#and before i can even gather my consciousness the love goes to leave for work and im having visions of disembowelment

[69dias]

hey dk if you’re still taking requests but could we get boob tattoo couple w face sitting ……..

i fucking LOVE YOU for this req. u have my heart.

warnings: dumbification, OC pulls an ahegao, face sitting, degradation [calls her names, etc] jk thinks oc is soooo pretty he's pussy whipped

wc: 922

“please — fuck. j-jungkook —“

jungkook’s caught between your thighs,skirt blocking any airflow he could possibly get as he slurps at your cunt obscenely, only pulling your hips off of him for a moment to reaffirm how awesome he thinks this is; “shit, doll, you taste so fucking good.”

“ngh — shit, shit, please,” his tongue is working you further than you know you’re able to go, and you could easily squirm out of his hold; in fact, you have been trying to, but he has a vice grip on your thighs, the cold metal of his rings doing nothing to warm the heat igniting in your abdomen. “j-jungkook, holy fuck.”

your post-orgasm stupor has your eyes practically blurring, and you wish that you’d tapped his shoulder like you had promised to after your second high, before he had the chance to slide between your legs and have you physically seated on his face like it was your throne. again, he gives you no time to gather your composure as he shakes his head between your folds, your clit catching the metal of his lip ring just hard enough to have you bucking against his face, the dangerous prickling of another high settling in the tresses of your stomach —

“jungkook, jeongguk! please, p-please, I can’t. no more, no m-more.”

jungkook, however, knows you. he knows what he can give you, and what you can take, and more importantly, he knows all of your limits. he’s tested you before, made you unravel on his tongue and on his cock and on his fingers before you really were begging him to stop, so he doesn’t relent, only slowing down enough to leave a small peck on your clit and ask, “what’s your safeword, honey? gimme a color.”

while it’s a bit ironic that you miss the warm feeling of his tongue on your pussy just seconds after you’ve asked him for reprieve, you catch your breath and become stupidly aware of how close you are to your high, enough that it has the tips of your fingers numb, clenching into a fist as you shamelessly ask him to continue; “green. green. please.”

and while jungkook has half a mind to coo at you and tell you just how silly he thinks you are for thinking you know your limits better than he does, he’s grateful he got a breather and you got a chance to see just how badly you need this final release, and it has him plunging his tongue into your cunt as you pant above him. it’s quiet a pity that he can’t see the way your tongue lolls out the corner of your mouth as you grind your clit against his nose, using him and letting him use you.

the tip of his tongue is fucking into you so deep, so fast that your teeth chatter when you gain some consciousness and stop drooling all over yourself, and it has you seeing stars when he lets go of your thighs and readjusts you on his face so he can use his teeth to graze your clit as he fucks into you — you can feel your high again, visceral and almost painful that you can’t get your body to snap, to crash, to let the dam break.

jungkook knows this too, can practically hear your frustration because you just cannot cum right now and it’s the need to get you to fall apart, along with his dick that’s aching in his boxers that has him pulling your body off of his face and onto the bed. 

his cock plunges into you faster than you can process the change in position and this time, he sees the way your tongue goes slack out of your math, eyes rolling back as his taught thighs hit the back of yours and he truly never misses the opportunity to be mean, managing to do it as he fucks into you relentlessly:

“look at you. stupid slut, can’t even control yourself, huh? can’t think straight when your cunt’s wet, huh? good thing you’re pretty, b-baby — fuck, shit — so fucking wet, you’d take me whenever. take whatever you can get.”

and there’s truth to what he’s saying, because you cannot imagine letting go right now, cannot imagine him pulling out and not fucking you through your orgasm. it’s a need so primal that you’re arching your back up as if to tell him what you need and jungkook knows, he knows so well that it takes him only a handful of thrusts, a thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit and a slap to the back of your thighs that has the string finally snapping in half.

“a-ah, ah, oh fuck, I’m gonna c — cum, fuck, i’m cumming,” back arched off the bed, legs dangling by his shoulders, drool all over the side of your face as you run from the feeling and chase it all at once; jungkook thought you were fucking gorgeous.

but he had little time to muse over the thought because he was right there with you, the feeling of your cunt pulsing over him enough to push him over the precipice of his own high, letting himself lose control within you —

“Fuck, I love you — love your pretty little, f-fuck, cunt. love your pretty face shit — shit, there we go. take it all. That’s it.”

once he’s collapsed, all spent from the last hour, however, jungkook has plenty of time to think about you. more specifically, how he’s made peace with dying between your legs.

#jungkook #jungkook drabbles #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts drabbles

[purple-babygirl]

hi im not sure if you’re taking requests so you can ignore this if you’d like, but i really liked your mafia bucky fic !! and i was wondering if you could do one where maybe someone breaks into the house and the reader has to force themselves to be big for a little bit just so they can fight them off and then she runs to the little safe room and goes little there and Bucky finds her there and comforts her and it’s just all fluffy? sorry if this is so specific i just loved the last fic sm 😅

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word count: 1,958

Warnings: reader gets attacked (includes harassment and mentions of violence, cursing, guns), reader gets hurt, mentions of killing, Bucky's softness (yes it's a warning), ddlg dynamics.

A/N: I've been holding onto this one for forever now I'm really sorry for taking so long, dear nonnie🥺 it means the world to me that you liked mafia!daddy!bucky and i hope i delivered with this one and that you like it as much, love. Please enjoy ily xx💜

~

safe

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You can do this.

It all happened too fast. She woke up to guns shooting, Bucky’s men yelling at each other before all the voices suddenly stopped and the door to their bedroom was violently kicked open.

She didn’t even have time to scream before she was dragged from under the large bed by her ankle.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just like Daddy taught you.

“Let go! You don’t wanna do this!” she shrieked, warning the person trying to snatch her off the floor, her leg kicking as she struggled to flee his vice-like hold.

She’d suddenly forgotten every single self-defense move Bucky has ever taught her and was thrashing in panic.

“Oh, I don’t?” the man laughed, his grip painful on her limb as he tried to get on top of her.

She screamed when he dug his fingernails in the flesh of her shin, forcing her legs apart.

“Such a delicate little thing.” He licked his lips when he drew blood, running his gun up her bare leg, pressing down when it reached her inner thigh, “beg me to let you go.”

The words infuriated her big self. If Bucky had taught her one thing that she could never forget it was how dear and precious she was.

“Do you know who my man is?” Her free foot collided with the intruder’s chin, hitting him just right for his teeth to slam together, making him groan and loosen his grasp.

“I beg no one for nothing.” She spat, clumsily standing up, rushing inside Bucky’s large walk-in closet.

“You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch!” The masked man threatened, banging his fist on the door, “I’m gonna make that man of yours weep blood over your dead slut body!”

Her breath was coming out in puffs as tears blurred her vision. With trembling fingers, she moved Bucky’s hung-up suits to the side, revealing the metal door to the panic room.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. Just a bit longer.

She could hear the man take a few steps back and she knew he was going to shoot the closet open. Her shaky fingers pushed the buttons and typed the number code, the date of the day Bucky had asked her to be his.

I feel safe knowing I have you, angel, so it’s only fit that we make it the safe room code, he'd told her with a playful shrug.

She slid inside as soon as the door moved, pushing her back against the concrete wall, trying to take her breath. The door clicked shut right before the wooden one to the closet was thrown open.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl.

You’re a big girl. You got this.

She let out a relieved sigh that broke into a sob as she tiredly slid down the wall, still hearing the scary man curse, bang and shoot on the safe room door.

Where was Bucky? She couldn’t hold on any longer. This wasn’t a situation she wanted to be present in. Her body started folding up, taking fetal position as her mind led her to the safer side against her better will. Even her fists closed upon themselves, tears leaving her eyes and traveling down the bridge of her nose. She was losing consciousness of her present surroundings, pictures of Bucky’s eyes spreading in her vision instead of the dull, grey walls of the room.

She was crying too loudly to hear the firing of Bucky’s gun right outside the door or the peeping of the door as it slid open once again.

“Angel!” Bucky’s voice sounded so distant. She felt like she was drowning with how muffled his calls were to her ears.

Seeing her body shake with sobs on the floor like that made Bucky want to walk out and shoot the man’s dead body again and again until he couldn’t be identified.

How dare they send someone here? How dare they violate the sanctity of his home? They were certainly not going to live another day to repeat or repent from their sins.

“Angel, are you hurt?” He kneeled beside her, gently untangling her limbs to check if she was wounded anywhere.

Aside from a couple of nasty scratches by her ankle, she was physically okay and Bucky could breathe a little better as his body sagged on the floor.

He swallowed and lifted her on his lap, signaling his men to leave when they stepped in the room to check if they were needed after ‘cleaning up’.

“Get me water.” Was all he said and they were running to the nearest fridge.

“I’m sorry, my angel. I’m here now. You’re okay.” Bucky mumbled, lips hovering over her temple.

“Dada.” Her body leaned into his warmth but her cries didn’t stop and Bucky could only hold her closer as he tried not to let guilt rip him apart.

She was like that now because of him. Had he been a normal man with a normal life, she would’ve been safer. She didn’t deserve to be startled awake only to be chased by a criminal in the middle of the night. She didn’t deserve any of the bullshit that hit her because she was with Bucky.

He kept planting kiss after kiss to her head, wishing he could go back and be there to protect her.

“Shh, you’re okay, my angel. You’re safe,” he kept telling her as he supported himself up with her in his arms.

Her cries were dying down and she was getting comfier in Bucky’s protective hold, fingers digging in his shoulders afraid he would leave again.

“Please, calm down, baby. I’m here. No one can hurt you, angel.” Bucky took her out and to the bathroom so he could take a look at her leg.

“Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked after sitting her down on the cold counter.

Instead of answering, she pressed her forehead to his chest and kept sniveling, hands clutching Bucky’s jacket. She wasn’t ready for him to let her go yet. She may be too far gone but her body knew it needed to be close to Bucky’s.

“Baby, please come back to me,” Bucky begged, tears threatening to spill from his once hard, cold eyes.

“Angel,” his thumb brushed her cheek and she finally looked up to him.

“Dada, I was so scared.” She sobbed, shaking at the memory.

“I’m sorry, my angel.” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, “I’m here with you, baby. No need to be scared anymore.”

“That man- he-” she hiccupped.

“You’re okay, angel. Breathe.” Bucky stroked her back warmly as she buried her face in his chest again.

He took the bottle of water from one of his men, waving him out of the bathroom.

“Here, baby, drink some water.”

She wouldn’t move. She just wanted to be close to Daddy. She was scared and Bucky was safety. He was home.

“For me, baby. Just a tiny sip.” Bucky twisted the bottle cap open, gently cupping her cheek to coax her away from his body.

His heart swelled when she leaned her damp cheek on his palm, enjoying the warmth. Her smaller hand cupped his and her eyes closed, her face further pressed into Bucky’s hand as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Bucky bit his lip, holding back the waterworks. He should’ve been here; should’ve prevented it all from happening. His thumb brushed her chin and she opened her eyes.

“Drink a little, angel.” Bucky offered a kind smile.

She nodded, sitting up straighter, her lashes wet with tears as she looked up to Bucky, her gaze holding no blame.

He brought the bottle to her lips and she gulped down, the chilled water soothing her sore throat.

“Better?” Bucky cocked his head to the side and she nodded, sniffing.

Bucky bowed, holding his forehead against hers. He just wanted to feel her breathe soundly; wanted to make his mind stop telling him he almost lost her forever.

“Dada.”

“Yes, my angel.” Bucky pecked her lips.

“My leg hurts.” Her voice was awfully small as she pointed to the burning scratches ruining her beautiful skin. Bucky wished he could hide her between his ribs in place of his heart.

“Daddy’s got you, angel.”

Bucky cleaned her wound, apologizing with a kiss to her cheek every time she hissed. He had her tell him what happened to distract her and it worked. She wanted him to be proud so much she eagerly told him all about kicking the bad man. Tears gathered in her eyes once again when he applied ointment but she continued with her story, Bucky’s smile keeping her calm.

“Angel, you were so brave! I’m so proud of you, baby.” Bucky kissed her bandaged leg, “how did you do that?!”

“Kept thinkin’ dada thoughts.” She hugged Bucky again.

Bucky was a puddle on the bathroom floor. She was telling him she was brave like that because she was thinking of him through it all. He adored her so much he didn’t know who he was if not her man.

“I promise this is the last time you would ever have to go through anything like that,” Bucky assured, chuckling lovingly when she squeezed him harder and nodded.

She believed Bucky. She knew he could keep her safe. This wasn’t a usual occurrence, Bucky’s always made sure she was protected. She had no doubt anything would change. She trusted her Daddy with all her heart.

Bucky knew that and it scared him to death. He was scared one day he might not be up to the trust she’d put in him. He feared disappointing her; not being there for her in time. He was terrified a day would come where he might let her down.

“Never again. You’re safe, my angel. You’re always safe with me.”

Bucky’s soft lips placed a languishing kiss to her forehead. Her eyes were next, Bucky kissed her eyelids and under her eyes. Then he left wet kisses on both cheeks before pecking her nose. She smiled shyly when he pressed his mouth to the corner of hers.

“I love you, angel,” Bucky whispered against her lips before kissing her.

~

Bucky carried her back to their bed. The room was organized again, nothing was out of place and she was in Daddy’s arms. She was safe once more.

Bucky held her to his chest all night, his mind too loud to let him fall asleep. She went back to bed almost immediately though. Bucky’s presence was all it really took for her to feel peaceful enough to close her eyes and dream again.

When she moved out of his embrace in her sleep, Bucky carefully left the room and went to his office to review the security cameras footage. He knew watching the attack would make his blood boil again but he had to see what happened and how the unlucky asshole got inside his mansion.

While she already told him she’d defended herself, Bucky was the proudest seeing it unfold on the screen.

“Do you know who my man is?... I beg no one.”

The words brought the largest smile to Bucky’s lips. He was so proud of his angel; so amazed by her courage. He thought he couldn’t love her any more than he already did and he was wrong. His heart has picked the right girl and for that he was grateful. Bucky took one last look at the shining ring in his top drawer before shutting it and walking back to continue cuddling his precious sweetheart.

~~

Tags: @harrysthiccthighss, @tinystudentfirepurse, @lavendercitizen

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[sluttyten]

Adore You

Poly Orgy Series: Part 9

Poly Series Chapter Index

summary: these last months of your pregnancy bring delights and troubles, but it all culminates in the true wonder of holding your daughter in your arms with her father at your side

length: 32.4k words

tags/warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, smut, polyamory, multiple partners, foursome

Christmas approaches suddenly in a cold, dark rush of icy rain and bitter wind. You’re grateful that you finished up your Christmas shopping a bit early, so you don’t have to get out in the terrible weather, instead spending your days leading up to the holiday napping and baking and decorating the house. You were lucky enough to get those days off of work as your boss wanted to go spend the holidays in a warmer climate, so he’d given your coworkers and yourself that time off too.

The wind rushes against the windows, spraying the freezing rain up against the glass, and even as you sit in the kitchen, wrapped up like a burrito in your blanket, you shiver. 

Jisung and Chenle are helping you bake some Christmas cookies. Taeyong had been helping too, but he had to leave for work, and ever since then you’d been in your blanket at the table while decorating the cookies. Chenle was making a mess of it--the sprinkles were everywhere, somehow he’d gotten green icing smeared across his cheek, and the glittery sprinkles you’d purchased on a whim were dusted across the table rather than on the cookies. Jisung was on his third cookie (at least) after he broke it in half trying to ice it in the most complicated way.

“Noona,” Jisung says, spraying the table with cookie crumbs. He quickly covers his mouth with his hand and continues speaking, “What are your plans for Christmas? Are you going home to spend it with your parents?”

You know that the group doesn’t really get Christmas off. Dream and 127 both have to perform on Christmas Eve, and several of them have an appearance to make as NCT U on Christmas Day. It doesn’t seem fair to you that they don’t get that time off; it’s a holiday that even if they don’t truly celebrate it, then they should be able to at least take the time with their family if they so choose.

“I’ll probably visit them between Christmas and the New Year.” You tug your blanket tighter around your shoulders, reaching across the table for the red icing. You’re trying to decorate a Santa hat, but Chenle’s been hogging the red icing all to himself. “Are you going to see your family on Christmas Day?”

Jisung shrugs, looking down again at his cookie. “I’ll try.”

Chenle pops the cap off one of the containers of sprinkles, and when he turns it over, a lot more pours out than he really needed. He swears under his breath, then looks up at you with a smile. 

“Maybe I’ll just stay here and celebrate with all of you. You and the foreign members who can’t go home for Christmas.” Jisung reaches over to use some of Chenle’s spilled sprinkles. 

“I think you should probably go. Your mom will want to see you.” You place your hand on your belly, feeling as your baby moves. She’s been active today, as if she’s already got a sweet tooth and knows that you’re making cookies. She’s gotten big enough that now if you hold your hand against your belly when you feel the movement, you can feel it from the outside. It’s still not really big kicks or anything, but she’s there. 

The oven timer goes off then with the last batch of cookies, and Chenle hops up to pull them out for you. 

You’re still decorating when YangYang and Kun enter, bickering with each other. YangYang sits down beside Chenle, folding his arms as he mockingly says something at Kun. Kun rolls his eyes and instead of responding comes around the table to stand behind you. 

“Hi, baby.” He kisses the top of your head. “The cookies smell good.”

You nod and tilt your head back to look up at him. She moves again and you reach for Kun’s hand, pulling him closer to put his palm on your belly right where you felt her. None of the boys have felt her move yet. It’s like she’s shy, and any time any of them are around she doesn’t move a whole lot, not enough that they’ve been able to feel anyway.

“Can you feel her?” You ask him, moving his hand a bit more.

Kun looks concentrated, focusing on trying to feel that tiny, wonderful life inside you. 

“Hey, you.” You sigh, poking at your belly gently with your fingertip. “Are you gonna move for him?”

From across the table, YangYang speaks up, “Maybe that’s a sign it’s not Kun who’s the dad. If she won’t respond to him.”

You scowl at him. “Stop it. She’s just finally gotten comfortable, I guess.” Kun sits down beside you, and as you continue decorating, he keeps his hand on your belly, but she really doesn’t move around for him to feel.

Even a few hours later when you and the boys have cleared off the kitchen table of cookies to make room for dinner, Kun doesn’t stop touching you, staying close just in case you try to pull him to touch your belly. But you don’t, and soon WinWin, Lucas, Jungwoo, and Taeil are gathered around the table as well for dinner.

It’s only once Yuta walks in with the food, his hair dripping onto his shoulders from the rain, that Kun shifts away from you, too preoccupied with eating now to have a hand on you.

You always love moments like this, casual mealtimes with your boyfriends and the younger boys gathered around, everyone eating and talking and laughing, just having a good time. If you could freeze a moment like that, tie it up nicely with a bow, you could hand it out as happiness. A nice, relaxed warmth fills you as you look around and soak in the moment. Yuta is animatedly telling a story while Taeil and WinWin laugh so hard that WinWin’s nearly in tears, and you feel her moving again, a soft kick, a lovely giddy feeling rising within you. But you don’t interrupt them all, saving this moment to yourself, adding it into the bundle of happiness you’re feeling.

Christmas morning you wake in bed with Doyoung. In your bed. The night before, you’d been watching a drama his brother was in, Doyoung’s head down near your belly, talking to the baby. You’d fallen asleep like that while Doyoung was singing along to the drama’s OST quietly for the baby.

And now his head was beside yours, his face so smooth and peaceful in sleep. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair which is dyed a soft shade of purple at the moment, to lay your fingers against his soft cheek, kiss his lips. 

His eyes move beneath his eyelids, his lips part, and Doyoung sighs. You close your eyes quick when you see that he’s waking up, and after a moment, Doyoung shifts. You can hear him lift his head from the pillow, can feel his eyes on you.

You feel a nudge from inside your belly. You’re awake now it seems because she’s awake. She stirs inside you, and you try to keep your facial expression from shifting.

“I know you’re not sleeping.” Doyoung’s fingertips skim down your cheek. “You can stop pretending.” 

You open one eye to peek at him. “Good morning. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas and good morning, babygirl.” Doyoung’s knuckles rest adoringly against your cheek. “I’ve missed sleeping with you. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten rid of the big bed in here because this bed’s a tight enough squeeze for two people. What are we going to do after the baby’s born? When she’s older and wants to sleep with mommy?”

“We’ll make it work.” You turn your head to the side and brush your lips against Doyoung’s wrist. “And, for what it’s worth, I’ve definitely missed sleeping with you too. Sleeping with you and, well, sleeping with you.”

“Remember last Christmas?” Doyoung sighs wistfully, blinking sleepily and resting his head again on the pillow. “You, me, Kun and Ten. That sexy lingerie.” His eyes rake over your figure now, and you can’t help feeling self-conscious. Now you’re all big and pregnant; Doyoung hasn’t touched you for months now, and you can’t help thinking that he’s turned off by you like this, by the whole pregnancy. 

Self-consciously, you brush your hands down over your belly, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt. 

Doyoung’s hand lands on your belly too. Your heart leaps and at the same moment you feel your baby kick.

You gasp and your gaze darts to Doyoung’s face. “Did you feel that?”

Doyoung frowns, moving his hand. “Did she kick?”

“You didn’t feel it?” Your delight at the feeling is somewhat lessened. Still, none of your boyfriends have felt her kick. You’d thought for sure that Doyoung would have felt it since he was touching you. He shakes his head sadly. “I think she’s shy. I swear she moves around all the time, I can feel her, and I’d think you guys would be able to feel her now too if she would actually do it when any of you have your hands on my belly.”

“It would be a nice Christmas present, if we could feel her too.” Doyoung sits up, shifting around so he’s kneeling beside you, and he places both of his hands on your belly, and his next words are clearly addressed to your daughter. “Hey, little angel, can’t you just give us a kick? I promise your mom won’t be mad at you for it. I just want to say hi.”

But she’s settled already, it appears. 

Doyoung groans as he falls down beside you again, turning his face into the pillow. “Your cat doesn’t like me. Your daughter doesn’t like me.” He opens one eye to look at you as he asks, “You still like me, right?”

“Yes, Doyoung,” you laugh, leaning into him to kiss him reassuringly. “I still like you. And don’t feel bad. Miso doesn’t like anyone, except Ten, but he’s got a way with cats, doesn’t he? And this little one she doesn’t seem to like anyone either. Just the other day she was kicking me and then as soon as I tried to get Kun to feel her, she stopped.”

Doyoung seems satisfied with that. He rolls onto his back, but not before putting a warm hand on your belly. “Maybe I should call our manager, tell her I’m feeling sick and can’t do the schedule today. I could stay here all day, hands on your belly to feel her. I can’t believe I didn’t feel her just now.” He frowns again.

There’s a soft knock on your door and it opens. Yuta peeks his head around, his gaze falling on Doyoung and then on Doyoung’s hand. He’s inside before you get the chance to greet him, already settling on the edge of the bed, his hand joining Doyoung’s now.

“Is she moving?” He asks, unable to conceal the excitement in his voice.

You shake your head. “She did move. But he didn’t feel her. I’m telling you, she’s shy.”

Yuta snorts and shakes his head. “Shy? Where’s she get that from? You’re not really shy. Maybe Taeyong’s the dad, he’s always shying away from touches. Or WinWin or Mark.” He puts another hand on your belly, concentrating like he can telepathically communicate with your baby to get her to kick for them.

“Oh?” A new voice speaks up from the doorway.

You look up from the sight of Yuta and Doyoung’s hands on your belly, an unavoidable smile on your lips, and you find WinWin. He’s got a blanket draped around his shoulders, his eyes drooping sleepily.

“Yuta hyung?” He says, and it’s only then that Yuta looks up.

Yuta jumps to his feet. “Sorry, WinWin. I didn’t want to wake you up.” He looks back at Doyoung. “We have to leave soon. I was just coming to tell you. And Merry Christmas, princess.” He dips in to kiss your cheek. You sit up, half-tempted to pull him into a longer kiss, but Yuta’s already moving away, so you lean back, your back resting against the soft pillows you have propped against the headboard.

Doyoung nods, and then he too is leaving you with a last kiss. WinWin steps out of the way as Yuta walks out, and he stifles a yawn with the back of his hand while Doyoung passes. He starts to turn to leave, but you call his name.

“It’s still early, come sleep here.” You pat the mattress beside you, the sheets still warm from Doyoung. WinWin shuffles inside, kicking the door softly shut behind him, and he flops face-first into your bed. You stroke the fringe of hair on his forehead. “Were you sleeping in Yuta’s room?”

WinWin nods. “Yeah, we were talking last night. About the baby, and the others and you and stuff.” His eyes shoot open and he looks at you. “Not anything bad! I promise. I just realized how that sounded. We were just thinking out loud about the future, really.”

“Like what?”

WinWin pulls his blanket up over his head. “Just saying that we both can picture a future with you. A long future.” 

You sink down beside him, lifting the edge of the blanket so you can see his face. WinWin closes his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me, but I think I’d like to hear about your dream plans about our future together. Please?”

WinWin tries to hide a smile. 

“Please?” You beg, slipping your hand under the blanket, searching for his skin, and you dip your toes beneath as well, making contact with his bare legs.

