face. It’s difficult to tell whether she got the appointment or if all the available slots had filled up at the last minute. It’s just an appointment, one that Petra can probably book later this week if not tomorrow, but the anticipation is making Levi’s palms sweat.

“So?” Levi asks. He’s never felt like it was hard to breathe wearing his mask, but he’s feeling a little breathless now. “Did you get one?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three.

Suddenly, Petra raises her arms, lifts her head, and lets out a yell that’s far too loud for 2 AM in the morning. It’s so sudden that Levi flinches, but he sees that Petra’s eyes are crinkled at the edges when she faces him again. “I got it!” she proudly announces. She’s swaying as she sits. She probably used all of her energy just booking that appointment. Considering how tired and sleep-deprived Petra has been for the past three days, Levi’s surprised that she hadn’t made a typo at the last moment and missed her chance.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, not that she can see. “That’s great. Good for you. When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. Petra shoots him with an endearing finger gun and winks. It makes his heart flutter in the oddest way. She shuts the screen of her laptop and the blue light that was illuminating her face disappears. It makes it more difficult for Levi to see the lines and creases in her mask. It also makes it a little harder for him to imagine the smile hidden beneath the fabric covering her face. “I’m going to call in sick and come in for my appointment. I don’t care what my boss says. It’s better if I get the vaccine anyway even if I might get yelled at when I come in tomorrow.”

Levi furrows his brow. “Are you going to be okay the next day? The side effects …” His voice trails off.

“It should be okay,” Petra says with yet another yawn. She should really go to sleep, but Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go just yet. “The side effects aren’t really an issue until the second dose, I hear. Although, some people who had COVID said the first dose kicked their butts. Since I haven’t had COVID, it probably won’t be a problem for me.”

“But you won’t go into work if you happen to feel adverse side effects?” Levi can’t help but ask.

Petra doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks at Levi for a moment before her eyes smile again. “You’re sweet,” Petra tells him, and Levi’s flustered. For some reason, he wants to deny it, to tell her that he’s just asking what any reasonably concerned friend would ask, but Petra speaks again before he gets a chance to. “Yeah, I’ll call in another sick day if I have to. Thanks for worrying.”

Levi is about to tell her that it’s not a problem. Of course, it’s not a problem because helping her doesn’t burden him in any way, but he bites his lip instead.

Petra stretches her arms above her head. She gives him another sleep smile, one that Levi can only see in her eyes again, and waves at him tiredly. “That was kind of fun in a hectic way. Thanks for staying up with me these past few nights.”

Levi fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s so I know what to do when it’s my turn to make an appointment,” he mumbles. He cringes when he speaks. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Then we’ll do it again when it’s your turn,” Petra says. She points her index finger at him. “It’s the least I can do after you stayed up with me. I should do the same for you.”

He tells her that she doesn’t have to, but Petra insists and won’t let him go back into his apartment until he agrees. They have an undecided date for when they book Levi’s appointment. Petra, ever the optimist, says that the system will probably be less hectic by the time Levi’s eligible, but Levi’s not so sure. Still, he feels quite content as he returns to his apartment.

Petra gets her vaccine tomorrow. Levi wonders if he should construct a care package for her when she comes back and leave it at her doorstep. Not anything fancy, he thinks, just the essentials just in case side effects hit: canned chicken noodle soup, tea and honey, Gatorade, and a small bottle of Tylenol just in case. That’s probably overkill though, Levi sighs. He can think about being nice and thoughtful all he wants, but he knows he’ll back out in the end because there’s a chance that he’s overstepping his boundaries. He should just play it cool. Play it safe. Just pop out on the balcony tomorrow night and ask her how it went, if she was nervous, if her arm hurts.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be her caretaker. It’s good enough that they’re neighbors, two people in a short-distance relationship of six feet (or more) apart, unlikely friends in this strange time. It’s too much for him to hope to find love in this time of COVID-19. It’s enough that they’re just two people helping each other stay safe from COVID and booking appointments together. Maybe in a month or two they can be friends who are fully vaccinated against the virus. Two people who still take precautions against the infectious disease but who can live life in a little less fear because their chances of contracting the virus are lowered to about 5%. Two people who can smile at each other without their masks on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi gets his vaccine two months after Petra. Like many other people, he suffered few side effects from the first dose except for a sore arm the very next day. The effects of the second dose are far worse.

He was warned by Petra, who told him that the effects of the second dose were like getting hit by the flu virus and a truck at the same time. He was also warned by various anonymous persons on the internet that were kind enough to share their vaccine experiences on online forums as well as medical professionals that posted informative online videos on YouTube. No warning could have prepared him for how bad the side effects really were.

Levi feels the effects of the second dose ten hours after he returns home from his vaccine appointment. At first, his arm just aches and he feels slightly drowsy. He doesn’t think much of it, thinking that these effects are mild compared to what other people are experiencing. After a few more hours, his body feels terribly cold and his entire body is aching. Everything irritates him more than usual: the light streaming in from his balcony hurts his eyes, the rattle of the air vent is grating to his ears, and the pounding of his head makes him want to bang his head against the wall until he passes out. To put it lightly, he feels like shit.

Petra said she only felt some muscle pain and had a slight fever for a few hours, but Levi feels like he can barely walk. The night Petra had her second dose, she only came out for a few minutes to talk to Levi before leaving to sleep early, but Levi doesn’t think he can even manage that.

Lying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body and an ice pack on his head, Levi manages to reach for his phone on the coffee table and type out a brief text message.

Levi:

Staying in tonight. See you tomorrow if I feel better.

Petra:

🙁🙁🙁

I hope it’s not too bad.

Feel better soon!

I hope you feel better tomorrow 😊

Levi wonders what she means when she says she hopes he feels better tomorrow. Does that mean she hopes he feels better so that they can see each other tomorrow? Or maybe he’s overthinking it and she’s just being polite. It’s normal to say “hope you feel better” when someone is feeling awful, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to think about this too much. He should just rest instead of mulling about what Petra’s messages really mean. With a sigh, Levi turns his phone screen off and leaves it face-down on the table so that he’s not tempted to check his texts every time he gets a new notification.

Levi settles down against the pillows on his couch and wraps his blankets around him. He’s already taken a Tylenol, but it has only managed to dull his headache and not get rid of it completely. His limbs still feel achy, although not in the unbearable way they did an hour ago. He wonders if he should eat something. He had downed a Gatorade when he first got home and then drank another bottle a few hours ago, but he hasn’t eaten much except for a slice of bread and half an apple. It would probably be best for him to eat something else, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up off the couch and prepare something. Even a packet of ramen feels like it would be too much for him to handle at the moment.

He tosses and turns on the couch until he finds a position that he doesn’t hate. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to sleep when he feels this uncomfortable. He thinks it’ll take him at least an hour or two, but he drifts off without realizing and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ringing of his doorbell.

Groggy with sleep and muscles still aching, Levi gets up from the couch, his blankets dragging behind him as he checks the door. When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anything. He’s too tired to even be angry about someone ding-dong ditching his door and he’s too feverish to even wonder why somebody would ring his doorbell only to abandon his doorstep moments later. He’s about to walk back to his couch and collapse into another dreamless sleep, but the thought that he might have accidentally called for some takeout while in his post-vaccine delirium forces him to yank open the door.

There isn’t anybody in sight nor is there a bag of takeout. Instead, there’s a basket with a note on it. Levi bends down to read the neat script printed on the paper:

Hope you feel better soon! I made some food that might help since you’re probably not in the mood to cook for yourself. 😊

-Petra

Levi stands there and blinks at the basket of food, wondering if this is all part of his fever dream. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. Levi is sure he’s dreamed this all up, but his body hurts too much for him to be still dreaming. He’s about to go in and text Petra to ask her if she really had left the basket of food for him, but he looks up to see the apartment door across from him cracked open and his gossipy neighbor looking at him, only her eye visible. Startled, Levi quickly grabs the basket and shuts the door behind him with a slam.

He carries the basket with him to the couch, setting it on the table. When he picks up his phone, he sees he has over a dozen messages. Most of them, unsurprisingly, are from Isabel, but when he scrolls to the bottom he sees he also has one from Petra. He taps on that one first.

Petra:

Cooking post-vaccine sucks!! I know from personal experience 😥

Left you some goodies outside your door jic you don’t feel like cooking. I hope you enjoy!

If it’s from Petra, then it’s safe to inspect the package. Levi lifts the cloth covering the top of the basket and peers inside. He pulls out a colorful tumbler first. The container is a pretty and pastel peach color that fades to white at the bottom. On the side it has a label with the same neat handwriting the first note had. “Peach smoothie,” it says with the ingredients listed in smaller print at the bottom: peaches, banana, greek yogurt, almond milk, honey, vanilla & cinnamon. When Levi looks at the other containers, he finds that they’re labeled similarly.

It’s difficult to explain how Levi feels as he sits on the couch and eats the rice porridge Petra had packed. The porridge is still warm, steam escaping from the thermos when Levi had first unscrewed the cap. Earlier, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat, but now he finds he can’t stop as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of rich, hearty porridge in his mouth.

It’s warm, Levi thinks, and he continues to eat. He no longer feels the chills that had confined him to his couch and forced Levi to wrap himself in layers and layers of blankets. He just feels warm and content, the rich broth from the rice porridge filling his belly and warming him from the inside out. There are tender chunks of chicken breast that Levi devours hungrily and tiny pieces of julienned ginger that balance the porridge out with a kick of spice and just the tiniest bit of sweetness. Levi doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten so well.

He feels … so content as he sits back against his couch, upright for the first time in hours. He nibbles on the apple slices had cut for him, making sure to admire the little rabbit-ears she had taken the time to carve into each one. In between sips of the peach smoothie, Levi ponders.

Is it normal for neighbors to make food for their neighbors when they’re feeling ill? Is it something good acquaintances do? Is it something friends do? The last one is possible, although Levi has yet to receive a care package from Isabel or Farlan. Then again, he wasn’t planning on sending them one for their second doses, although he’s seriously considering it after experiencing the second dose side effects firsthand. It could be that his post-vaccine delirium is causing him to imagine things that aren’t there: affection, fondness … love?

Levi downs the rest of his smoothie and decides to sleep it all away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does feel better the next morning, but he doesn’t feel entirely okay either. He feels … strange. While the symptoms he suffered from previously are now gone, Levi finds himself suffering from new ones. They aren’t as uncomfortable as everything he had yesterday — fever, body ache, chills, headache, to name a few — but they make him feel anxious nonetheless. He could be one of the few cases suffering from deadly side effects after the vaccine.

Like any person without a medical degree or a friend in the medical field, Levi takes to the Internet to find answers. He looks up all the uncomfortable symptoms he’s feeling: chest pain, heart palpitations, light-headedness. When he thinks he’s found a consistent answer among various medical sites, he immediately calls Farlan over Zoom.

“I think I’m dying,” he tells Farlan immediately after his friend picks up.

Farlan furrows his brow, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You mean … you didn’t manage to get COVID right before your second dose, did you?” Farlan runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, looking around his apartment for things he needs to drive over to Levi’s house: his wallet, keys, a first aid kit. “Are you okay? I’ll drive over there really quick.”

“No, no. Not COVID,” Levi says quickly. He rubs his hand over his chest. “It’s just … I’ve been feeling strange. I’ve been getting heart palpitations. Sometimes my chest hurts and I feel lightheaded. I think I might have myocarditis.”

Farlan blinks once. Twice. He takes a deep breath and then breathes out. Calmer now, he says, “I thought we talked about you self-diagnosing yourself with different diseases. Just because you’re a hypochondriac does not mean you’re qualified to make these types of calls about your health.”

“I’m serious this time!” Levi says. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? There are other people who have taken the vaccine and have developed pericarditis and myocarditis. I’m not being paranoid.” Levi admits to being quick to diagnosing himself with diseases in the past, many of which were probably impossible for him to contract in hindsight, but he doesn’t know why Farlan is scolding him for being careful about his health.

Farlan sighs. He leans back against his chair and rubs his eyes. “Alright,” Farlan says. He sits up. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. “Tell me everything in detail this time and don’t leave anything out.”

“Well, I told you,” Levi says. “Chest pain and heart palpitations and dizziness -”

“And these all started right after you received your second vaccine?” Farlan asks.

“Yeah, I …,” Levi’s voice trails off. He pauses just a moment and realizes it’s not the first time he’s experienced these symptoms. He’s felt it once or twice before, these strange pangs in his chest and his heart fluttering oddly. “It happened before. When I was with Petra.”

Farlan smirks. “Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re not sick. You’re just an idiot,” he tells Levi and then adds, “and in love.” Before Levi can deny it, Farlan hangs up.

Levi is still spluttering at his screen when a message from Farlan pops up.

Farlan:

Ask her out.

Levi stares at the message even as a million little notifications from Isabel pop up asking him why he called Farlan without her. He thinks about the message. He thinks about asking Petra. He winces when the thought of it brings an odd, sharp pain to his chest, the same one he’s been feeling all morning.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Petra smiles when she sees him that night, her eyes crinkling the way they do when she smiles and her mask shifting upwards. Levi still doesn’t know what her smile looks like, but he’s imagined it every night for weeks on end.

“Feeling better?” she asks Levi. She leans against the railing, her arms resting on top. Levi stands his railing too, but he doesn’t lean against it the way Petra does. It’s perhaps the closest they’ve gotten in all the time they’ve spoken with each other. “The second dose is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He wonders if he looks terrible, if his face is pale or cheeks flushed, if there are bags under his eyes, if he looks any thinner than he was the day before. He hopes he doesn’t look too horrible.

Petra rests her head on her arms, eyes looking up at Levi. “So what are you gonna do once your two weeks are up and you have the antibodies?” she asks. “I mean, don’t go crazy and crowd surf at an unmasked concert, of course, but maybe you could go out and eat at a restaurant if they have outdoor dining or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying home,” Levi says. His palms are sweating already and his heart is doing that thing where it’s beating erratically against his chest. His head is feeling strange. There’s a chance that Levi might faint and fall off his balcony where he’ll fall four stories until he hits the ground. He almost doesn’t believe it when he hears himself say, “I was actually wondering if you wanted to eat dinner at my place once my two weeks are over.”

Petra’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise. Maybe if she weren’t wearing a mask right now, Levi would see her lips shaped in a perfect O. After a moment, she asks, “Are you really asking me to have dinner with you on your first night of being fully vaccinated?” Her tone is teasing. It makes Levi blush and he almost regrets asking her until Petra says, “I’d be honored. Do you want me to bring anything? I can cook pretty well.”

“If you really want to,” Levi says. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. A part of him feels as if he’s still on his couch in a fever-filled haze, suffering from the effects of the second vaccine. There’s no way all of this isn’t a dream. Subtly, he wraps his arm around his torso and pinches himself in the ribs. It hurts too much to be a dream.

He’s two weeks closer to seeing Petra without a mask on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The night of the dinner, Levi finds himself frantically running around his apartment. He took the day off work just to clean his apartment even though he cleans it at least twice daily already. This time, he’s taken the liberty of dusting off the corners of the ceiling and making sure to get all the dirt from behind the furniture. He’s even cleaned the inside of each and every cabinet, including the very top cabinets that are a bitch for him to clean.

It’s overkill, Isabel and Farlan told him. They told him to just treat it like a normal dinner, to just pretend as if they’re the ones coming over instead of Petra, but Levi can’t do that. The difference between Petra and his friends is just too vast. For one thing, he knows that Farlan and Isabel don’t mind a bit of dust, but he’s not sure the same can be said for Petra. Because is so careful in following COVID prevention guidelines, he’s sure she would appreciate the extra time he takes cleaning his apartment just for her arrival.

He couldn’t decide what to buy for dinner. He knows Petra had offered to bring some food over for tonight, but it feels rude to assume that she’ll provide a full-course meal. The problem with ordering food himself is that he doesn’t know what kind of food she likes. Mexican? Italian? Chinese? Indian? There are too many possibilities. He doesn’t know if she has any food preferences or allergies either, and he’s far too nervous to ask her. Levi doesn’t know how to cook for shit, so ordering takeout is the norm for him, but it’s different when you’re ordering for another person. In the end, he orders one dish from different restaurants hoping that at least one dish will be able to satisfy Petra.

Then there’s the question of what to wear.

“Just wear anything,” Farlan groans. He’s splayed out in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He hasn’t looked at the past dozen outfits Levi has suggested. “Wear your all-black grunge number or a three-piece suit. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just wear anything,” Levi hisses. “What will she think of me?”

“You’ve seen each other at 2 AM with only pajamas on,” Farlan points out. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you two know each other well enough not to mind the other person’s fashion choices.”

“You should wear those tight leather pants,” Isabel says. She leans forward in her seat, her head in her palm with her elbow resting on her knee. “With that see-through shirt. And put some hair gel in your hair. Also maybe put on some eyeliner.”

Levi blinks. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Isabel groans. “I know, your wardrobe is sooooo boring!”