He whines and groans, wiggling as if to get away, but you notice that instead he moves closer, that he traps your hands in his and covers your chilly toes with his blanket. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But, God, your fingers and toes are icy.”

You smile as WinWin folds your hands between his and he turns completely onto his side to face you. You whisper, “Tell me.”

“I can see myself happy with you,” WinWin starts off saying, “I don’t really know how to describe it, but I can picture us with the baby, raising her, going on trips together, to China to visit my family, and maybe having more kids, being happy and in love. I don’t know, I think about the future and I just see you. Like, my career here isn’t a certainty, at some point my contract with SM will run out and I don’t know yet what will happen after that, but I know I still want you there with me. I want to raise our daughter with you, to be there for everything, to help you and support you, to love you and her. 

“This is the kind of stuff Yuta hyung and I were talking about. The future is dark and scary and uncertain,” WinWin’s voice is unsteady, but he stares into your eyes. “But both of us think that having you here will make everything make sense and make it easier. I just want you to be here with me. You make me feel good, like happy and all kinds of fuzzy emotions that I don’t know how to put into words.” He bites at the corner of his mouth for a second, and then he sighs, “I love you.”

“And I love you.” 

You lean in and kiss him, and WinWin happily kisses you back, nice gentle kisses that could last for ages.

The more you think about it, the more you can envision that future WinWin was talking about. Obviously you’ve thought about a future with each of the boys individually before, but also you’ve considered futures together with them all, but especially after that talk, you really think realistically about it.

In just about 4 months you’ll have a baby. A real, live baby out here in the world, depending on you to feed her, clothe her, take care of her physical and emotional well-being. You have to consider her in every single decision you make. 

WinWin dozes back off to sleep away the morning, and you snuggle in to the blankets, planning to sleep, but you just keep thinking about your future, seeing the boys fit into it.

You see WinWin, cradling your daughter in his arms, her tiny little hand curled around his little finger as he beams down at her with such adoration in his eyes. You see WinWin taking naps with your daughter on his chest, see him sitting with her when she’s older, letting her host a tea party and stick glittery sequins on his face and hands. 

And you can picture the others in situations like this too. Yuta, Doyoung. Yuta kisses her scrapes when she falls down. Yuta dancing silly dances with her in front of the mirror. Doyoung rocking her to sleep in his arms while he sings her lullabies, and napping quietly together with her. You can see Jaehyun carrying your giggling daughter on his shoulders, laughing even as she twists her small chubby hands into his hair and tugs. You can imagine Kun holding her on his lap and playing the piano with her fingers under his, and you can imagine waking up to breakfast in bed cooked by Kun and your daughter. Jungwoo chasing her around in a park with both of them laughing; Taeil singing her to sleep in his arms; Mark being so incredibly gentle with her tiny newborn body. You can see all of them.

“Baby?”

You see Johnny holding your toddler daughter in his arms, zooming her around like she’s flying, him holding her little hands while she stands on his feet as they dance together.

“Baby, wake up.” 

You start awake, WinWin’s hand slipping from your shoulder.

The room’s full of bright sunlight, the day already well on its way toward the mid-point. The blankets are twisted around your legs, your shirt you were sleeping in has ridden up over your belly, and WinWin’s now dressed in a warm looking hoodie and a pair of jeans.

“Mm, what?” You yawn. 

WinWin touches your hair, smoothing it down where it sticks up in the back. “Your parents are here.”

“What?” You’re suddenly wide awake, throwing the covers off, and standing on your bare feet on the cool floor. “My parents are here? How long have they been here?”

WinWin shrugs. “Well, it was probably about ten minutes ago when Kun hyung ran in here and practically dragged me out of your bed. He said he was making Christmas breakfast when Jaemin answered the door, and it was your parents. I got dressed, and had to pretend like I wasn’t in your room. But, yeah, Kun distracted them with breakfast to keep them downstairs, and he told them he sent someone to wake you up. I’ve been trying to wake you for, like, two minutes. You were out.”

“Oh my God.” You hurry to pull on some pajama pants and Doyoung’s sweatshirt he’d been wearing the night before. “Why wouldn’t they tell me they were stopping by? Rude.”

WinWin smiles, leaning against the door, watching you try your best to look presentable. “They brought you a present. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

As you come down the stairs, you see your mother warily watching Lucas coming down the stairs ahead of you. He’s shirtless, his sweatpants low on his hips. His eyes are half-closed with sleep, his fingers running through his extremely messy hair, and his large rib tattoo on full display. She looks less than approving of the sight.

“Lucas,” you whisper as you pass by him, a hand on his shoulder, “Cover up, please.” 

He blinks, and then, for the first time, sees your mother. Lucas grins sheepishly, grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa, and drapes it around his shoulders. 

“Mom, Dad!” You walk over, hugging your mother. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming by?”

“We wanted to surprise you.” She smiles, and as you step back, she looks around at the boys that seem to be gathering. “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t realize all of these boys live here all the time. I would have brought more presents if I’d known. Why aren’t they celebrating with their families?”

Mostly, the boys that are around you are the WayV members, but Jaemin and Jisung are hanging around too. You know they have a schedule later on in the day, so you explain that to your mother, and then say, “Kun, WinWin, and Lucas are all from China. They can’t go home just for the holiday. None of them have gone home, several of them have to work today.”

As you say that, Taeyong comes zooming down the stairs, his coat half on, and he pauses at your side already leaning in as if to kiss your cheek when he spots your parents. He quickly covers by whispering in your ear instead, a quick, “See you later, love you.” And then he hurries over to where Haechan and Taeil are standing near the door.

“Is Johnny working today?” Your dad asks. You notice he’s nibbling at something that looks suspiciously like one of the cookies Jisung had decorated the other day. “Our present is kinda a present for both of you. We wanted you to open it together.”

He glances toward the stairs where a drowsy Hendery is stumbling his way down, also dressed in only his boxers and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. You briefly close your eyes and sigh. Why can’t these boys wear clothes? It’s freezing outside and you have surprise guests. 

Your mother clears her throat.

“Johnny’s also working today. He should already be gone.” You glance around at the other boys, hoping one of them will confirm or deny if he’s already gone.

“Johnny hyung’s got a lot of presents today.” Jaemin comments from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He points at a box sitting by the TV. “That was delivered while we were waiting for you to come down. I think it’s from America.” He walks over to it and cranes his neck, trying to read the label. 

You turn your attention back to your parents. “I wish you would’ve let me know you were coming over. I would have dressed up a little better.” You bunch up the sleeves of Doyoung’s sweatshirt in your hands. You feel sloppy with the sweater paws and the oversized pajama pants, your hair unkempt. But your mother smiles. “What?”

“Nothing.” She glances at your father with a soft smile, and he smiles back at her. “You’ve just got that lovely pregnancy glow going. And we are sorry about the surprise intrusion. Your father told me we should’ve called ahead to make sure you were awake, that you were ready to accept a visit.”

“And to make sure Johnny was here. I’ve been wanting to have a word with him about his intentions with you.” Your father pitches his voice lower as he ends that sentence, but nevertheless, you’re sure that every ear in the house is tuned in to the conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you see several heads snap in your direction. 

“His intentions?” You ask. “Dad, this isn’t a new relationship, I’m already pregnant. What do you mean?”

Now your father looks around at the others. You see WinWin duck his head, pretending like he’s not listening. In the kitchen Kun’s standing there, slicing nothing on the cutting board, but suddenly looking very focused on the task. Lucas and Hendery are whispering to each other. Only Jaemin doesn’t pretend like he’s not listening. 

“I know when you told us about this, we said we understand that you’re a modern woman, but at the same time, we just want what’s best for you.” Your father says, spreading his hands out in such a dad gesture. “Being an unmarried mother, it’s still not a good thing, even in times like this. I think, since he got you pregnant, he should marry you to provide for you and his daughter.”

“Dad!” You exclaim. 

There’s a sound like something breaking in the kitchen, and Kun’s hushed swearing in Chinese. 

Your mother and father say your name in a warning, calming tone. 

“No,” you tell them, “I’m not going to marry Johnny. Not just because you think I should. That would be stupid.” 

Now, both of your parents suddenly look uncomfortable with the audience of the other boys. Maybe they should’ve thought about that before bringing this up in front of them. “Maybe we should go talk about this in private?” Your mom suggests.

You shake your head no. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it here in front of all of them.” You put a hand over your belly. “Strange as it may be for you to hear, all of them are going to be a part of my future too. So they should hear what you have to say.”

“We can’t tell you how to live your life--” your mother starts, and you cut her off.

“You’re right about that.” You walk away, heading into the kitchen. “I think, for the sake of today being a happy holiday, we should drop that subject.”

Kun looks at you, his gaze searching yours. You’re fine, you want to tell him, you can tell that’s what he’s looking at you like that for. 

“We have plenty of food,” you tell your parents over your shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay for breakfast. Kun’s a great cook.” You slide into place beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and you stare at your parents, wondering if they notice the closeness, the way that Kun shifts into your gravity, relaxes under your touch. If either of them notices, they don’t say anything. 

They decide not to stay for breakfast with all of you, but they do stay long enough for you to open the present they brought and for you to send Renjun running up to your bedroom to grab the presents you have for your parents. Their gifts from you to them are just simple yet heartfelt gifts, things you know they’d like. 

And then you open the gift from them, wrapped with care in pretty paper that you feel bad to tear into. 

It’s a frame with a print of a soundwave, and it’s only when you read the words beneath that you realize what it is.

“Is this her heartbeat?” You cover your mouth, placing your other hand on your belly. “How did you do this?”

Your mother smiles warmly. “Well, you sent me that recording of the heartbeat from your first appointment, so I just used that for the company that makes these. Do you like it?” 

You do. 

Several of the boys crowd in around the back of the chair where you’re sitting looking down at the waves of your baby’s heartbeat. When you stand up, moving the frame aside so you can go hug your parents again, Ten takes the frame from you, studying the image, but you’re already wrapping your arms around your parents, trying your best not to break out in tears (and failing).

 It takes a while to get you to calm down even after your parents have left and half of the boys in the house are settling down to eat the Christmas breakfast that Kun prepared. 

“Hey,” Ten coos, wiping at your tears gently. “If you stop crying you can eat. There’s no way you’ll be able to taste Kun’s great cooking with all these tears.” He pulls his sleeves down over his hands and dabs at the fresh tears. “Babe, why are you crying so much, it’ll make me cry.” 

You just drop your head onto his shoulder and sniffle. You don’t know why you’re crying so much, but you can’t stop. So Ten just wraps his arms around you, holding you, rubbing your back until at last your tears run dry. He kisses your cheeks and then your lips, and leads you by hand to the kitchen table.

“We’ll hang it up in your room tomorrow, after everyone’s had a look at it, how’s that sound?” Kun asks, squeezing your knee reassuringly beneath the table. 

The rest of your Christmas runs smoothly and happily. After eating breakfast (which was really delicious, you later that day pay your compliments to the chef by kissing Kun, drawing him into the shower with you), much of the rest of the day is spent on the sofa down in the living room watching Christmas movies, snacking on the Christmas cookies you’d made, and the boys pass in and out of the house, heading to work, coming home.

By nightfall, most of them are home again. Snow is falling thickly outside. Renjun’s finally managed to befriend Miso by tossing bits of popcorn for your cat to chase (in an attempt to distract him from destroying the ornaments glittering on the tree in the corner of the room), and you rest your head on Jaehyun’s chest, his hand resting on your belly, everyone waiting for the last few boys to arrive home so you can all truly celebrate Christmas with an exchange of gifts.

You’re nearly asleep, lulled by the sound of the others talking, the warmth and comfort of being bundled up with Jaehyun, his hand a gentle weight on your baby bump, and you finished eating not too long ago.

You’ve quite literally just dropped off when something makes you jolt awake again.

At first you think it’s Jaehyun because he’s suddenly moved, sitting more upright, his hands around you. Then you think maybe you just startled yourself awake as sometimes happens when you suddenly drop off to sleep, and the movement of you waking is why Jaehyun’s like this. Then you realize he’s speaking, his voice excited and startled.

You put one of your hands over Jaehyun’s, and you feel it again. A sharp kick from your womb, nudging right against Jaehyun’s hand.

He swears.

Everyone else in the room is looking now, and it takes a few moments longer for them all to realize what was happening.

Jaehyun wraps his arms around you, both hands on your belly as your daughter moves again. He’s grinning widely, and when Taeil stumbles over himself trying to get close enough that he can feel too, Jaehyun selfishly tries to keep you and your moving baby all to himself.

“Of course Jaehyun’s the one to feel the baby first.” Ten rolls his eyes from where he’s leaning against Kun on the other side of the room. “His jealousy wouldn’t let anyone else feel her first.”

“It’s not like he did it on purpose, or like I did it on purpose.” You reach for Taeil’s hand as he sits on the edge of the sofa, and you bring his hand to your belly. “Jaehyun, let the others feel too. Don’t be stingy.”

He doesn’t really move his hand too far away, but just enough away that you can press Taeil’s hand to where she’s moving. Lucas comes closer as well.

Half the room is still gathered around you when Johnny, Mark, Yuta, and Doyoung come home. 

“Ugh, not fair!” Mark groans, kicking off his shoes and dropping his stuff on his way to join the mass of boys around you. “The baby’s kicking and we missed it?” He shoulders his way between Jungwoo and Hendery, “Has everyone felt her moving?”

Hendery shakes his head sadly. “I’m starting to agree that she’s shy. Jaehyun hyung and Taeil hyung felt her moving. Xiaojun swears he felt her, and Lucas too, but after them, we haven’t felt her.”

Jaehyun’s still got his arms wrapped around you securely, jealously. He covers your hands with his because you’ve still got your hands on your belly, trying to feel her moving so you can let the others feel her, but she’s fallen asleep again.

Doyoung pouts as he comes over. “That was meant to be my Christmas present this morning. She kicked while we were in bed earlier, but I didn’t feel it then.” 

You pat Jaehyun’s hand, getting him to let you up, and then you point at the box that was delivered that morning for Johnny. “That’s for you, Johnny. And my parents dropped by this morning. They got us a present, too.” You stand and move over to where you’d propped the frame from your parents against the wall, and you turn it around to the room.

“Woah, is that her heartbeat?” Mark squints as if he can’t quite tell. 

You nod enthusiastically. “My mom took the recording of the heartbeat from my first appointment, made this for us. Isn’t it wonderful?” 

Taeyong bites at his bottom lip, his eyes wide and softening as he looks at the rises and falls of your daughter’s visual heartbeat. You sit the frame back down lightly on the floor, facing the room so they can all still see it, but you go sit back down beside Jaehyun who immediately clings to you again, hands on your belly.

You can tell from the way he’s touching you now, gently pressing against your belly, he’s hoping to feel her again. But then as the others all settle into the room, as talk turns to exchanging gifts and presents begin to be pulled out from under the tree (where you’d made each of the boys wrap gifts and sit them--the resulting mountain of presents was very satisfying, like a Christmas dream come true), Jaehyun gets even touchier.

With his fingers low on your baby bump, he starts drawing his fingers in a distracting circle. You’re sitting right on his lap, back to his chest, his chin tucked over your shoulder, and occasionally Jaehyun drops his lips against your shoulder. 

“Stop it,” you whisper to him when he kisses your shoulder for the fifteenth time, his fingers still tracing that circle, and now he’s got a hand rubbing your thigh. You don’t want to feel horny right now, but Jaehyun’s definitely working you up to it. He turns his head, lips brushing your throat and you can feel that he’s smiling. “Jaehyun, I’ll go sit with Doyoung instead if you don’t.”

Reluctantly, he lifts his head with a sigh, and he tucks both of his arms behind his head with another long drawn out sigh.

You start to slide off his lap into the open space right beside him, but Jaehyun starts to voice a complaint, trying to keep you there.

The look you give him has him keeping his hands to himself, dragging a decorative pillow into his lap instead.

Xiaojun welcomes you sitting between him and Jaehyun. Presents are passed around, gifts that they bought for each other, for you, gifts sent here from their families, and gifts you bought for them. Someone breaks out the Christmas cookies. Several of them open some wine. Gift opening takes a while, the room is a sea of torn wrapping paper, empty boxes floating on it all like lifeboats. YangYang and Haechan double-over in laughter as they wrap Jeno in a long ribbon one of their gifts had come wrapped with. 

Johnny opened his package that had arrived that day, and it turns out to be a collection of candy and snacks from America one of his friends in Chicago had sent him. 

“Sweet!” Mark dives into it, pulling out a candy you don’t recognize, and after that the others are digging through it too, quickly sampling all that Johnny’s package has to offer. Mark settles on the ground at your feet, unwrapping the candy, and when he slips it over the tip of his finger you realize that it’s a Ring Pop, a lollipop fashioned into a diamond mounted on a plastic ring base.

Mark grins as he pops it into his mouth. He sucks on it for just a second then looks up at you, pleased when he sees you’re already looking at him. He takes your hand from where it sits on your knee.

“Remember?” Mark asks, tapping his finger against the base of your ring finger.

Of course you remember Mark proposing to you. You also remember promising him that no matter what you’ll be in each other’s lives. You also remember that you have hidden that proposal from all of the other guys, and you’re pretty sure Mark has too. You pray he doesn’t attempt a reenactment here with this ring.

Jaehyun, already in his possessive mood since you’ve spent the majority of the evening cuddling with him and since he had the privilege to feel your daughter moving first, immediately perks up and stares.

“Remember what?” He asks.

Mark laughs and shakes his head, dropping your hand and edging away. “Nothing, Jaehyun.”

But now several of the others are looking, and it’s Ten who notices Mark’s candy and the way he’d held your hand. With a laugh, he asks, “What, did Mark ask you to marry him or something?”

The way he asked, it was clear that Ten meant it as a joke. Several of the others start laughing right away, but when everyone notices the way that you and Mark both go still and awkward, the room falls silent except for one person.

“What the fuck?” Jaehyun stands up, glaring down at Mark who scrambles to his feet. “You asked her to marry you? When? Why?” He takes a step forward, and in Mark’s panicked rush to step away from Jaehyun’s jealousy, he takes a few steps back, slips on torn wrapping paper, and windmills his arms before crashing down into WinWin and Hendery.

Jaehyun takes another step forward, and you push to your feet.

“Do I need to restrain you or something?” You ask, squeezing your fingers into the muscle of Jaehyun’s arm.

Yuta laughs, a wonderful sound in this otherwise very tense situation. “I’d love to see that.”

Jaehyun glares at Yuta, and it takes another few seconds of you digging your fingers into his arm and tugging to get him to sit back down again. 

“Don’t be so dense, Jaehyun. And the rest of you.” You let up your grip on his arm. Jaehyun clenches his hand into a fist again, so you cover his hand with yours, doing your best to pry his fist apart, slip your fingers inside. “Stop being so possessive. I obviously didn’t say yes to Mark. Have you seen a ring on my finger? Do you really think I would say yes to marrying one of you without talking it out with the others first? No.”

You look around at all of them.

Jaehyun isn’t alone in staring at Mark with anger in their eyes. It’s obvious that Mark had neither discussed his impromptu proposal with any of them, nor had he told them about it afterward.

“I told Mark no. Relax, everyone.” You shake your head in disbelief that this evening, which had been so happy and warm moments before, had now dissipated into a cold and tense atmosphere. 

“When did that happen?” Taeil asks, and his face is so serious, his expression tight, you don’t hesitate to answer.

“Just a few days after we all found out I was pregnant. I told him no right away.”

Mark nods, wincing and rubbing at his arm. “She did. She also slapped me, if that makes you all feel better.”

“It does a little,” Jaehyun mumbles. “But why would you do that, Mark? Did you not even consider all the toes you’d be stepping on? There’s thirteen other guys in this relationship.”

As if just wanting to feel included in the conversation, Jaemin says, “Yeah, Mark. That’s at least a hundred toes that you were stepping on.” But when Mark frowns in his direction, Jaemin slumps back into Jeno where the two of them, Renjun, and YangYang are seated on the floor.

“I didn’t say yes, though. Mark and I talked about it afterwards, like why he thought it was a good idea, and I get it.” You look over at him, and then look around the room, your gaze meeting Jungwoo’s, Taeyong’s, Kun’s. “But like I said, I won’t marry one boyfriend without at least talking about it with the rest of you first.”

This wasn’t the Christmas present that you wanted. A fight. It was meant to be a happy holiday.

“Why don’t we all calm down.” Taeyong stands up, then he bends over and starts gathering up nearby scraps of wrapping paper. “Let’s clean up all this mess, and then we can play games. You said you wanted us to try games, right?” He asks you, and you nod. 

You’d been talking about Christmas for weeks leading up to tonight. You wanted a nice, family Christmas. That’s why you’d decorated the house, made them wrap presents, and now you wanted to all sit around and play games with each other and snack on Christmas cookies and the snacks from Johnny’s box.

Doyoung jumps up to help Taeyong with cleaning, and soon others join in. The paper goes in a trash bag, boxes are disposed of. Several of the guys carry their unwrapped gifts up to their rooms. The room’s cleared soon, and everyone settles back into their spots with snacks and drinks and happier attitudes.

The rest of the evening passes happily with only minor disputes related to the games, and as the hour grows later and later, you start to nod off, your head on Taeil’s shoulder.

You definitely don’t mean to fall asleep down there on the sofa instead of in your much more comfortable bed, but at some point your heavy eyes sink shut and don’t open again until much later.

Your head is still on Taeil’s shoulder when you again wake, but he’s asleep now. 

Someone must’ve just turned the lights off in the now nearly empty living room. Besides you and Taeil, Jungwoo’s asleep on the other sofa. Ten’s awake still, sitting in the armchair on his phone with the brightness turned low, probably to not wake up Taeyong who’s squeezed into the chair beside him, his head resting against the back of the chair.

There’s the sound of someone climbing the stairs, soft voices. A light on the second floor landing goes out, and you shake yourself fully awake.

Taeil stirs a little, but when you stand up, he remains asleep. Ten, however, looks up from his phone. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for my present.”

Ten picks up your hand in his, gently squeezing. “Thank you for mine. Are you going to bed?”

You nod and stifle a yawn. “Merry Christmas, Ten.”

“Merry Christmas. Goodnight.” He brushes his thumb over your knuckles before releasing your hand. 

You climb the stairs slowly. Your back aches and your limbs are heavy with tiredness. Whose idea was it to put your room on the top floor of this house? 

As you reach the top floor, you see a strip of light around the bathroom in the hallway, hear voices coming from inside, and you intend to tiptoe past it, but as you do, you hear your name. You pause, unable to keep yourself from eavesdropping, especially once you recognize the voices as Jaehyun’s and Mark’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun apologizes, “Mark, I shouldn’t have reacted like that earlier.” He sighs heavily. “I know I act like a jealous dick over her a lot, and you always call me out on that, as you should. I just, when I thought about you doing that, about her giving up on a future with the rest of us, it broke something in me.”

“But she didn’t, man.” Mark’s voice sounds a little strange, and it’s only after you hear him spit into the sink that you realize that they’re having this conversation while brushing their teeth. “Literally, the second that the question was out of my mouth she shut me down, told me I was being stupid. I know it was stupid too, is the thing. Why do you think neither she or I ever mentioned it to any of you guys?”

“Figured you were embarrassed.” Jaehyun laughs. “God, honestly, Mark. What were you thinking?”

Mark groans. “I was raised by a proper by-the-books family! She’d just told us she was pregnant. So I was going to marry her, make sure that she has a husband to help her with the baby.”

“And what are the rest of us?” Jaehyun’s voice is amused, but there’s still a dark edge to it that you’re sure Mark doesn’t miss either. “Do you honestly think that she won’t have all of us to help her after the baby’s born? That once we find out which of us is the father the rest of us are going to leave? If you’re not the father, are you going to break up with her.”

You don’t hear Mark verbally give an answer, but Jaehyun chuckles.

“No, didn’t think so.” Things are quiet between them for a few seconds, and just as you’re about to continue on to your bedroom, Jaehyun speaks up again. “I would never tell her this, but last week I was talking about the paternity with Lucas and Taeyong while we were taking a break from practice. Taeyong said he’d been doing the math, some research, and from what he found of timelines online and what he can remember of who she was with around that exact date he found using a calculator, he thinks it’s probably you, Johnny, Lucas, or Jungwoo.”

You’ve done your own research and listened to what your doctor said. You know the probable date of conception. You remember that you probably did have sex with most of the guys within that window of time around that date of conception. You also remember that there are a few that you probably didn’t have sex with, or if you did they didn’t cum inside you.

But you also definitely remember that of those four that Jaehyun just listed, you did definitely have sex with them. Multiple times.  

Jaehyun starts speaking again. “Lucas said he’s talked to her about the paternity before, and that he kinda hopes it’s not him.”

“Shit,” Mark swears. “What did she say?”

“That whoever the biological father is is going to be in the baby’s life no matter what, even if he doesn’t think he’ll be a good dad.” There’s the rushing sound of the faucet turned on, water splashing in the sink. “He told Taeyong and I that if he’s not the dad, he’s not too sure he’ll be able to stick around.”

Mark swears again.

Fuck, you wish you would have walked away, that you hadn’t stopped to listen. So you move now before you can hear anything else. 