He shouldn’t have asked Farlan and Isabel for their help. He ends up with a mask, a sky-blue button-down, his darkest pair of jeans, and more anxiety than he had this morning. Petra should be here any minute and he’s feeling strange again. The same symptoms as before plague him: dizziness, pains in his chest, heart palpitations. The chime of his doorbell is enough to make him jump out of his seat on the couch and almost fall on the floor.

Levi scrambles for the door, pulling it open. There Petra stands, mask on and a bag full of food she’s prepared for tonight. She looked nice more than six feet away when they were standing on their balconies, but she looks even nicer standing right in front of him. He’s about to say as much when he notices the door across from them open and his neighbor’s eye peep out from the crack. Startled, he pulls Petra in just as she’s saying hello and slams the door behind her.

He breathes a sigh of relief only for his breath to hitch in his throat when he realizes that he’s trapped Petra in between him and the door. They’re standing far closer than six feet apart. It’s closer than six inches apart. It’s even closer than six centimeters. He can count every strand of ginger hair on her head, every eyelash, every freckle sprinkled across her cheeks.

Startled, Levi stumbles backward and apologizes. “S-sorry,” he stammers. His cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, the heat made worse with his mask on. “The woman in the apartment across from me was staring.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petra says. She looks behind her, although there’s no way for her to see the neighbor now that Levi’s door is closed. When she turns back, her eyes are crinkled. “She talks a lot, that one.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He stares at Petra. He can’t help it. There’s a smile hidden behind her mask. He can see it if he only asks. He’s closer to seeing it than he’s ever been. Soon, he’ll know what lies beneath. Cautiously, carefully, Levi asks, “Would you like to take off your mask?”

“Sure,” Petra says. She unhooks the elastics from her ears. She removes the mask from her face, looks at Levi, and smiles.

It’s more beautiful than Levi could have imagined: a dimple in her cheek, freckles sprinkled across her skin that her mask had always covered until today, and just the slightest overbite in her smile. It makes Levi’s heart do a weird flip in his chest, worse than he’s ever felt before. His palms are sweating and he’s feeling light-headed. He’s not sure he’s even breathing.

Breathlessly, Levi tears off his mask. “Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his mouth without him thinking. He’s about to take it back and apologize for being too forward, but Petra takes a step closer to him.

Her smile is dazzling, growing wider as Petra takes a step. Her eyes crinkle the way they always did on the balcony. “Sure,” she says and reaches to place one hand on the back of Levi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s perfect.

#rivetra #snk #covid 19 pandemic au #levi ackerman #petra ral #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous

37 notes · View notes

neonthewrite · 3 years

Text

Washed Up Winchesters 2

Jacob has brought the waterlogged strangers to shore, where his smaller friends can help them get back on their feet. There's only one issue ... we're not in Kansas - ehhh, Blefuscu anymore!

Cowritten with @nightmares06, the writer behind the @brothersapart multiverse!

Reading time ~10 minutes.

( 1 ) -2- ( 3 ) ( 4 ) ( 5 ) ( 6 ) ( 7 ) ( 8 )

Story Tag

~~~~~

Jacob looked down just in time to see that exhausted lean. He paused his trek through the now-waist-deep water to move his hands even closer to his chest. The tiny knife rested precariously on his knuckle, no longer clung to as a desperate defense by the tiny little person in his hand. Now both of them were out cold, reminding him how much trouble they’d been in when he spotted them.

If he hadn’t rushed out to get to them fast enough …

He didn’t let himself dwell on it. Instead, as carefully as he could, he moved his hands together so he could gently settle the second guy down on his palm next to the first. They lay exhausted and unconscious, hopefully getting plenty of warmth from his hand. For all he knew, they could have been out on the water for hours before he wandered by. That knife tumbled to rest near the first of the two, and he hoped they wouldn’t wake up and decide to put it to use on him.

Hunting monsters. Does that include giants?

On his way back to shore, Jacob kept his eye on the pair of them, but they didn’t stir. By the time the water was barely up to his knees, he worried they might be worse off than he thought.

He was so preoccupied, he missed a small voice calling out for him at first. Back on dry land, with water rushing off of him and almost creating a small lagoon, he didn’t know what approach to take next.

“Jacob! What the hell!”

He finally glanced down to find a familiar, tiny shape waving frantically at him from the seaside cliffs. Those didn’t even come up to half his height, so he squatted down to put himself closer to Chase’s level.

“Chase, they were just floating out there on the water,” he explained. His voice pitched higher with worry, and he held his hand out to the cliff edge for Chase to see.

Chase, normally always ready with a joke or a cheesy remark, was serious as he beheld the bedraggled forms collapsed on Jacob’s hand. “Holy shit!” he hissed, hopping onto Jacob’s fingers like a ramp. He gingerly stepped around the pair and knelt down to see them closer, but frowned. “They were out in the water? How far?”

Jacob leaned closer as if he might see the pair as well as Chase could. “Pretty far. I couldn’t even stand up.”

Chase shook his head and his pitch black hair waved messily. “O-okay. Well. We should probably get them some help. Bring us all back to the house, alright? They probably need blankets, and stuff, or something. I dunno.”

Jacob nodded. “Let me know if they look like they’re gonna wake up before we get there,” he said, before rising to his feet with three tiny people on his hand.

~~~

The first thing Sam noticed, upon waking up, was how dry his mouth was.

Drawing in a raspy breath, Sam turned his head to the side and coughed. His throat was scratchy and dry, as though he'd had no water in hours. Squinting his eyes open, he blinked a few times, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings keeping him confused.

"Dee--" Sam only got the first sound of Dean's name out before his voice gave out and he coughed again. Licking his lips, he tried again, this time forcing out a "Dean?"

“Oh, shit!” a voice from somewhere else blurted. Footsteps followed, echoing slightly in the room lit mostly by tall windows on one side. Thin curtains wafted in a slight breeze, creating a gentle but bright view above where Sam lay.

Until suddenly someone was leaning over him to check on him. Sam balked back, deeper into the pillow his head was resting on.

“Hey, dude,” Chase greeted quietly. “Take it easy, okay? Your guy is on the other couch,” he leaned back and glanced over his shoulder to indicate the couch sitting opposite the one Sam occupied. Dean was there, wrapped in blankets and towels just like Sam, after their prolonged dip in the ocean. “It’s uh. We couldn’t get you guys to any beds to rest, so. Couches it is.”

He belatedly realized that he had a glass of water in his hand. “You probably need this, right? Man, I’m glad to see you’re awake. Had us worried there.”

Before anything, Sam glanced in the direction indicated to see Dean sprawled out, a boot sticking out of the blankets wrapped around him. Relieved to see that his brother had survived their short attempt at infiltration, Sam sank down into the cushions, accepting the water and tenderly wetting his mouth so he could talk. "Thanks," Sam managed. The water had helped. He was left with a thousand questions about just how they'd gotten here, though, considering the last he recalled, they had been floating in the ocean, long abandoned by the ship they'd taken out. Trying to condense those questions into one, all Sam could get out was "Who are you?"

Chase grinned. “Name's Chase. This is my house. My friend pulled you guys out of the water clear out in the bay and brought you here since he, ah, doesn't go into town much. Ta-da!” He held his hands open to grandly display the tidy, modestly-decorated living room.

Quickly enough, a more serious look replaced his bemused expression. “Other than, yknow, almost drowning … are you hurt or anything?”

Sam shook his head quickly, then paused to actually check. Other than the general aches and pains that came from hours keeping afloat in the ocean, nothing stood out to Sam as abnormal. “No, but Dean took the fall harder,” Sam admitted. He sipped at the water, then pushed himself up. He needed to check on Dean and make sure there weren’t any injuries.

So far, Dean hadn’t roused or budged since Sam and Chase had started talking. Much like Sam, he was still in the same clothes as when they were on the boat, with the towels and blankets bundled around to keep him warm.

When he got over, Sam checked to make sure Dean was breathing steadily. The leather jacket his older brother was known for was bundled up nearby, drenched with salt water.

“Dean’s not gonna be happy,” Sam commented dryly when he saw the state the jacket was in. He looked over at Chase. “How’d we get here? Last I knew, we were stranded with land too far off to see.”

Chase’s smile was more subdued this time as he tried to figure out how to approach the topic. From what he’d heard, one of these guys was quite freaked out when Jacob had found them, and he didn’t want to cause more upset while they were still in his house. “My friend Jacob actually spotted you and got you out of the water in the nick of time,” he hedged. “He was pretty worried, we had to send him on a walk so he wasn’t just pacing in the backyard wondering if he’d let you drown.”

He glanced at the curtained windows. “Guess you were already passed out when he showed up,” he said more gently. “I can get my sister to go find him, if ya want?”

“Yeah, if you could,” Sam said offhandedly, the importance of Chase’s statement not really sinking in. He wanted to thank their rescuer for himself, as soon as possible.

After, he would need to get Dean up to see what he remembered. They were on a case, after all. If they kept getting held up, by the time they caught up to the ship there’d be a trail of bodies to follow.

They had started out ten steps ahead on this case. How had it all gone so wrong?

"Just a sec," Chase agreed, before retreating to an arched doorway leading somewhere else in the house. He spared Dean one last glance, then nodded at Sam and disappeared through that doorway.

Even out of sight, it would be hard to miss the footsteps moving away. Even tougher to ignore was the shout that followed as Chase called up the stairs. "Hey, Minnie!"

"What?" Her voice from far away would be muffled to Sam, but still easily heard in the otherwise empty house.

"Go get Jacob back here!"

"Why can't you do it?"

Chase sighed in the most put-upon way he could manage. "Because, I have to be a good host and stuff!"

Minnie appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down in a frown. "Then why are you yelling at me?" she countered, even as she hurried down to join him. Chase smirked as she had to step around him, before she shoved lightly at his side and made him stumble against the railing.

He followed her into the living room just as she reached it to check on their would-be guests herself. Her stern look softened when she saw that only one of them had woken up yet. "He gave you some water, right?"

Sam was bemused by the sight of the siblings' argument. It reminded him sharply of several arguments with Dean that had gone in nearly the same direction.

“He did,” Sam confirmed, getting Chase off at least one hook. He had a suspicion that it wouldn’t take the kid long to get himself in trouble yet again, much like Dean managed on an hourly basis. “We’re just waiting for Dean to wake up now.”

Minnie nodded, glancing once more at Dean with a small glimmer of concern in her eyes. “Alright. I’ll go get Jacob. Chase,” she fixed him with an almost accusing look, “will get you guys whatever you need.” She could see in his face that he had yet to explain who Jacob was, and if this guy was unconscious when the resident giant showed up, he wouldn’t be expecting his return now.

Chase gave Minnie a thumbs up as she left again, and then wandered closer to where Sam stood by Dean. Privately, he rued how tall both these guys were; they could barely fit on the couches in the living room, and had required every extra blanket he and Minnie could find in the house.

On one hand, they had the right build for sailors. On the other, it would be weird for sailors to be out floating in the bay, so far from shore that only a giant had a chance of spotting them.

“Won’t take him long to wander back here,” Chase said mildly. “Do you, uh. Why were you in the water?”

Sam sat back on his heels, continuing to hover close to Dean. “We’re on a job,” he explained. “It’s… complicated. Suffice to say, we got tossed overboard when our cover was blown.”

There was a lot about that nagging at Sam. His lips turned down as he thought over the events leading up to getting tossed overboard. Nothing, right up until the moment they were grabbed, stood out to him as out of the ordinary. They went undercover all the time, and on that ragtag ship of passengers and personnel, they’d blended right in even in their standard outfits.

“We just don’t know how they found us,” Sam mused.

“You were undercover?” Chase echoed, his eyes widening with intrigue. Jacob would be shocked to find out that he’d somehow rescued a pair of … well, whatever these two were to require undercover work. It was probably super cool. “Dude, so that means me, Minnie, and Jacob are helping out your, uh. Mission?”

Amused, Sam gave a half-shrug. “Uh, I guess?” he said. “It’s not like we’re government agents, after all…”

Dean stirred on the couch, mumbling in his spot. Sam was up in a flash, offering the cup of water before Dean tried to say anything. He remembered the raw, dry feeling in his throat from being stranded at sea for so long and didn’t want Dean to go through that any longer than he had to.

While he watched to make sure Dean didn’t spill the cup, Sam frowned. “We need to make sure no one gets hurt, and this whole thing will just get covered up if anyone else in Blefuscu finds out--”

“Blefuscu?!” Chase blurted, only reining in his volume on the last syllable of the word. He glanced at Dean, still barely conscious, before fixing his surprised look on Sam once more. “You’re from Blefuscu?”

They weren’t even from Lilliput. Blefuscu, the neighboring land across a wide bay, had a storied past with Lilliput. They weren’t really at war anymore, but even with some tense trade moving back and forth across the bay, the two countries weren’t exactly best friends. Chase wasn’t sure he’d even told Jacob very much about Blefuscu yet.

A distant rumble sounded, far enough to seem like a simple gust of wind if one didn’t know what it really was. Jacob must have wandered quite far, but he could cover distances like no one else. As this Sam and Dean were about to find out. “Anyway, uh. I guess you oughta know … Jacob brought you to Lilliput. Surprise?”

#mywriting #collab #washed up winchesters #jacob andris #chase lisong #g/t #g/t handheld #gullivers travels fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #chase in lilliput au #sam winchester #dean winchester

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rocorambles · 4 years

Text

Stranger Danger

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader x Hanamaki

Genre/Warning: Yandere, Dub-con, Rape/Non-con, Blood Play, Knife Play, Degradation, Smut

Summary: Kindness has you beckoning two handsome strangers into your home during a particularly bad thunderstorm, but little do you know just how much you’ll regret that decision.

The thunderstorm is roaring outside and you sigh as you finally turn off your computer. Thank goodness it’s a Friday at least and you won’t have to sign back on for work until Monday. You’re thankful your gig lets you work from home as you stare out at the torrential downpour and your nose crinkles in distaste at even imagining having to commute in this weather. A little growl interrupts your thoughts and you rub your stomach as you wander towards the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten much today, too caught up in work and making sure deliverables were handed in on time, but now that your mind isn’t occupied, you realize how hungry you actually are. Humming, you cut and prep ingredients for a warm, comforting stew, the perfect dish for a gloomy wet day and soon your kitchen is filled with a soothing melody of a knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board and raindrops pitter pattering on your window.

You’re startled by the sound of your doorbell ringing. You weren’t expecting any visitors and your house is so out of the way, tucked in a quiet corner of the woods, that you’re honestly surprised and a little frightened that someone had even found it. Knife in hand, you quietly walk towards your front door and peer out your door viewer. You’re met with the sight of two men who roughly seem your age, maybe in their late 20s, standing drenched outside your house. Unsure of what to do, you continue spying on them as they insistently ring and knock. You have to admit, they’re easy on the eyes, you can tell even through the little hole, and it’s been so long since you’ve last hung out with anyone. You chose to live a quiet hermit life, but it didn’t mean you were completely immune to the pangs of loneliness that crept up every once in a while. You examine them closely...they don’t have any suspicious bags or items on their person, they’re empty handed...what could possibly be the worst thing that could happen? With that thought, you finally unlock the door and come face to face with the duo.

You had already vaguely thought the two were attractive behind your tiny peep hole, but now standing in front of them in person, you’re slightly taken aback by how good looking they are. The chestnut colored hair man speaks first. “Sorry, our car is running really low on gas and we don’t know the area too well. We didn’t want to keep on driving and get stuck in this weather, so we just decided to drop by the nearest house we could find. Do you mind if we stick it out until the storm subsides a little?” You’re a little uncertain about letting two strangers waltz into your home, but he seems so genuine and nice. His charming smile tugs at your heart, but you stare warily at the taller of the two who still hasn’t said a word. There’s something a little more intimidating about the dark curly-haired figure and a little warning bell sounds in the back of your mind. Sensing your hesitation, the shorter of the two nudges the other in the side and with a grunt, the taller one bows politely in greeting and also implores you for help. You didn’t want to send them back off into the terrible weather and if you’re honest, some company would be nice. Stepping aside, you beckon them in.

You hand them some spare towels and the biggest athletic wear you can find in your closet as you guide them to the bathroom and let them change out of their rain-soaked clothing and freshen up. Soon enough, the three of you are in your small kitchen getting to know each other as you prepare dinner together. “We’re Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro, but please just call us Mattsun and Makki.” You laugh and begin to enjoy yourself as you talk more to the two men. Makki is definitely the friendlier of the two, easily chatting away and making you giggle. But although Mattsun is quieter and more reserved, his quick wit and snarky playful comments spice up the conversation and the three of you find an easy cadence. They listen closely as you explain why you live in such an isolated part of the woods. You’ve always been a little more introverted by nature, so you had jumped at the opportunity of being able to work remotely and used it to find this quaint cottage in the forest where only nature could bother you. There were no nearby neighbors to worry about and your friends and parents all lived so far away, they rarely came to visit you. As you turn your back on your guests to ladle the stew into bowls, you miss the dark look the men exchange behind you.

Dinner goes on without a hitch and now with bellies full and dishes clean, the three of you lounge on your couch lazily watching Netflix. When you had bought furniture, you had only planned for yourself, so the couch is a bit small for three adults, but you make it work as you sit in the middle, Makki and Mattsun positioned on either side of you, so close that you can feel the warmth of their bodies. You slightly flush, but you don’t think much of it as you continue watching the flickering screen. Mattsun shifts and suddenly his left arm is wrapped around the sofa back behind you and you can feel your back pressing up against his forearm, but thinking he’s just trying to get comfortable, you continue to ignore the two men. It’s only when Makki’s right hand softly trails up your left thigh that you confusedly turn to stare at the grinning boy. Makki tentatively leans in for a kiss and after he pulls away, he fondly looks at you. “Are you okay with this?” Strong arms wrap around your waist from behind you and you turn your head to stare at Mattsun smirking down at you. “Well, are you?” There’s only a slight pause before you nod your head and Makki lifts you in his arms as you direct him to your bedroom.

Only when he has gently deposited you on your bed do you realize that Mattsun hasn’t followed the two of you. You question Makki about his friend’s whereabouts, but Makki just hushes you with a heated kiss. “He’ll be here soon. Just focus on me for now.” And you can’t do anything besides that when Makki playfully bites your bottom lip before entangling his tongue with yours. It’s been so long since your last sexual escapade and you quickly lose yourself in the heat of another body and your eyes close as your mouths continue their dance. Makki’s fingers skillfully rid you of your clothes and reposition you until you’re both upright with you kneeling between Makki’s outstretched legs. But a startled choke has you tearing your face away from Makki as you feel something sharp begin to dig into your back. You try to twist your body around, but Makki’s firm hold on you doesn’t allow for much range. However, with what movement your neck allows you, you see Mattsun behind you, tracing the tip of one of your kitchen knives into your skin, his once apathetic countenance now replaced by a feral predatory grin.

You clutch at Makki desperately, hoping to reason with the kinder of the two. “Please, Makki, make him stop.” You plead, tears beginning to form in the corner of your eyes, but Makki just gently kisses you and affectionately wipes the tears away. “Just bear with it, sweetheart. Struggling only makes it worse and you don’t want to make Mattsun angry. He was so cruel to the other darlings who wouldn’t let him carve his pretty marks into them.” Other darlings? Just how many people had fallen victim to this insane duo. You don’t realize you’ve said your thoughts aloud until Makki laughs and grabs your jaw forcing you to look him in the eye. “You’d be surprised how many silly girls like you just welcome big bad wolves into their homes. It’s almost like you all want to be eaten,” he coos. Anger and humiliation have you ready to retort scathingly, but instead you wail in pain as Mattsun begins to carve and you feel hot liquid running down your back. Makki uses the chance to devour your lips once again, moving one arm to fully encircle your waist and hold your figure tight to him while his other hand begins to roughly twist and pull at your nipples. You want to focus on the pain, to focus on how wrong this all is, but pleasure threatens to cloud your senses as Makki begins to suck harsh marks down your neck and your nipples harden as his hand continues to fondle them.

It feels like time is crawling as pain and pleasure both equally envelope you, but finally metal stops tearing through you and Makki lets you collapse face first onto the bed as Mattsun and him admire the artwork now etched into you. You hear a snap before you feel the weight of Makki lying next to you, gently stroking your hair behind your ear as he shows you the picture he took and a sob escapes you as you stare at the kanji of their names crudely cut into your once unmarred back. A rough hand forces your head up and you’re forced to prop yourself up on your hands and knees to lessen the strain in your back and neck as you look up into Mattsun’s face. “You’re going to look so beautiful when this scars over and you’re permanently branded. No one else is ever going to want damaged goods like you, so you better just start accepting the fact that you belong to us now.” That’s all the preamble you get before you’re slapped in the face by a thick heavy weight and you let out more broken cries when you realize you’re now face to face with Mattsun’s cock, already slick with pre-cum and at full mast. Your stomach churns at the fact that the bastard is getting turned on by your pain and suffering, but you don’t have time to delve too much into your thoughts as Mattsun slaps you across the face once more before rubbing his tip all over your face, smearing pre-cum into your skin. “Open up, whore. Don’t even think about biting down or I’ll leave some more pretty art on your body.” You obediently open your mouth as fear lances through your body at the feeling of a sharp edge warningly being pressed into your throat.

Mattsun is big and you struggle to fit even half of him inside your mouth. With an annoyed sigh, he grabs the back of your head and slams all the way into your throat and you screech, fingernails clawing at his thighs. Your throat burns and you can’t breathe, but Mattsun just moans as he starts to fuck your tight mouth with abandon. Tears, snot, and drool are cascading into a sloppy pool beneath you, but your messy pathetic face only turns him on more. “Yeah, keep on crying, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s hot.” You’re so overwhelmed by the lack of oxygen and the building burn of your mouth being stretched that you’re barely aware of Makki situating himself behind you until he rams his entire length inside you in one rough motion. Everything hurts. You’re so filled and stretched and neither man relents as they continue their brutal assault on your holes. There’s no care for your pleasure or discomfort as they savagely chase their own ends and you lie there limply, taking it like the good sex doll they’ve made you into.

Your consciousness begins to crawl in on itself in an attempt to at least mentally escape what’s happening, but even that is taken from you as Makki begins to attentively circle and play with your clit and you want to die when you feel arousal licking at the corners of your brain. “You don’t get to escape, darling. I want you to feel everything that’s happening. I want you to experience your own body betraying you when it falls apart in pleasure. Cry and scream all you want. At least your body is honest about how it feels.” And that’s exactly what you do. Sobs wrack your body as desire bubbles within you and you peak when the bitter taste of Mattsun’s release coats your tongue. “Fuck, you dirty slut. Did you get off to just the taste of my cum? God, we chose well, Makki. It’s like she was made for this.” Makki doesn’t reply, too busy pounding into you as you scream at the pain of being overstimulated. Your throat is hoarse and your upper body is collapsed on the bed, but you continue brokenly bawling into the ruined sheets beneath you even after Makki roughly sinks into you one last time and releases deep within you.

Still trembling, you take a deep shaky breath, thankful that at least it’s over and you beg them to just leave you alone now that they’re done. But your heart sinks as Makki tenderly strokes your head and leans down to smile at you. “We’re nowhere near done with you, sweetheart. Weren’t you listening when Mattsun said you belong to us now?” You hiss as strong arms rearrange you until you’re sitting in a lap with your back pressed against a firm chest, making your abused pussy and still healing wounds throb in pain. “We have the rest of your life left or until we get bored of you, whichever comes first,” Mattsun purrs into your ear. “So if you want us to keep you alive, you better keep us happy.” Those words are barely out of his mouth before Mattsun is guiding you to perch above his shaft and with a rough jerk, he bottoms out completely within you and begins to manhandle you into bouncing on his length. Silent tears trail down your face as you send a desperate prayer for someone to save you before slumping your head back onto Mattsun’s shoulder. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to collapse in his hold.

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

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.

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

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tooweirdforyou · 3 years

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Mihawk Having A Strained Relationship With His Masculine! Daughter

Request : sorry if this is VERY specific but can i request a scenario or headcanons where mihawk has a daughter who is very masculine and dresses very princely that people often mistake her for a boy. (bonus if she has a pet raven🥺) and she acts like mihawk but she hates being compared to him because their relationship is strained because mihawk was always busy with other things when she was growing up. but mihawk tries his best to get back on his daughter's good side and so they can be close again ??

A/N : tried something different- do you prefer me posting fics this way or the way I had prior? - thanks for requesting, I hope I did this right. ;-;

I deeply apologize if this seems offensive somehow. It isn’t my intention at all.

Summary : Mihawk attempting to fix his relationship with his masculine! daughter.

“So strong-looking and stoic. As expected of Hawkeye Mihawk’s son.”

“Son? I recall him having a daughter.”

“Is it a daughter? He doesn’t look like a female..”

Hearing the many whispers among the crows, you tilt your head to the left to eye them, your sharp, empty and intimidating eyes startling them.

Immediately the two strangers kept their mouths shut and strolled off before you could do anything to them.

Exhaling out in annoyance, you turn back to your teacup, handle gripped between your fingers.

Karasu, your raven, sat on the edge of the table in front of you, standing still and waiting for you, whilst basking in the shade given by the umbrella hung up.

You sat outside alone, hoping to be given the peace of quietness on this island you passed by,

but of course, being the only child of the strongest swordsman in the world and a Warlord, you definitely weren’t going to be allowed that.

Dracule Mihawk..

Dracule [Name]..

You despised the name.

You absolutely hated everything that made you related to the infamous swordsman.

It seemed obvious to you as well, that Mihawk despised being related to you. Being your father.

There was never a time where Mihawk would venture away from his castle and not be questioned about you. About his thoughts on your growing strength and fame in the New World.

Same with you. You weren’t sure how news even came out that you were related to him, considering the amount of effort you put to cut ties with him.

Yet people knew, and people asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. Irritation grew easily with you when Mihawk’s name was heard at all.

Even Marines were getting involved with you, even if you weren’t a pirate.

Just merely a traveler, attacking both pirates and marines that stood in your way and to cure boredom.

You never were and never will be given a normal life.

“... Let’s get going, Karasu. Before we get kicked out for scaring customers away.”

The caw of your raven was heard and you smile slightly, the corner of your lip twitching upward as you let him rest on your shoulder before standing up.

Glancing down at your reflection in the small teacup, your lips curl back down into a slight frown, seeing the resemblance indeed, to your father.

“Tch.”

You poured the tea onto the ground and slammed the cup on the table, sucessfully shattering it.

The mutterings didn’t stop. Not that you expected them to. But it was irritating.

Didn’t these people have anything better to do then constantly talk and gossip about you, right in front of you no less?

“Should we get going to our next trip?” You mumble, walking around the coast of the island you were on, needing some peace from the citizens in town.

Mindlessly wandering, your thoughts were interrupting by a messenger bird.

( I forgot what it’s called— it’s not a news coo right? )

Karasu cawed at it, the messenger bird cawing back as it flew down towards you, and dropped an item into your hands.

“A delivery? From who?”

It was a letter, along with a eternal pose.

To Kuraigana Island.

Immediately recognizing the name, your grip tightened on the item, frustration and even anger quickly building up at you at the sight of it.

Leaving it alone for the moment, your eyes turn to the letter.

No signature or anything of the sorts. Just your name.

“[Name].”

Scoffing slightly, you carefully held the eternal pose and opened the letter and read it, the smallest part of your praying it wasn’t what you thought.

“[Name].

I heard you were in the area. I apologize that I cannot come see you in person, as I am occupied with other matters. However, I’d like to speak with you. Come to my castle and we shall discuss matters. I’ve sent you an eternal pose to guide you. Expect to see you soon.

Best Regards, Mihawk”

You then turn to the eternal pose, the engraving of the island name across it. You wanted to break it, destroy it completely from your sight but you couldn’t. You didn’t know why.

After disregarding you, throwing you off and pushing you aside to focus on himself, always neglecting you, why.. why did he want to patch things up now?

The whites of your knuckles were seen from how hard you were gripping the letter, nearly crumpling it.

“Tch. All these years, why now?... doesn’t even have the decency to come see me himself.. ‘other matters’..”

No matter how much you wanted to ignore the letter, to shatter the eternal pose and completely ignore your father forever.. you just couldn’t.

Something in you was demanding to see him one last time.

Either, to hear what he has to say, to finally ask him why he even had you if he wasn’t going to care for you, or perhaps shout at him for all the pain and misery you’ve been given being his child, you weren’t quite sure.

“Damn it.”

Crushing up the letter into a ball, you shove it into your pocket and glance down at the eternal pose.

You were going to visit him.

“Holy..shit..”

Admittedly, you were in awe.

Perhaps it was because you didn’t remember much, but the island was probably one of the best things you’ve ever seen.

The appearance seemed gloomy and dark, but it was just your style. The many trees that surrounded the center of the island and the giant castle with a beautiful view, you were sure of it.

Forcing yourself to ignore the actually really cool place, you trudge forward to look at the letter in your hands, Karasu resting on your shoulder.

“It’s not that cool.. we’ll take a look around after we see what the hell he wants from me..” you could only scoff so you wouldn’t give in to the aesthetic.

But it looked really cool.

Sighing, you continue forward and finally made it to the gate fo the castle, just to find someone sitting there on the step, holding three swords.

He was laying down, panting heavily. His green hair and forehead was soaked with sweat.

Though, it seemed as if he heard you because he snapped up within seconds and held out one of his swords towards you.

“Who the hell are you?”

Your brows furrowed at the male. He seemed around your age, or maybe a bit younger. Either way, he was weird.

“Uh.. I’m here for Mihawk.” You mutter, clearly not threatened nor intimidated by him. In actuality, the swordsman was a bit taken back.

To him, you were just some guy with weird tastes in clothes, since they seem so fancy and royal, and had such a dark aura, resembling Mihawk.

“What’s your business with Hawkeye Mihawk?”

“Are you his guard dog or something?”

The swordsman only scowls are your retorted question and clicks his tongue. “I’m his apprentice, dumbass.”

It made him even more annoyed at your stupid raven constantly staring at him with its sharp eyes and cawing every few seconds towards him.

“Like I’d know that, you stupid...green-hair weirdo.” You stare at him weirdly before walking past him before he could say anything.

He started to shout a few profanities but you simply ignore him, passing a pink-haired female with an umbrella and a teddy-bear along the way, but you paid no mind to her or her stares and calls.

Rubbing your temple, you started to question your choice of coming, and your ‘father’s’ choice of apprentice and his pink-haired girlfriend, you were assuming.

Looking around the hall as you walk, you just sigh and admired the interior design whilst muttering on how the hell you were supposed to know which room he was in.

Feeling lost, you groan a bit, turning to Karasu. “Karasu, should we just go? I have no idea where the hell I am.”

Finding a door, you walk over to it and open it abruptly, pushing it open just to find the person you were looking for.

The noise made Mihawk look up from his book in his hand and he stands up almost immediately when he realizes who it was.

“...”

You two just stared at each other, unable to say anything. Unable to handle the silence, you just turned and went to walk out, until he spoke.

“[Name].”

It nearly made you jump but you, fortunately, didn’t.

Slowly turning back, Mihawk gestures to the couch with the tilt of his head, before going over to a table drawer.

Whatever he was doing, you ignored as you reluctantly close the door behind you but let Karasu outside of the room to wait.

Slowly and cautiously, you went over to the couch and just stood beside it, not really feeling the need to sit down.

Mihawk returns, clutching a small wrapped box in his hand.

“...how was the journey? Did you come across any unwanted miscreants?”

“..naturally. It was handled with ease.. the journey was fine.” You mutter, forming your lips into a tight line as you frown.

Mihawk nods once at you and eyes your form, while you eye the box, wonder what it could be.

Then, he spoke up again. “Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’m not expecting any good news to result from this. Whatever you want, just say it so I can leave.”

You turn away from him, establishing the harshness and bitter feeling you felt towards him which he understood. He didn’t deserve any kindness you had to offer.

Though he didn’t voice it aloud, he was a bit impressed with how you grew up. You truly did seem like one powerful force to be reckon with, almost on the same level as himself. You had potential.

There was regret building up in him seeing you though. The fact that you grew up to be someone so strong like you were now..

.. but he didn’t aid in any of that. He wasn’t there and he couldn’t help raise you be the person you were now.

“Are you going to keep staring or start speaking?”

Though he didn’t appreciate your sass, he understood it. “I’ll get straight to the point then.”

“..I.. have no excuse for neglecting you.”

Mihawk admits, slowly taking a seat in his chair. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them.

“Other than that I’ve kept myself busy and away from you. I’ve been losing focus, settling matters on the side than focusing my attention on you.” He stood up again, gripping the box.

Your fists clenched at his words, mind recalling painful memories you’ve suppressed.

“But, before I could realize that I should be caring for you, you were already distant from me. I’ve became someone you despised even at such a young age.”

He continues, slowly stepping towards you as he holds out the wrapped box in his hand, which you slowly took.

“..You dress nice.” He nods at the outfit, appreciating the look. “I’ve had Shanks ask me if I had a son, since he’s also seen you on the news lately. I made sure he’d remember that you are my daughter.”

He didn’t judge you for looking so masculine. He accepted who you are as a person.

Finally stepping in front of you, gently placing a hand onto your shoulder.

“...Mi hija...I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He states firmly, looking down at you. You look up at him, trying to stay calm but it wasn’t working.

“But I’d like to be back into your life, a different way than the first time. However, I understand if you refuse it. Whatever you choose, I shall respect and go with you. I just want you happy.”

You weren’t the sentimental, emotional or sensitive type, but, tears slowly brimmed your eyes hearing him.

You hated the familiar ache in your chest, it pounding inside you and felt like it was ripping you to pieces..., yet, you weren’t angry.

Happy? He wanted you to be happy?... what did feeling happy feel like? Was the thought of finally having this father figure back into your life after missing it for so long, a reason to be happy?

Quietly, you just look down at the box that has your name written over it.