Lucas really doesn’t want to be a dad. He can’t even entertain the possibility of being a father to your baby if he’s not genetically invested in it?

As you sink into your bed, drawing the sheets up to your chin, all you can do is replay Jaehyun’s words, replay that day you’d had that conversation with Lucas--a picnic date that had turned naughty just moments after that serious conversation--and your mind runs in circles, playing back Lucas’s hands on your skin, your mouth on his, his laughter in your ears.

For the first time in months and months, you have that feeling of the bottom of your stomach dropping, a dark pit opening up. 

Someday this relationship as a massive polyamorous thing is going to reach its end. Boyfriends will step away. Some will stay, but eventually some will leave. You’ve always known this. It’s why you broke up with them earlier that year, but the gravity of them had brought you back.

It hurts to think about, to know that you love them all so much, but maybe this love is going to have to change.

The last few days of the year pass quickly, and then you’re hosting a New Year’s Eve party at the house with the boys who aren’t attending Gayo Daejejeon, some of your friends in attendance as well as some of their friends. 

Your friends socialize with the boys, growing more comfortable with them. You’re not even surprised when one of your friends really gets along well with Lucas, and you watch the two of them laughing and throwing back shots together with Jaehyun. And most of your friends take this opportunity to try once more to dig out the truth from them about which of them is the one that you’re in a relationship with. They don’t tell you, but you’re pretty sure that they’re all waiting for midnight, for the moment to see which of the boys will be your New Year’s kiss.

So at midnight you continue to try to make it confusing for your friends by kissing every single one of the boys there. You just kiss them on the cheek. Taeil, Kun, Lucas, Renjun, Doyoung, Taeyong, Xiaojun, Chenle, and Jaehyun all receive a kiss on the cheek from you in those moments after midnight. Kun received his kiss first along with an enthusiastic round of “happy birthday” cheers from around the room. 

And when the others arrive home in a flood of happiness and cheers of “Happy New Year!” you kiss them all as well, surprising some of the Dream members who certainly hadn’t expected it, and disappointing a few of your boyfriends who were expecting a full kiss but only got a peck on the cheek.

Your friends are sufficiently confused by your kissing of so many of the members, and they persistently question you about which of them is the father. They even make guesses based off of how you act with the boys, which you find extremely funny after one of your friends pulls you aside to ask if the father is Renjun because you’d been goofing around with him for most of the party.

By the time the party ends a few hours later, you’re exhausted and achy, but you’re happy to have rung in the New Year with the boys and with your friends. You already know this year is going to be a great one, with the birth of your daughter already taking the number one spot.

Everyone leaves the party mess downstairs to be cleaned up tomorrow, and then there’s a drunken parade of boys climbing the stairs to bed. Taeyong has to be carried up to bed by Johnny because he over-indulged in the after-show drinks and then even more once they arrived home.

And you’d thought you’d be going to bed alone, but as you start to climb the final flight of stairs to the top floor, a hand comes to rest on your lower back.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Kun asks softly. “Lucas snores horribly when he’s drunk.”

“Just to warn you, I think I’ve been snoring lately too,” you admit. “But of course you can sleep with me.” 

Kun laughs, but you’re serious. Lately you’ve started snoring badly, and when you looked it up because it was kinda concerning when Taeyong woke you the other night, grumbling because your snoring was making it difficult for him to sleep, it turns out that it’s just another pregnancy symptom.

But Kun snuggles into bed with you, kissing your belly as you settle in. “Goodnight, little angel. Don’t kick your mommy too much, just dream tonight.”

As if she knows he’s talking to her, you feel a little nudge.

“Kun, here.” You take his hand and bring it to where you felt her move. “She always does this as soon as I lay down and get comfortable. Can you feel her?” She does it again.

Over the last few days, the boys have been touching your stomach pretty much any chance they can get, always hoping to feel her like Jaehyun, Taeil, and Xiaojun had. So far, they haven’t really felt her again, which in doing some research on that as well, you realize that at just on that edge between twenty-two and twenty-three weeks it’s not uncommon for the baby’s movements to still not be felt from the outside. Maybe she’d just been really, really active on Christmas, excitement for the holiday and all that.

Kun keeps talking to her, holding his hand against your belly with your hand pressed to the back of his. You can tell he so badly wants to feel her, and you want him to be able to feel her. You want all of them to feel her move because it’s so strange and amazing.

You lay on your side facing Kun, relaxing and feeling your eyes grow heavier and heavier as he starts singing to her, his hands caressing your belly. 

When you wake in the morning, Kun’s still got a hand on your belly though you’ve turned over to your other side. He’s spooning you, a hand on your belly, his warm breath on your shoulder. You feel so warm and comfortable, safe and happy, like you need never leave the bed. Until a sudden sense of urgency reminds you why you just woke up.

When you return from the bathroom and slide back into bed, feeling much better with any empty bladder but also much colder outside the sheets, you find Kun awake.

“Do you have a schedule today?” You ask him, resting your head on the pillow again. 

Kun shakes his head. “Yeah, but not until much later.”

You pat the sheets. “Then stay here. It’s your birthday, you deserve to sleep in. And besides that, we both want you here. Isn’t that right?” You rub a hand over your belly, tilting your head down to address it. 

“Oh, well, if that’s what the princess wants.” Kun smiles and sinks back down beside you, facing the ceiling. “I can’t believe in just a few months, she’s going to be born. It’s crazy to think that just a year ago this relationship was still fairly new, but in just months we’re going to have a baby. I think some of us are definitely more ready for it than others.” He’s smiling as he says it, and you know Kun is thinking about how ready he is to be a father, not necessarily thinking about the other side of things.

But now you are thinking about the other side of things. About the boys who aren’t ready to be fathers really.

So you just scoot closer and press your face against Kun’s chest, trying to forget about your worries.

A few weeks pass, and then you’re twenty-five weeks along. And by this point your belly is very round, very obviously pregnant to the point that your coworkers like to pat it when they’re near you, always wanting to feel the baby when you groan and put your hand to your stomach because she kicked. And also, she’s reached the point in development where she gets hiccups, you were surprised to find.

It was a startling feeling the first time you felt it. It was just a twitching feeling, unfamiliar, though similar to kicking. 

You’d been sitting on the sofa with Ten and Johnny when it happened, and Johnny had been quick to slide over to feel the spot that you indicated. And his lips had curled up into a bright smile as he said, “Hiccups. She’s hiccuping.”

Ten wanted in on feeling it too, and then as the three of you enjoyed the oddness of feeling her do this, Ten started looking online for ways to get rid of a baby’s hiccups in-utero, but it turned out that it wasn’t a big deal. Just drink some water. By the time Johnny had gone to get you a glass of water and brought it back, the hiccuping had already stopped, but she was moving, rolling inside you.

Ten stayed slumped beside you, messing around on his phone, and it wasn’t until he suddenly asks you, “Are you doing kegels?”

“Excuse me?” You turn to look at him. “What, like right now?”

“No.” Ten shakes his head. “I just mean, in general. This website says that it’s really important for pregnant women to practice kegels. Helps with labor and preventing bladder incontinence afterwards. Apparently it’s good for everyone to practice, but especially people who are pregnant.”

Admittedly, you have not been practicing any pelvic floor exercises, but now that Ten suggests it, and keeps reading off information about it, he and Johnny decide that they’re going to do it too. So after a bit more research Johnny and Ten are doing stretches on the floor, planning to do some yoga and some kegels, and you just excuse yourself from that because you don’t mind doing kegels, but you don’t like sitting there with them knowing that your vagina is contracting. There’s just something odd and very strangely intimate about that. It doesn’t matter that they have both been extremely intimate with your vagina before.

So you climb upstairs in search of something to distract you from the laughter and wrestling sounds and grunts you can hear coming from your two boyfriends downstairs.

Jaehyun’s laying on his bed. The duvet is crooked beneath him, the bed not really made, and he’s fully clothed with his arms tucked beneath his head. A record is playing quietly, so you almost feel bad for interrupting, but when Jaehyun opens his eyes and sees you standing there at the edge of his bed, he smiles.

“Hey, babe.” 

You’re stunned when, a moment later, as Jaehyun sits up, a tiny, furry (usually pissed off) head appears beside him.

“Miso’s here?” You’re shocked that he’s finally warming up to the boys. Slowly, but he is.

Jaehyun hums and lifts his hand to stroke Miso’s head, but apparently your cat draws the line at petting. He’s fine with cuddling up to Jaehyun though. He balks now, glaring at the offending hand. Jaehyun just laughs and wiggles his fingers at Miso. “He was in here when I woke up. I guess the others left the door open when they left so he came in. Completely ignored me until I got up to put on some music, then when I laid down, he hopped up here with me. Finally starting to like me.”

He tries again to pet the cat, and this time Miso actually bares his teeth.

“Miso!” You chastise him and lift him up in your arms. He immediately starts purring, nuzzling against you. “I just hope he likes her once she’s born. He’s taking so long to warm up to all of you.”

Jaehyun stretches out on his back again, humming along to the music. “I’m sure he’ll love her. Pets are usually good with kids, right?”

You can only hope.

Hope that your cat gets along with your baby. Hope that your boyfriends stay with you. Hope that life isn’t entirely altered in a few months.

“Were you looking for me? Did you need something?” Jaehyun asks after a moment.

You shake your head and sit Miso down as he begins to struggle. He bolts from the room. “No, I was just trying to escape Ten and Johnny trying to get me to do group kegels with them.”

“Kegels?” Jaehyun laughs. “My trainer at the gym has me do those. He says it’s good for lots of things, and it’s important to stay up on it so when I’m old I don’t have so many problems.”

From down on the first floor the grunts of Johnny and Ten echo upstairs.

“Are they doing them now?” Jaehyun turns his head slightly toward the door.

“I’m not really sure what they’re doing,” you admit. “I just felt awkward sitting there, thinking about doing it all together.”

Jaehyun sits up. “I mean, it’s not like they’ll know if you’re doing it. You can do it anywhere, anytime.” There’s another obnoxious noise from downstairs, and Jaehyun rolls his eyes a bit. “If they are doing it, they’re not doing it right.”

And now you feel a bit warm as you ask, “You said your trainer has you do them?” Jaehyun nods. “How exactly do you know you’re doing it right?”

In theory you know what a kegel is, how to do it, but you also don’t know if you’re totally doing it right. Jaehyun has experience.

“My trainer explained it to me, told me in detail about how it should feel. I did a little research online, making sure he wasn’t just making it up because at first it sounded weird to me.” He ruffles his fingers through his hair. “If you want, I can help make sure you’re doing it right.”

“What?” Your face heats up. “How?”

Jaehyun reaches out to you, his fingers on your thigh. “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you?” He’s teasing, but you can tell that Jaehyun’s a little embarrassed too. His ears are too pink for him to not be embarrassed. “It might sound weird, but I’d put my finger in you while you do it.”

You fold your arms in front of you. “Jae, if you want to finger me, all you have to do is say so.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not it. Seriously, I know how it’s supposed to feel, and if I do that for you, then you’ll know if you’re doing it right.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment. Still seems like a trick to just have sex, but also you definitely trust Jaehyun to help you with this. “Okay, but go wash your hands first.”

Jaehyun pushes up off the bed, passing out the door within the second.

“Thoroughly!” You call out after him.

“Yes, Mom!” Jaehyun shouts back at you.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, and a minute later Jaehyun comes back into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, holding his hands aloft like a surgeon entering the OR. 

“This is weird,” you mumble, looking up at Jaehyun still standing there, not touching anything, and you take your pants and panties off. “This feels like a medical examination.” 

“Don’t think of it that way.” Jaehyun kneels on the bed as you lay back, lifting your knees much like you would at an examination. He looks between your legs, then flicks his gaze up to your face. “Okay, maybe this is a little weird.”

It takes you both a few moments to get over the weirdness of it, and then he’s got a finger inside you as he coaxes you to try a kegel. You do it, but you’re embarrassed, covering your face as you tighten the muscles, contracting around Jaehyun’s finger. 

“Try it again,” Jaehyun tells you. “But hold it for a few seconds, then relax.”

You whine. This definitely feels weird, not like physically a wrong sensation, just the situation itself. 

“Relax,” Jaehyun smiles, and he kisses your knee. “You’re too tense to do this. Do I need to help you relax?”

He kisses your knee again, his finger starts pumping, just a slow stroke of his finger inside you. His lips start to trail along your thigh from your knee toward the apex of your thighs.

“Jaehyun,” you whimper, and drape your arms over your face. “I knew you just wanted to have sex. You could just, I don’t know, tell me that.”

“I was genuinely trying to help you.” Jaehyun nips your inner thigh. “But, mmhm, this is a nice turn. You’re getting so wet, fuck.”

When Jaehyun’s tongue meets your wetness, licking at you even as he continues thrusting his long middle finger inside you, you bite at your arm to hold back your moans just a bit. It’s been so long since one of them ate you out. At least about six months, definitely not at all since they found out you were pregnant, too scared to put their face down there at your pussy like they were scared to see the baby staring back at them.

But Jaehyun carefully uses his tongue on you, driving you absolutely wild with pleasure. Your heart pounds, and all of this racing through you doesn’t just awaken your lust.

“Oh, God. Jaehyun.” You gasp, less from what his tongue is actually doing to you in the moment. You take one of his hands and drag it up to your belly. He pauses when he feels what you feel. “We woke her up.”

Jaehyun sits up quickly, looking down at your belly in awe. He brings his other hand to your stomach, feeling your daughter moving in your belly, spurred into movement because of what Jaehyun was doing to you. 

You half expect Jaehyun to back off then, to be weirded out about having sex with the baby awake and moving. But, apparently you underestimate his horniness and his kink for you being pregnant.

Jaehyun pushes your shirt up, completely away from your belly, and you sit up as best as you can to pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, reach back to unfasten your bra, and then you lay back down, and look up at Jaehyun as he slips backwards off the bed, his eyes raking over your bare body before him.

“I love seeing you like this,” Jaehyun groans, tugging his shirt over his head. “You’re beautiful.”

You flush at the compliment. 

“Yeah, sure. All big and bloated, with stretchmarks.” Just a few mornings ago, you’d looked in the mirror and, to your horror, had spotted stretchmarks on your belly and a dark line was stretching down from your belly button. It’s not that you’d never seen stretchmarks on yourself before, but these were just too much for you to handle in addition to everything else. “I’m gorgeous. Sign me up for a runway.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes with a gentle smile, and he kneels down on the bed. He takes your hands, holding them down against your sides as he leans in and kisses your belly. “Would you walk a runway if I did sign you up? I could pull some strings. You’d be radiant, powerful, so sexy modeling like this.” He leaves your hands to touch your thighs instead, spreading them so he can fit between them easier.

The heat rises under your skin, both from his words and his touches. Jaehyun’s hands slide higher, thumbs stroking tenderly at the very top of your thighs. 

“Very, very sexy.” Jaehyun leans in and kisses you. It’s a slow, sensual kiss, liquefying your insides as he also dips his hips forward, grinding lightly against you. “You’re beautiful. Seeing you like this is legitimately a sexy dream come true.”

It is quite a confidence boost to have him telling you that he finds you so sexy when you look at yourself like this and don’t see anything great. The way he’s looking at you right now, like he would eat you alive if he could, sends a new wonderful thrill through you, which physically manifests as a shiver and your baby moving inside you.

“That’s so strange,” Jaehyun smiles, looking down at your belly where you can see her moving. He puts a hand over her. “Is it weird if we keep going?” He asks. “Like, do you think she can... feel it?”

At this point you don’t care. He’s got you hot and ready for him, so you don’t care if she can feel it, it’s not like she knows what’s happening, and it’s not like his dick is big enough to get through your cervix or anything as disturbing as that. You just grip at his arms.

“Jaehyun, just get inside me. Please.” You feel like you’re whining, begging, but you can’t help it. It’s been months since you and Jaehyun last really were intimate. You’ve missed having him like this, touching him and being touched by him like this.

He smiles, busy touching your belly, but when you start pouting, he grins even wider. “You’re so cute,” he tells you. “Do you need me so badly, princess?” He leans in to kiss you, carefully avoiding pressing on your belly. “You miss my cock?”

You moan his name, try to squeeze your legs around him to drive his cock against you, inside you. But he just pats your leg, and sits up, shifting back onto his heels. 

“I want you to ride me.” Jaehyun flips over onto his back.

“Right, cause that’s fair.” You sit up and look down at him. “I’m the one putting in all the work, building a baby inside me. Why don’t you do all the work?”

Jaehyun reaches for your belly again. “I just think it’s a better position to appreciate you from. You’ve always looked so good when you’re on top, and now, fuck, with your tits this full and your beautiful baby bump? You look like a goddess, and I’m totally serious, so don’t look at me like that,” Jaehyun says when he catches the doubting look on your face.

And it’s only because this man in bed with you knows how to heap on the praise that you agree and straddle him. He touches your thighs again, his fingers dipping higher, in between your legs, stroking two fingers against your wetness, slipping them inside you just for a moment.

Jaehyun watches you with a smirk on his face as you start riding his fingers, your wetness dripping down his fingers. “You need me right now, don’t you?”

You nod and grip his wrist, thrusting down on his fingers. 

It’s definitely odd feeling your daughter moving inside your womb while you’re in a very sexual encounter, to know that she’s feeling the basics of the emotions you’re feeling--the excitement, your racing heartbeat, the pure enjoyment of what Jaehyun’s doing--but you don’t plan to stop. Not when Jaehyun pulls his fingers out to circle them at your clit. Certainly not when his cock is hovering heavy and pink against his abdomen, and not when you position him between your legs with his fingers still stimulating your clit.

You sink down on him, and for all the teasing he’s done to you, it’s a bit of a surprise when Jaehyun’s eyes flutter shut and he bites his bottom lip to stifle the moan of pleasure as your warm walls wrap around his cock. You have to remember that for months now, while you’ve abstained from Jaehyun’s cock finding orgasms in the others, Jaehyun’s had nothing but his hand and memories of you.

“Do I feel good, Jae?” You ask, sinking down on him until you feel so full, and you rest your hands on his abs, grazing your nails lightly over the flexed muscles. “Have you missed me?”

“So much, princess. Fuuuck.” His hands move to your hips, trying to get you moving on him, though at the moment you’re thoroughly enjoying just sitting on him like this. Perhaps this would be the moment to practice your kegels again, clenching your pussy tight around him.

Jaehyun swears at you, lifting his hips, trying to get deeper inside you, to get you moving on top of him. You oblige.

You love the way a flush rises on Jaehyun’s skin, the way that his eyes are dark with ravenous hunger for your body as you ride him, rolling your hips and thrusting down on his cock and circling your hips.

Jaehyun’s hands are everywhere. He’s always loved your ass, but now he pays close attention to your tits too, cupping them in his hands, leaning up to place tiny kisses around your nipple. And then of course there’s your big baby bump. Jaehyun strokes and just holds his hands against it, and you can’t help touching too. 

You’ve clearly got your baby excited too. She’s kicking and moving, worked up from the excitement you two are experiencing. You can tell that Jaehyun loves the pure intimacy of a moment like this, just you and him and your baby and all this raw emotion and the physical aspect of this. 

It’s moments like this when you’ve got Jaehyun like this that you want him to be the father more than anything else. He wants it so badly. You’ve known that since the first time you had sex with him that he wanted a baby. Hell, you knew it before that. On one of your first dates with him, Jaehyun kept waving and making silly faces at a toddler who was clinging to his mom’s leg nearby, and after they’d left, Jaehyun hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face, which had led to a discussion about how he thinks that if he hadn’t followed his path into the idol life he’d probably have already settled down and started a family.

You want this to be it for Jaehyun. Sure, he’s said that he’ll be here no matter if he’s the biological father or not. But you know it’ll break his heart if he’s not the biological father, that he just wants so badly to have it be him, to have this little girl be part you and part Jaehyun, to give her his surname.

And as he cums inside you now, his orgasm unleashing powerfully for the first time in months, you feel the heart-breaking realization that Jaehyun may very well not be the father.

There are some afternoons when you get off of work, and you just can’t go home and sit around there. You want to do something, see something different, and as you’ve gotten more obviously pregnant and with winter being in its depths at the moment, you rarely do more than commute to work and commute to home. 

So on one particular chilly, gray, snowy day, you walk out of work and decide that you’re going to go visit your boyfriends. 

Several of them are at the dance studio, so that’s where you go.

You didn’t check in with any of them before coming, but it’s rarely ever a problem for you to show up at the practice studio.

But of course, this time, you walk through the door of the room they’re in, and immediately three staff members turn to face you, and there are a few of the boys, but it’s only Jungwoo and Doyoung that look up from what they’re doing, and you freeze. They’re doing a VLive.

Doyoung starts to smile, then looks back down at his phone where he was reading something. Jungwoo starts making a face at you until Kun gently puts his hand on Jungwoo’s thigh, pulling his attention back to the live. 

Recently they added two new members, neither of which you know very well, but Shotaro and Sungchan seem really great, like they’ll fit into your little family perfectly, but as they don’t live at the house with the rest of the members, you haven’t had the chance to get to know them. Both of them are there as well, squashed in on the back of the sofa between Lucas and Yuta.

Just a week ago when you asked Yuta about the two of them and what they knew of you, Yuta just shrugged and said, “It’s kinda like what we’ve told the staff. That you’re dating one of us, that you’re pregnant, that we’ve all agreed to keep it a secret which one of us you’re dating because then any rumor that leaks won’t have anything really solid to it.” So that’s how it stood. 

But now, standing here just inside the doorway of the practice room while the staff members look at you, while Sungchan and Shotaro keep glancing your way curiously, you think maybe you shouldn’t have come. Especially not unannounced.

You move to the side and ease yourself down to sit on the floor beside their manager who didn’t look up when you walked in. She’s the friendliest, the one that helped with the gender reveal cake, who is probably one of their only staff members to know the true nature of this relationship you’ve got with the boys. You trust her, and they all do, which is why she knows because she won’t spill the secrets to sasaengs and gossip sites.

They wrap up the live about ten minutes later, waving goodbye and blaming the need for a few of them to go meet up for a special practice. Once it’s over, the live shut off, and the phone used for the live tucked safely out of sight, everyone disperses.

Doyoung, Jungwoo, and Kun come over to you right away. Yuta walks to the other side of the room, talking in rapid Japanese with Shotaro. Sungchan disappears, and Lucas remains sitting on the sofa, tapping at his phone and smiling at whatever he’s looking at.

Now that you can talk without fear of it being picked up on the livestream’s audio, their manager starts asking you about the pregnancy, how far are you exactly, when’s the due date, are the boys being good to you? To which you answer her: 28 weeks, mid-April, and usually.

“Hey, we’re pretty good to you!” Jungwoo protests. “Who was it that helped you with your swollen feet and your back, hmm?”

“And who woke up the other night to make some insomnia snacks for you?” Doyoung asks, gesturing at himself and Kun. To be fair, Kun had already been up and in the process of grabbing a snack from the kitchen (you’d already drained his snack drawer supplies), so he and Doyoung had worked together to satisfy your cravings even though Doyoung was half asleep most of the time, just standing there nodding off beside you while Kun cooked. But he’d made for a very nice shoulder for you to rest your head on, and he’d smelled like clean detergent when you’d buried your nose in the shoulder of his hoodie.

You roll your eyes at them. “Yes, they’re all really good to me. Don’t you all need to practice, or something?”

“Soon,” Kun tells you. “We’re just waiting for the last few members to get here.”

Johnny, WinWin, and Taeyong walk in soon after, and the set of members to practice have all arrived.

You’re not surprised that when your boyfriends leave you to go start the practice that Johnny and Jungwoo both take off their shirts, though you are quite impressed. Jungwoo’s really not usually so flashy with his body, but he’d recently told you that the company wanted to make his image more manly and powerful, like Johnny and Jaehyun. Thus, the long stretch of toned muscles and tight abs that you see reflected in the wall of mirrors.

You love watching the boys dance, seeing them put all of their focus and determination into it. You don’t know how many times you’ve sat in these rooms with them, watching them put in the hours, losing themselves in the music. 

You hope your daughter is a dancer, that whichever of them is the father she inherits part of his talent, whether it’s the dancing or the singing or rapping, the visuals or acting ability or humor. You hope she has star quality like every one of her fathers.

You’re sitting there caressing your belly, daydreaming about her while watching them, listening to Doyoung just start belting out his part of the song, when she moves--a big stretch suddenly, causing you to gasp.

WinWin looks over at you, nearly stumbling over Kun and Johnny who’ve also twisted their heads around to see why you’ve gasped.

“I’m fine.” You wave at them to get back to practice, but the choreography was destroyed by the stumbles, and they’ve been at it for a while by this point, so they call a water break.

WinWin drops down in front of you, folding his limbs just-so so that he can sit close to you and put his hands on your belly, feeling her trying to get comfortable. “She wants to dance too, I think,” he says with a soft smile. “I was dreaming about the baby last night. You were holding her and she was a few months old, laughing, smiling, and she held my finger so tightly I could still feel it when I woke up. And then I was holding her too, dancing Take Off choreography and she was just laughing.” He looks up at you, his eyes aglow.