Opening it, you lift the top up and saw the all too familiar necklace inside. A gasp escaped your lips as you look up at Mihawk, realizing what it was and you whispered out.

“You’re giving this to me?” There was a hint of confusion and skepticism in your tone.

Mihawk nods. “I’m handing it down to you.”

Carefully, you lift up the mini cross and pull out the blade inside it and poked your finger, seeing it pricking the skin with ease and blood trickling down.

It was the real thing. And it was just as amazing as you always expected.

You close it back up and set it down onto the table beside you, forcing yourself to contain your excitement.

Though you hated him, you often saw photos of him and saw his familiar cross. Even when you were younger, his mini blade in his cross was extremely cool to you and you always wanted it.

And now he was giving it to you.

“Father, I..”

“I’m aware I may not have been the best father. But I plan on being a good one from now on.. if you’ll allow me to.” Seeing how serious and stoic his expression was, made your tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You were silent for a minute.

“..why now?”

It was all you could ask, you wiping your tear-stained cheeks as you look down, uncertain of how you should react.

How could you react?

Were you willing to give this man a second chance into your life, after he blatantly ignored you the first time?

Or were you going to reject the opportunity of finally experiencing what having a father was like?

Mihawk stares at you for a moment, an unreadable expression across his face before he closed his eyes. “..I’ve been watching you through the news, watching your bounty grow.. I.. I’m proud of how far you’ve come and how much you’ve grown.”

Your eyes widened.

Proud?

Tears streamed down your cheeks faster, your shutting your eyes tightly. You’ve never had someone say they were proud of you for something.

And even if Mihawk was barely in your life, the fact that he was your real father and trying to get back into your life... hearing him say he was proud of you just hit different. It snapped something in you.

“I hate you...”

Mihawk was a bit taken back but showed no emotion, slowly closing his eyes as he accepted your decision.

“I hate you for not being there for me. For not being my father when I needed you.. for leaving me alone for [—] years. For focusing more on yourself than your own child.”

He listened to every word, feeling a small pang in his heart with each statement but remained silent for you.

“But..”

You stare at him with teary eyes and a strained expression. “I’m so happy.. I’m so happy you’re changing.. to bring yourself back into my life.”

Mihawk widens his eyes just slightly, feeling an unknown heavy weight lifting off of his shoulders.

And he certainly didn’t expect you to wrap your arms around his waist tightly and hug him.

Though he was a bit uncomfortable since it was so sudden, and he wasn’t the affectionate type all too much, he quickly relaxed and wrapped his arms back around you.

“Thank you..father..”

“I should be thanking you, [Name].. for giving me a chance to be your father once more.”

His comment only made you lean closer into his touch as you shut your eyes tightly, sniffles being heard from you and staining his shirt.

But he didn’t care. Mihawk was happy. Happy to have you back into his life, and getting a second chance at fatherhood.

bonus :

Perona and Zoro peek into the room from the door and watch the two hugging in the center of the room. On top of Zoro’s head sat your raven, using his hair as a nest.

“So who the hell is that?” Zoro bluntly questions and Perona flicked his head and hissed to shut him up, successfully making him quiet.

“That’s his kid, you moron!” She whispers out harshly to him as she turns back to the two.

“Why the hell is his kid here?” Zoro mutters quietly, rubbing his head, but he only received a smack.

A/N : ooc~ also wth, this is so much longer than intended— and ugh I told myself to keep it short and do headcannons so I have more time to post but ahhhhhhh ;-; this is a little rushed too~ TuT

Also let me know which way is better for posting fics. Answering it in a ask or posting it as a separate post and copying / pasting the request like so? ^ thank you!

god, I’m so soft for some platonic relationships right now, like, I’m thinking about making an event for that, when it’s near March. But I’m already doing an event for my birthday AND White Day, in March so idk :((

#platonic #platonic x reader #one piece platonic #dracule mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #tooweirdforyou #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #x reader #op

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 34

💖 first time reader click here 💖

A little bit of plot, but mostly ironstrange x reader filthy porn. Bukkake stuff. Stephen finally opening up a lil bit, I mean... I've slept through a 1/3 of a hospital and lemme tell you, doctors are kinky bastards. On the same note, there's definitely going to be a chapter where all three men are involved after the plot shit is resolved.

There was something big brewing. I had a hunch... which was more like a strong sense of doom... hanging over me and the rest of the world. Peter also had noticed the sudden spike in anxiety, quoting the sudden disappearance of many low-tier mutants from the streets. Usually, Peter dealt with at least a few enhanced enemies during his patrols but the closer it got to Christmas, the less enhanced bothered with small-time crimes, the more intense the buzzing of his Spidey sense became.

Now that my immediate lack of income wasn't a problem anymore, I set business onto that damn mercenary. I was no spy, I was no SHIELD operative but... I could be very clever.

First things first, I had to make sure I would stay alive no matter what. A subdermal tracker was a good guarantee of security and I spent many hours making one - having to keep it a secret was incredibly hard, I hated lying to my loves and I hated avoiding Wanda even more - I was constantly on the edge around the telepath, hyperfocused on keeping up the pretense of normalcy.

I wouldn't be me if I couldn't successfully pull off a whole ass façade. Unfortunately, the continued failures of the people searching left and right for the mercenary only fueled my strength for the inevitable fuck-fest that I would have to create in order to make sure my people get the peace they fucking deserve. The web of lies grew in size every damn day.

Subdermal tracker, an implant that reports directly to Friday upon activation. It hurt like a bitch - I had cut myself open, an inch wide gash on the inside of my forearm - and put it in without any anesthesia in my own bathroom, not even thinking twice before making up a lie that I had been careless in the lab and hurt myself.

An antidote to common tranquilizers, creating it gave me a headache the size of Moscow but I'd been successful; Tony assembled the whole team when he found it out, offering me a ridiculous amount of money for the formula. It was weird. SHIELD was interested, too, and I had to witness Tony and Coulson argue. Apparently, the agency wanted to recruit me and Tony was adamantly against it, totally forgetting the promise Natasha had given me. In the end, the spy and Coulson shared a quiet conversation and the man left, respectfully complimenting my skills.

I sold the formula to Stark Industries, unable to get rid of the weirdness of the situation. I had to shake hands with my own boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend... In a business setting. What. Just what. Bucky and Stephen couldn't stop laughing at the face I made all throughout that day - and Clint even went as far as to bake me a gag cake, a cartooney handshake drawn in frosting on top of it. I hit him with a spatula, Loki smiled in his direction for the first time in, like, ever. It was a trip and Tony had way too much fun with the incident.

Perhaps, turning myself into a cyborg stew wasn't the best plan that was possible to think up in a few weeks' time but I've never claimed to be exceptionally intelligent; if anything, I've always considered myself to be a moderately educated idiot. It is common knowledge that there are two halves of a whole idiot: my second half was on his way from California, having had received my very detailed e-mail about the whole cursed box fiasco and the consequences that followed. I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of seeing uncle Eddie and his symbiote again.

Tony wasn't even half as excited; if anything, he bordered on outright hostile, bickering, and sassing everybody left and right. It could have been the situation at hand finally getting on his last nerves. It could have been his jealousy, the same that appeared every time I paid extra attention to someone that wasn't him, Bruce or Stephen. Either way, Bruce was sighing all the time now and Stephen's remarks began to fill with poison once again.

Just like the good old times, I guess. I was forced to pull a Me over and over, interrupting their petty arguments with increasingly absurd remarks. I felt like everybody was laughing at me these days, which ended in only one way it could have...

"Brat," Stephen's patience was paper-thin and, being forcefully distracted from yelling at Tony, he directed his angst at the nearest person - me. "I oughta put you over my knee. I swear to Cosmos..."

"Blah, blah, blah. Don't you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?" I raised my eyebrows, tone deceptively calm. "You're talking too much for someone who can't even..." I didn't get to finish my sentence, suddenly finding my mouth firmly glued shut. It was magic - the sensation was pulling, but not unpleasant. Reminded me of a ball gag Tony had used on me in the early days of our relationship.

"Now, Dumbledore, hold your horses..." Tony interjected looking none-too-happy. The engineer placed a warning arm on the sorcerer's bicep, their little spat seemingly forgotten.

"What, Tony? She's been nothing but a mouthy urchin the past few days, I can't stand it anymore," They shared a meaningful look; no matter how much Tony wanted to argue, he knew Stephen was right. What he didn't know was that there probably have been a magic versus science altercation... Or worse. Humiliation was a small price to pay for some (relative) peace.

I did what I do best. I annoyed them further, throwing up a juicy middle finger to the two men and turned around with a huff, mind set on finding Loki to undo the mute ban Stephen gave me. Needless to say, I didn't make it very far.

In mere seconds, I was sandwiched between the two men, Stephen's finger delicately holding my chin to force me to look into his eyes. Tony was holding onto my shoulders from behind me - I could feel the tension, my engineer was almost buzzing with it. I was pretty sure my eyes were laughing anyway because Stephen's frown slowly transformed into a coy smirk once his stormy blues focused on my face.

"Brat," He repeated once again. "She's doing this on purpose."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Tony's breath tickled the nape of my neck. "That does sound like our little Princess," Apparently, it took all of a 0.1 second for Tony to switch from annoyed to horny. Men, they were so easy to play. "Baby, if you wanted our attention you could have just said so," He chastised me, hands sliding down to my waist.

I hummed, and then aggressively hummed some more until Stephen removed the magical gag. "Not like you'd notice it, being occupied with tearing each other's hair out," I pouted.

The sorcerer briefly averted his eyes, leaning down to softly kiss my pout. It was very unlikely I'd get an actual apology but a kiss I won't be complaining about either. "So, your best tactic was to annoy us even more? How does that work out for you?"

I pulled on the tied fabric around his waist, bringing him closer to me. "Pretty good, if I'm being honest. You're exactly where I wanted you to be," Carelessly, I began untying the layers of silks and cotton I had become intimately familiar with over the course of the past few weeks. Most of the time Steph wore his wizard garbs and while figuring out how to undo them was a trip at first, I had gotten him desperate enough a few times, for him to show me a few tips and tricks for easier access.

Tony snorted somewhere behind me. "You just want us for our bodies," His hands wormed their way under my shirt, brushing the underside of my breasts. Bra? Hardly know her. "Our beautiful, sexy bodies." Yes Tony, very humble.

"When will you learn, people?" I asked rhetorically, simultaneously leaning into both Tony's and Stephen's touch. "Why fight each other when you could be fucking me into oblivion instead?"

Stephen snorted, still not completely used to the at times crude things that left my (and occasionally Tony's) mouth. I had a hunch the sorcerer was holding back somewhat - for whatever reason - and I was eagerly waiting for him to get comfortable enough to reveal that special part of himself. Whatever it was, I just knew it was delicious and sinful and-

"Do you really think I will be giving you what you want after your little... Stunt?" Steph went balls out; his voice dropped and the intensity of his stare left me breathless. The hand that was stroking my face wrapped around my throat as he had some sort of a silent conversation with Tony.

"Yeah," I emphasized the word with an inaudible 'duh' behind it but obediently trotted along as Stephen backed up towards the couch, leading me by the throat like a pet on a leash. I was steadily going into 'no thoughts, head empty' territory.

"I like it when you get all bossy," Tony remarked casually but he was close enough for me to hear the strain in his voice. Every time we fucked, Tony eagerly gave up the control to Stephen. I definitely saw the appeal. Stephen Strange demanded authority effortlessly, his stern but fair attitude simply demanded to kneel.

That's just what I did. As soon as Stephen made himself comfortable on the Italian leather couch, I dropped to my knees, looking up at the man with big round eyes. Just like Tony and Bruce, Stephen had his own weaknesses when it came to moi and I wasn't ashamed to exploit them. Steph's stroked my hair, carding careful fingers through it, slowly unbuttoning his pants with his other hand.

"If you insist on being mouthy, I have a better task for you," He husked, pulling me closer towards him. I called it his doctor voice. Honestly, I don't have a clue how his surgical team could be around him with their pants on back in the day... The man was a snack on a silver platter.

Steph's erection sprang free. I didn't hesitate to wrap my hand around it, stroking the underside of his glans just like he liked it, looking to the side where Tony landed on the couch next to Stephen, a curious look on his face. Yeah, Tony liked to watch. Me and Stephen or me and Bruce... Me and Stephen and Bruce? That's an idea for later.

"Don't mind little old me," Tony smirked his trademark Stark mischief, getting comfortable, ditching his oil-stained shirt and unbuttoning his pants to lazily palm himself through his boxers. "Carry on," The smirk only grew when Tony noticed both me and Steph eyeing him with amusement.

I hid my grin, nodding my head, before wrapping my lips around the tip of Stephen's cock, relaxing my throat to prepare for the intrusion. Sweet and salty, the slit on his cockhead was mercilessly teased by the tip of my tongue.

Stephen murmured encouragements under his breath as I began to bob up and down, him controlling the pace with a hand in my hair, just the right balance between cruel and gentle. The sorcerer was always too good to me, bringing me to the point of overstimulation and instantly soothing the ache afterward; "Fuck, darling, your mouth feels like heaven," He groaned as I snuck a look upwards to see his lips parted and a steady flush crawling up his neck.

"She knows how to work a man, doesn't she?" Tony's lust had him panting, hips moving into his own hand. He leaned closer to Stephen, brushing my hair behind my ear with a tender hand. "Merlin needs to share," Tony began pulling me in his direction. I reluctantly let go of Stephen's cock, keeping up the pace with my hand as I scooted closer to Tony to be able to mouth at his stiff erection.

Watching me suck cock always got Tony hard enough to pound nails with. I couldn't blame him, I knew what I could do and did well; by the time I made my way down his thick flesh, drool was dripping down my chin and the make-up around my eyes was surely smeared by tears. My engineer was much less gentle than Steph, pounding my face without reservations.

"I know you can take it, baby girl, fuck," My face was held in his strong grip, thumbs digging into my jaw. "Such a good girl," The two words went straight down to my pussy and I had to squirm and clench my thighs together, whining at the lack of friction.

The air was pierced by a low moan - Stephen was fisting his erection almost desperately now, almost as desperately as I was humping the air, whining like a bitch in heat at the taste of Tony's cock in my mouth. I knew neither of the men would last long, not with all that pent up tension running through their minds and bodies.

"Fuck, come here, baby girl," The engineer yanked me off his cock, gripping the base of it so forcefully his knuckles turned white. I was all but dragged into the space between them; still kneeling, barely seeing with snot and tears smeared all over my face, I couldn't hold in the broken moan as the realization set in.

"Keep your eyes open!" Steph instructed furiously, scooting to tower over me. Tony followed in his steps as I obediently lifted my eyes to their cocks and then their faces; nearly identical furrowed brow expressions stared back at me, lips moist and eyes wide. Both men stroked themselves with renewed vigor.

I hummed softly before sticking out my tongue; their reaction didn't let me wait long. Strings of pearly white cum landed in my hair, on my face; I felt the warmth on my skin and tasted their salt and musk on the tip of my tongue, reflexively swallowing each and every drop that landed in my mouth, savoring it just like I savored the sinful groans that left their mouths.

"Fuck, you're so good to us," Tony panted, gracelessly falling backward onto the couch.

Stephen, however, didn't hurry to catch his breath, giving me a thoughtful look. His fingers shook more than ever but he paid no mind to the discomfort, gathering the cum dripping down my face with two fingers and offering it to me, holding them up to my lips as I gently cleaned them off. And he did it again, and again, until Tony gave a weak moan of recognition, throwing an arm under his head.

"Be polite, Princess," Stephen's voice hadn't lost the lust in it just yet.

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled, utterly captivated by the way he was looking at me. Stormy blues radiated a strong sense of intensity, devotion perhaps, that I wasn't ready for.

Stephen smiled at me, almost coyly, before kneeling right next to me and bringing me over the edge with a few sharp, clever movements of his hand. I held onto his shoulders for dear life, barely noticing Tony's reaction - if there was one - my other lover seemed to be as surprised as I was, choosing to hang back and observe the unusual situation.

I had a feeling that whatever it was, it would make another appearance during our playtime. It wasn't just sex, it wasn't making love - it was... Something. I loved every second of it.

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #Tony Stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark smut #stephen strange smut

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jaeminscoffee · 4 years

Text

Infuriate (m.)

Infuriate- to make someone extremely angry and impatient.

Pairing- Kim Dongyoung x reader

Genre- Smut, Fluff towards the end.

Warnings- dom!doyoung, brat!reader, rough sex, overstimulation, edging, spanking, degradation kink.

Word count- 3.04k

Summary- Pissed Doyoung equals a long night.

(This kinda has references to the kdrama it's okay to not be okay, where gangtae is munyeongs safety pin, but it has my own twist so if you read the story and it feels similar to the kdrama, that's why XD)

Doyoung is known for being the best boyfriend, and you agree. He is in fact the best boyfriend you could ask for. You on the other hand, are known for being a rebel. You were different from the others. You needed someone to be around you so that you wouldn't be constantly punched in the face. That's the sole reason Doyoung fell for you. You didn't give into things as fast as the others.