You put a hand on his head, petting his hair flat where it’s standing up awkwardly on top. “I just want you to know, if you ever decide to dance to your intense choreographies with my newborn daughter in your arms, I will kill you.”

WinWin laughs. “It was just a dream! I would never.”

You look up from his sweet smiling face to see Sungchan standing a few feet away, looking at the two of you, at WinWin’s hands on your belly. “Do you want to feel, Sungchan? She’s moving.”

“Oh, I.... are you sure?”

“Yes.” You laugh. WinWin moves back, opening up space for Sungchan, who hesitantly sits down too. He lets you guide his hand to where you can feel her.

“That’s.... interesting.” Sungchan looks down at his hand on your belly, like he’s puzzled as he feels you baby move just a little bit. “Weird. No offense.”

“None taken. It’s definitely weird.” She moves again, and you groan. “Alright. She’s sitting right on my bladder now. I need to get up.”

WinWin hurries to his feet, reaching down to help you up, which is quite an ordeal because you’ve been sitting there on the floor for a while. You probably shouldn’t have sat on the floor in the first place, and now as you have not one, not two, but a third boyfriend come over to help you gently to your feet, you feel utterly embarrassed.

WinWin, Doyoung, and Taeyong all three end up helping you safely to your feet. Taeyong even tags along with you as you walk from the room in search of the restroom, keeping his hand on your lower back tenderly.

You’re not helpless, you want to remind him that. You just needed a bit of aid getting up off the floor, which even he needs help with sometimes. 

“I’m fine, Taeyong. I promise.” You turn as he tries to follow you through the door of the restroom. “I don’t need help in here.” You curl a hand around the back of his neck and press forward on your toes to kiss him quick, praying no one is around to see and start rumors. “I’ll be right out.”

Taeyong’s still standing there when you emerge a few moments later, and you can tell from the way he’s looking at you that he wants another kiss, wants more than a kiss. But you can’t right then. He needs to get back in to the practice room, not sneak away with you to have a quick romp in a closet at SM Entertainment, which you’re not even sure seems like a good idea with you being this pregnant.

As you’re both walking back into the room, Lucas walks up from the opposite direction, still buried in his phone, and when he looks up and sees you, he grins. It’s a loose, easy smile, and he puts his phone away to come closer, rubbing your belly.

“For luck,” he tells you.

The practice ends hours later by which point you think even you could follow along to the choreography if you weren’t 7 months pregnant. And because you are 7 months pregnant and hungry, you beg them to feed you as you’re all leaving to head home.

Taeyong has to go to the studio and Kun’s going with him to collaborate on a project together, so they’re both out, waving goodbye as they head their own way.

“I’ll go with you to get food,” Lucas tells you. “I’ve been wanting to be alone with you.”

So the others head home, and you and Lucas grab a taxi to a restaurant that Lucas likes.

You’re glad it was Lucas who volunteered to take you to get food. Lately it seems you haven’t spent a lot of time together, which he’s been busy recording and practicing, doing photo shoots for the group and solo shoots also since he’s so handsome. But also several of the guys have been trying to keep you all to themselves. And when you do get the chance to be with Lucas, you just keep thinking about what you heard Mark and Jaehyun talking about, thinking about what you and Lucas talked about that day you went on a picnic date.

So things have been a bit awkward between the two of you over the last month especially.

Dinner is good. The food and Lucas’s company. Both of you laugh as you eat, tucked away in a back corner of the restaurant. But occasionally you notice him going randomly quiet and picking at his food, sinking into his thoughts, and that makes you nervous, so you ask him about it.

Lucas shakes his head. “Just nervous for the comeback.” He shoves a piece of meat into his mouth. “And I’ve just had a little cold lately. Don’t worry, babe.”

So you don’t worry. Several of the guys have been dealing with mild colds lately, and you’ve been downing vitamins and healthy foods, wearing a mask to keep yourself from getting sick too when you’re around the boys. 

As you stand together outside the restaurant, waiting for the taxi to come take you back to the house, Lucas holds your hands in one of his large ones, keeping your fingers warm in the chilly night. And he looks at you and looks at you. You can feel his gaze burning against the side of your face, and when you finally look at him too, Lucas doesn’t look away.

“What?” You ask, unable to hide a smile. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

Lucas shakes his head, his expression so serious on his handsome face. “No, I’m just looking at you.”

He looks like there’s more he’s going to say, but at that moment the taxi pulls up, and you drag Lucas into the warm car’s backseat. 

“How was work?” Mark asks, rubbing his hand soothingly down your back. 

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, freshly showered, just waiting for the dinner you’re making to finish up, and Mark’s just walked down from his room. 

“Work was... work. I’m heavily pregnant, tired.” You drop your head onto his shoulder. “I had a stranger try to touch my belly today when I went to lunch. That was horrible.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Mark kisses your head. “Want me to do anything to make you feel better?”

You shake your head. “I’m just going to eat dinner, then lay in bed until I fall asleep. Spend some quality alone time before I never get it anymore.” You pat your belly. 

Mark strokes your head, “I can finish making dinner for you. Relax.”

“She wants to eat sometime tonight, Mark. Preferably without being poisoned.” Taeyong strides into the room. He pauses at your chair to drop a kiss to your cheek, then moves on to the stove. “I can finish it. Mark’s right, you need to put your feet up, relax.”

So you do just that while Taeyong putters around the kitchen, cooking, improving upon the meal you’d already begun making, and soon he sits the meal down in front of you, ducks his head to kiss your belly, and tells your baby, “Eat well, little angel.” And then he lifts his head to kiss you. “Enjoy, my love.”

The dinner is quite delicious and filling, so by the time you’ve finished, you’re in the perfect state to just climb up the ridiculous amount of stairs to your bedroom and then sit in bed and watch videos. You put on your comfy clothes to sleep in, and settle back against your pillows, put on a Netflix show you’ve been trying to watch that none of your boyfriends have much interest in.

Probably somewhere in the second episode you’re watching, there’s a soft knock on your door.

“Come in!” You call out.

Lucas pops his head inside, looks around the room, then asks, “Hey, can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” You scoot aside on your bed, making room for him. “What’s up?”

Lucas has his phone in his hands, twisting it around, tapping his fingers on it. He sighs, a deep heavy sound. “I need to talk to you about something.”

And your heart sinks. 

Your shoulders go tense, and you look up at his face even as you truly want to look anywhere else. “Okay.”

Lucas sits gingerly beside you, perched just on the edge of the bed so he’s in no way crowding you. “I’ve been thinking for a little while, trying to really, really think about stuff, and when you asked me the other night at dinner what was wrong, I just didn’t really know yet, but what I said to you is true. I was recovering from a cold and I’ve been nervous about the comeback, but there’s more too.”

He rubs his hand over the back of his head, looking down at his feet, and you just watch him. Your mouth feels dry, your heart pounds.

“What is it?” Your voice sounds hoarse.

The silence that fills the room them is unbearably loud, static in your ears.

“I think we should break up,” Lucas mumbles. 

“Why?” You ask, your voice quiet.

You wish you could say that you didn’t see this coming or that you saw it coming from a long way off. But honestly you’d been afraid that this was coming, hoping that it wasn’t. Ever since you found out that you were really pregnant, this fear has been lingering in the back of your mind; not this specific fear that Lucas would break up with you, just that one of them would--that he wouldn’t want to be a father, that it would all finally grow to be too much for him.

“It’s not you.” Lucas puts his hand on your leg.

You roll your eyes and look away because you can feel hot tears tingling their way to the surface.

“I swear. It’s not you, it’s not the baby.” He squeezes your leg in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “We already knew that this relationship would be tough, even before any of us knew about her. We knew that keeping this going with all of us just isn’t realistic, that things are going to happen in the future, that feelings might go away.”

You turn quickly to face him, your eyes burning, and when you blink, the tears begin to fall. “Is that why you want to break up? The feelings just went away?” You can’t help feeling angry and upset, so the words come out with a bite behind them.

Lucas shakes his head quickly. “No, no, not really. I still love you, of course I do. Maybe the feelings going away isn’t the right way to say that. The feelings have changed. I love you still. I’ll always love you, but now I think it’s more of a best friends and confidants kind of love. And I met someone, I like her too. I thought we were just supposed to be friends, but we’ve been talking more, and that’s what I meant a few minutes ago, about me thinking a lot recently. Because as she and I have been talking, I started realizing I really like talking to her. She’s funny and smart, and that’s not to say that you aren’t those things, but no offense at all, please, but sometimes it feels like I get a little lost in this relationship, and it’s so much easier to just be with one person, especially when I feel like that person fits me really well.”

You bite at your bottom lip, trying to hold in the tears, but you can’t help sniffling. “I know you’re right. It’s better to end things before you really start anything with someone else. Does she know how you feel?”

Lucas shakes his head. “No, and, uh, please don’t be mad. But it’s your friend Chaerin.”

Instantly you think back, remembering how it’s been your friend Chaerin who was fawning over Lucas that first time that they all met the boys; it was her that spent most of the New Years Eve party talking with him. He’s her type too.

“We exchanged numbers on New Years Eve,” Lucas tells you as if he can see the wheels turning in your head. “She said she just wanted one of our numbers to be able to check in on how you were doing without having to ask you all the time because she wanted an honest opinion. She said she thought you might just tell her what you thought she wanted to hear, which, honestly, you know you would’ve.” Lucas reaches up to wipe away one of your escaped tears. “At first we did only talk about you.”

You so badly want to be angry. He’s your boyfriend. She’s one of your best friends. What business do they have getting to know each other better?

But she doesn’t know about this between you and Lucas. She doesn’t know that he’s totally off limits. How would she know when you’ve kept all of this a secret from all of your friends? And Lucas is right, it’s not like you’ve given him all of the attention that he deserves when you’re in a relationship with him and thirteen others. 

“But we started talking more and joking around, and I like her. I’m sorry.” Lucas ducks his head. “I tried telling myself I’m being ridiculous, but I just....”

Now it’s your turn to put a hand over his, squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t feel bad, Lucas. I should’ve known this was coming. You already told me that you’re not sure about this whole fatherhood thing, and this relationship is complicated, and if you fall in love with someone else, well, I just want you to be happy.”

He looks up, eyes brightening and a smile blooming on his lips. “Really?”

You nod slowly. “Yes, really. Did you think I’d scream and argue, tell you that you can’t break up with me or something?” He laughs and shakes his head no. “But, Lucas, I think you should tell her about us, about the chance that this baby could be yours.” You put a hand on your belly, and his eyes follow that motion.

“Of course. And if she is my daughter, I swear, I’ll still take care of you and her, just like I promised. Even with us not... with us not being together anymore.” He swallows, and his face once more takes on a somber, apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. I hate doing this.”

You hate it too, and it hurts, of course it does. But you’d much rather that Lucas end it now than both of you face possibly months of unhappiness, it ending in a huge blowout fight or something.

“Now I can go beg comfort cuddles from one of the others.” You shrug, then reach for his hand, holding onto it. “I want you to be happy, just the same for any of you. If they’re not happy in this relationship, none of them have to stay, I won’t hold it against anyone. I won’t hold it against you.”

Lucas sits with you for a while more, still trying to comfort you and apologize for ending things, to which each time you tell him to shut up. When he leaves, you wait a few moments and then walk to the door, peeking out to see if any of the others are around.

You don’t see any of them wandering around, but Mark and Taeil are laughing in their room down the hall, so you walk over there.

When you walk in you see Mark lying on his stomach on the floor, watching videos on his phone, while Taeil’s sitting wrapped up in a blanket on his bed, his hood pulled up over his hair, and he smiles when you come right over to him. But it’s when you just lay down and immediately snuggle as close to him as your belly will allow, hiding your face against his chest, that Taeil clears his throat.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, bringing one hand up to pet your hair and the other to rest on your belly.

“Lucas broke up with me,” you tell them.

“What?!” There’s the sound of Mark’s phone hitting the floor, and by the time you roll over to see him, he’s already picked it back up and he’s sitting up. He asks again, “Lucas did what?”

You sigh and put your head back on Taeil’s chest. “He broke up with me. Me and the baby need cuddles.”

Taeil’s already fulfilling that, but Mark wastes no time getting up off the floor and trying to squeeze into Taeil’s bed even though that leaves him right on the edge of it.

“Did he say why?” Taeil keeps his voice soft, his touches tender.

“He just doesn’t feel the same anymore.” You can feel the tears starting to rise and burn again. Mark kisses the back of your neck. “And he’s started getting feelings for someone else. One of my friends. Chaerin.”

Mark bristles. “What a dick move. Do you want me to go talk to him?”

“No, Mark.” You rub your cheek against Taeil’s sweatshirt, leaving a big dark tear stain. “It’s fine, really. I understand, and I want him to be happy, but it still sucks.”

“It does.” Taeil kisses your forehead. “If you want to cry, baby, you can just cry. We won’t judge you.” He cups your cheek, hiding your face more against his chest.

Mark kisses the cap of your shoulder again, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your belly. Their tenderness just breaks something in you, and you let the tears go, sobbing into Taeil’s chest while both he and Mark hold you. After a while you can tell that Taeil’s crying too, and your baby is moving, but even that can’t bring you delight right now.

Yuta finds the three of you just like that when he comes into the room a little over an hour later.

“Oooh, what’s this?” He asks, his tone light and excited as he climbs onto the bed too, careful of you as he straddles Mark and bends over to kiss your belly. And then he sees Taeil (who has stopped crying with you) and sees your face with the tears and the wet sweatshirt under your cheek, and he gets serious immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Lucas broke up with her.” Taeil explains, stroking his fingers over the back of your head as you hiccup and hide your face against his chest again. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got this.”

Yuta frowns and folds his arms. “What do you mean, you’ve got this? You think I’m just going to go sit over there on my bed and pretend like she’s not laying here heartbroken and crying? No. Mark, you’re not really doing anything, you’ve had your turn, go to your bed. It’s my turn to cuddle her.”

You feel the hitch as Mark opens his mouth to respond, but something else makes him hesitate, and then he’s moving. Yuta quickly fills in the space, whispering to you words that only you and Taeil can hear, sweet comforting words. You don’t even hear Mark leave the room.

But you do hear the argument start about five minutes late downstairs. Yuta swears under his breath and says, “I’ll take care of this.”

And then it’s just you snuggled up to Taeil, his lips on your forehead, a hand on your belly, another in your hair. 

The volume of the argument rises and you hear Yuta’s voice joining in, then Yuta and Mark climbing the stairs, now arguing with each other. They stop outside the door, and Yuta shushes Mark with a harsh, “Do you really fucking think that she wants you to do that, Mark? You think she wants you to pick a fight with Lucas? Lucas? He could crush you with no problem if he wanted to, and you’re going to pick a fight with him? Don’t you think that might upset her even more if you got hurt, dumbass?”

Mark mumbles something that you can’t quite catch.

“Yeah, now shut up, be good, and go to bed.” Yuta demands, and the door of the room opens.

Mark slumps into the room, and he climbs into his bed, pulls the sheets up over himself, and then the room goes quiet. Yuta doesn’t say anything else either, just snuggles right in behind you again, his body warm and protective against your back.

By the morning after the breakup everyone seemed to know about it. All of the boys, including the younger boys, were being careful and almost overly affectionate with you. Lucas was keeping his distance, trying to keep out of sight of you. You couldn’t decide if that was because of his own choice or due to something Mark had said to him the night before.

Either way, it was a week later before you heard from your friend Chaerin. She sent you just a simple to-the-point text: “oh my god I swear I didn’t know about you and Lucas. I wouldn’t have ever flirted with him if I’d known!”

So you know Lucas has talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s fine, really. We broke up, and I just want him to be happy.”

“When he told me I freaked out!” She types, “And then when he said that there’s a chance the baby might be his I wasn’t so sure about this, like I don’t want to totally piss you off and ruin our friendship”

“Really Chae, it’s fine. I don’t know what all he told you about us, but it wasn’t just me and him in the relationship, so I’ve still got my support in this relationship. Like I said, I just want him to be happy, and he seems like he really like you. I hope his history with me and the chance of the baby being his doesn’t scare you off.”

And it takes a while before you get her response: “it totally doesn’t, I really really like him :)”

And later that day you seek Lucas out, needing to actually talk to him for the first time since the breakup. You both agree to keep things normal, friendly, between you. 

“Well,” Lucas smiles at the suggestion. “As normal as we can be when we’ve fucked as many times as we have, when you’re pregnant with a baby that might be mine, and when you’ve pissed on me sexually.” That last comment earns him a punch in the arm, which he good-naturedly pretends actually hurt him.

Things are good then. Normal as they can be, though it’s still strange to have lost an element of your relationship, to still have him so strongly in your life, but his heart’s not yours anymore. Chaerin’s got him now.

So almost two weeks after the breakup, when it comes time for the baby shower hosted by your mother, your friends and a few coworkers are in attendance. Chaerin is there too, awkward at first, but after a while she’s back to normal, especially as you’d not treated her any differently. You can’t be mad at her; you tried the anger thing but it just didn’t work. You wanted Lucas to be happy and her to be happy too, and as long as you’d known Lucas he’d been a man of his word, so you trusted that if your daughter shares his DNA, he’ll act as her father should.

You celebrate the shower as if you’re a single mother, and somehow your mother goes along with that. Neither her, nor Chaerin, nor your other friend who knows that at least two of the guys are potentially the father, lets on to any of the other attendees that they know who the father is.

Chaerin even comes with you to take all of your gifts back to the house, unbeknownst to anyone else at the house.

So when she walks in, Lucas is sitting on the sofa, laughing with Jeno and Xiaojun. He’s shirtless, his hair an absolute disaster from sleep, and he’s drinking a smoothie which clings to his upper lip as he pulls the glass away. And then he sees you and Chaerin framed in the doorway, and he starts grinning like a fool, an embarrassed fool at that.

“Hi, Chae.”

Your heart sinks a little when you remember that even as adorable as Lucas looks right then, it’s not you who should be admiring him like that. It’s not you that he’s smiling at.

Chae blushes and smiles and sits down the gifts that she carried inside before she walks closer to talk with him. Xiaojun and Jeno both look surprised, glancing between you and Lucas and Chaerin. But you put on your happiest face, and you recruit them to help you carry the gifts upstairs to your room.

“That’s the girl that he broke up with you for?” Jeno asks in a low, incredulous voice as soon as you’re all three inside your room. “She’s your friend, isn’t she?”

You shrug. “Yeah, that’s how they met each other. Listen, it sucks. I’ve said that before, but I just want them to be happy.”

Jeno mumbles something about “bullshit,” and Xiaojun just sighs and walks closer, wrapping his arms around you, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Do you want some help organizing this stuff? You don’t really need to be walking up and down the stairs so much, you know?”

Jeno leaves the room quietly.

“If you want to stay, Dejun.” You look at the piled gifts, mostly just baby clothes and toys and a few other things. Chaerin and your mother had helped you organize them into baskets or bags, so the larger items were still down in Chae’s car, but you figure she and Lucas and maybe Jeno too could help bring those in.

“Of course I want to stay.” Xiaojun sits down in front of the pile of gifts while you groan as you ease down into the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “Or are you tired? If you want to nap, just tell me to fuck off.”

You shake your head as Xiaojun looks up at you with his soft puppy dog eyes. You tell him, “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“Do you want me to sing to her?” He asks. “I’ve heard that singing to a baby makes them happier, makes them smarter, stuff like that.”

Before you even tell him yes or no, Xiaojun’s already crawling the few feet across the floor to you. He folds his legs and sits right in front of you, one hand caressing your belly, and he leans closer, his lips only inches from your belly as he sings. You don’t know the words to the song but it’s nice, and you think she must be listening because she starts moving, stretching and rolling over.

By this point in your pregnancy, thirty-one weeks along, it’s all starting to feel like a bit of a tight fit. She’s digging into organs, pushing her little hands and feet against the swell of your belly, making your body look like an alien is trying to break out of you. And you sometimes feel like a bit of an alien in your own skin--the stretchmarks, some weird rashes, the aches and pains, trouble sleeping, housing another human life inside of you--it’s all a bit much at times and you miss your body from before.

You worry that you disgust some of your boyfriends because you look like this. A particularly nasty voice in the back of your mind whispers that your pregnancy and how it’s affected your appearance is the reason Lucas broke up with you.

But you know, deep down, that that’s not it. You know that Lucas’s feelings for you just changed and you know that you don’t disgust the others. Jungwoo and Jaehyun have both expressed their delight and pleasure at seeing your body like this. Johnny just a week ago praised your body when he woke you up and ate you out before fucking you fully awake, telling you that you deserve to feel good too, putting in all this work and looking so sexy while doing it.

Xiaojun’s still quietly singing to your belly when the door opens and WinWin peeks his head inside. And then you see Doyoung just behind him, and both of them come inside, closing the door behind them.

“Is that her?” Doyoung asks, gesturing back toward the door, toward the living room downstairs. “That’s your friend?”

Xiaojun glares at Doyoung, pausing his singing, irritated that Doyoung’s bringing up what you’re clearly trying to avoid thinking about. WinWin also knocks his fist into Doyoung’s arm before he comes farther inside your room, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“You’re much prettier,” Doyoung blurts out. “So much prettier, and I talked with her when she was here for the gender reveal party, and you’re a million times smarter and more interesting.”

“Thanks for attempting to flatter me, Doyoung.” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your belly. “But I’m sure those are just pretty words. I’m absolutely enormous and swollen and my belly has all these stretchmarks and stuff, so I doubt that Chaerin is less pretty than me right now. Or ever, really. She’s gorgeous, don’t try to lie about that just to make me feel better.”

WinWin rolls his eyes. “Obviously she’s pretty. Lucas is a narcissist, visual-obsessed guy, so he’s not going to want to be with someone who’s not just as good looking as himself. Which is complimentary to you and Chaerin. But also, love, you’re not any less gorgeous now than you were before the pregnancy. Stop putting yourself down.”

Chastised, you look down at your hand on your belly. Xiaojun is still sitting on the floor at your feet, and he ducks his head a little, trying to catch your eye.

When he succeeds, he gives you a little smile. “You’re beautiful, glowing. Why do you think you aren’t?”

“I just told you,” you mumble, “A big round belly like this, the swelling, stretchmarks, among the other unattractive side effects.”

You blush as you remember a few days ago when you could hold in some gas, and let it go to your extreme embarrassment. The younger boys that had been around you at the time had burst into laughter until Jungwoo walloped Jisung on the arm and told him to shut up.

“Besides,” you refuse to look any of them in the eye as you say, “Hardly any of you touch me anymore. I don’t think I’ve had any sexual contact with you, Doyoung, since before we found out I was pregnant. Same with you, WinWin.”

WinWin opens his mouth, then pauses to think about it. He frowns. “It wasn’t intentional. But I think you’re right. If anything it’s a subconscious thing about not wanting to hurt the baby. It’s absolutely not me finding you unattractive. You’re still incredibly sexy.”

“You won’t hurt the baby.” Xiaojun stands up, looking quite assertive. “Have you not heard any of the others talk about it? Do you not know that your dick can’t get to where the baby is? The baby will be fine. At this point, the biggest worry about having sex is triggering her into early labor.”

Just the thought of that happening makes you feel sick. Not that you’ve admitted it to anyone but you’re still scared of what’s going to happen when you actually go into labor.

Doyoung clears his throat. “I heard Jungwoo say he and Hendery both fucked you together, but that was a few months ago.”

“Yeah,” you huff. “And it’s been months since I got anything from you or WinWin. Do you think I haven’t missed having you two? Have you not missed me? What’ve you been up to?”

Doyoung flexes his hand, but doesn’t say anything. WinWin just laughs.

“So you’d rather just fuck your hand than your girlfriend, I get it.” You try to stand up from the rocking chair, but nearly fall back into it. Doyoung steps forward, gripping onto your arm to stabilize you. “Just say you don’t want me. Break up with me like Lucas.”

The look Doyoung gives you then is indescribable--some mix between fury and annoyance and sadness and something else.

And then he’s kissing you, pouring all of those emotions and more into it. You haven’t been kissed like this in months. Kissed with a burning passion that sets you whole body alight, that takes you from one mood all the way to horny in an instant. Horny, hungry, craving more and more and more.

“We can just leave.” Xiaojun’s already backing toward the door, but WinWin sits frozen on your bed.

“Stay, i don’t care.” Doyoung mumbles, barely pulling his mouth away from yours to answer.

You want to stay right there, kissing Doyoung, but you know where this is heading or at least where you want it to head, and with all the blood rushing south, another need arises.

You put a hand to Doyoung’s neck, lingering in the kiss for just a moment longer before you press your hand gently to his shoulder. Your lips feel absolutely gross from a mess of lip gloss you’d worn to the baby shower earlier now smeared across your lips, but you tell Doyoung. “I’ll be right back.” And to the other two you point at your bed and tell them, “Stay here too.”

Xiaojun nods and takes a seat on the bed beside WinWin. Doyoung falls back onto it too. All three watch you walk away into your bathroom and close the door behind you.

As soon as the door’s shut, you hear WinWin groan. “I haven’t done this in months. God, I feel like it won’t last long.”

Doyoung snorts an amused laugh. “I’m the same, though.”

You smile to yourself and walk over to the sink, splashing water on your face, wiping at the tackiness of the lipgloss.