In fact, you and Doyoung started off as enemies. One sided hate as you absolutely abhorred his pretty face. His whole 'oh I'm so modest, i never make mistakes so I'm boring' personality pissed you off. He didn't know how to have fun, that was your first impression of him.

But in reality, Doyoung is way far off from what you'd initially thought. He just needed a pull at a particular string to tick him off, and that thrill of Doyoung turning into a totally different person was what kept you going.

Doyoung is what your friends called, your safety pin.

But staying along with you for as long as over two years, he had slowly started losing his sanity, not literally but a little there. He'd started growing less patient each day.

Seeing him burn with anger makes you feel things people are normally not supposed to feel.

So here you are, trying your extreme best to get your boyfriends attention. By ignoring him.

"Y/n? Could you get me my phone?" Doyoung asked, looking up from his laptop screen to you who was seated across him, legs hanging over the armrest of your couch, dressed in only an oversized shirt, which of course is his.

You were on your phone when he called for you, "Hm? " you ask, looking up. "could you please get my phone?" you act as though you're thinking when Doyoung asked you for the second time. "Where is it?" he pointed at the hallway leading to your room with one hand, the other busy typing words quickly.

"Nah, too far" you resume playing on your phone. This is a chance. He needs to have fun. He's been so occupied with his work lately that he's done nothing other than wake you up with a cup of coffee and then kiss you good night. That's it.

"No..?" he looks up again, confused. "Yeah. No" you emphasize the word 'no'. "come on baby i can't get up right now, please?" he looks at you in a pleading manner. You let out silent giggles, "i can't get up either" he raised his eyebrows at your words, "Why?" Doyoung asked, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"because… i don't want to." you look up once again, giving him a smile. "Y/n please" he said, dragging the word please. "No babe, I'm comfortable right now, i don't want to get up" you wiggle on the couch.

You hear Doyoung let out a sigh. "Can you come here for a second?" Teasing him is all fun and games until he loses it. Which is exactly what you were aiming for. "didn't i just say i don't want to get up? Jeez honey you're slow". You see his features go hard for a second, massaging the entirety of his face with his hands. "Y/n."

"Yeaahh?" you ask, having a huge smile on your face. "Come here" he shifted in his seat in a way where he was leaning forward, arms resting on his legs, looking at you with a stoic expression.

"Nope".

"Last chance. Come here" he said, looking at you with a daring expression.

"and I'm telling you for the last time. Nope"

He got up from his seat, walking around the table and towards the couch. "you're really asking for it aren't you?". Doyoung asked the minute he reached you. "Asking for what? Babe are you okay?" you him, seeing him clench his jaw as you suppress a chuckle from escaping your lips.

"Oh you won't be in a while" He said, picking you up bridal style because of the way you were sitting on the couch. You finally let out the laughter you'd been holding in, which only infuriated Doyoung more. "You're getting angry over this? Thought you'd be better than that" you say, looping your arms around his neck for support, playing with his hair, placing a kiss on his cheeks. "Don't try your luck babe. It's better if you'd just shut up"

With that he started walking towards your room, opening the door in a swift motion, not even bothering to close it, and threw you onto the bed in a not so soft manner. "And? What are you gonna do if I want to try my luck, punish me?" you sat up criss cross on the bed, as Doyoung pulled his shirt over his head. He gave you his infamous glare. Oh you knew that look so well.

"How about you find it out yourself?" he said, walking into the closet and getting a belt out. "Spanking? Oh dear, I'm so scared" you say, sarcasm dripping from your tone, "Come on Doyoung i know you can do better than that-" "Shut the fuck up." he came back from the closet, his gaze harder than ever, no signs of lust, nothing. Just pure anger. On the contrary though, you were soaked, his tone being one of the factors, the other being you being overly excited of what Doyoung's going to do with you.

"But I don't want to, so make me." you stick your tongue out at him. His jaw clenching harder at the sight. "such a fucking brat" he mumbled under his breath. "Get on all four, slut" his voice had gone dangerously low. You were a little scared alright, but that's the point.

His anger just made sex so much better.

"nope" you answer, leaning back lying down on the bed. "bitch" Doyoung said loud enough for you to hear and dropped the belt he held onto the bed, getting onto it himself pulling you down towards the edge of the bed, which was totally unexpected for you so you let out a yelp.

"You're gonna have to own up to your sorry ass now" Doyoung said, looking straight into your eyes before flipping you over with his hands around your waist, gripping your hips once you were stomach flat on the mattress, pulling it up so that your ass was up, basically forcing you into all four, lifting your (his) shirt above your waist.

"Oh? No panties? You were planning this weren't you? Such a fucking slut" he spoke through gritted teeth, his tone, his actions, his aggressiveness all just turned you on more, "Look at you, you're dripping love" he said parting your cheeks, dipping a finger into your slit.

"You're going to be begging for me to stop by the time I'm done with you" he retreated his fingers causing you to let out a whine. "Stop being all barks and no bites, Doyoung-" you said pushing your hip back, you hear Doyoung let out a shaky breath, moving back to get the belt he had discarded not that long ago.

"Count, bitch" and there landed one on your left cheek with the metal side of the belt. "I don't want to-" you scream as he holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling it back with aggression.

"I asked you to fucking count so do it, or watch me leave you here all desperate" that's the last thing you want. You'd acted annoying all week for this, you couldn't just have him leave. "I see, so you don't want to obey, eh? Cool with me-" he said, taking a step back from where he stood. "No! No, please.. " Doyoung smirked.

Gotcha.

"Hm..? Please what?" he stood with his arms crossed, the belt still in his hand. "please, I'll obey, just.. Just please don't leave me here" you said, letting down the act you had, melting completely when his hands went back to your core. "then count baby, i don't have the entire day" he retreating, raising his hands up high and letting the metal hit your cheek. "One..", another one landed on top of the last one, this time it stinged, you whined out a complaint,

"Two." then another, "T-three, Doyoung th-that hurts.." you said, tears now flowing down your cheek as a tiny cut had formed due to the metal breaking through the skin. "Does it now? Thank you for the information" he smacked once more. You scream out, "Four,-" he stopped for a while, admiring the bruises now forming on your skin. It looks like it hurts, but you love it and he knows it. He landed another one using his hands this time. "F-five, fuck.."

You were a sucker for Doyoung manhandling you, this was what you meant when you said that he was the exact opposite from what you thought he was.

You were caught off guard when he flipped you once again, you wince out as you ass hit the sheets, the burning sensation sending waves of pleasure right into your core that you moan out.

He looked at you, face to toe, looking so ethereal with tears running down your cheeks, chest heaving up and down to catch your breath, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a rough kiss, sinking his teeth into your bottom lips a little too hard, drawing the tiniest amount of blood out of it.

You hadn't realised, but you'd been crawling up the bed along with Doyoung's body on top of you, as he removed your (his) shirt and threw it back, hand immediately cupping your breast through the material of your bra, causing you to let of a loud moan, mouth wide open. Doyoung took this opportunity to slip his tongue in, exploring the entirety of your mouth, fingers snaking around your body to unhook your bra.

Once that was off your body, Doyoung lowered himself just enough to draw a circle around your nipple, the sensation feeling so good as you squirm, moans and whimpers leaving your mouth as he toyed with your breast.

He looked up, finally giving you time to breath, "Tsk, look at you, all fucked up just from a little spanking, aren't you a whore for me." his face had an extremely sadistic look to it. His hands made its way down your body, touching your sex, you jolt forward.

"Stay still." he said in a stern tone. He looked at you one last time, looking at your doe eyes staring at him with so much expectation. "Do you think you deserve this?" he asked, the tip of his fingers poking into your core which made you jerk your hips up. "Y-yes! I obeyed everything..-everything you told me to!".

He dipped his fingers a little more, halfway in, "If you promise to stay quiet, you'll get the reward." he spoke, finally shoving the entire finger in as you look at him with your eyes wide open. He slid his fingers in and out at an extremely fast pace, your eyes were tight shut, your hands gripping onto his shoulder from sliding back the sheets.

Your eyes had still remained shut when you felt the warmth of his skin leave your palm, you opened your eyes to see him completely lowered down, still having his fingers moving, his face directly in front of your core.

Seeing you look at him, he smirked before latching his lips onto your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves around with his tongue. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, Doyoung felt it too as your walls clenched around his fingers. Your hands were over your mouth to keep yourself from letting out any sound.

When you were at the brink of your orgasm, you felt Doyoung's teeth graze over your clit, causing you to let out a loud moan by accident, regretting almost immediately as he completely stopped his actions causing you to let out a cry. "Come on! I was so close!" Doyoung smiled at you sweetly, "but you made a noise, honey" you were beyond frustrated. "But that's your fault!" you hit his forearm as Doyoung let out a chuckle,

"And you say you deserve a reward huh?" he said causing you to shut your eyes, tears running down as you blink continuously, feeling your high go further and further away. "Yes, If it weren't for your insanely good head giving skills i wouldn't have-" you got cut off by your own moan, as Doyoung shoved his fingers back into you. "You talk a lot".

Your orgasm was now fast approaching, your walls aching due to the constant fast rubbing of his fingers. "Doyoung, oh god, fuck-" you clench around his fingers a little harder.

"You seem close," he said, the smirk still plastered on his face. His fingers moved faster, you grip onto his hand as you finally reach the long awaited high.

You let out a squeal of pain, closing your legs tight shut as he kept going, "Did i say you're done?" he pry opened your thighs, tears rolling down faster and more frequently, as Doyoung, for the second time latched onto your clit.

"Doyoung no i can't fuck-" you felt him chuckle against your bud, the vibration sending you off the edge the second time that night. You flinch away from him when you felt him sucking on the sensitive bud, thighs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm.

You were too busy trying to catch your breath to notice Doyoung, all rid of his clothes making his way onto the bed once again.

You were tired, obviously. You didn't know if you could take anymore but it's not like you had a choice.

He looked at you, the look on his face made you whimper, as he once again dragged you towards the edge of the bed using your ankle. "Oh baby, what happened to talking back? Hm?" he asked, lifting your chin up with his index. "D-doyoung.." you rasp out, shutting your eyes tight and opening it again to clear out the blur. "Do you even deserve my dick after how you'd been acting all these days?" you look up at him, Doyoung let out a chain of curses under his breath because of the way you were looking at him.

"Answer me, bitch. Do you think you deserve it?" he brought his hands down onto your clit, giving it a smack causing you to jolt up. "n-no.." you manage to let out as his fingers never seemed to have left your clit, drawing circles on it with a fast pace. Doyoung watched as you squirm,

"Then should i be fucking you right now?" he asked, biting his lips, as he watched you arch your back approaching the third orgasm, "beg for it." he said, continuing his actions at a slower pace, the tip of his member entering your core. "Please, Doyoung.. " you say, voice hoarse. "Try again, you know you can do better than that babe" he said, mocking your words from before.

"Please, Doyoung, please just fuck me, pleas-" he waited no longer and shoved his length into your wetness, squelching noises being produced as he moved his hips at a fast pace in and out of you. You couldn't even scream at this point, voice completely gone due to previous screaming.

The feeling was overwhelming and you were beyond sensitive, Doyoung didn't mind your cries, it being hooded by his own groans as your walls felt just right around his member. "Fuck baby, don't i fuck you e-enough? How are you this tight?" he questioned between thrusts. You moan at his words. He picked up one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder, gripping your thighs tight, the grip would most certainly leave a bruise the next morning.

This new angle allowed him to reach deeper, hitting the one spot that had you clench around him harder. "Doyoung, stop-" you cry out, not really wanting him to stop, and he knew that.

"Really babe? You want me to stop? Fuck..say the safe word then" his powerful thrusts turning sloppier as he approached his high. You said nothing, whimpering in return as you heard Doyoung scoff. "You could never have enough huh? Such a fucking whore for me" he said.

He slowed down just a bit as soon as you reached your orgasm, twitching harder, clenching even more around his shaft.

"shit shit shit.." Doyoung groaned out, looking down at where his length disappeared in and out of you, shutting his eyes close seeing your essence drip out of you and onto the sheets.

"Doyoung..! " you scream out, jolting up and wrapping your hands around his shoulder as you felt him thrust in deep one last time before shooting his seeds into you. "Fuck, god.." he whined, riding out his high.

Doyoung pulled out of you, watching his seeds along with yours drip out, as he collected those with his finger and shoved it back into you.

You try pushing him away as the pleasure now turned into pain "Doyoung, i really can't.-" you sob out, but Doyoung didn't stop, fingering you into a lazy orgasm, which had you clenching your abdomen out of pain.

Doyoung watched your face churn in pain and pleasure, body covered with sweet and bruises, as he placed a kiss on your temple.

He got out of the bed, picking you up, and walking towards the bathroom.

"Are you okay, babe?" he asked, opening the door of the bathroom. You lightly smack his chest. As you look at him with a pout.

"I hate you so much" your voice came out feeble.

"Want to go for a second round and see if you can still say you hate me?" he raised his eyebrows up in a teasing manner, laughing when he saw your eyes widen, shaking your head frantically.

"No!"

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends.

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter.

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

#btsghostie #bts scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts humor #e2l #kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bangtan #bts fanfic #the sleep deprived series

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thesaltysocialworker · 4 years

Text

For the first time

For the First Time

Synopsis: You and Loki are long-time childhood friends, who made an agreement about a certain birthday and your virginity. Both of you are too scarde to act on your feelings, but Sif sets a plan in motion using Thor to make sure you end up with the man you love.

Warnings: Sex.

“So what do you want to do for your birthday this year?”

You friends sat across from you as you picked at your breakfast. “I’m not sure. Maybe just a quiet night in.” You strategically moved your food around your plate making it look like you ate something. “A quiet night in? That’s it?” One of the other young women asked. You muttered something about thinking about it before dismissing yourself from the group, rising from the table in the golden halls of the Palace of Asgard. You retreated to the gardens, the sun rising and casting beautiful hues across the dewy leaves and grass. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t even hear one of your friends chasing after you. Sif, one of the few noble ladies in Asgard that you actually liked.

“You’ve been positively melancholy for days, y/n. What’s going on?” You lingered on the edge of the gardens, glancing back into the halls and at the two royal young men eating with the warriors three. “Walk with me?” You asked Sif, and she nodded. The two of you disappearing into the gardens and away from the crowds. “It’s Loki—“ You started, and Sif rolled her eyes. “It’s always Loki. Why don’t you just tell him you have feelings for him and save us all the longing gazes and tension?” You shook your head. “He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, Sif. We made an agreement about this particular birthday.” You started, wringing your hands together uncomfortably. “What was the agreement?”

You glanced around one more time before speaking softly. “If we were still virgins at this age, we’d be with each other.” Sif actually sputtered with laughter at this. “Then you should be looking forward to this birthday, you already know what you’re getting from Loki!” You slugged her in the arm and she laughed. You weren’t as strong as Sif or the Warriors Three; your talents were more like Loki’s. You were quite the master of magic, though not quite as strong or as well-versed as your friend. “That’s just it, I know he’s not a virgin but I still am. So what if he intends to collect on our bargain? I’m going to look like a fool, I’m not going to know what to do!” You felt more panicky as you spoke, your voice rising in pitch ever so slightly. “Or worse, what if he doesn’t want me?! I’ve seen him flirting with other women at court.”

“You’ll know what to do, it’s pretty natural. Trust me, he wants you. I can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he speaks about you.” Despite Sif finding your turmoil rather foolish in the scheme of things, she put her hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. “So why don’t we have a party here? Thor has offered to let us use his chambers. That way you’re not too far from home and you can have that ‘quiet’ evening you wanted. Or at least as quiet as it gets where Thor is concerned.” Sif smiled, and you nodded. “Thank you, for listening. I knew if I told the others they’d laugh me away from the table. I know you think it’s silly in the scheme of things.” The two of moved back into the hall, where the population had thinned out greatly. You parted ways from Sif, going to the library to study.

Sif waited until your back was turned when she approached Thor. “Thor, I need your help with something.” She gestured him away from the warriors three. “Is everything well?” He asked, concerned for his friend. “Oh, I’m fine. I just need you to lavish y/n with attention tonight. It’s her birthday, and your brother still hasn’t told her he has feelings for her. The only way he’s going to do anything about it is if we force his hand.” At first, Thor looked like he was going reject the idea completely. But then he gradually broke into a coy grin. “Sounds enjoyable.”

“I also volunteered your personal chambers for the party spot.” Sif announced as she stepped away from him. “You’re always volunteering me for something, Sif!” Thor called to her retreating frame, and he swore he heard her laughing as she walked away.

Thor’s sitting area was beautifully decorated in your favorite colors, with appetizers and drinks set out before the guests. As soon as you entered the room, everyone shouted Happy Birthday, as if the party was a surprise. People greeted you one-by-one, and you could see Loki lingering near the fireplace speaking with one of your girlfriends. She laughed, batting her eyes lashes at the youngest prince. You felt the color drain from your features. It was all you could focus on, until the elder Prince stepped before you. “Happy birthday, y/n. You look radiant.” He grinned, blocking your view of Loki and your supposed friend.