You take your time in there, peeing, freshening yourself up just a bit, and when you feel nice and all good about yourself, that’s when you open the door and step back out into your bedroom.

All three of them are still seated on your bed in a row of shirtless, awe-faced men.

Doyoung’s rubbing his lips together, and when his eyes drink in the sight of you framed in the bathroom doorway, he licks his lips.

WinWin’s mouth forms a round O.

Xiaojun just bunches his hands up at the his knees. “You look really, really fucking good.” He can’t take his eyes off of you, his face tinged a bit with the honestly of his statement.

You’re wearing only a bathrobe and panties. The robe hangs open around your belly, covering just your breasts. Your hair is loose around your face, and as you step into the room, you feel the confidence inside you swell. The way they’re all three looking at you is the same as they’ve always looked at you, which makes you feel so good now when you’ve gained the weight and have all of your new body bared to them like this.

“I can taste your lipgloss, darling.” Doyoung rubs his lips together again, unable to look away from you. “So sweet, makes me just want to taste you.” His gaze drops down to your belly, to the peek of your panties just underneath. “Can I?”

WinWin makes a short noise as you walk towards them, and when you tear your gaze away from Doyoung’s hungry expression to look at WinWin, he’s palming himself through his pants. Xiaojun’s still just clutching at his knees, looking like he’s really trying to hold himself in check before he breaks and fucks you.

You love it, and absolutely need to feel it.

Doyoung pushes off the bed, falling to his knees smoothly in front of you. His fingers tuck inside the band of your panties, lips brushing your belly, and then he drags the panties down your thighs, following the trail with his lips. His fingers caress the back of your calves as you step out of the panties, and then Doyoung tips his head back to look up at you, his eyes dark and lustful, as he tells you, “Sit on the bed.”

You step around him, sitting on the bed in between Xiaojun and WinWin.

“Darling.” Doyoung moans, kneeling between your knees, putting his hands on your knees to spread them farther apart. “You want me to eat you out, sweetheart?”

You slide a hand over each of your other boyfriends’ thighs, nodding down at Doyoung, already sucking in a sharp breath as he kisses and nips lightly up nearer to your pussy. “Doyoung, please,” you sigh, and you slump sideways against Xiaojun who drapes his arms protectively around you. You let out an unrestrained moan when you feel the wet heat of Doyoung’s mouth on you, licking against your pussy, getting you wetter than you already are.

“So noisy,” WinWin tuts, and then his fingers are touching your lips, tracing the outline of your mouth, and then his fingertips are on your tongue and you instinctively latch onto them, sucking and pushing to take more of his fingers deeper inside your mouth. “Oh, fuck,” WinWin moans, spreading his fingers slightly. “You want something in your mouth too, princess, while Doyoung’s taking care of you?”

Doyoung moans softly, his lips around your clit, and a finger entering you.

You squirm, moaning, trying to nod your affirmative desire to have what WinWin’s talking about. You miss blowing your boyfriends, having sex with multiple partners. This foursome is exactly what you’ve been needing for months now.

Xiaojun’s hands move from where they’d been just casually resting, and he now touches your breasts, the robe fallen apart and just barely hanging on your shoulders. Your tits weigh in his hands, and he plays with them while Doyoung continues to eat your pussy, and WinWin draws his fingers from your mouth to instead cover your lips with his.

WinWin’s hand rests on your belly, rubbing slowly over the top curve of it. It feels so good combined with everything else. And then Doyoung pulls his mouth away from your clit, instead dropping a tender kiss to your belly, his fingers still pressing inside you.

“You taste so sweet,” he moans, and then he ducks his head again, his tongue dancing around where his fingers enter your pussy, catching the wetness that gushes out around his fingers.

You pant and moan, sunken into Xiaojun’s side. His teeth nip at the curve of your shoulder, fingers still pinching and pulling at your nipples, tightening that twist in your belly. WinWin does his best to keep your loud sounds quiet, kissing you or giving you his fingers to suck on.

When you feel Doyoung’s hand bumping rhythmically against your foot as you also begin to feel him humming in pleasure against you, you realize what’s happening.

“Just fuck me, Doyoung.” You sit up, trying to get a clear look at him, but your belly makes that a little more difficult. “Stop touching yourself, I’m ready for you.” His head appears, and Doyoung licks at his glossy pink lips, drawing his fingers from your pussy and slipping them between his lips, his tongue moving explicitly around them.

Xiaojun swears softly, his hands leaving your tits to grope his cock through his shorts. 

Doyoung stands, reaching for you again, though this time he’s urging you to move. “On your hands and knees, darling,” he instructs, his hand caressing your thigh, steadying you as you turn over. “This feel alright?”

You feel a little strange like this with the heavy weight of your pregnant belly hanging below you in this position, but good about this. Especially good when Doyoung presses his spit-slicked fingers inside you once again, his thumb now working circles on your clit, just getting you a little more stretched for him.

“Fuck, Doyoung.” You whine, dropping your forehead down onto the sheets. “Stop playing around with me. I’m pregnant and horny and just want you inside me, can’t you give me that?”

He laughs and his hands disappear from your body for an instant in which you hear the sound of clothes falling lightly to the floor. Then the heat of his body is back, right behind you, he rests a hand on your hip, his dick is right there and if you just pushed your hips back you would feel the satisfaction of having him fill you, but Doyoung doesn’t give you the chance to take that role.

He slides right into you with a low moan.

Right beside you, WinWin moans too.

One sideways glance reveals he’s not even touching himself. Just the sight of Doyoung sinking into you, the way you take him so easily, it’s enough to have WinWin aroused to the point that he makes such a pretty sound when he’s so rarely been vocal during sex with you.

Doyoung keeps up a steady pace that has you panting, your pussy fluttering with an approaching orgasm. You don’t expect to last long, and you don’t expect any of these three to last long either. You just hope you have it in you to give all three of them a good time.

And then Xiaojun kneels right in front of your face, the bulge in his pants almost level with your lips already.

“Please, baby, I want to feel your lips.” He touches your hair, pushing it back from your face, while his other hand messes with the fastening of his pants. 

You nod, pushing up on your elbows, and Xiaojun shuffles forward on his knees so that when he does unfasten his pants, when his dick pops free of the confines, it swings up to bounce off your lips much to your surprise.

Xiaojun starts to apologize, but you’re already moving, taking him into your mouth without the use of your hands, just suckling at the tip.

It takes you a moment, while you sit there with your eyes closed, wrapped up in the rocking motion of your body while Doyoung thrusts into you and you take more of Xiaojun down your throat, to realize that the hand on your head, the one pushing you ever so slightly farther down on Xiaojun’s cock, is WinWin’s hand. Both of Xiaojun’s are otherwise occupied: one curled on the back of your neck, the other at the base of his erection.

Not wanting WinWin to feel left out, you lift a hand to help him, but he backs away. At the muffled, choked whine that you let out, WinWin chuckles and explains, “No, baby, not yet.”

So you let him push your head down to choke on Xiaojun, alternating between choking on Xiaojun and rocking back on Doyoung.

The swaying and rocking, the knocking of Doyoung inside you. It doesn’t surprise you when you feel a different movement inside you, a stirring of the little life in your belly. Yeah, you wish she would stay asleep while you’re in the middle of having sex, but you’re not surprised. You wouldn’t be able to sleep through all of this either.

You pull off of Xiaojun to gasp and loudly moan when Doyoung changes positions, mounting the bed so that he’s fucking into you at a different angle, now driving his cock right against your G-spot. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” You cry out, pressing your face against Xiaojun’s thigh. “Doyoung, oh--!”

The orgasm brought on by that direct G-spot stimulation is extreme. You don’t realize just how extreme until you can feel it leaking down your thighs. Whether you’re just squirting or pissing you’re not sure, but Doyoung doesn’t seem to mind either way, still fucking you through it, now just chasing his own high, his breathy desperate moans starting to make themselves known. 

You don’t quite have it in you to really blow Xiaojun, so instead you wrap your fingers around him, and jerk him off. His eyes roll back when you carefully drool on his tip, spreading the saliva around with your tongue before bringing your hand up to meet your lips, just sucking lightly at the tip, getting him nice and wet.

When Doyoung suddenly pulls out of you, you try to turn to look at him, but Xiaojun knots his fingers in your hair, pulling your mouth down on him, his hips pushing up, driving his cock to trigger your gag reflex.

And you’re actually pretty disappointed when you don’t get to see Doyoung’s face as he cums. You just hear his moans and feel the hot stripes of his cum between your legs, against your thighs, some getting on your belly. You can feel it dripping down the mound of your belly, down your thighs, soaking against your pussy.

Doyoung presses his cock back inside you, thrusting shallowly a few times until your legs quiver and he can feel a new wetness leaking out of you.

“Pretty. So fucking pretty, darling.” Doyoung compliments as he steps back. You hear his feet touch the floor, and then it’s just his thumb you feel, slick between your legs from the mess of his cum and the wetness of whatever’s come out of you. “And even prettier sucking Xiaojun like that.”

Xiaojun says something in Cantonese, just mumbles it under his breath, rocking his hips against your face.

He’s so close, you know it won’t take much longer.

And then Doyoung’s thumb wanders higher, and he draws it in a circle over your second entrance, applying just the slightest pressure, not necessarily like he’s trying to fit his finger inside your tight ass, just enough that you can feel the pleasurable anticipation of what it would feel like.

You moan around Xiaojun.

Whether Xiaojun meant to cum just from you blowing him, you don’t know. Maybe he intended to just have you keep him hard while he and WinWin waited for Doyoung to finish, either way, it doesn’t matter.

Xiaojun cums on your tongue, halfway out of your mouth, coating your tongue and your lips. You close your lips around his tip, sucking gently, not trying to miss a drop of what he’s giving you.

Doyoung moves away, out of your awareness, but WinWin kneels on the edge of the bed in his place.

Xiaojun grunts when your mouth gets to be too much, his hands press at your shoulders, and you lift up, trying to sit up on your knees. Xiaojun doesn’t let you get far before he’s got a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss and a murmured, “You’re amazing.”

A different pair of hands slide around you; one glides over the small of your back, and the other hand caresses your belly. You shiver, but don’t break the kiss with Xiaojun, not until WinWin reaches up and turns your face to the side with a gentle press of his fingertips to the side of your jaw.

“Me too. Don’t forget about me.” He whines with a tone that sounds like jealousy, and judging by the way he kisses you now, it was jealousy. His body presses right up behind yours, his erection fitting right against your ass, his arms are wrapped around you, hands caressing your belly, your head twisted around to kiss him.

You know you’ve still got Xiaojun’s cum on your chin and around your lips, still have Doyoung’s cum leaking from your pussy, but neither of those things seem to really bother WinWin. Even when his lips come in contact with the stickiness of Xiaojun’s semen, he just kisses you harder, kissing you clean.

He grinds forward, and you press back on him.

His name is a sigh off your lips, “Sicheng.”

He moans, passing his hands over your belly, and then moving back. “Lay down for me, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto your back, rubbing your hands over your belly as you look up at WinWin. Xiaojun slides closer to you, carefully brushing some of your hair back from your face, and then he leans in to kiss you softly.

“Baby, you okay?” Xiaojun asks. You nod without a word, relaxing as WinWin fills the space between your legs again, his thumbs stroking your thighs. 

“I’m so good, Junnie.” You moan, trying to lift your hips to WinWin’s touch. “You all are making me feel so good.” On the last word, WinWin spreads your thighs more, lifts your knees up toward your belly as much as he can, and he thrusts smoothly into you. 

Xiaojun presses his mouth to yours, but WinWin, in all his gentle jealousy, grinds into you and then strokes his hand up over the mound of your belly, to your sensitive breasts, and then easily shoves Xiaojun’s head away. Xiaojun rolls away with a groan, disappearing from the bed entirely.

“Look at me,” WinWin tells you, his voice soft but commanding. 

You do look at him, biting your bottom lip as your body flushes with heat. Your daughter rolls in your belly. You bring your hands to your tits, massaging them as WinWin thrusts into you, a hand still keeping one of your legs lifted, the other is on your belly right near where she just kicked.

“So weird...” WinWin murmurs, still touching your belly. She makes another move, pressing back against your hand. “Feeling her here inside you while we’re having sex.”

“Bit uncomfortable, isn’t it. Awkward.” You laugh a little. “But it’s okay. She doesn’t know what’s happening, it won’t hurt her. It’s just us, Sicheng. And I really, really, really want to make this moment amazing because in a few weeks she’ll be born and who knows how long it’ll be after that before we can have this again.”

“Mm, that’s true.” He ducks his head to place a gentle kiss on your belly. “Guess I’d better savor this. Savor you.”

And then he’s moving again--smooth, deep, slow thrusts, his body dancing with yours. You hold onto him, nails digging into his shoulders, fingertips dragging up his neck, holding his face to yours, kissing him as your bodies move together, the buzz building up under your skin, WinWin starting to make the adorable breathy noises, soft moans just for you.

He cums with a long moan, his mouth leaving yours, dropping down to kiss your throat, moaning “I love you,” still kissing you and moaning and thrusting steadily until you dig your fingers into his hair, holding on as you cum for him too.

WinWin’s not always one for cuddling. Usually he has to be bullied into it when it’s one of the boys trying to curl up with him. You’ve even had to beg him and just lay on top of him in the past. So now when he moves off to the side, then comes right back to rest his hand on your belly, you’re somewhat surprised. 

She’s still quite active, like she’s bouncing around in there on a trampoline, so you can’t just lie there for much longer. When you get up to pee you find where Doyoung snuck off to, showering with his back to you, but he finishes up as you’re finishing up, so you both redress and head downstairs again.

The rest of the presents from the shower had been brought inside, and if Chaerin and Lucas were still in the house, they weren’t down there anymore. You sink down on the sofa with Doyoung, kick your feet up, and when Taeyong appears from the kitchen a few moments later with a snack, he sits down right beside you (and you use your belly as a perfect built-in snack table).

You were thirty-five weeks along when it happened.

Over the last week you’ve been sleeping fitfully, unable to get comfortable. You took your chances to sleep when you got them: napping when you got home from work, napping on your lunch break, falling asleep with your head on Hendery’s shoulder as you watched a movie with him.

You were just constantly tired, ready to get this baby out of you, to have your body back to being yours alone, to get to meet her after so long.

Lately your dreams had been a mix of sweet dreams and nightmares. The nightmares often involved labor, complications, terrible things that left you in a panic when you woke, and if you were sleeping alone at the time, then you had to calm yourself down, but a few of your boyfriends had seen you in that state, and it terrified them just as much as it did you.

The sweet dreams were a relief. They also sometimes involved the birth, but it was always easy and in the way that dreams are, it would skip through it so she was there in your arms within moments, a healthy robust baby cooing and smiling up at you. She looked different in every dream, always having a prominent feature that would identify one of her potential fathers.

There was one particularly jarring dream that was somewhere between dream and nightmare, in which you actually gave birth to twins. You’d woken scared, your hands already flying to your belly. Taeil jolted awake beside you, feeling your sudden movement, but you’d soothed your own mind, telling yourself the doctor would definitely have noticed a second baby by now, and you’ve only felt one baby kicking. It was just a dream.

Your mother’s told you that these dreams are just anxiety related to motherhood. She had them too when she was pregnant.

So with only a few weeks left in the pregnancy, you were napping and dreaming and anxious about the reality of giving birth soon, and anxious too about the aftermath of raising your daughter.

On this particular day, you were dozing on the sofa in the living room, drifting in and out of dreams.

When you really wake up, you just stay still for a few moments, keeping your eyes closed. And after a few seconds you’re glad that you did.

You realize there’s a pair of hands on your belly, gently touching, and a soft voice murmurs to your daughter. It takes you a bit to understand who is talking and why you’re not understanding what he’s saying.

Ten.

You listen for a couple minutes, your insides feeling gooey soft and totally loved up at how tender his voice sounds. You open your eyes then, and Ten’s kneeling on the floor, speaking in Thai to your belly, to your daughter.

“What are you saying?” You ask him, reaching to touch his hair.

Ten jumps. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You didn’t.” You yawn and stretch your arms up over your head. 

Ten watches you quietly and then he stands up. “I was just talking to her. Telling her how much she’ll be loved once she’s out here. Talking names with her.”

“Oh? Did she answer?” You sit up, making room for Ten beside you, and he sits down, letting you tuck yourself against his side. “Because I’ve been thinking of names for months now and I can’t decide. I don’t even know what kind of name I should give her. Korean, Chinese, Japanese. Thai?”

Ten makes a soft noise. “I’ve thought of a few names. Thai names.”

“Can I hear them?”

“Anong. Duangkamol. Lamai. Chanthira.” Ten recites quickly, obviously having had these same names on his mind for a while now to be able to list them for you so quickly. “I maybe have told my mom about this whole situation, that I have a girl in my life who might be pregnant with my baby, and she was excited, maybe over-excited honestly, and sent me a long list of baby names and meanings and asked me all kinds of questions about you. I had to calm her down and remind her that the baby might not even be mine.”

“But she might be yours.” You sigh heavily. “I wish I knew which of you was her biological father. It would make everything so much easier. How are we even going to find out, just wait until she’s older and actually looks like one of you? Or just make each of you get a paternity test, and have the hospital staff then think I’m an absolute slut?”

“You are, but you’re our absolute slut,” Ten teases, giving you a kiss on the top of your head when you glare at him. “And we can probably just get a few of us tested as the father first. Probably Jaehyun, to get his anxiety over if he’s the daddy of his dreams.”

You laugh. “I really hope he doesn’t get pissed if he’s not. I know he keeps saying he won’t be, but....” You rub your belly, then look back up at Ten’s face. “Well, he’s jealous, we all know that about him.”

Ten nods. “He is, but he does love you a helluva lot. Jaehyun reentered this relationship just like all the rest of us, knowing what we were getting into. I think he’s probably a man of his word. If he says he’ll stick by your side even if she’s not biologically his, Jaehyun means it.”

“I hope so.” You sit up, stretch your arms over your head, groaning as your muscles stretch, and then you let out a little “oof” as you feel something like a jab in your belly.

Ten smiles and tries to flick his hair out of his face, but ends up shaking his glasses askew. 

You reach forward to adjust them for him. “You’re adorable.” 

The moment is broken when the door of the house bursts open. Taeyong comes inside, aiming for the stairs, but when he spots you and Ten on the sofa, he detours toward you. He flops down, dropping his head onto Ten’s shoulder. Ten immediately puts a soothing hand on Taeyong’s hair, stroking and lightly scratching his fingers there. 

Taeyong sighs and closes his eyes, and pouts as he says, “I’m so annoyed.”

“Still no good news on the solo?” You ask.

He nods. Ten makes sympathetic noises.

Over the last few weeks, Taeyong had been putting in extra hours in the studio, working on finalizing songs that he wanted to be good enough for his first solo album, something he knows the fans want. Today was a meeting with the powers that be in SM, those that would decide if the songs Taeyong had compiled would be good enough to make an album.

“They said that they were almost good enough.” He sighs again. “I’ve shown several of those songs to fans, to you guys, to my producers I’ve worked on them with. Fans are looking forward to the full-length and studio versions of these songs. I just want to release it.”

“Soon, Yongie.” Ten kisses Taeyong’s forehead. “Why don’t you go take a bath, relax. I have a present for you that I think will help. How’s that sound?”

Taeyong pulls his head back to look at Ten, his gaze suspicious.

“I don’t think I want to know.” You shake your head and stand up, putting a hand under your belly. “I think I’m going to see who wants to go with me to buy some more things for the baby. Taeil distracted me when we went shopping yesterday.”

“More?” Taeyong starts to ask, but as you walk toward the stairs, a strange feeling squeezes your belly, a pain that takes your breath away. 

Ten and Taeyong are there in an instant, hands on you, panicked voices calling your name, asking what’s wrong, are you okay? Just as you’ve straightened up and caught your breath to answer them, it happens again, the tight squeeze of your abdomen. 

“What do we do?” Ten asks Taeyong, one hand on your back, the other on your arm. Taeyong, looking equally panicked, shakes his head and glances upstairs. “Should we take her to the hospital? Call the doctor? Her mom?”

“No, no stop.” You gasp. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt, just surprised and uncomfortable. I’m-- I’m sure I’m fine. I just need to lie down.”

The sound of the boys’ surprise had called the attention of several of the others, and now Jaehyun nearly tumbles down the stairs to your side, Yuta, Xiaojun, and Lucas right behind him. 

“I just need to lie down. I’m not in labor, relax, all of you.” You put a hand on Yuta’s shoulder. 

“You need to quit your fucking job,” Jaehyun grumbles. “You’re thirty-what weeks pregnant, you don’t need to stress yourself out at work, exhaust yourself all day. It’s not worth it. Besides that, you’ve got us, what do you need to work for?”

You’ve had this discussion with them before. You don’t want to be entirely dependent on them, that’s why you work. But as a few of the others begin to agree with Jaehyun, you think that they may have a point for the time being. You’re heavily pregnant, there’s no reason that you need that unnecessary stress plus after you have the baby then you can take the time you need to recover and take care of her.

They all continue fussing over you as Lucas supports you up the stairs to your bedroom as the strongest man home at the moment. Your heart wallows in your chest as you feel the heat of his big hands; you’re still mourning the loss of that aspect of your relationship, but Lucas truly does seem immensely happy with Chaerin. He leaves you sitting on the edge of the bed, but Yuta and Jaehyun both linger.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Yuta asks as he helps you rearrange yourself on the bed, resting back among the pillows at your headboard. 

You nod. “It’s just my body practicing. All good. Promise.” Your doctor’s told you about all of this, so you understand what’s happening. 

Both Jaehyun and Yuta look at you like they don’t entirely believe you. They coddle you, tucking you in, asking if there’s anything they can get you, asking if it still hurts, if you’re sure you’re okay. Jaehyun seems torn, and when Yuta turns to him looking irritated and says, “Just go, Jaehyun. She’s fine. And if she’s not, we’ll call you.”

“He has a schedule,” Yuta explains to you as Jaehyun leaves the room. “He’s supposed to be filming this evening. Do you want me to stay with you?”

“As long as you don’t ask me if I’m sure I’m fine anymore.” You put your hands on your belly. It feels fine now. “And I’ll definitely let you stay if you promise to rub my feet. They’re sore.”

Yuta smiles even as he teasingly rolls his eyes. “Do you think I love you or something? Rubbing your feet? What next?” But he sits at the end of your bed and gets right to work on massaging the tiredness out of your feet, which feels absolutely amazing. 

You keep touching your belly, and after a bit Yuta sighs and rests your feet back down on the bed. “Are you sure...?” He trails off not wanting to tack on the “you’re fine” element of that question. 

“I am.” You nod. “Seriously, Yuta. This happens, it’s just the body practicing for labor. I’m fine, please stop asking.” You hold out your hand, and Yuta slides up the bed and he lies down beside you, putting his hand on your belly too. “She knows that she’s got to stay in there for a few more weeks, then she can meet you all.”

“We’re all ready and excited to meet her.” Yuta smiles. “Little princess is going to keep all of us wrapped around her finger, but she should definitely wait a little longer. I had a dream about her a few nights ago; just me holding her, and she looked just like you, so beautiful and sweet, just asleep with her fingers wrapped around mine, and when I looked up from her, there you were.” He flicks his gaze between your lips and your eyes, his warm brown gaze softens as he drinks you in. 

“I don’t want her to look like me.” You settle on your side, and brush your fingers over Yuta’s cheek. “I want her to look like one of you, all of you. You’re all so attractive.”

Yuta turns his head to the side to kiss your hand. “And you think you’re not attractive, my love? You snagged fourteen guys at once, how do you think you managed that?”

“My wits and charms.” 

“Definitely a huge contributing factor.” Yuta laughs. “You know we love you, right? You’re not just a pretty face, you’re so much more, and we love everything about you.”

You hide your face in the pillow. “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Cute.” Yuta kisses whatever parts of your face he can get his lips on. “I love you, I love you, I lo--”

You turn your head and put your hands on Yuta’s cheeks, cutting off his professions of love as you drag his mouth against yours. 

“Mom, seriously, there’s no room!” You insist over the phone, rolling your eyes to Hendery’s amusement. 

“How is there no room?” You mother argues back. “There are how many boys living in that house, and you don’t think you can squeeze your mother in? Honey, you could go into labor any day now. I just want to be there to help you when it does. You’ve said yourself that due to his busy schedule, Johnny might not even be home when you go into labor. You can’t guarantee that any of them will be.”

And that is something that you have seriously been considering over these last few weeks, especially since that day when you felt the Braxton Hicks contractions. 

Now, with your due date just days away, with your weekly appointment having just revealed that your cervix is showing signs of the end of your pregnancy, your mother is insisting that she come stay at the house with you.

“I promise you, if I go into labor while I am home alone, you will be the first person I call.” You shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable which has become almost impossible over these last couple weeks. “Listen, Mom, I’ve gotta go, she is pressing right against my bladder.”

It’s not true, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in this third trimester of your pregnancy it’s that excusing yourself to the bathroom because of the baby is a very useful excuse to exit conversations you’d rather not be a part of. You sit your phone down on the table and look over at Hendery again. 