“Thank you, Thor.” You forced a smile. Much to your surprise, he wrapped you in an embrace. You couldn’t hide the evident shock on your face, you’d always thought of Thor as a big brother but the embrace was oddly intimate. When he released you, he placed a hand at the small of your back and led you to the couch closest to the gifts and the food. When you sat, you noticed Loki watching the two of you with not so shielded interest, and maybe just a hint of jealousy? Thor got you a drink as you settled in your seat, and offered you one of your gifts as your friends started to gather around. Then he sat beside you. “Please, open mine first.” Thor handed you a small box, wrapped in brilliant gold paper. “You didn’t have to get me anything, letting us use your space was enough.”

“I wanted to do something special for you, you deserve it.” He draped his arm over the couch and around you as you opened the gift, and you noticed a hush of whispers throughout the room. You wanted to ask Thor if he was drunk already, but thought it rude. You just couldn’t understand his sudden interest. You had tugged the golden paper off a velvet box, and when you clicked it open you were shocked to find a beautiful ruby set in an intricate gold setting. It was near gaudy, but it was beautiful and glistened in the candlelight of the room. You lifted the chain and held it up to let the others see. “Thor, this is beautiful! Thank you so much. You really shouldn’t have.”

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman.” He winked, setting his drink down. “May I put it on you?” You nodded, and Thor stood brushed your hair ever so gently off your neck as he clipped the ruby into place. Your friends exclaimed how beautiful it looked, and you could feel the jealousy flying off of them. “It’s kind of heavy.” You laughed, turning it over in your hands. You were given a few more trinkets from your friends; books, sweets, perfumes. Then everyone moved to mingle with each other. You’d been speaking with one of your friends when Loki finally approached you. “May I speak with you, privately?” He asked, his voice a low growl. “That’d be rude for the birthday girl to leave her own party, Loki.” Sif added, sliding up next to you and wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

Loki opened his mouth to respond and Sif caught your arm, dragging you away from him and onto the next guest. “What’re you doing, Sif?!” You whispered as she ushered you across the room. “Helping you land your man. Just follow my lead.” You glanced back at Loki over your shoulder, mouthing ‘sorry’ at him. You could see him becoming uncomfortable, angry even. The lines of his body had tensed, his jaw went rigid, his hands clenched into fists. When you turned back around you were toe-to-toe with Thor again. “Dance with me, y/n.” You were clearly shocked, groups had moved to dance on the open floor near the near fireplace. You were in Thor’s arms before you could even answer, moving to a quick and upbeat rhythm across the room.

“Sif put you up to this. Didn’t she?” You asked, finally connecting all the dots. “Perhaps I simply find you charming, y/n.” He spun you out from him, and when you came back towards him your back fell against his chest. His large hands fell to your waist, it felt oddly awkward and uncomfortable. But it was enough to throw Loki right over the edge. Over the music you heard glass shatter, the music halted as the wine glasses shattered and red wine washed over the floor. The table that had been holding the appetizers was also made of glass, and had also shattered causing food to fall into the wine. “What in Odin’s beard—“ Volstaag practically shrieked, watching the food soak in the wine with mourning. You knew what had happened, especially when Loki made his escape without much notice.

“Go to him before he comes back and does that to my head.” Thor winked at you, occupying the guests and staff while you snuck out of the room after Loki. You slipped into the hallway and saw Loki retreating to his room with long strides, trying to get escape as quickly as possible. You lifted your skirts as you chased after him, quite literally having to run. “Loki, stop-“ You called out in a stern whisper as not to attract attention. His shoulders tensed, but he stopped. “How kind of you to leave my brother to come check on my well-being, you seemed to be enjoying yourself so much that you couldn’t even take the time to receive wishes from your truest and oldest friend.”

“Sorry, I could tell you were trying to bed my friend and I was trying not to ruin it for you.” It was amazing how Loki could get under your skin so easily, drove you to anger and insanity. Loki seemed confused by your words. “I was showing her my gift for you.” You felt your cheeks turning red, and you suddenly wished for a spell to make you vanish, or a hole to open up and swallow you. He pulled the small box wrapped in emerald green paper out of his pocket and offered it to you. “Why would you think I’d flirt with your friends? The only woman, the only person I’ve ever had eyes for is standing before me now.” You felt your heart leap into your throat, especially once you opened the box and saw a beautiful and intricate ring sitting on the velvet inside. A gold band with a massive emerald.

“Is this—“ you started to ask the question, finding it hard to speak through the knot in your voice. “I hope it to be, yes. I consider it a promise. Just like the one you and I made many years ago about this very evening.” You turned as red as the ruby Thor had given you that evening. “I thought you’d forgotten.” Loki chuckled, a mischievous grin meeting his eyes. “It’s consumed me, y/n. I’ve practically been counting down the seconds.” You shook your head, glancing to the floor out of embarrassment. “Loki, I know you’ve been with others.” That cocky smirk only continued to grow. “I don’t deny that I’ve been with other women. But those other women were only doing their job. I wanted to practice so I could make this evening perfect for you.”

“You went to the Royal harem to practice for this evening.” If it wasn’t so bizarre, so oddly Loki, you may have been offended. You offered him back his gift, and you saw his face fall, the color drain from it. “Please do it properly, place it on my finger.” He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and slipped it on your finger. He then offered you a hand, and you knew if you accepted that hand there’d be no turning back. You took his hand and let him lead you away from the party and towards his chambers.

You’d been in his chambers before, but the intimacy of this moment was difficult to miss. He’d lit candles, dimmed the lights and set out your favorite wine along with chocolate covered strawberries. You were nervous, he’d been practicing for you and you’d never done this before! You thought about drinking that whole bottle of wine yourself to loosen up, but you wanted to remember this moment with him. Loki seemed to notice your tension, his hands falling to your shoulders. He pressed his lips to your temple. “Relax, love.” He whispered, his breathy whisper sending chills down your spine.

“May I?” his hands fell to the buttons of your gown. “You could use your gifts and free me of this gown. Why take the time?” You whispered, his lips moving over your neck. “I want to savor this moment. I want to savor you, and take my time as my hands explore every inch of your flesh. Somethings are worth the extra work.” You whispered a soft ‘yes’ and he began working the buttons down your back, his fingers tickling your spine. You felt the silk of your gown fall down your body and pool at your feet. You felt Loki’s fingers brush over the soft skin of your stomach, your sides and up your thighs. “You are more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined. But this-” Loki pulled at the ruby that Thor had given you. “Has got to go.” He slipped it over your head, placing it on a nearby table. You had to smile a little at his jealousy.

You spun around, standing there in only your panties. His pupils were lust blown as he tried to take in every inch of you. “Come here, my love.” He pulled you towards him, bringing your hands to his shirt. You worked quickly, thankful he wasn’t wearing his armor as you felt yourself growing inpatient. You pushed his shirt off his shoulders and couldn’t help but run your hands over his sculpted muscles and pale skin, you were almost entranced and in that moment you lost your fear. He hummed his appreciation, pulling you closer. The feel of his cold leather on your skin was a different sensation, and you found yourself pushing your thighs together. Loki noticed your not-so-subtle attempt to quench your desire. He lifted you, his hands falling to your backside as he carried you to his bed. While you were against him you felt how hard he was against your stomach, and the fear came back. He was huge, how painful was this going to be?

The two of you fell to his mattress and the green silk sheets. Loki brought his lips to yours, it started gently and sweetly but it grew heated. You could feel him trying to restrain himself for your sake when he wanted to plunge in. But he was about your comfort, your speed. As he kissed your neck, moving his lips lower to your nipples he moved to the waistband of your panties. He glanced up at you to ask for permission, but lust was clouding your logical thought. You raised your hips off the bed and towards his hand. “Please.” You practically begged. He fingers moved over you, pressing against your sensitive nub as you gasped into his mouth. As his fingers created their own magic, he moved a finger inside you, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. He moved in and out slowly, your groan causing him to grin as he moved to your other breast with his lips.

You could feel yourself tightening around his fingers; a sensation that was totally unfamiliar to you. You felt your universe begin to close in around you, the only thing that existed in that moment was you and Loki and the pleasure coursing through your veins. It was like cracking glass, and then it shattered as you tightened around his fingers and waves of pleasure crashed over you. He gave you a moment to collect yourself, but somewhere during that time he had removed your panties. You were eager, you helped him shimmy out of his trousers and he positioned himself over you. “You’re holding your breath, y/n. I could take the pain away.” He whispered, burying his face where your neck and shoulder met, taking in the softness of your skin, the scent of you. “I’ll be fine, Loki. Please.” You were begging him, because even through the fear you wanted him, all of him.

Loki slowly but surely pushed himself into you, and you gripped his shoulders tightly. It was uncomfortable, and you held your breath. But then he wasn’t moving anymore. “Are you well?” Loki asked, and you nodded. He moved slowly, letting you adjust to his size and pace. “You are perfect, love. You’re so tight.” Loki purred into your ear, causing goose pimples to rise over your flesh. You couldn’t tell where he ended and you began, you felt in rhythm with him, you felt as if you were one being. Your hands moved across his back, over his sharp features and ran through his hair. You wanted to remember everything about him, you were trying to memorize him with your fingertips.

“I love you.” You whispered, feeling the pressure coiling with-in you again. “And I you.” Sweat had started to form on his brow, his hips moving quicker against your body. “Please, Loki. Please!” You begged, desperate to fly off that precipice that he had sent you hurtling off of before. He reached between your bodies, his fingers toying with you as he continued to move and you couldn’t imagine a more amazing sensation in all your days. There it was, and it was better with him inside you. You clenched down on him, and with a few more thrusts and his hands latched on your hips he released.

He caught himself before he collapsed atop you, rolling over and keeping you with him; pressed against his body as he rained kisses down on your lips, your forehead, your nose. “You did perfectly.” Loki whispered, his fingers moving over your stomach. You recognized the spell, a contraception spell. “Thank you, for being a patient teacher.” You whispered, a small smile dancing on your lips. “You’re not a difficult student to work with, y/n.” He chuckled.

Loki pulled the blankets up over the two of you, continuing to hold you against his body. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I think we got set-up by Sif and your brother.” You whispered, nuzzling against him. “Then we owe them a thank you, don’t we? I don’t think we were the only two in that room withholding feelings for one another.” He grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “We’ll repay them in-kind in the morning, Mischief.” With the snap of a finger, the lights were out and you were asleep beside Loki but before you drifted out you couldn’t help but look forward to your next lesson.

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ghostofstudentspast · 4 years

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Obligatory (part 2)

Series Masterlist

“Oi Y/L/N, is it true you’re marrying the ferret?” a ginger head of hair popped up next to you as you kept your head held high walking to class.

As it turned out, the Hogwarts rumour mill was rather dry, so the news of you being engaged to Malfoy had spread like wildfire. You had tried your hardest to ignore the stares and the whispers that followed you through the halls, especially from the Gryffindors. Slytherins and purebloods were ever so slightly more understanding, earning you looks of pity rather than ones of disgust. You weren’t sure which was worse.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business Weasley.” You didn’t even look at the boy before answering.

You weren’t on bad terms with Weasley and Potter. Not in the way Malfoy was anyway. Regardless of how much you tolerated them, you weren’t in the mood to be interrogated. Besides, Ron always came off as a bit of a self centred boy in your opinion.

“People are judging you anyway, you might as well tell the truth,” he scoffed and stopped walking. You kept walking, keeping your eyes ahead.

Mother had always said you were good at handling people. You’d figured out later you were just good at presenting the version of you people wanted to see. Your parents wanted a soft spoken little princess. Your teachers preferred an attentive listener who asked in depth questions. Pansy and Theo liked it better when you were loud and confident. All of these people saw different sides of you and the only person who really ever listened was your best friend Daphne.

She was the one holding your hand walking down the hall now. Quick to shoot a venomous glare at anyone who dared to look your way with a haughty attitude. She had been there to wipe away your tears when you had tried again and again to figure out a way out of this contract.

The contract you currently had clutched in your hand as you made your way to the library. As promised your father had drawn up a copy of the contract for you to hold onto. To read over and over again until the lines all blurred together. As you flattened the contract against the library table you wondered if you were fooling yourself, hoping for a way out.

“So, I got permission from professor Snape to use the restricted section. I’m definitely on his watch list now though,” Daphne murmured from the cushy seat beside you, “he probably thinks Theo wants to do something illegal again,” she snorted.

It wasn’t unusual to find a Slytherin in the restricted section. While Ravenclaws might be the more studious ones, Slytherins were set on knowing as much as they could about the important things in life. Hence why every pureblood you knew had been learning dark magic, and it’s counter curses since their first year at Hogwarts. Some things would never be taught in classes but if you were clever, you’d find a way.

Theo however, had been banned from the restricted section for life by every teacher around. In fifth year they caught him trying to curse one of the school toilets to bite people and accidentally flooded an entire bathroom on the third floor. Needless to say, he was kept under a watchful eye.

“Have you talked to Draco yet? About all of this I mean?” Daphne whispered as she added a few books to the growing pile on your table.

“No, he’s been avoiding me,” you hadn’t exactly been hunting him down but it was the truth. Anytime you’d be in the vicinity, he’d suddenly find himself extremely busy or he’d disappear into the crowd. “I don’t blame him. He’s not exactly pleased about this either.”

“Y/N...” Daphne hesitated before asking what was on her mind, and everyone else’s for that matter, “did he really take the mark? Blaise wouldn’t tell me.”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve. It wasn’t your place to tell her these things but she was your best friend. Your parents had of course let you know that your darling husband to be was now in fact, a death eater. You nodded ever so slightly and met Daphne’s eyes. They were round with concern and a hint of fear was etched onto her delicate features. She chewed on her lip for a moment and pulled the contract over to her.

“Well, lets figure this out then shall we.” it was an unspoken rule between the two of you. Never admit how afraid you were of your families. Never let them hear your hesitation when they asked about your allegiances. Only the two of you knew, you were too kind hearted, too soft, too disgusted to ever really be on their side. It was what bonded you together.

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend by the time you got to speak to Draco. Well, that’s when you gathered your confidence anyway. You approached him outside the three broomsticks, the two boys flanking him spotted you before he did.

“Hi Blaise, Theo!” You smiled widely at the two boys who grinned in return, “Malfoy, a word please.” your smile was tight as he turned to face you.

“Keep the missus happy Draco,” Theo hollered after you. To your relief, Blaise smacked him in the forehead and dragged him into the pub.

“What do you want? I have things to do.” He crossed his arms and looked over your shoulder, cold air escaping from his parted lips. It looked like smoke billowing out of a dragons mouth. He was aptly named.

“Daphne and I still haven’t been able to find a single crack in this contract,” you huffed as he still refused to meet your gaze and instead fiddled with his gloves, “I need your help.” you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Look who’s suddenly involving me in this,” his cocky smirk popped back onto his lips easily, “we don’t have a copy of the contract and I’m not stealing from my father.” he deadpanned.

“I have a copy.” you didn’t meet his eyes and shuffled your feet.

“Of course you do.” his tone was clipped, pissed off, you could tell. “So much for sharing that with me. Whatever, fine, give me the contract and I’ll take a crack at it.”

“I can’t just give you the contract Malfoy I need it too,” you mentally cursed him, talking to him always felt like trying to eat soup with a fork. Very difficult and you don’t get much out of it.

“Yeah alright, then meet me in the common room tomorrow at noon and we’ll look at it together.” his icy eyes met yours and seemed to stare right into your mind, maybe they could, you were sure he knew legilimency. “Anything else or am I free?”

“Yeah, you’re free,” you blinked at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat before turning on your heel and stalking back towards the castle. Bloody Malfoy.

“No I’m telling you, clause 19 counteracts that. I have to take your name.” You paced in front of the black couch Draco currently occupied.

In his hands he held your copy of the contract. After every few lines of reading he’d throw out a spell, potion or non-magical suggestion to a clause. You would then be forced to point out why these things wouldn’t work, as if you hadn’t already considered every option.

When he’d suggested polyjuice potion you’d laughed. Living separately? You’d immediately pointed a few lines down where it stated you’d take over the left wing of Malfoy Mansion. Simply having an open marriage? The scandal would be horrible, so of course your father had added a clause for that.

“I’m telling you Malfoy you need to get more creative.” You shot a tight lipped smile his way as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. You hadn’t actually been aware that he needed glasses. They made him look less uptight, or maybe it was the fact that his hair wasn’t slicked back with gel.

“Yeah, I’m trying here Y/L/N,” he ran a hand through his hair again. “You running a hole in the floor isn’t exactly helping.” he added without looking up.

For the past half and hour you’d been alternating between pacing back and forth and perching on the sofa opposite of Malfoy. Something about the intensity in his gaze while he scanned his way down the parchment made everything feel all the more real.

In fact the next few Sunday’s, leading you all the way into the holiday season, you and Malfoy could be found spitballing ideas back and forth in the common room. It was the most you’d spoken to each other in years and it was strangely tolerable. He still made you want to throw a book at him every twenty minutes but at least that was an upgrade from every five minutes.