“She’s too much,” you sigh. “You’re all taking good care of me, being observant, helpful. I don’t know what she thinks will be any different if she’s here.” You shift in your seat again, hoping the change in position would get rid of the cramping feeling. Fucking false labor pains.

Something must show on your face because Hendery’s face goes still and pale. “Are you alright?”

You nod wordlessly, settling back in your seat, and you’re grateful when Lucas walks through the doorway into the kitchen, distracting Hendery. They start talking and you stand up to walk around, hoping that it’ll ease this feeling.

But hours later it still hasn’t stopped. And when you go to the bathroom and find that you’ve lost your mucus plug, you sit there for a moment, overwhelmed with excitement and anxiety and fear that this is happening. Maybe not right now, but soon. 

You hold on to the firm belief that this is just false labor, even as you’re sitting on the sofa a little after one in the morning, breathing through a contraction, and that’s when Doyoung comes home, talking on his phone and laughing about something. But then he sees you clutching onto a throw pillow, trying to control your breathing.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go.” Doyoung drops his phone on the sofa on his way to you. “Baby, baby, is this it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, it’s not. Just false labor pains.”

“Okay.” Doyoung says, but then he sits down beside you, turns on the TV and sits there watching it, but you notice him keep looking at you, and when you inhale sharply at the beginning of a new contraction, Doyoung fully turns his attention away from the TV and stares at you. And the next time this happens he stares at you.

After the fifth contraction hits, Doyoung shakes his head and stands up. “You’re in labor. Your contractions are getting closer together, lasting longer. Do you really want to have your daughter right here on this sofa, or should we get you to the hospital?”

“Doyoung---”

He shakes his head. “No, you at least need a doctor just to make sure that you’re not in labor, if you’re so much in denial.” And then he’s leaving you, running up the stairs, and by the time he comes back down, you’ve decided that he’s definitely right. The contractions are stronger, closer together. 

Doyoung returns with Johnny in tow and a bag that you’d packed a few days ago while you were rushing around the house, cleaning and organizing and baby-proofing things. Jaehyun’s right behind them, pulling a jacket on, brushing his fingers through his hair. You can hear the rapid patter of more feet coming down the stairs. 

“Do you all think you’re coming, or something?” You groan as you push to your feet. “You can’t all come, that would be so suspicious and strange for anyone who sees you all.”

“I don’t care.” Mark steps forward. “She could be my daughter, and I’ll be damned if I’m not at least there at the hospital when she’s born.”

The volume in the room increases as the others agree, but before you can answer, another contraction hits, and you reach for your nearest boyfriend. Yuta grunts as you squeeze his arm and let out a stream of curses.

“To the hospital, come on, babe.” Johnny reaches for you, gently curling his arm around your shoulders, steering you away from Yuta, to the door of the house. “We’re going, and we’ll call your mom on the way there. The rest’ll follow in a bit.”

But there’s no arguing as Jaehyun climbs into the backseat, Mark right beside him, and when Yuta and Kun both scramble to fill the last empty seat you just groan and complain of feeling claustrophobic with the three boyfriends you’ve already got in the car, so both of them fall back, letting the car door close.

You look out the window as Johnny pulls away from the house, at the gathering of your boyfriends on the front step, watching you leave for the hospital to give birth to a baby fathered by one of them. 

You don’t get to see the utter panic of the boys in the waiting room. All fourteen of them filling the room. You can only imagine the odd looks they’re getting from the other people waiting out there, probably wondering why there are so many young men, all talking to each other, as if they know each other so well. You’re sure your father is sitting out there, surprised that, firstly, you don’t have Johnny (who he and your mother still believe to be the father) in the delivery room with you, and secondly, that all of the boys are there except for the Dreamies.

Not that you really think about any of that at the time, you’re too focused on, you know, going through labor with your mother at your side. 

So you don’t get to see when Taeyong and Jaehyun flag down a nurse to ask her about paternity tests, nor do you get to see her face when they tell her, no, it’s not just the two of them that are potentially the father. 

You don’t hear the panicked phone calls from managers when they realize that none of your boyfriends are at the house, or the ensuing arguments that break out when the managers say that they need to get home, shower, come in for recording or meetings or whatever’s on the schedule for them that day. 

They camp out around the waiting room for hours and hours, waiting for news, for anything.

And after a solid nine hours of waiting, your mother comes out into the waiting room, beaming and teary-eyed.

“She’s here. Healthy and chubby. Mei. Her name is Mei.” Your mother tells the anxious men before her.

They don’t all come in at once, scared of overwhelming you and the baby.

The first visitors into the room are your mother and father, Johnny, Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Kun. If you feel like hell, they look like it too. Taeyong looks raggedly tired. Jaehyun’s hair is a mess like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Johnny must have just been woken up, judging by the bleary look in his eyes. Kun just smiles warmly and sweetly as he steps inside the room. 

“Oh, God. She’s so little.” Jaehyun is the first at your side, his gaze soft, his hand hesitant as he reaches for her. His hand hovers above her little back, scared of touching her. Instead he looks at you, and asks, “How are you feeling?”

You nod. “I’m tired. But I’ve never been happier.”

You can barely take your eyes off of her. She’s tiny and pink and beautiful, her little warm body cradled against your chest. You can’t believe she’s really here, right here, and you’ve only just stopped crying. You’re tired and overjoyed and feeling so many things.

“I named her Mei.” You look up at the four of them. “Sorry I didn’t wait for any of you to decide. But look at her.” She draws your attention like you’re magnetized, bringing your gaze back to her.

“I think she looks kinda like me,” Kun murmurs as he comes to stand right beside Jaehyun. “Can we hold her?”

“I think she could look like anyone right now.” Taeyong stands quietly at the foot of your bed, staring with his wide, dark eyes at the swaddled baby in your arms. 

Johnny stands just behind him, also staring at you and the baby on your chest. He’s absolutely frozen, even when your mother wraps her arms around him in a hug, though he does robotically hug her back. He just stares as your dad thumps him on the back and congratulates him. 

Both of those occurrences cause Jaehyun to glare in Johnny’s direction. 

“Jae.” You lift a hand to take his, just wanting to ease his jealousy. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Well, wait.” Your mother speaks up. “Shouldn’t the daddy hold Mei first? Johnny?” She looks at the man who she believes to be the father. It’s like all the air goes out of the room. All four of your boyfriends in the room kind of freeze.

The time for the truth has finally come.

“Mom, Dad, I um... Johnny might not be her father. That was just something we told you so you could understand, so you wouldn’t freak out if you knew the truth.” You hold your breath for a moment, considering your next words, but at that moment Mei shifts, making a tiny sound, and once more every eye in the room is on her. 

“Well, then, who...?” Your mother looks around at the four men, then back at you and your daughter. 

You’re still holding Jaehyun’s hand and he squeezes it reassuringly. You say, “Don’t think less of me, please? It could be any one of the fourteen of them. I can’t explain the relationship to you, so please don’t try to make me. Just, I want you to know the truth now. It wasn’t so important before, but now she’s here, and they’re all here, and we can do a test to find out which of them it is.”

You can see the puzzle pieces fitting together in your parents minds. Comments and things from the last few months. 

“Is this why you said that you wouldn’t marry Johnny?” Your father asks.

“What the hell? He proposed to you too?” Jaehyun groans. 

You quickly shut that down. “No. Johnny didn’t propose. My parents just wanted me to marry my baby’s dad. No one other than Mark proposed, don’t worry about that.”

Your mother sits down heavily and puts her face in her hands. Ignoring her, you help Kun to hold Mei for the first time. Jaehyun crowds in close, then Taeyong drifts over. 

“Hi, Mei.” Kun coos at her. “Hi, little beautiful angel.” He kisses her little head, and you smile, watching the way that he’s so tender with her, the way that all four of them look at her with softened eyes. 

Johnny settles on the side of the bed, rubbing a soothing hand over your leg. He asks, “Are you tired?”

You nod. You’re very tired. 

“So sleep. We’ve got this.” Johnny scoops up your hand, brings it to his lips. “We’ll have the others come visit once you wake up again.”

Watching your parents interact with your thirteen boyfriends and Lucas over the next two days is kind of amusing. Your parents don’t know which of them is Mei’s father; you don’t know which of them is Mei’s father; they don’t even know which of themselves is the father. So everyone’s a bit awkward now with your little blob now fully formed and brought into the world, a little angel and bundle of joy. Mei. 

“You need to finish filling out the birth certificate.” The nurse tells you. And you know. You’ve been putting off filling out the name on the certificate. You want to give her her father’s name, but a large part of you wonders if you should just give her your last name.  

“We’re waiting on paternity results,” you tell the woman. 

She glances around the room, which at that moment is occupied by Lucas, Hendery, Ten, and WinWin. You know this nurse has seen all of the boys in here; you don’t know if she recognizes them, but you can feel the judgement radiating off of her. She was also there when a few of the boys got swabbed for the DNA test. 

When they were all done giving their DNA samples, you were told that the results might take around two to five days. And it’s been two days.

Ten’s in the bed with you, showing you picture and video proof that they’d finished baby-proofing the house for you. Hendery’s sitting beside Lucas, and Lucas is holding your daughter. WinWin’s sitting in the seat beside your bed, looking over at Lucas and Hendery and Mei, a far-away look in his eyes like he can’t believe that she’s finally here.

She seems like she could fit in just one of Lucas’s hands. Her whole little body in his ridiculously large hand. 

Lucas has Hendery snap a few pictures of him with her, and you hear him mention Chaerin. Your friend came to visit you already, tagging along with your friends who’ve already had kids. They all stayed for a while, cooing over Mei, giving you advice, but you could tell from the way that Chaerin was looking at your daughter, she was searching for any similarities to Lucas. Which was ridiculous. Even you can admit that your newborn daughter doesn’t look like any of the boys in particular. She looks like a baby.

You remember Lucas telling you one day during your pregnancy how worried he was about the possibility of him being a father, about the fragility of a newborn baby. But now you look over at him, at the way that he’s carefully holding her. He’s holding her properly because he’d spent the first five minutes of his visit asking you and the nurse on how to properly hold her, terrified of doing it wrong and hurting her.

“She’s not going anywhere, you know.” Ten chuckles, nudging his shoulder against yours. “You keep looking over there as if you think she won’t be there anymore.”

“It’s not that.” You shake your head. “I just like to look at her.”

Ten drapes his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side, and he kisses the side of your head. “You’re gonna be great at this, you know. This mom thing. Little Mei’s lucky. ”

Deep down you know he’s right, but at the surface of your mind right now are all the anxieties of being a new mom. You keep thinking about taking her home into a house with so many other people, so many loud noises, so many things going on. You think about being alone with her (which certainly hasn’t happened yet) and all the horrible things that you’ve heard about and read about online. You’re not sure you’ll be able to sleep when you do get home. You’ll probably just watch her sleep, keeping an eye on that reassuring rise and fall of her chest, listening for any little sound she might make that means that she’s hungry or messy or anything at all.

“You’ve got this.” Ten tells you now. “You’ve got us too, don’t forget that. You don’t have to do this all alone.”

You do have their help, you know that. That’s why Kun’s there later that day when you and Mei are discharged from the hospital. There’s a baby’s carseat installed in the backseat, and you sit yourself right beside it. 

You don’t have to look up to know that the whole drive to the house, Kun keeps throwing glances at you in the rearview mirror. 

“The kids are excited to meet her.” Kun tells you when you’re nearly home. You know he’s referring to the Dreamies and YangYang and even the new boys Shotaro and Sungchan, who have all been busy the last couple of days, unable to get the chance to come visit you at the hospital. “We told them to be quiet and gentle, to not scare her or anything like that. Haechan used some colorful language and then told us not to talk to them like they’re kids.”

Sure enough, they’re waiting as soon as you walk through the door. 

Kun carries Mei inside in her secure carrier seat. She’s deep asleep, which is lucky. You imagine it would be alarming to suddenly have your entire field of vision filled with half a dozen excited faces crowding in to see you.

“Ohh, she’s so cute,” Jaemin says. “So tiny.”

“She doesn’t look like any of you,” Chenle accuses with a laugh. 

“Well, she is one of theirs.” You retort. “Test results should come in any time now.”

A nervous tremor seems to pass around the room. Johnny laughs to break the awkward silence, “Maybe I should film all of us getting the results for JCC. Episode number whatever: you are the father.” 

Taeyong lets out a high-pitched nervous laugh. “I’m sure that would go over well with fans and our management.”

“Maybe we should wait and check the DNA test results all together,” Mark suggests as he crouches down to look at Mei in her carrier seat. You watch as he reaches a finger in, prodding it at her little palm, and her tiny fingers close around his. Mark lets out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t want to wait.” Lucas says. “I want to know as soon as possible.”

You understand that. And you agree. “I think you should look when you get it. I feel like we always wait and have these big moments together, like the gender reveal and even just when I told you all that I was pregnant. Maybe this time it should be different.” 

Quiet murmurs around the room, agreements. Mark sighs, but doesn’t look away from Mei’s little round face. “Okay, so when we get the results, we can look at it whenever we want. To see if she’s my daughter.” He lets out another shaky breath, as if he’s trying to steady himself, to still wrap his mind around her being here and real.

“I just want to look at her,” Jungwoo admits quietly, sitting down beside Mark and looking in at her. Haechan sits right behind them, peering between their shoulders at her. “Look at her eyelashes, her nose. She looks like a doll.”

She really does look like a little doll. Everyone just looks at Mei, admiring her, adoring her, not removing her from the carrier until she wakes up some time later and immediately starts crying. The sound makes your heart race, nerves of doing this for the first time with no nurse to help you if anything goes wrong, like if she suddenly decides that she won’t latch on (which so far hasn’t been a problem, but everything you read in the last weeks of your pregnancy suddenly rises to the forefront of your mind). 

Some of the boys back away cautiously when you lift her from the carrier, and you laugh. “It’s like you’ve never seen a baby before. Relax,” you tell them and you tell yourself. “Don’t any of you want to hold her?”

Several of your boyfriends have held her when they visited you in the hospital, but not all of them. To your surprise, Jungwoo hadn’t held her yet despite how excited he’d been all throughout your pregnancy. Yuta had held her once, just staring at her in awe, holding her so gently as if she was made of glass, almost holding his breath while she looked back at him.

"What’s her name again?” YangYang asks, sidling up beside you. He wiggles his fingers down at her, then gives her one of his fingers to hold on to. “Can’t we just keep calling her Little Blob?”

“No.” You roll your eyes at him. “Her name is Mei.”

You knew her name the moment you saw her, even before you saw her. In the last few weeks you’ve thought about it a lot, thought about names in different languages, different meanings. And now you know. Mei. It works in Chinese, in Japanese, even kind of in Korean. Beautiful. 

You spend the rest of the day settling Mei in, sleeping when she sleeps, feeding her. Taeyong sits in your room while you use the toilet, a process that you wish you could entirely avoid this soon after birth. You leave him there watching her, holding her, cooing at her. Just as you’re coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a soft robe, you hear Taeyong whispering to her, and see Mei staring up at him, her whole hand tight around his pinky finger, and Taeyong looking at her with pure adoration, like she’s his whole world.

Jaehyun comes in as you’re sitting there with Taeyong, your chin tucked over his shoulder, both of you looking down at her. Jaehyun slides onto your bed, a hand sliding down your arm, over your waist, his other hand reaches around and he ever-so-lightly strokes Mei’s soft cheek.

Instinctively she turns her head toward his fingers, and Jaehyun makes this small indecipherable sound.

You turn your head to the side, just enough that you can see his face. You can see it in his eyes right then, can see just how badly Jaehyun wants her to be his daughter. You can see how much he wants this moment to be just you and him, for her to be in his arms, for the rest of his future to be you and her and him. How he wants sleepless nights trying to rock Mei back to sleep. How he wants to wake up in the night to her little hands and small voice asking him to come scare away the monsters under her bed. How he wants to have random strangers look at the two of them and say how similar they look.

You think she’d be adorable with his dimples.

Taeyong passes her back to you when she starts to get fussy, and when you start to loosen up your robe, Taeyong excuses himself from the room, leaving you and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun tries his best to not stare as you breastfeed. He’s seen your tits a hundred times, but suddenly the sight of them makes him blush, the tips of his ears pink as he looks over at the crib in the corner and the rocking chair, the stuffed animals. Anywhere but at your breasts.

You smile at his embarrassment, and look down at her. 

You like to imagine that you can tell which of them is Mei’s father now that she’s here. That just by looking at her, you can pick out features that point to the boys. Her skin’s pale enough that she could be Jaehyun’s with his lighter skin. Sometimes you look at her little nose and think that it looks like Taeil’s. Her eyes are big, wide, dark and she has beautiful eyelashes which honestly could be several of the boys. But honestly, looking at her, she does look overwhelmingly like one of them, you know she does. You just can’t figure out which of them.

After she falls back asleep some time later, you put her down in her little crib, and you sit down on the edge of the bed and just keep looking at the crib.

Jaehyun pats the bed. “Lay down, babe. You should sleep while you can.”

“I know.” You sink back, then tuck yourself against Jaehyun, glad that you have someone here with you. You feel Jaehyun relaxing with you in his arms, his lips brushing your temple, his nose in your hair. You tilt your head back so you can look Jaehyun in the eye as you ask, “If I fall asleep, will you keep an eye on her?”

“Of course.” Jaehyun glances over toward the crib. “I’ll take care of her and I’ll take care of you, and right now, your priority is taking care of you. Sleep.”

When you wake from your nap, Jaehyun’s sitting in the rocking chair beside the crib, gazing down at Mei in his arms as she holds on to his finger. And it’s not just the three of you. Miso has entered the room too, and he sits on the foot of your bed, staring at Jaehyun and Mei.

Throughout the pregnancy, your cat had shown little to no interest in your belly. Once or twice you’d woken up in your late pregnancy to find him curled up in bed with you, his head on your belly, but that was it. One of those times, your little baby had kicked right where Miso’s head was, and he’d lifted his head looking irritated, and swatted gently back at your belly.

So you’re not quite sure how he’s going to react to her now. It took him so long to warm up to the boys. Even now he only lets a few of them approach him without him fleeing, even less of them can hold him. But when he hops off the bed and walks over to curl up beneath the crib, with his eyes following the movement of Jaehyun gently rocking in the chair, you think maybe this will all be okay.

“How is she?” You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. 

“Perfect.” Jaehyun looks up at you. “She’s just been sleeping.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb, and he sighs as he also touches the shell of her ear. 

There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite decipher, and before you can ask him, the door opens. Doyoung peeks around the door. His eyes run over you in the bed, over Jaehyun in the chair, down to Mei, and then back to you. His fingers are white on the door. 

“I just got an email. The results.” Doyoung wags his phone. “I think some of the others might have them too.”

He comes inside and flops down on the bed beside you. Doyoung’s hair falls in a messy array around his head, and he lets out a nervous noise, reaches for your hand, and lays it on his chest. “My heart is racing. God.”

“Don’t be nervous, Doyoungie.” You drum your fingers on his chest. “What do you want? So few of you have actually told me what you’re hoping for.” You look back at Jaehyun, and he’s looking at you, the light of certainty in his eyes, as if he’s trying to reassure you that he wants his result to be a positive paternity.

“I love you,” Doyoung says quietly, just for you to hear. “It doesn’t matter if she’s mine or not. I’ll love her like my own. Shall we look?” 

You can almost hear Jaehyun holding his breath in the corner, his mind racing as he worries if this is going to be positive. 

Doyoung holds his phone up over his face, unlocks it, and right there is the email. You put your head right beside his, looking up at the little screen. Doyoung reads quicker than you do, and as you hear his shaky exhale, you see the conclusion, reading that Doyoung is not the father.

“Well?” Jaehyun asks from across the room. 

“It’s not me.” Doyoung drops his phone back down onto his chest. “So you still have hope, Jaehyun.”

Over the next few hours, a few more of the boys come find you, each of them with their results, all negative. 

Second was Mark, wandering in just a few minutes after Doyoung. The way his face fell when he saw the negative result made you want to kiss him and promise him you’d give him a baby of his own as soon as you were able. Jungwoo slipped into the room, barely glancing at Jaehyun who still sat over in the corner rocking Mei, and Jungwoo tells you that his result was negative also.

“Which is a good thing, probably. I don’t think I’d be ready for this. Dad Jungwoo? No, Uncle Jungwoo sounds much better to me.” He kisses you on the forehead as if you’re supposed to feel some sense of relief instead of a tightening in your gut as your boyfriends are wheedled away.

Ten finds you later that night as you’re standing in the kitchen grabbing a bite to eat. “I’m going to have to break my mom’s heart when I call her next time,” Ten says as he shows you his email. “I think she really was looking forward to having a granddaughter, but I’m not so sure she’s going to get a biological grandchild from me.” He scuffs his toes across the floor, takes a deep breath, then asks, “Can I talk to you?”

The tightness in your belly winds even tighter. “Yes?”

“I love you,” Ten tells you as he takes your hand. “You’re like my best friend, and we always have so much fun together, and I feel like I can talk to you about everything and anything, which is why I don’t think it’ll be too much for me to tell you that I think it’s time for me to exit this relationship. I’ve had fun, and I love getting off with you. But I think I’d be happier in a different relationship.”

You’re not terribly surprised. Ever since the start of the pregnancy, probably even before then, Ten and you had been withdrawing from each other in terms of the sexual aspect of this relationship. He was more often entangling himself with your other boyfriends than with you, so this doesn’t feel so much like a break up, rather it’s like it just fizzled out. 

“I’m not ruling out the possibility of still having sex with you in the future, though.” Ten makes sure to wink as he says it, nudging you with his arm. 

Xiaojun, Hendery, Taeil. All three are negative. Xiaojun looks upset at first, honestly disappointed. Hendery lets out a sigh of relief before apologizing for feeling so relieved. Taeil just kind of shuts down upon seeing that it’s not him, and when you try to talk to him about it, he says something that just really makes you sad.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I wasn’t really expecting it to be me anyway. I wouldn’t be that lucky.” 

Even with half of the boys marked off the list of fathers, that knot in your belly is still tight. 

The next day, only Lucas gets his emailed result. You’re sitting at the kitchen table with Jaemin and YangYang and still-glum Taeil. Lucas’s face goes pale as he looks over at you and your daughter, his grip white-knuckled on his phone as he checks out the email that has the potential to change his entire future.

The answer is this: a deep, long sigh he lets out, his entire body relaxing, a laugh bubbling out of him and his wide smile stretching his lips.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be this happy about this.” He covers his mouth. “It’s not me. Sorry, Mei.” He stands up, comes over and places a very gentle kiss on her head. “I’ve gotta go tell Chaerin. I promised her I’d tell her the results as soon as I got them.” And then he’s gone from the room. 

You can’t deny the slight relief you feel too. You wouldn’t have wanted Lucas to be so locked into this when he’s the only one who’s truly left the relationship entirely, moved on and all that. 

And when you wake on the fifth day, you can feel the energy buzzing in the house. It’s late into the morning already, so several of the guys are awake. You were just up a few hours before, feeding and trying to calm Mei down, but the house had been otherwise quiet then. Now you can hear semi-excited voices echoing from down the hallway, from downstairs too. 

As the number of possible fathers has dwindled, your remaining boyfriends had grown more and more excited. Or anxious might be the better word. Johnny, Taeyong, Yuta, Kun, Jaehyun, and WinWin had yet to get their results. 

Mei’s still asleep at the moment, and you move over to stand beside the crib, looking down at her little sleeping form. She was blessed with a decent amount of thick, black hair right away, and it looks messy at the moment. You want to reach down and smooth it into place, but you know that in doing that you just might wake her.

So you hold your breath and keep quiet and still, just watching her, watching her chest rise and fall.

You feel the movement from the other side of the room more than hearing it. Quiet footsteps from the door toward you, and then an arm sliding around your waist, a body knocking against your side.

“Hey, good morning.” Taeyong squeezes you gently. “We have some news.”

“Yeah?” 

Taeyong hums in confirmation. “Johnny woke me up this morning when he dropped his phone when he saw that he had his results. So I checked and saw I had mine too. Jaehyun said he still doesn’t have his results though, so Johnny and I checked ours.” You look sideways at him as he drops his head, and he murmurs, “Neither of us. But I’m pretty sure I heard Yuta say through the wall that his result was in.”

Yuta, Kun, Jaehyun, and WinWin. 

One of them is the father. 

You sigh heavily, resting your head on Taeyong’s shoulder. His nose touches your hair and then he stands up a little straighter. 

“Don’t stress, baby.” Taeyong rubs his hands up and down your side. “How are you feeling? Do you need more sleep? Some time to yourself? Because there are about sixteen of us in this house right now that can watch Mei so you can catch a little more sleep.” He senses your hesitation, so suggests, “Or we can call your mom to come over, if you don’t trust us.”

You turn around then to face Taeyong. “It’s not that I don’t trust you all. Some of you are good with kids and babies, one man in this house is her father. Of course I trust you guys with her. But, I also wouldn’t put it past some people in this house to get overly rambunctious when she’s around, and I just don’t--”

The door opens again, Johnny looking in. “Hey, did he tell you?” 

“That we’re down to the final four? Yeah.” You step away from Taeyong, stretching your arms over your head. The shirt you wore to sleep lifts up, and you feel the cool air touching your belly. You catch Johnny’s eyes looking, and you quickly tug your shirt down, feeling embarrassed about how you look right now. It was one thing when your belly was big from the baby inside you, but now she’s evacuated, and your uterus and abdominal muscles are still working on coming to terms with that. 

“I don’t need anyone else to watch her. I’ve got it.” You turn to Taeyong again.

He bites his lip, looking imploringly past you to Johnny. 

Johnny clears his throat. “Babe, don’t take this the wrong way. But you’ve been home for, what, three days now?” He comes farther into the room, standing between you and your ensuite, edging nearer to the crib. Johnny glances at Taeyong, then back at you. He asks, “How many hours of sleep have you gotten? And, uh, we love you, we truly do, but, babe, you stink. Please take a shower.”

Something hot, like shame and embarrassment, flushes through you.

“No, don’t be like that.” Johnny steps forward quickly. “None of us wanted to say anything because you’re obviously busy and focused on taking care of Mei, but at some point you need to focus on you. Let us take her off your hands for just half an hour. That’s all. Can you trust us to do that?”

Your face is burning. How can you say no after that? Do you really smell that bad? You knew that you were sweating in your sleep, but you didn’t think it was that much. You also didn’t realize that you hadn’t showered since you got home from the hospital. 

“Okay. But just please be careful with her.” You glance down at her in the crib as she makes a little sound. “Maybe I should--”

“No.” Johnny and Taeyong both say it at the same time.

Mei stretches her arms above her head, wiggling as she blinks and opens her eyes fully. Her little face scrunches up, and you know that she’s about to cry. You take a step toward her, but Taeyong beats you to it. 

He scoops her up in his arms. 

“Shh. Shh, you’re okay.” He holds her against his chest. “You’re fine, Mei. Momma’s gonna go get clean and fresh, and you get to spend some time with Uncle Tyong.” He kisses her head, cradling her, swaying from side to side. From where you stand, you can see that she’s just staring up at his face, all signs of fussiness gone.

“Go shower.” Johnny’s hand curls over your shoulder. “And don’t rush, okay? Take a little time for yourself.”

Taeyong’s still murmuring to Mei, talking to her in a sweet baby-voice when you step through the door into your bathroom, and as you’re undressing, you can hear him and Johnny leaving your room, which also makes you nervous. You’re going to shower quickly.

As you wait for the water to warm up, you hear your bedroom door open, you hear your name, and then a soft knock on the bathroom door. Jaehyun opens the door, looking around at you. “Where’s Mei?”

“Taeyong’s got her.” You fold your arms in front of you, trying to hide your belly from his view, but it’s too late. You know he’s already seen, but he just smiles and looks you up and down again. “He and Johnny reminded me that I need to shower. Do I really smell bad?” 

Jaehyun avoids looking at you for just long enough that you know you’ve got your answer. Then he smiles all sweetly and says, “Can I shower with you?”

“I hope you know you’re not getting anything out of this.” You step back toward the shower. “Just a shower.”

Jaehyun nods, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He strips naked quickly and follows you into the shower. Jaehyun’s gentle as he helps you suds up your hair with shampoo, as he kisses you. You relax with his hands on you, and you knit your fingers in his hair, holding his mouth to yours. 

Maybe it is nice having a house full of babysitters, so you can catch a few minutes of you-time right here.

How many parents can just take some time to make out in the shower when they’ve got a newborn?

“Oh, that reminds me.” You pull back from the kiss, patting your hand on Jaehyun’s chest. “Did you get your result yet? It’s just you, Yuta, WinWin, and Kun left. All your dreams are this close to coming true.” You wrap your arms around his neck.

Jaehyun groans and rolls his head back on his shoulders. 

“What?” You ask. “Jaehyun? What does that reaction mean?”

“I got my result right after Doyoung got his.” Jaehyun quietly admits. “I felt the notification in my pocket while he was laying there with you, checking his result.” His throat bobs. “I was just scared to check it.”

“Jae.” You slip your arms from around his neck, sliding your hands down into his, squeezing them. “You know that no matter what the result is, you can still be her dad?”

He sighs and presses his face against your shoulder. The shower’s spray bounces off his shoulders, the sound filling your ears. Jaehyun suddenly seems so small and tired and nervous. “It’s the jealousy, I think, that made me really scared to check the email. I don’t want to be jealous. I know that even if I’m not her biological father, I can still be her dad. But I want to be her only dad because I’m a jealous dick. That’s what Yuta called me the other night when I was complaining about that.”

“Can we check what the email says when we get out of here?” You rake your fingers through his soaked hair. Jaehyun nods against your shoulder. 

Once you’re both out of the shower, Jaehyun piddles around, wasting time fixing his hair in the bathroom, taking his time when he leaves back to his room to dress, and then when he comes back into your room, he returns with Yuta and a fussy Mei. Yuta passes her off to you, explaining that he thinks she’s hungry or needs her diaper changed.

“Well, then this would be a good time for both of you to learn to change her diaper, wouldn’t it?” You lay her on the little changing table you have in the corner, beckon both Jaehyun and Yuta over.

Jaehyun moves slower, looking reluctant to have to face that, but Yuta comes over right away.

“Oh God.” He brings his hand up to cover his nose as the mess in your daughter’s diaper is revealed. “Why does it look like that?”

“She’s on a diet of breastmilk, Yuta. And she’s only a few days old. It’s not going to look like an actual poo.” You step aside, looking over at Jaehyun who’s standing behind you. “Well, I’m not going to be the only one in this relationship changing her diapers. Come on. This is a learning experience.”

Yuta makes the first move, and you know he’s just trying to rile up Jaehyun when he says, “Her dad can take care of a little dirty diaper. Isn’t that right, Mei?” And then he starts speaking to her in Japanese.

Jaehyun frowns, and he steps forward, elbowing Yuta out of the way. “I can do this. It’s just a diaper, right?”

After a few minutes of them whining and groaning and taking breaks to gag (it’s really not that bad), little Mei has a fresh diaper and she’s settling in again. Yuta stands beside the crib, his arms folded on the wooden gate, his chin resting on them as he watches her wave her hands up at the mobile that spins around over her head.

Jaehyun settles back onto your bed, his arms behind his head, feet kicked out. His phone rests face-up on his belly.

Just as you’re about to bring it up to Jaehyun again about checking his email, you hear another ding. Yuta stiffens up at the crib, and you can see his phone screen lighting up his pocket from a notification. He straightens up, fishes his phone out of his pocket, and then sits down on the edge of your bed too.

“Well, what does it say?” You sit on the bed between them. Both Yuta and Jaehyun are holding their phones now, white-knuckled, faces drawn and pale. “Let’s take a look. Go on.”

They’re both moving slowly, reluctantly, so you grab one of Jaehyun’s hands, one of Yuta’s hands, and hold them in yours for reassurance.

Together, they lift their phones, unlock them. Your eyes dart back and forth between them, as if you’ll be able to read the light on their faces or see the tiny print reflected in their eyes. So instead you look down into the triangle of your duvet between your folded legs. And you wait expectantly for one of them to say....

“It’s me.” 

His voice is hoarse. Hoarse but full of relief and excitement at newfound fatherhood, but also fear and worry and so many anxieties. He says again now, “I’m Mei’s father.”

You lift your head and look straight ahead at where WinWin stands framed in the doorway, holding out his phone, the screen all lit up, the email pulled up right there with the evidence. And he’s smiling. Because he’s the father, because his daughter that is half him and half you and entirely perfect in every way is on the other side of the room.

Jaehyun’s off the bed before you can move, and he’s standing in front of WinWin to jerk the phone from his hand to check the result, to see it with his own eyes.

Yuta stays planted on the bed with you, his fingers knotted with yours as he looks back down at his phone. He tilts it so you can see his email, see the result that confirms that he is not a DNA match with Mei. “Doesn’t mean I’ll love her any less,” Yuta mumbles as he brings your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s some part of my DNA in her, and I’ll treat her as such until the day neither you or her wants me in your lives.”

“Thank you, Yuta.” You rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. “I love  you.”

“Love you too. You should probably go over there.” He nods at where Jaehyun is still staring down at WinWin’s phone with a truly shocked and sad look on his face. “I’m good, my love. Go talk to the new Papa and the depressed not-dad.”

When you slide up to them, your hand drifts over Jaehyun’s lower back, and your other hand you lift to WinWin’s cheek.

“Hi, daddy.”

WinWin smiles, wide and shy, excited. “I’m a dad.” His gaze flicks toward Jaehyun as your other boyfriend hands his phone back. “Jae, are you mad?”

Jaehyun shakes his head quietly and looks away. “Not mad. On some level I knew I wasn’t her dad. I mean, someone said it a few months ago. I often sat to the side during sex, so I had less of a chance than the rest of you all. And then as soon as she was born, I could tell she doesn’t look like me.” He looks over at the crib again, then back at WinWin, and he reaches up, fingers brushing WinWin’s pointy ear. “She has his ears, so I had a feeling.”

She does? You hadn’t noticed that, not consciously but perhaps subconsciously you had. Maybe that’s the little thing that you’d noticed that made you think she looked like one of them. 

“I’m not mad. I’m not even upset really. Relax.” He cups his hand agains the back of your head, stroking your hair gently with a soft smile on his face. “I’m going to eat something. Yuta hyung?” Jaehyun steps away from you and WinWin. “We should leave the happy parents with their sweet girl.”

“And break the news to Kun, if he hasn’t already seen his result.” Yuta pushes off the bed, kissing your cheek as he passes you by, and ruffling WinWin’s hair. He slaps his hand down on WinWin’s shoulder too. “Congrats, WinWin.”

WinWin grins. “Thanks, Yuta.”

And as Yuta and Jaehyun walk out the door together, Yuta throws his arm around Jaehyun’s shoulders. “Better luck to us both next time, right?”

The door closes, and WinWin sighs lightly, sinking into you, pulling you in for a hug, but he also tips your head back, capturing your lips in a kiss. You smile into the kiss, laughing when WinWin does too.

“My family is going to be so surprised,” WinWin says to you. “When I tell them I have a daughter that was just born. Dong Mei.”

“Dong Mingmei.” You correct him. “Mei is just the name that was in common for all of the names I was considering. Mei’s her Korean name. Mingmei in Chinese. Maybe we should go visit your family when she’s a little older, when she can travel. Oh, I need to finish filling out the birth certificate. Give our daughter your name.”

You slip out of his arms, taking his hand and pulling him with you to the crib. Mei’s still staring up at the spinning mobile, but her eyelids are heavy, and now that you look at her, you can see what Jaehyun was saying about her ears. The one comes to an elfin point, like WinWin’s one ear does.

WinWin wraps his arms around your waist, his warm chest against your back, and his cheek rests atop your head. “We made a beautiful baby.”

You heart swells in your chest, looking down at your newborn daughter as her eyes close, watched over as she falls into sweet dreams by the two people who will forever and always adore her.

gimme that: a drabble <- Previous || Next -> Fresh Air

a/n: so I had already decided on the name Mei when I realized that’s the same name I used for the baby in we got that good love (the daddy/husband Kun smut), but that was just a coincidence. I chose it because it’s a name that works in Japanese, Chinese, and kinda even in Korean.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. This one was a long one, oof sorry about that. Sharing, commenting, feedback are all greatly appreciated! Please let me know what you thought!

#nct smut #wayv smut #poly smut #nct #wayv

[thecousinsdangereux]

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

--

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

#bumbleby #writing #rwby #bees racer au #for #corvophobia #<33333 #just a little something for a birthday treat

[fanmoose12]

Hange, the president of Paradis and then Levi her bodyguard. Headcanons?

oooooh, this one is so good, i'm such a sucker for bodyguard!aus tbh....

hange as a bright, charismatic and intelligent leader that is also very opinionated and passionate, which, unfortunately, angers a lot of people

that's what levi is for! he makes sure that hange doesn't get into trouble

.....it's the most stressful job he ever had

when he first started working for hange, he couldn't understand why her previous bodyguard left. she paid more than enough, and hange didn't look like a person who acts too harsh or demanding, so what could possibly be the reason?

and then comes his first day at work.....

to call hange restless is the biggest understatement in the world. she literally never stops moving. she runs from office to office, has a dozen of meetings every day and still finds the time to give a couple of interviews to the press

levi is impressed, but is also..... exhausted

and annoyed, he's so annoyed with hange

it's not that she never rests, but she's so careless that it drives him insane

and she constantly manages to anger even more people, and levi isn't sure if even he can take it

during one extremely busy week, he stopped nine assassination attempts

nine

after the week was over and he made sure hange was safe and secure inside her home, he went out with her assistant moblit and got black out drunk, complaining about her throughout the evening

his ramblings started with things like "she never looks where she goes and she doesn't check the food before eating", moved to "i get that she's busy, and i understand that she's trying to run our shitty country, but jesus fucking christ, can't she take fifteen minutes out of her schedule to take a damn shower?" and ended with "god, have you seen her in moments when she gives a speech? her eyes burn so brightly and they're full of conviction and passion, and damn... it sucks that i can't watch her and have to survey the perimeter instead"

moblit listens to it all with a sympathetic smile, thinking "ah... another victim of president zoe's charms"

hange has to meet with ambassadors, and levi is livid

he doesn't leave hange alone with them even for a second

"that onyakopon, i don't trust him. he smiles too much, he definitely is planning something."

"pieck finger? no, no, hange, you absolutely cannot go to a meeting with her alone. she looks at you weirdly, she asked to meet with you at a restaurant and sent you flowers? i'm definitely coming to that meeting with you, who knows what's going on inside her head"

"zeke yeager wants to see you? wait a minute, hange, i'll bring the rest of my team. and don't talk with him on a phone while i'm gone, he's extremely dangerous"

hange feels a bit overwhelmed with his care. and sometimes she gets annoyed, she was really looking forward to that date with pieck, but levi just had to come along and ruin all the romantic atmosphere

but he's also a good man, funny too. teasing him is delightful, and it provides a good break from her very hard work

and since he scared off all of her potential suitors.....

hange decides that she should try and pursue levi

.....which is easier said than done

for starters, levi is incredibly dense, and all of her hints and carefully crafted innuendos go right through him

what's more, he destroys her every attempt to create a moment

hange takes a day-off and invites him to a beautiful restaurant with a picturesque terrace. there is no one there, but them, and the stars shine bright like diamonds

to enjoy this view side by side..... what could possibly be more romantic?

but levi doesn't even glance at it, too busy watching the only entrance to the terrace

hange tries to make him join her, attempts to engage him in a conversation, but everything fails

levi watches her like a hawk, deaf to her words, refusing to leave his post

hange orders another bottle of wine, and decides to drink in her bedroom, rewatching bridget jones. levi is standing right behind her door, and when hange falls asleep halfway through a second movie, he tucks her in

he moves hair from her face, marvelling at her beauty and falling in love just a little bit more

he chides himself afterwards, cursing himself for getting too attached

he tries to hide his feelings, while hange keeps pursuing him, and levi's resolve is as thin as ever

every time, hange prepares for some grand event and every time she comes back home from it, she asks levi to unzip her dress

and levi is that close to losing it

it all culminates when he stops another assassination attempt. turns out, zeke yeager indeed wanted to kill hange. levi took the bullet intended for her, and while the wound is not mortal, tears gather in hange's eyes as she holds levi's body, while he bleeds out on the white carpet in her office

levi sees her tears and gently wipes them away. delirious with pain, he whispers "i love you" right before losing consciousness

hange was never that angry at someone. after so many months of tormenting her and her heart, he takes the bullet for her and finally confesses? and then has the gull to get knocked out?

when the ambulance arrives, hange gets inside with levi. she sits by his hospital bed, holding his hand and impatiently waiting for him to wake up so she could tell just how much his stunt pissed her off

#now i low-key want to read a bodyguard!au fic lmao #levihan

[caramelcal]

her favorite protector

summary: its been weeks since Luke and Bambi last spoke after their argument at the club, and everything seems bleak. things take a turn for the worst for bambi, but it seems only luke can save her from this one. 

word count: 3.25k

requests: Anonymous asked:Hope your doing well and Omg you cannot leave us like that with his favorite club :( my heart is breaking. We need more!! We need cute fluffiness where Luke can change some of those controlling ways. Maybe a kidnapping or something? His worst nightmare coming true that his rivalry is using Bambi to hurt him?

Anonymous asked:For the next part of bambi and Luke, maybe while bambi is at Anna’s, a rival of Luke finds her and she’s really scared and even though they aren’t on the best terms Luke somehow finds her and rescue her

this gif...wow. he’s so pretty <3

ALSO?? LUKE IS ENGAGED TO SIERRA??? I FOUND OUT AND SCREAMED FR AHDFGHBNJHGFD IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM OMG

ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ- ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ғɪᴄs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ. ɪ ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ʟᴜᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ᴅɪsʀᴇsᴘᴇxᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ғɪᴄs, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟʏ ғᴏʀ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋʏᴏᴜ <3

Bambi hadn’t had a particularly great few weeks. She needed space, she knew that, and she knew that time away from Luke would do her the world of good. Anna had been nothing but kind to her, hospitable, not asking too many questions about why she was there and why Luke hadn’t shown up. Anna knew of Luke’s more controlling ways, so it baffled her that he hadn’t even acknowledged the girl being away for so long.

From what Anna had observed previously, Luke could barely breathe without the girl by his side; couldn’t rest easy. Neither could his girlfriend...if they could even call each other that anymore.

Anna, in all honestly, just wanted to know what the hell happened. She knew her best friend well, and she hadn’t stopped looking like you had kicked a puppy right in front of her. Hardly even speaking, barely going out, a very small and almost unnoticeable frown on her face.

It was a miracle that Anna had managed to get her out to the club last night. Sure, the smaller girl didn’t have the best time, but it was far better than any plans that she had at the weekend. All she planned on doing was sitting around and moping, the girl was miserable.

Maybe it was selfish, but she really wanted Luke to text her. She wanted some sort of proof that he still cared for her, and compared to his normal overprotective nature, this was so...different. It was almost as if he didn’t care for her anymore, maybe he moved on. Bambi didn’t know. What she did know of, however, was that Luke had a history of sleeping around. What if he didn’t bother coming back for her and just went back to his old ways instead?

It made her feel sick.

Maybe that’s why she barely got through the first round of shots before she was telling Anna she was going to head home, not wanting to be too much of a damper on her best friend’s night.

It seemed that the plan had worked. By the next morning, Anna was nursing an awful migraine due to her hangover and was sporting many new bruises that she didn’t know where they were from. At some point during the night, she had broken a heel off of her shoes, the discarded heel nowhere to be seen.

Anna still demanded they were going out to run errands the day after, dismissing her hangover but demanding that the smaller girl drove her. Surprisingly, she had gotten used to driving after so long of not even having her hands on a steering wheel. It wasn’t her fault that Luke had always preferred that he or Jacob drove her.

Granted, the girl didn’t have a car yet, but Anna was chill about her using hers.

“Anna,” The girl called out from the room, putting her converse on and tying them up, awaiting her friend to reply to her shout.

However, her reply never came, making the girl sigh. Maybe the girl had fallen asleep or just didn’t want to shout back due to her headache. She quickly picked up her purse and walked into the hallway leading into the main front room, “When are we leaving for-”

The smaller girl cut herself off, looking up towards where Anna should have been by herself but instead was pulled against a man’s chest, tears streaming from her eyes, absolutely horrified. A gun was pointed at Anna’s head, making Bambi still in fear.

“One bad move and this bullet goes into her brain, kid,” One of the men’s gruff voices warned, making fear hit the small girl like a wave. She didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t exactly prepared for it.

Bambi stilled, eyes traveling up to meet the older man in front of her, he looked powerful, must have been their leader. He was older than her, but couldn’t have been much older than 30. Small pieces of stubble decorating his jawline and a black shirt covering his muscles, stretching across his wide chest.

“Good move, princess. You’re coming with us,” The next thing the small girl knew was that the gun was no longer pointed towards Anna, instead, it was directly facing her. One pulling of the trigger and a bullet was going to lodge its way between her eyes.

Bambi didn’t have any time to react or notice the person behind her before their cloth-covered hand was covering her mouth. She was pulled against their body, restricted, unable to scream. Her mouth was dry with fear, the strong smell of chemicals hitting her nostrils as she breathed in. Chloroform.

Bambi’s eyes meet Anna’s tear-filled ones, her figure shaking lightly with terror. Anna was pressed down against the counter now, cheek against the marble, hands behind her back, and gun pressing against her temple. She could only watch, helpless, as her best friend was being manhandled out of the house.

Bambi couldn’t do anything either -weaponless- defenseless against these guys but she knew exactly why they were there. They were there to get her, to use her as a bargaining chip against Luke, just about the biggest cliché in the book. The small girl couldn’t help but wonder what they would do to her once they found out that she was useless, and no longer affiliated with the tall Australian. Would they put a bullet in her brain? Send her in a bag to the bottom of a lake?

However, the girl didn’t get much time to question or worry about this as the chloroform from the cloth weakened her as she was about the be thrown in the car, slumping against the man behind her, eyes closed, legs collapsing from beneath her, her consciousness slowly ebbing away into nothingness.

  By the time that the girl had woken up, her vision was blurry, and she was tied to a chair, her arms behind her, legs tied to an individual leg of said chair. She was in a warehouse that looked to be completely abandoned, a hole in the roof allowing cold air to waft about. It was freezing.

“Looks like sleeping beauty had woken up,” A scratchy masculine voice taunted at the small girl, standing tall in front of her, blocking her from seeing anything.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was also scratchy, maybe from the chloroform, she wasn’t entirely sure. She still felt disorientated, barely keeping herself from staying upright as she looked at the man who stood above her, a sinister grin on his face.

“We don’t want anything from you, kid. We want your boyfriend’s head blown off his body.”

“I don’t,” Bambi cut herself off for a moment, coughing, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The man above her scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back down at the girl again, “Don’t act like I’m stupid, princess. All you gotta do is phone him, and Hemmings will come rushing to save his little girlfriend.”

Tears gather in the girl’s eyes as the reality of the situation kicks in. It isn’t a dream, this was her real life. She didn’t want to be trapped like this, in this chair or this life. Luke didn’t care for her anymore, he hadn’t talked to her in weeks, why would he come and save her?

“He won’t come.”

“Don’t play me, princess. I’ve never seen Hemmings ever with a girl twice until you,” He pointed towards the girl, sneering ever so slightly, “You are the key to us getting his gang wiped off of the map. starting with Hemmings, then Clifford, then Hood and Irwin.”

Tears choked up the girl’s throat, her mouth opening as she thought of the fight that she had with him, then the weeks of not talking. The loneliness, the discord. Luke hadn’t bothered to reach out to her, to check that she was ok. Her head shook slightly as the strong emotions continued to arise, “He doesn’t love me anymore, it’s useless.”

The man’s hand gripped the edge of Bambi’s shirt lightly, his jaw clenching as he spoke harshly, spit flying out of his mouth as he threatened the young girl. The gun, which had loosely been held in the man’s hand was now pointed at her once more, “Didn’t ask for your fucking sob story, kid. Open your fucking phone and call him.”

Bambi was frozen in fear, it felt like ice was going through her veins as her phone was thrashed harshly into her shaking hand. At her hesitance to call him, the gun was pressed harshly into the skin of her ribcage as the man ordered again, this time with his words even more clipped, “Now.”

She knew the man wasn’t asking, it wasn’t even an order, it was a threat. This man was dangerous, and she was defenseless against him, if she even wanted a chance of survival she had to comply and hope that he prayed mercy on her and let her go when she realizes she isn’t of use. Shakily, the girl found Luke’s contact, swallowing back her tears, she pressed the call button.

It was silent in the big room in the warehouse other than the few rings the phone made out as the man made her put the phone on speaker. Surprisingly, only a few moments of the phone ringing, it stopped, connecting onto the call with the tall Australian himself.

“Hello?” Luke’s voice sounded out and the girl felt the tears begin to roll down her cheeks at the sound of his voice. It was familiar, it felt like home but at the same time, she felt her stomach clench. His voice was surprisingly soft, the only indication that Luke knew that it was his Bambi calling.

She knew that he had been expecting her to call most likely. She just wished it hadn’t happened like this. She opened her mouth to talk, but the words didn’t form as the tears fell harder, his voice sounding through once more, this time sounding more concerned, “Bambi? What is it?”

“Luke I-” She cut herself off, forcing her sobs to stay silent as she felt the man press the gun against her in annoyance, rolling his eyes before stealing the phone out of the girl’s hand.

“Hemmings, you know when I found out you had a new girlfriend I didn’t think she’d be quite as soft as this,” The man taunted as he stared down at the girl in front of him, “She’s not your usual type, is she? Where’d you find this one?”

“What do you want, Andrews?”

“I want you to meet me at the warehouse, you know the one I’m sure,” The man had rolled his eyes, not that Luke could have seen and a smirk rose to his face, “I’d tell you to come alone without any weapons but I won’t. Bring Hood, Clifford, Irwin, I don’t care. I can just wipe out you all at the same time.”

It was silent for a moment, “What makes you think I will?”

“Because if you don’t I’ll make sure the next time you see your little love she’ll have a bullet in her head. Wouldn’t want me to mess up her pretty little face, would you?” He looked back at the smaller girl again, sending her a malicious smile that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, “You have an hour, Hemmings.”