“I don’t know if there’s a way out of this,” Draco finally spoke after a prolonged silence. It was the week before Christmas break and while you refused to give up hope, he’d seen through the contract weeks ago and knew you were just holding on for your sanity.

“No, there has to be,” You chewed your lip anxiously, “I mean, maybe he left something out?”

“Our fathers are death eaters what do you expect Y/N,” his voice was cool and smooth, almost like a piece of glass, “they’re not stupid.”

“My father isn’t a death eater.” You stopped pacing and faced the blond.

“When’s the last time you’ve seen him wear short sleeves? The last time you checked his forearm?” His eyes were calculating as they gauged your reaction.

“I-“ you paused and thought hard, “last summer.” Your jaw tightened and you felt tears well up in your eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised you this much. You’d thought maybe it was just a feeble following, something your parents could come back from.

“Hey, I didn’t mean-“ He started awkwardly before you cut him off.

“Keep it.” Your voice wobbled, “keep the contract, I don’t care. I’ll see you over Christmas.”

Series taglist: @xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes

#draco malfoy #harry potter #hogwarts #draco x reader #hp fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fic #pureblood #draco x pureblood!reader #golden era #war fic #angst #harry potter blurb #harry potter blog #writing #hp blurb #hp blog

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thereisnochillinsideme · 3 years

Text

The rain, Akaashi Keiji part two

I'm sorry it's been such a long time I've just had some stuff going on but here it is, part two. I also think @bakudummy asked to be tagged, if you didn't ask me to I'm sorry please tell me I'll take it off anyway enjoy! Akaashi was currently locked in a debate between himself and himself. While one side was telling him that it would be fine if he visited [Name] and Takahashi in normal clothing while the other was telling him that they weren’t close enough and that he was required to wear a three-piece suit. The first side then argued back that they might think he’s rude if he showed up for a cup of hot chocolate in formal wear. In the end, he decided that after picking [Name] and her cake off the street and getting her to Takahashi’s apartment, what he wore probably mattered the least to either of them right now and settled on a cotton T-shirt. He made his way out of his apartment and knocked on the door to his right, which was opened by Takahashi. He hadn’t usually seen her like this. She had changed out of the pencil skirt she so usually wore to work and was currently in a sweater and leggings. She also looked surprised to see Akaashi in anything but his work wear. She let him in and went back to the stove, where the milk for the hot chocolate was bubbling on the stove. He saw [Name] spread out on an armchair, now changed out of her wet clothes. She saw him and immediately perked up, changing her position to see him better. He took a seat on the couch across from her. She gave him a smile and immediately began speaking to him.

“Stoneface-san! Feeling better?”

“Yes, much better. How about you?”

She smiled. “I’m doing great! I got my cake, I got to meet you, I got to see Yo-chan, and now she’s making me hot chocolate!”

Akaashi smiled at the childlike elation she had at the situation she was in. She was an optimist to the bone.

He was a bit jealous of her, though he didn’t realize it. He was jealous of people like her. They didn’t have a care in the world, complete confidence in themselves. And people like him or Takahashi were following them around making sure nothing happened to them because, jaded and anxious as they were, they didn’t want that optimism to fade. It gave them strength too. It reminded him of the former captain of his high school volleyball team. Bokuto-san’s confidence was a force to be reckoned with and now there he was, playing professionally on a world stage.

Takahashi walked over with two mugs of hot chocolate, setting them on the coffee table that separated him and [Name]. [Name]’s smile grew wider upon seeing the drink and she happily picked it up and immediately took a big sip.

Immediately she started coughing.

“Ah barned mah tahnge.” She said, with her tongue hanging out.

Takahashi and Akaashi started laughing in unison as [Name] also began laughing with her tongue still hanging out.

“Why are you laughing? You burned your tongue?” Akaashi asked through chuckles.

“It is funny,” [Name] said through sips of cold water to soothe her tongue.

Time was spent happily drinking hot chocolate while [Name] told them jokes and stories.

Putting down his mug, Akaashi looked at [Name].

“[Name]-san, I’ve been meaning to ask your full name, as I didn’t get it when I met you.”

[Name] smiled. “[Last Name] [Name]”

Akaashi did a double take. “I’ve been calling you by your first name this whole time? That’s incredibly disrespectful as we don’t know each other well”

“It’s fine, Stoneface-san. I’ve never liked using my surname as it puts a formality barrier between me and who I’m talking to. Please use my first name.”

Akaashi nodded in acceptance. “So [Name], what do you do for work?”

She winked. “If I told you it would be no fun. It’s your job to guess. Your hint is that I’m in the creative field.” After many consecutive wrong guesses, [Name] changed the subject and started telling them what had happened to her at the train station that morning. As they laughed, Akaashi began to realize how much fun he was having.

It had been a long time since he had done anything like this. He maintained a strictly professional relationship with his coworkers and Bokuto-san was not free most of the time with having gone professional. He would come by and have a drink with Akaashi ever so often, but Bokuto-san usually found himself leaving early to spend more time with Shoyo. Akaashi didn’t mind that he was branching out and he knew that their adult life was definitely going to impact their friendship. However, it was not after he lost them that he realized just how much he cherished the carefree days on the volleyball team, how he would chase Bokuto-san around with an umbrella to stop him from getting wet in the rain.

It was probably why he spent so many late nights at work, trying to quiet his mind by occupying it. His high school friends were all busy with their own lives, he felt he should be as well.

“Stoneface-san?” He heard

He snapped out of his daze and saw [Name] staring at him, slightly concerned.

“Are you okay? Your stare was really blank and you didn’t laugh when I told you about when I threw a squid tentacle at the guy who came to collect my taxes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling a bit tired. I also have some work due tomorrow, so do you mind if I take my leave?”

Takahashi looked at him, obviously concerned, but trying to hide it. “Yes of course, I’ll show you to the door.”

She walked him over to the door of the apartment and opened it, letting him go through.

“Thank you for looking after [Name] today, I’m sorry if she was a bit of an inconvenience. It was nice to have you both over, we should do it again sometime.”

Akaashi nodded, thanked her, and went inside his own apartment.

He didn’t mean to leave so abruptly, but he wasn’t lying, he did have work.

He made his way to the small desk by the window of his apartment and sat down, picking up the large, stapled sheet of paper by his window.

Today, his work was a bit more enjoyable than usual. He was editing one of his more favorite comics that was published in his magazine. Asuma no Sekai was a comic set in a demon world, with the main character being an incredibly lazy demon who preferred eating cake to doing her job. The crazy schemes she pulled to get out of doing her job were sometimes more work than doing the actual job and always made the reader laugh. Editing it was a more favorable part of Akaashi’s week and it never failed to lift his mood. The author was Sakurai Daisuke. He had never met the author in person as he usually sent someone else to pick up his manuscript, but he looked forward to meeting someone who was such a good mangaka.

After spending a couple hours reading, laughing, and editing the work, Akaashi went to bed as he had work the next morning.

[Name] had left on the first train that morning and though Akaashi was slightly mournful that he didn’t get to say goodbye, he continued on with his day like normal.

As the week went by, [Name] occupied Akaashi’s thoughts slightly more than a normal person would. He would pass by the cake shops in his area and wonder if she would enjoy the one in the display window. He was confused by why he was thinking about her so often, but chalked it up to the fact that there were a lot of cake shops in his area.

Later that week, on an afternoon while he was home, Akaashi got a call from his employee, Okomoto Chiyo. She sounded extremely distressed.

“Akaashi-san! I’m so so sorry to bother you!”

“It’s okay, what do you need?”

“My wife is sick and I’m home taking care of her. I was supposed to pick up Sakurai-san’s manuscript today, but Nanako’s been throwing up all day and I can’t afford to leave her now. Do you mind picking it up?”

Akaashi was slightly annoyed, as he had just gotten home. However, he knew that he couldn’t possibly ask his employee to leave her sick wife.

“It’s completely okay. May I have Sakurai-san’s address? At least I can finally meet him.”

“It’s xxx-xxx on the other side of the city. The train will be able to get you there really fast. Sakurai-san should have completed her manuscript by now.”

“Her?” Akaashi was confused

“Sakurai Daisuke is a pen-name. The author is female. She picked a male name to sound more ambiguous.”

“Oh, that comes as a bit of a surprise.”

“Thank you so much for doing this, Akaashi-san! I am forever grateful to you.”

“It’s no problem.”

Akaashi looked out his window and toward the train station which was a couple blocks away. It was raining.

As he turned, his eyes fell on a now-dry neon yellow umbrella. He must have forgotten to give it back to [Name].

He picked up the umbrella, put on a long brown coat, and ran out his apartment door.

He was able to make it onto the train last minute, sitting on the seat in relief. As the train moved along, he thought about what the author might be like.

Thinking about it now, it was fairly obvious that this author wasn’t like most of the male authors Akaashi’s company had published.

There was barely any fan service in the series and the author made sure to write her female characters just as realistic and flawed as her male characters. Most of the male authors drew one woman with an unrealistic body and made her show up every now and then to rip her clothes off and leave. Sakurai-san’s female characters had personalities and all different body shapes, some bigger or smaller, darker or lighter, more like the women he would see in the real world.

The train announced his stop and he walked out, looking at the paper where he jotted down the address.

He navigated his way through the twists and turns until he finally got to the apartment building.

He entered and went to the specified floor and found the correct door.

As he raised his hand to knock, Akaashi suddenly felt a bit nervous to meet this author who he borderline idolized, especially when he found out he was wrong about her gender the whole time.

Nevertheless, his hand tapped lightly on the door twice and he heard footsteps rush to open it.

What he saw behind the door was definitely not what he expected.

[Name] was peeking out, wearing a large animal onesie, holding a plate of cake with a plastic fork.

“Stoneface-san?"

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fics #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x yn #akaashi x reader #keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #fukurodani x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

Text

Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter 3

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

Please note: This fic describes depression, anxiety, panic attacks, past/referenced non con and domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion.

The next month at the compound passed much better than the last. You started training with everyone in the gym again and actually paid attention to your exercise routine.

Bucky had come to find you one morning in your room, a few days after the Peter incident, and had reiterated to you that he didn’t want to push you to talk about anything, but that he was there for you if you needed him. You had thanked him, blushing all the way up to your hairline when you thought about how you had clung to him and sobbed into his chest. He had just tucked his fingers under your chin to make you look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m glad I could be there for you when you needed me.” You didn’t have any words, so you had just nodded. Then you’d both gone down to the gym for a long morning of training. The place on your chin where his fingers had gently held had tingled all morning.

Tony sent you out on a couple of really easy missions to scope out a few buildings. It was just you wandering the busy streets of a few towns in Russia. Even though it was devastatingly cold, it felt good to be out and working again. Your head felt clear, you had a purpose and something to focus on.

The two appointments you had with the therapist so far seemed… fine. The first was very formal and slightly uncomfortable. You were a person who had to keep their cards close to their chest their whole life, and spent a good portion of time only telling the smallest amount of the truth you could get away with. You were constantly juggling secrets, so spending an hour just talking about yourself was not something that came naturally.

The second appointment was a little better. You didn’t know if you’d ever feel comfortable actually talking about what happened to someone you didn’t know, but you had opened up a bit about feeling lost, like the world is duller lately and she seemed to think that was something that lots of people struggled with. It was enough to lift a little bit of weight off your heart.

You finally finished all of the Fast and the Furious movies with Peter and had started spending the evenings in the common area eating dinner and sharing drinks with everyone. You were still more quiet than usual, but you supplied the occasional joke (usually at Sam or Bucky’s expense) and generally just started to enjoy yourself a bit more.

One evening, just about a month after your panic attack, you were all settling down for a movie in the common space. Everyone was going to watch the Lord of the Rings series together after Tony and Sam had been appalled to discover that no one (not even Peter) had seen any of them.

You were tucked on the couch between Bucky and Peter with a movie theater size bin of popcorn on your lap. Between the teen boy and the super soldier grabbing hand fulls, the tub was almost halfway gone and you hadn’t even hit play yet.

“Jesus you monsters! Don’t eat it all before the movie even starts.”

“It’s not our fault you’ve been making us wait for 15 minutes.” Peter said through a mouthful of half chewed popcorn.

“Ew Peter! Swallow before speaking please. We’re waiting for Tony. He’d be pissed if we started without him.” You snarked back as you stood to go pop more popcorn.

Heathens. You thought to yourself, rolling your eyes.

“Hey Friday?” Peter yelled at the ceiling. “Where the fuck is Tony?”

You heard Steve mutter “language” under his breath across the room. Sam threw a pillow at him. Bucky dropped his head back onto the couch and cackled.

“Shut up grandpa.” You threw over your shoulder.

As you started to turn back around you caught the blue of Bucky’s eyes staring at you. He still had a huge smile on his face, but his eyes were scanning down the length of your body. His gaze paused somewhere around where you knew the top band of your Calvin Klein underwear was peeking out over the top of your sweats. You felt your whole face flush a bright red, your body temperature skyrocketing.

Bucky’s eyes drifted back up and locked with yours. He gave you a small smirk before turning back around to berate Steve for being a stick in the mud. It didn’t seem possible, but your blush seemed to spread across your chest and you could feel a small amount of sweat build on the back of your neck. What the hell? You closed your eyes and shook your head a bit to try to clear the flush from your body.

Calm down and just pop popcorn.

Just then Friday's voice spoke up “Tony is in the elevator on his way.”

“Thank fuck.” Sam said, which caused more grumbling from the lounge chair occupied by Steve. You giggled quietly to yourself as you poured some popcorn kernels into Tony’s fancy popcorn popper.

You turned to grab some butter from the fridge and almost slammed nose first into a rock hard chest. Two arms wrapped around your biceps to stop your forward momentum. Bucky chuckled softly.

“Whoa princess. Need any help?”

“Uh. Can you grab some butter?” You lifted your eyes off the small bit of skin showing above the neckline of his shirt (was he wearing a gold chain???) and locked eyes with him.

He looked at you for a second, the corner of his lip curled into a lopsided smirk. “Sure thing, Doll.”

He let go of your arms and turned to the fridge. You found your eyes scanning the rippling muscles of his shoulders and down the expanse of his back to his slim hips. It felt like you were peeling velcro apart when you finally forced your eyes to return to the popcorn machine.

Oh my god. Get your shit together.

Suddenly the door to the common room swung open “I have a surprise for you!” Tony’s loud voice called from the doorway.

Then you heard a booming voice (one you hadn’t heard in just about a year) bellow “I’m back midgardians!”

You swung around, jaw practically on the floor, to see if it really was who you thought it was. “THOR!” You squealed. You ran at him full steam. His rumbling laugh almost brought tears to your eyes as you launched yourself into his arms. He picked you up and spun you around. You pulled back to look at him with both palms on either side of his face. “How are you here? Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

He laughed, still holding you about a foot in the air and said “Well, Heimdall had brought me news that my bestie had begun to reside in the compound” you giggled when Thor used the term for best friend you had taught him the last time he was here “And I realized I had not returned to learn of your stories for over a year. It is about time that we ‘overturn the tea,’ is it not?” At this you, Peter and Sam absolutely lose your minds laughing.

“What?” Thor asks “It is time, is it not?”

Steve, Bucky and Tony are looking at the three of you in very obvious confusion. Between wheezing and fits of giggles you finally squeak out “It’s spill the tea, Thor.” This causes Peter to fall into another fit of laughter.

“What do you mean, ‘spill the tea’? Is that a game?” Steve asks.

Thor finally sets you down and turns to Steve while You, Peter and Sam try to catch your breath. “Lady Y/N taught me that midgardian phrase. I am told it means to tell dramatic stories, often those that involve your enemies.”

“Oh my god, Thor I missed you so much.” You laugh and hug him again. He wasn’t kidding, you two were besties. He was so interested in midgardian slang, movies and music and it seemed that most of the time you were the only one who had the patience to teach him things. Whenever he visited you two were basically inseparable and he never failed to make you laugh.

“What were your plans this evening, bestie?” You thought Peter might have an asthma attack or something if Thor kept making him laugh this hard.

“We’re watching a movie! Would you like to join?”

“Indeed!” Thor bellowed. He finally stepped away to great everyone else, giving big bear hugs to everyone. You wandered back to the kitchen to collect the popcorn that Bucky had finished making.

“I didn’t know you and thunderman were that close.” Bucky commented as you grabbed the giant bowl from his hands.

“Well, we don’t see each other that often, but he’s such a sweetie.” You snag a handful from the bowl and shove your face full of popcorn.

“Hm.” Bucky mumbles. He’s looking at the ground by his feet. He seems almost… upset?

“C’mon. We can finally watch!” You give him a little hip check before walking back into the living space. You plop down on the couch, this time between Peter and Thor. Bucky takes a spot in a lounge chair next to Steve. You notice his eyes snag a little too long on the blonde giant next to you.

After the movie is over, and some heated debates between Tony and Thor on which character is the best, you all decide to order some pizza.

You’re struck again at how wonderful it feels to just spend the evenings with your best friends, drinking beer and eating pizza, laughing at the stories Thor tells about Asgard.

When you were living off site, you didn’t have any friends besides… Him. It was supposed to be your little slice of the world separate from your life working with Shield. You tried to keep everything as compartmentalized as possible, but it was hard to make friends when you never really left the apartment and couldn’t be honest with anyone about who you really were. You hadn’t ever realized how lonely you had been for the 3 years you’d lived away from the compound until now. The energy of a room full of your favorite people was intoxicating.

Everyone was standing in the kitchen around the island, drinking beers and chatting. Vision and Wanda were sitting on the couch a few feet away being absolutely adorable. Thor, Steve and Bruce were swapping stories at the end of the island. Nat, Sam and Bucky were picking on Peter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

You had just cracked open a new beer and started pouring it into a pint glass when Thor spoke up from across the counter.

“So, Y/N, what became of that man Elijah with whom you lived?”

Oh. Shit.

Mid-pour the beer slipped through your fingers and crashed to the counter. Beer went everywhere. Your hands and forearms were covered in sticky residue. Instantly your heart rate spiked and it was all you could do not to let your knees buckle and collapse right there onto the tile.

“Oh. Uh…” You mumbled out. You had to place your palms flat against the counter to keep your hands from shaking. You stared at the kitchen counter top where your glass sat between your hands, trying to force oxygen back into your lungs. It was silent for a bit too long and you could hear the drip drip drip of beer falling from the counter onto the kitchen floor.

“You lived with someone?” Wanda asked from the couch, looking very perplexed.

No one had really known about it. Tony knew, of course, because he needed “a damn good reason” for you not to live at the compound when you first got added to the team, but you had begged him to keep it a secret. Peter sort of knew, only because when he would drop by sometimes he could sense there was someone else in the apartment.

Thor knew because he had brought Asgardian liquor with him one time and you had stayed up on the couch in the compound and gotten hammered and it just sort of slipped out. You’d said something like ‘Oh he’s gonna be pissed when I don’t come home tonight’ and then Thor had questioned you and you’d just sort of… spilled. Well, not everything, but he got most of it.

You just… hadn’t told anyone else. It had started because Elijah had asked to be kept separate from your working life. He didn’t want your relationship overshadowed by “super people” who “didn’t have any idea how to be normal.”

As the years passed, it just started to be a habit, that you would keep secrets from Elijah about what you did at work, and you kept Elijah a secret from everyone.

You could feel everyone in the room staring at you.

“I’m sorry Lady Y/N… I was not aware that everyone did not know you lived with your fiancé.” Thor said softly from the other side of the counter. You winced. You could feel black spots forming in your vision as you tried to keep your breathing normal.

“It’s okay. Um. Yeah. That uh… didn’t work out.” You squeaked out. You couldn’t lift your eyes up to look at anyone. You were focusing all of your energy on not falling apart in front of them.

There was more silence, everyone in the room clearly reeling from learning that not only had you lived with someone for three years, but you were supposed to have married a man none of them knew. The only sound was the continual drip of beer off the edge of the counter. You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a choked “excuse me” you bolted from the room.

You missed Peter saying your name and getting up from his chair. You missed Nat pushing his shoulder back down with a whispered “let her be Peter.” You missed Thor looking at Tony and saying “I should not have said that” and Tony shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. You missed Sam staring down at his hands on the counter, lost in thought. You missed Wanda and Vision sharing a look. You missed Bucky launch himself from his seat to follow you, and Steve snagging Bucky’s arm to stop his forward momentum.

~0~

You crashed through the door to your room and flung it shut behind you. Leaning your back against the door, you slid down to your butt, hugging your knees to your chest. You started rocking back and forth and tried to slow your breathing down. You knew, after talking to your therapist, that this was a panic attack. In the logical half of your brain, you knew you weren’t dying, that no one was trying to attack you or kill you. You knew you could breathe oxygen just fine.

However, it definitely felt like you were dying.

You kept trying to heave oxygen in, but the longer you sat there the more your brain spiralled. You just kept thinking of the silence. The clear feeling of hurt that radiated off your friends, your family.

Your brain warped that silence, filling it with false ideas of your friends sharing accusatory glances. Of their hatred seething from them. Of their distrust and dislike of you bubbling to the surface. You scrubbed at your face. “No no no no” a mantra falling from your lips.

This wasn’t real. Your brain was trying to convince you that they hated you, but they hadn’t done any of the things your brain was trying to tell you they had. They weren’t like that, they didn’t find out things about you and immediately decide you weren’t worth it.

You leaned your head back against the door, knocking it a few times against the wood, trying to clear your brain. You couldn’t think about what happened. You couldn’t change it, you just had to focus on breathing now.

Easier thought than done.

There was a soft tap on the other side of the door, causing you to jerk forward reflexively, like you’d been burned.

“Hey sweetheart. Are you… okay in there?”

Bucky. Oh god. Not again. You refused to let him hold you again while you got nasty snot all in his mechanical arm. It simply wasn’t an option. You opened your mouth to tell him to get the hell away, but the only sound that came out was a small choked cough.

Ah. Right. You couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Hey, it’s okay. If you want your space that’s totally fine. I’m just… gonna sit here, okay? So you’re not alone. I’ll be right here, on the other side of the door, if you need something. Just try to breathe, okay?” Bucky murmured from the other side.

You were on your hands and knees now, staring at the door, gasping like a fish out of water. You could see the shadow of his feet just on the other side. You saw the light shift as he must have sat down. You heard a soft “thump” as his back hit the door.

There was something about that soft thump that instantly stabilized your racing heart. This was… good. There was no pressure of trying to talk to him or having him look at you while you were panicking, but you knew he was there. It was calming in a way you didn’t fully grasp.

You sat back on your feet and stared at your hands in your lap.

“If your hands tingle, I always find that if I tap each finger to my thumb one at a time, it helps.” Bucky suggested softly through the doorway. You tried it. Tapping one finger tip to your thumb at a time, starting with your pointer. Once you got to your pinky you reversed the order. After a few times, you realized your breathing had evened out and you could see more than just the tunnel vision in front of you.

You looked back up at the door. Bucky’s shadow still hovered just under the frame.

You cleared your throat and croaked “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

You stayed there for a while longer, shifting your weight to one side and swinging your legs around to extend them in front of you. Eventually you laid back on the floor of your room and stared at the ceiling again. Your breathing was even and slow, and your muscles finally felt like they had lost all the tension.

You let your eyes fall shut as you melted into the rug underneath you.

~0~

You woke with a start, dreams of angry brown eyes and a messy flop of blond hair haunting you as you sat up in bed.

In bed.

How did you get here? The last thing you remembered was laying back on the entryway rug and closing your eyes…

Bucky.

You groaned and covered your face with your hands. Not again. At some point, you were really going to have to stop breaking down in front of him.

It was then that you remembered him giving you the advice of tapping your fingers to steady yourself. He had said something about him doing it… there was a sick feeling in your stomach thinking about Bucky suffering alone through that.

You stepped out of bed and went to take a long scalding shower before getting dressed. You should find Bucky this morning and thank him… again. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and a matching cropped sweatshirt, shoved your feet into your sneakers and stepped into the hallway.

“Friday?” You asked softly.

“Yes?” Friday’s lilt came down from above. She sounded softer than usual, almost like she was matching your sound level.

“Where is Bucky?”

“Agent Barnes is on the training level.”

“Thank you.”

You took the elevator down and stepped into the gym. It seemed like everyone was up early and in the gym this morning, crowded around the sparring mats.

“What’s going on?” You asked as you stepped up between Nat and Wanda to look at whatever it was that everyone else was watching.

They didn’t have to answer you, it was quite obvious. Thor and Steve were wrestling to the absolute death in the center of the mat. Steve was putting up a really good fight, but it looked like Thor had him beat.

“Oh my god.” You chuckled. Of course, everyone wanted their shot at sparing with the demigod, especially the super soldiers. It was rare to have a chance to spar with someone who was stronger than the serum made you, so every time Thor came he always did a few rounds in the ring.

You watched as Steve tried to wrap his legs around Thor and flip him over, but Thor had such a good wrap around Steve’s waist it just wasn’t going to happen. Thor brought one arm up and wrapped Steve in a vise-like headlock.

“Yield, little man. I have bested you.” Thor boomed out.

Steve hesitated, but eventually he tapped Thor’s forearm, signalling defeat.

Thor hopped up and started bouncing on his toes. “It was an exceptional attempt Captain, but you have gone soft since I’ve been in this realm.”

Steve groaned as he dragged himself up from the floor. “That, or you’ve somehow gotten stronger.”

Thor’s eyes popped up and found yours with a mischievous glint in them. Not unlike the one you’d seen in Loki’s eyes many times.

“Ah, Lady Y/N has awoken! Just in time for me to crush her into the floor!” Thor chuckled and beckoned you onto the mat.

“My god, Thor…” You groaned, pulling your sweater off over your head revealing your signature calvin klein sports bra you had thrown on that morning.

“I know I’m a god my lady, but the question is, what will you be?” Thor snarked at you. You just rolled your eyes.

“I’m not really dressed for this currently.” You retort, pulling your sneakers and socks off and tossing them to the side of the ring. You catch Bucky’s eye from where he sits just outside the ring. He looks like Thor has already thoroughly beaten him this morning, all sweaty and panting.

I want to lick the sweat off his chest.

Your head twitches involuntarily at the thought that just popped up unprompted in your mind. Behind you, you hear Wanda snort.

Great.

You send a small smile in his direction, to thank him for last night, he nods in recognition as he takes a big gulp of water from his water bottle. You turn to Thor and raise your fists in front of you.

“Alright big guy, lets see how long I can last.”

~0~

It’s surprisingly long, actually. What you lack in brute strength, you make up for in agility. According to Peter, you lasted two whole minutes longer than Bucky and five longer than Steve.

Doesn’t matter, you still feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. Or lightning.

You’re standing in the middle of the ring, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath when Thor places a hand on your back.

“Lady Y/N, I would love to accompany you to your room for some of the ‘girls day’ time.”

You chuckle. Thor loves doing facemasks and drinking champagne with you on your couch while you chat about anything under the sun. He asks nearly every chance he gets.

“Sounds great” you pant “Go shower and meet me up there in 30?”

“I will make haste.” Thor winks and turns to go.

You take a few more seconds to catch your breath as everyone goes back about their own workouts or heads up stairs. When you lift your head, Bucky is still packing up his gym bag just outside the ring.

“Hey, Buck?”

He looks up “What’s up?”

“I just… wanted to thank you. For last night. I know you probably have questions--”

“I don’t want to hear anything you’re not ready to tell.” Bucky cuts you off. “And don’t worry about it. Whenever you need me, I’m there.”

He’s finished putting things in his bag and starts to walk away. Something in you really doesn’t like that he’s moving away from you and you scramble to come up with something to keep him here, even for a second longer.

“Do you want to grab dinner?” You blurt.

He stops with his back to you for a moment before spinning around. “Dinner?”

“Uh…” Oh yeah. Real smooth. Really normal of you. “Yeah. Like, maybe we could go to that bar down the street tonight… and catch up?” You bite your bottom lip. You feel like such a freak right now. You’re asking him to dinner? Really?

Bucky’s eyes dart to your lips for a moment before bouncing back up to your face, but it’s noticeable enough that you instantly blush. You can feel the blood racing up to your face and you have to actively resist the urge to cover your cheeks with your hands. Why is it so hot in here all of a sudden?

Bucky smirks at you and then clears his throat. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good. 7:00? We can take my bike.”

“Yeah perfect.” You choke out. “I’ll see you in the garage.”

“Great.”

He turns and leaves, once he’s far enough around the corner you slap a hand to your forehead and double over again. Oh my god. You were going to ride on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle to the bar down the street tonight and have dinner.

This should have felt normal. He’s Bucky. He’s your friend. You used to go grab breakfasts and coffees all the time together.

But something about this dinner felt way different. Your heart was hammering in your chest.

Oh god. What were you going to wear?

~0~

Thor scared the shit out of you when you stepped out of your bathroom wrapped in a towel thirty minutes later.

That’s right. Girl time.

“Jesus Thor.” You placed a hand on your chest as you gaped at the demigod sprawled on your couch.

“I know that guy! Isn’t he the son of a midgardian god?” Thor quips back, unperturbed by how badly he spooked you. “You left your door unlocked. I brought up all of the bottles of champagne that I was able to uncover in Tony’s not-so-secret chamber of wine. I thought you could decide which to begin our afternoon with.”

You laughed at that. He had indeed. There were easily twenty bottles of champagnes of different vintages on the table near your entry. Tony had a massive wine cellar that he always said was for “special occasions only.” Thor being here was pretty special, so hopefully he didn’t get too mad if a few of these bottles went missing.

“Let me put on some comfy clothes and grab some face masks.”

After you had dressed, applied a beautiful green tea facemask all over Thor and your faces and popped a bottle, you finally settled on the couch with Thor.

“Lady Y/N, I first want to apologize for bringing up something that you had shared with me in private in the presence of the team. I was unaware that it was something you desired to keep a secret from everyone. I’m honored that you shared something personal with me and I am deeply sorry for not respecting the way I should.”

You blinked at Thor. You’d almost forgotten that he had been the one to bring up Elijah last night. You’d thought so much about Bucky’s back against your front door and going to a dive bar with him tonight that you’d managed not to worry about the events of last night.

“It’s totally chill Thor. You didn’t know. I also… don’t really know why I kept it from them? I just hadn’t said anything so I was just caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. You know?”

“Yes! You did look quite upset. Did something unfortunate come between you?”

A mirthless laugh escaped your lips. You stared into the glass of bubbles in your hand. “You… could say that.”

“Is this one of those topics that you’d prefer to discuss, or one that you’d prefer to leave to your own heart?” Thor reached out with his foot and tapped your knee with his toes.

You smiled before lifting your eyes to his. “I think I’d like to keep it in my own heart for now. I’ll tell you someday, okay?”

Thor lifted his glass of champagne in your direction “To many more afternoons of scattering the tea!”

A giggle exploded out of you “It’s spill Thor! Spill!” You lifted your glass to clink with his, relaxing into the couch.

~0~

At approximately 6:48 in the evening you decided you simply were too antsy to stay in your room and stare at the ceiling for a minute longer.

You had a wonderful afternoon of “girl time” with Thor. He had stayed for a few hours, telling you about all the silly court drama that he knew was happening back in Asgard. It had felt so… normal. It was glorious.

After he left, you brushed your hair and looked at yourself in the mirror for probably twenty minutes before deciding against any makeup.

It’s just two friends going to dinner.

You had thrown on a pair of black combat style pants, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket over top. Casual, but still a little nicer than the sweats you had been wandering the compound in for the last two months. You still hadn’t fully wrapped your mind around why you were so nervous.

You take a deep breath, shove your feet in your combat boots and decide to just head to the garage now. You don’t want to keep him waiting, and you can just admire Tony’s cars while you wait.

The elevator drops you off in the lower level where all of the team's personal vehicles are parked. As you step out of the elevator, the door to the stairwell opens to reveal none other than the man himself. Bucky.

He looked… amazing. There. You admitted it. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, a black henley unbuttoned enough to confirm that he did indeed wear a gold chain and that he had a small scar at the top of his right pec.

As he walked he tossed a faded leather jacket on and the movement gave you a brief glimpse of skin where his shirt rode up.

Did this garage just raise in temperature by like 20 degrees?

You fought the instinct to fan yourself.

“What’s the matter with you princess? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled as he breezed past you toward where his Harley Davidson was parked in the corner of the underground lot. His shoulder just barely brushed yours as he passed.

Somehow, you found your voice. “Do you always take the stairs?”

He didn’t turn around to respond “When the elevator is occupied.”

Well. That was… logical. Duh.

“Get your little ass over here, I’m starving.” He called behind him as he approached the bike.

You felt yourself blush from your hairline down to your toes. “Excuse me?”

“I said get your little ass over here so we can get to that bar and order.” He spun around and gestured to the bike, like he was a presenter on a game show showing you your prize. He patted the leather seat twice. “Your little ass goes here.”

“Right…” you mutter under your breath. God what the hell is wrong with you? You walk over to his bike in silence. He throws one leg over the machine, straddling it and hitting the kickstand. You paused momentarily beside the bike. “So, no helmets?”

Bucky turned to look at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face “Sweetheart, you’re superhuman.”

You just rolled your eyes at him as you finally swung your leg over the side of the bike. “Doesn’t make road rash hurt any less…”

He chuckled as he reached back to grab both of your hands “I’ll take care of you, doll.”

He pulled on your wrists until you slid forward a bit on the leather seat. Your hips were now slotted against each other, your chest melded against his back, your thighs in line. He wraps your hands around his abdomen so that your hands rest on the planes of his stomach. Then, he pats your hands twice, softly muttering “Hold on tight.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead between his shoulder blades. You could hear the door to the underground garage rumble open. You took a deep breath before whispering “Okay…” into his back.

Bucky punched the gas and you took off into the crisp evening air.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #female reader #bucky fic

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