With that, the man hung up, tossing the girl’s phone to the floor and crushing it swiftly with the heel of his shoe.

The next hour was taunting for the small girl. The man didn’t leave her side, almost as if he was afraid that she would escape. At that time, she tried to distract herself with anything, but the cold warehouse was bare apart from the chair she was stuck to and the clock that stood high on the wall in front of her, taunting her almost.

The time slowly went by, and the girl lost hope. Luke wasn’t coming for her. Soon enough, the clock struck the time that would have been an hour past the phone call. Then another ten minutes passed. Another five.

“He isn’t coming,” The girl had spoken up to the man, which most definitely wasn’t the smartest thing.

The man continued to look straight forward, scoffing, “Shut up girl. He will.”

He seemed so assured of himself, of Luke. For a man that hated Luke so much, he seemed to have a lot of faith in him. The silence, which had yet again filled up the room was broken by the sound of someone talking through the radio, yet it was too broken up to hear.

The man took the radio off of the side of his pants, holding it up to his face, “Jason? Tyson? Can anyone hear me?”

Only more crackling sounds were heard until it faded off into silence. The man’s face twisted into a scowl as he cursed under his breath, getting his gun out and marching towards the door. He wasn’t very smart, clearly, leaving the girl unguarded and alone; she was all of the leverage he had against Luke.

The sound of gunshots made the girl flinch, eyes screwing shut as she began to shake. She didn’t want to be here. She just wanted to be home, in her bed. Not Anna’s guest bedroom, but her own. She couldn’t deal with this anymore.

The fighting got louder and louder until she heard someone battering right against the walls of the room she was in. The door heaved open, but she couldn’t find it in herself to open her eyes, too petrified of who could be there if she did. Hands pressed against her skin as she jumped, trying to fight them away but to no avail as they untied her bound legs.

“Bambi,” The man breathed out, and suddenly the smell of a familiar cologne clung to Bambi’s nostrils, her tears going thicker.

Her eyes opened to find Luke in front of her, crouched down, throwing the rope away that she had been tied to. She threw herself into his arms, hands going around his neck, one hand in his curls. He held onto her like he was scared she was going to evaporate right between his arms, holding her close against his body.

“It’s alright dove, I’ve got you,” He whispered, trying his best to comfort the sobbing girl in his arms. His eyes were closed, thankful to have the girl back in his embrace, and had no plan to let go of her anytime soon, “I got you.”

Calum, Ashton, and Michael had covered his back, successfully eliminating all of the threats as he had raced to get his girl, to have her safe with him once more. They had entered the room to see their best friend crouched down, practically encasing the smaller girl in his arms as she cried, him comforting her. They deserved their privacy, even after everything that had gone on, but they knew they needed to get out of here soon.

The girl’s tears subsided for a moment as she pulled away from the man, eyes darting around and voice panicky, “You need to find Anna, she was-”

“I know, she called me. She’s safe. We’ve been trying to figure out a plan to get you back for three hours now baby,” After his reassurance, he used the hand that was on the back of her head to push her towards him slightly, kissing her forehead as he played with her hair.

Soon enough, he has his leather jacket off, leaving him in only his black button-up, splaying the jacket across her shoulders to keep her warm. The drive back to their condo is silent, but that’s exactly how it should be. Luke doesn’t take his hand away from Bambi for the entire ride, despite how dangerous it could be. He just wants to remind himself that she’s there; back in his arms.

Luke had to admit, the condo felt warmer now that she was back in it. She sat on the counter in the bathroom, hand holding onto Luke’s as if it was her lifeline as he ran them both a bath, helping her strip down and get into the bath before sliding in behind her, pulling her against him.

Bambi basked in the warmth that both the water and the person behind her gave her. They barely talked for the first ten minutes, enjoying the comfort that the silence brings with it.

“I love you,” Luke murmured, pressing a kiss against her shoulder, stubbly beard itching her shoulder.

“I love you too, Lu,” The girl twisted around to face the man, pressing her lips against his, bubble-covered hand getting bubbles on his face. She doesn’t mention the beard, far too tired to make unnecessary conversation. She, however, noticed the guilty and solemn expression on her boyfriend’s face, quietly stating, “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“I should’ve protected you,” He whispered, hand reaching up to cradle her cheek, softly tracing patterns on her cheek with his thumb.

“No, you were giving me space, as I wanted. You were being respectful of my boundaries, and I love you for that.”

“It put you in danger, Bambi,” His hand that was around her waist pulled her closer when he said that, “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll protect you.”

“No, Lu. You can’t protect me forever,” The girl said, kissing him on the cheek before speaking again, eyes never moving from the gaze that she held with the blue-eyed man, “I wanna drive, go out by myself without Jacob. I wanna go to the club-”

“Absolutely not,” Luke scoffed, shaking his head, his protective side of the smaller girl coming out.

“Luke,”

She looked up at him, head tilted slightly to the side with an eyebrow raised. He stared down at her, holding his ground before he looked away, letting out a slightly exasperated and breathy laugh, “Fine. But you only go to the club with me and you never leave my side. And you’re taking boxing classes. MMA, whatever. I’m teaching you how to fight. You need to tell me where you’re going at all times and sometimes let Jacob drive you but you still need to leave when low-level gang members are here-”

“Luke.”

“Fine. But you need to keep your distance from them, ok?”

The girl smiled beamingly, kissing him on the lips. She knew that from a protective boyfriend like Luke, that was the best that she was going to get, “Thanks babe, love you!”

Luke grumbled something lightly that sounded like ‘yeah, love you too’ as he rolled his eyes, the girl starting to clamber out of the bath. Her hands were starting to wrinkle due to the water, showing her that she needed to get out. However, she nearly slipped, thankfully being held back by her boyfriend, who helped her get out safely.

Slipping a towel over her body, she sent her boyfriend a sheepish smile, “How’re you expected to defend yourself at the club if you can’t even get out the bath, Bambi?”

“Oh shut it, Lu,” The girl laughed, making the blond’s face crack out into a small smile, “You coming or what?”

“Yeah yeah, give me a minute,” With that, the girl left, leaving the man to shake his head with a smile on his face. They were both back, with each other, where they belonged.

#luke hemmings 5sos #luke hemmings #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings gang #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings x y/n #gang!luke hemmings x reader #gang!luke hemmings #gang!sos

[bestofbucky]

The Reason (2/2)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, panic attack, FLUFF!

Summary: Part 2 to The Signal.

A/N: I hope you all like it! Also feel free to submit requests, prompts, anything you want in my asks. (That kind of rhymed haha)!

Bucky almost wished that Helen hadn’t turned up. Maybe then he could have accepted your fate. You could have drifted off peacefully, instead of surrounded by all this chaos. 

The whole two hours on the quinjet he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just kept his eyes on the floor in front of him while doctors and nurses fought to keep you alive just three feet away. He blocked out their words, not wanting to hear what was happening, what was going wrong.

When they landed, you were wheeled away leaving Bucky and the other Avengers to sit in the waiting room. It wasn’t your average uncomfortable seats, too clean, sickly green walls, hospital waiting room. This was a SHIELD base so, due to the fact that agents would frequently be getting fatally injured, the waiting rooms had been given a makeover. Instead of having one big room there were lots of smaller ones, giving loved ones the privacy they needed. 

Looking around, Bucky could see how the room could be soothing for someone. There were a plethora comfortable places to sit or lie down and a stash of blankets and pillows in the far corner. He spotted a diffuser, and smelt the lavender fragrance it was emitting into the room.

The Avengers all spread out, none of them brave enough to talk. The only sounds filling the room were occasional sniffles, instrumental music flowing from the speakers and the low hiss of the diffuser.

Bucky couldn’t sit still, the repetitive music intended to calm the listener was doing the opposite. He could smell the lavender and all it was doing was reminding him of the baths you two would take together after grueling missions. His foot starts bouncing up and down as the music becomes the only thing he can hear and the smell attacks his nostrils.

He tries to focus on something else. Anything else, but his mind just keeps drifting back to you. The smell of your hair, the taste of your lips, the soothing touch of your hands. He wants to make it stop. He can’t make it stop. It’s too much.

He stands up abruptly, shocking a few people near him and stomps out the room. He finds himself laser focused on the wall ahead of him as if it’s the reason this is happening to you. He lands a hard punch. It’s the wall’s fault you got hurt. It’s the wall’s fault because it didn’t protect you. It’s the wall’s fault because it has done so many horrible things in the past and this is just the universe paying the wall back for all of it. The wall doesn’t deserve to be happy, he lands another punch to prove his point.

Exhaustion causes Bucky to collapse to the ground, his chest heaving as he holds his head in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees. His head is spinning and he tries to focus on his breathing to calm himself down. The only noise he can hear is the wheezing of his breath as he sucks in air at an erratic pace. 

Suddenly Steve is in front of him. He places his hands on the sides of Bucky’s face forcing him to look at him. Steve’s hands quickly become wet with tears but he doesn’t care. He only cares about calming his closest friend down. He speaks reassuring words and eventually Bucky manages to get his breathing under control and the world comes back into focus.

Bucky looks up into Steve’s eyes, which are red and puffy. He doesn’t even want to think about what his own look like. Steve pulls him into a hug and they stay holding each other as Bucky sobs into his chest. They eventually pull apart and Steve moves to sit next to Bucky, both leaning against the wall. They stay in silence, Steve knows that if Bucky wanted to say something he would. 

They sit there together until they spot Helen Cho heading into the waiting room. Gathering up the courage Bucky stands up, wiping at his face to get rid of any tears still left over. He glances at the wall, the two huge dents staring right back at him like a pair of eyes, but before his mind can tumble down the slope of self deprecating thoughts, Steve places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and guides him to the waiting room.

Stepping into the room, Bucky's eyes quickly fall to Helen. He notices her unkempt hair, the slouch in her shoulders and the slight drag of her feet as she walks to the edge of the room. He starts to wonder if Helen is feeling grief because you didn’t make it or exhaustion from the hours of extreme care you have been under.

Helen knows that there are assassins in the room, trained to pick up on micro-expressions and body language so she decides to get right to the point. “She is alive and stable.” 

Collective sighs are heard around the room. Tears fall from Wanda’s eyes just from the sheer relief that you are ok.

“She lost a lot of blood and was bleeding internally. We had to take the shrapnel out, treat the internal bleeding and then close the wound. Due to the size of the wound we inserted a drain to prevent infection. It will be kept in for a minimum of two days depending on how well it heals. We need to keep her here to monitor her recovery.” Helen explains to the room. “You can go and see her whenever you’re ready but she’s still under from the anesthesia.” 

After giving the directions to the room you’re in she excuses herself. Most likely heading somewhere to rest, understandably so.

The Avengers all make their way out of the room, Tony being the last out and mumbling something to Steve. He nods and turns to Bucky.

“We’re all going to make our way up to check on her, you can come with us or you can go take a shower and change so you can stay with her until she wakes up. Completely up to you.” Steve explains.

“I’ll go clean up, just please don’t leave her alone. I’ll be really quick.” There is still fear in Bucky’s eyes so Steve reassures him they will all stay with her until he gets there. 

Bucky makes his way to the quinjet to grab a change of clothes and then heads to a private room. He showers as quick as he can, he just wants to see you, to hold you in his arms and be near you. He rushes to your room but hesitates when he reaches the door.

He is like a deer in headlights, he wants so badly to go inside and see that you are ok but something is stopping him. Something he can’t quite put his finger on. Suddenly the door is opening, he quickly retreats.

“Bucky?” It’s Tony, he walks out and closes the door behind him. Bucky just stares, trying not to let the tears that are gathering in his eyes fall down onto his cheeks. Tony takes a few steps closer.

“How is she?” Bucky hesitantly asks.

“She is alive.” Tony sighs, he can’t lie to Bucky. “It isn’t going to be easy, when you walk in there. She doesn’t look like herself and it might be shocking, but she needs you. She needs you to be there at her side when she wakes up. Can you do that for her?” Tony places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and eventually Bucky nods.

Tony guides him to the door but takes a few steps back when they get there. It needs to be Bucky’s decision to go in, he can’t be forced in. He places his hand on the handle and slowly pushes the door open.

Walking into the room his eyes scan over your body. Tony was right, you don’t look like yourself. He panics a little because you don’t really appear to be alive, your body is so still, but he settles when he sees you are hooked up to a heart monitor and it is steadily beeping. He has never seen you so vulnerable and weak and it breaks his heart. He is brought out of his trance by the sound of the door closing, indicating all the Avengers had left the room. It was now just the two of you and all the machines and tubes you were connected to. 

He walks over and takes a seat by your head afraid at first to go near you, but every so often he shuffles the chair closer and closer until he is right next to the bed. His hand inches towards yours, retracting when he feels how cold your hand is but eventually he holds it with both of his hands, bringing it gently up to his lips. 

He stays holding your hand but tiredness hits him like a truck. It wasn’t just the kind of tiredness you felt in your eyes, no he felt it everywhere, his bones, his muscles but also his mind. He felt like his brain had been working overtime, processing everything that had happened, he wanted nothing more than to just let himself slip into a deep sleep.

He rests his head on the edge of the bed, telling himself he is only resting his eyes, he wanted to be awake when you woke up but he couldn’t stop sleep from taking over. Stealing his consciousness from him like a petty thief. 

You could feel your senses start to come back online. Your ears filled with the sound of consistent beeping, it was annoying but also slightly relaxing, the speed and pitch of each beep gradually hypnotising you. You shift your focus, you hear a low grumbling sound. It only lasts a few seconds and then it goes quiet. Then you hear it again, and again. Snoring.

You blink your eyes open and you’re greeted with a plain white ceiling, not very interesting at all. You continue to hear the grumbling sound so you decide to sit yourself up a bit to find the source. That was not a good idea, the movement sent shooting pains from your side up and down your body and you hiss at the pain. The grumbling stops with a weird grunt and you feel movement by the side of the bed.

“Doll? Are you awake?” The brown haired man comes into your view, his sleepy face showing the happiness he holds to see you are awake. 

You go to speak but your voice is scratchy and just comes out as an undecipherable croak. You start to get distressed that you can’t speak. 

“You’re ok doll. I’m here. You’re safe.” Bucky soothes you, stroking his hand over your hair.

Once you have calmed down Bucky presses the button for assistance and goes to fill up a plastic cup of water. 

You take the cup from him, deliberately brushing his hand with yours. You hold on to one of his hands and slowly bring it to your lips. His entire body relaxes and he smiles down at you.

You point to the back of your head and then to the cup of water and he seems to understand. He places his hand at the back of your head helping you lift your head, supporting all your weight with his hand so you don’t have to strain your neck. You raise the cup up to your lips and take small sips, the water instantly refreshing your dry mouth and throat.

The nurses come in and do all the checks they need to, everything is looking as good as it should. Once they have all left you look back to Bucky who has taken his place back in the chair by the side of your bed. You reach your hand out and he takes it, holding it as if it was the rarest jewel on earth. 

“Thank you.” You manage to croak out. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but quickly closes it when he sees the look on your face.

“You’re welcome doll.” He smiles back at you. “You should get some rest.” His smile is replaced by a caring frown which makes you chuckle slightly.

“Sleep with me?” You give him your best puppy eyes which only makes the creases in his forehead more prominent.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He admits sheepishly.

“They put me in a double bed for a reason.” It still hurts to talk so you hope that he isn’t going to need anymore convincing. You smile when he gets up and helps you shift to one side of the bed. He very carefully slides in next to you, his arms gently wrap around you as he tries to avoid everything that is attached to you and be as far away as possible from your wound.

You can feel his body is still tense so you squeeze his hand and gently rub circles on the back. Letting out a sigh of contentment you close your eyes, allowing sleep to sweep you away. 

Bucky was not so lucky, he loved having you in his arms but he was terrified to move in case he hurt you in any way. He just listened to the sound of your slow breathing which eventually lulled him into sleep.

You were both woken up by the nurses entering the room, saying they had to do their regular checks. Bucky slipped out from the bed to give them room, heading to the bathroom to give you some privacy. 

He stared into the mirror, the events that have taken place clear in the sag of his skin and the puffiness of his eyes. Sighing, he splashed some cold water on his face before drying off and heading out of the bathroom. 

The nurses had left and you were sitting up in bed, still to one side leaving room for Bucky. Again, he very carefully took his place next to you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders the other hand resting on your thigh.

He leans over to you and kisses you on the cheek. The words you both want to speak hang heavy in the air above your heads. 

“Bucky I-”  “Doll-”

You both chuckle at the awkwardness. “You go first.” Bucky encourages you with a smile.

“When we were out there, you told me not to say something.” You pause to gather your thoughts but Bucky takes this as an invitation to speak.

“I am so sorry. I never should have taken that away from you, I just didn’t think I could handle it if those words came out of your mouth.” His words fall out of his mouth in a jumbled mess but you understand.

“You knew what I was going to say?” You ask and he nods.

“You told me not to say it. To hold onto it as a reason to fight for survival. You don’t realise it already was my reason to fight. You, James Buchanan Barnes, are my reason to live.” You look up at him, a few tears falling down your cheeks but you notice he is the same.

“I love you Bucky.” 

“I love you doll.” 

His smile is the biggest you have ever seen. His happiness beams out of his body and lights up the room. He reaches a hand up to your cheek to wipe away the tears. Leaning in slowly he presses his lips to yours. In that kiss you feel his emotion, the unspoken words that don’t need to be shared because the kiss is saying everything it needs to. In that kiss you are transported to another world, a heaven but in that kiss you are brought home. 

Pulling away for breath you are both glowing, basking in each other’s love and the comfort in brings. 

“Say it again.” Bucky asks you.

“I love you Bucky.” 

“Again.” You are both laughing now.

“I love you Bucky.” Before he has the chance to ask you again you cup his cheek with one hand, the hand on your good side. You pull him closer to you and press kisses all over his face whispering ‘i love you’s in between each kiss.

Both your chuckles fill the room, replacing the atmosphere of sickness with one of joy and love. In that moment you felt like Bucky’s love could completely heal you. 

That day all the avengers came to see you, bringing flowers and gifts. There were tears shed but they were happy tears. Tears showing how grateful you all are to have your little family, to have endless love and support surrounding you. The only time Bucky left your side was when he had to, but as soon as he could he was right back next to you, kissing everywhere he could reach. 

That night you fall asleep in Bucky's arms knowing this is where you will be for the rest of your life. Your mornings will start with Bucky because he is the reason you smile when you wake up. Your evenings will end with Bucky because it’s his touch that can soothe you off to sleep. You want to be with Bucky forever because he is the reason you live.

Permanent Taglist: @vampirewithbedsidemanners @townwitchbitch @velvetcardiganbucky @courtneychicken

The Signal Taglist: @thefuckupoftoday @wiccanmetallicrose @band--psycho @shamelessfangirl-3

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky angst #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #avengers x reader #bucky x agent!reader #bucky x avenger!reader #mcu #sebastian stan x reader #angst #james buchanan barnes #avengers fanfiction #avenger reader #steve rogers #wanda maximoff #fluff #bucky barnes fluff

[kaminobiwan]

cannonball

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Throwing all caution out the window, Obi-Wan dives headfirst into a long awaited confession. At least, he tries to. The universe seems to leave an obstacle for him at every turn, but Obi-Wan is nothing if not persistent.

a/n: Oh my goodness, this has got to be my proudest piece. It was one of the victims of the incident™ and I had to rewrite the whole thing from scratch, but I actually think the final version came out better than the original! The title is inspired from the summary of my previous fic Indulgence, but this one is actually the cornerstone of all of my jedi!reader x Obi-Wan fics: every one of those has stemmed from this storyline idea that has been living in my head for so long. Suffice it to say this is THE fic that I have wanted to write from the beginning — my pièce de résistance, if you will.

I hope you enjoy :-) p.s. here's my taglist form

In all the years he’s known you, Obi-Wan swears he only ever started to lie to you during the Clone Wars.

In his defense, he’d been lying to himself, too. Forcibly crushing down his much-deeper-than-platonic favor for you in the hopes that it’d disappear, forgotten in his darkest recesses, was exhausting in more ways than one. One’s mind can only be dishonest with the heart for so long.

But after more than a year and a half into the fighting, he’d felt too many times the choking fear that he’d never see you again — be it because of his death or yours.

So he’d given up in repressing his emotions, and let himself feel. In the precious minutes of reprieve amidst the horrors of combat, sometimes the only thing that could console his jaded and war-torn soul was the memory of you.

He wonders how he managed to continue for as long as he did before allowing himself to consciously love — it was well into the conflict when he came to terms with it. If he closes his eyes, he can easily remember the exact moment.

Geonosis. His return to the forsaken planet.

The chaos of it all had been staggering. He’d barely been able to hear Cody’s warning before he was shot out of the sky, and the crash that claimed the lives of nearly everyone in the transport had been just the beginning of the hellscape he’d endured.

There was an instant where he’d been sure he was going to die on the field, seconds before the remainder of his battalion was about to be overrun.

He remembers the gunfire surrounding him, piercing the falling bodies of his men as he laid helpless and injured. Cody’s shouting amidst the mayhem. The stabbing pain of his ribs that had blackened the edges of his vision. The dirt that had caked his face and armor. The sheer amount of it had been maddening.

And yet, as the bugs had closed in around him and he’d forced himself to his feet to meet his imminent end, the only thing that had run through his mind was...you.

Your name, your face. The dissatisfaction at the fact that the last time he’d seen it, it’d been distorted, static and blue from the holo you’d shared with Master Unduli. The way you’d hidden a smile as she interrupted his competitive jeering with Anakin ahead of the battle.

At least he’d made you laugh, he’d thought, and with that, he’d ignited his lightsaber.

And then the reinforcements had come. And he’d been left to sink back down on shaking knees with the image of you burning in his brain until the concerned presence of Ahsoka materialized at his side.

He hadn’t had any time to process the stunning realization that he was in love with you. He’d scarcely had a second to gather himself before he was already spouting a revised attack plan to take the droid factory, reverting to autopilot the way he always did when he assumed his identity as a war general.

But the universe had seemed intent on not letting him escape it, regardless. Just days later, he’d saved your life — you’d arrived at Point Rain with Luminara only to be taken by the Geonosian queen to be turned into a mindless, shivering zombie.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that, you know.” You’d chirped, while tapping his nose teasingly.

“What? The stunt with the worms? You know I wouldn’t have actually let it go up your nose.”

“No, for disobeying an order to fall back and leave us behind.”

His heart had clenched at your words. Never in a million years would he abandon you if he thought there was the smallest chance of saving you. He knew that, finally.

But the fear of losing the only life he’d ever known outweighed the fear of losing you, and he’d settled with yearning for you from afar. It would be enough, he’d convinced himself. He refused to burden you with the knowledge that he’d been pining helplessly for you for Force knows how long, and ruin the careers in the Order you’d both worked so hard to construct.

That was, until now.

Until he’d seen Satine Kryze again, after decades apart, and she’d declared her surviving affection for him from all those years ago, Anakin witnessing the whole thing. After he’d seen the weight of her unspoken truth upon her shoulders. And although he regretted that he couldn’t grant her the relief from her wanting, he’d resolved that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days the same way — slowly being crushed by his own supression. Even if his feelings were unrequited.

So he’d decided that he’d tell you, Jedi Code be damned. He wouldn’t hold it in any longer.

As the Coronet docked on the landing pad where the Chancellor was waiting, he’d been jittery with anticipation. That, and disoriented from the events that had transpired on the way there. He’d blubbered uncharacteristically when Satine had caressed his face in farewell, Anakin watching delightedly at his back. Then, as he’d turned to find a speeder to make his way to you in the Temple, the universe had yet again toyed with him — you were there, appearing on the platform out of nowhere like a summoned spirit, but not making your way towards him.

No, you were walking straight towards Satine.

You didn’t seem to notice him or Anakin behind you, welcoming the Duchess with practiced cordiality and leading her to the airbus where the other Senators were boarding, glaringly obvious that you’d been assigned on escort duty. Obi-Wan held back a groan. Of all the Jedi.

Anakin had practically collapsed in hilarity, a hand heavy on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “The Force works in mysterious ways, Master,” he crowed. “I finally get that one.”

———

You’re perched high up on a viewing balcony of the Senate Chamber when he finds you, a little before Satine is set to address the Republic.

“You’re certainly off your game today,” you exhale an amused laugh as he skids to a stop, attempting to compose his appearance as he approaches you. “Anakin told me all about what happened on the Coronet en route to Coruscant.”

His blasted Padawan. Obi-Wan could strangle him.

“I didn’t teach him to gossip,” he grumbles, coming to stand beside you. He'd run the whole way here to catch you, but his rapid heartbeat isn’t from physical exertion. You’re as tranquil as ever, though, and your presence relaxes him despite.

You give a snort. “Maybe not intentionally. He definitely learned how to operate outside the lines of the Code by watching you.” He knows you’re poking fun at him, but his breath catches at the mention of the doctrine that dictates you both.

But he’s set on telling you. Today.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something similar.”

You turn to the Chancellor’s podium as his voice reverberates through the hall, but Obi-Wan’s hearing is fixed on you. “Of course, Obi, but it’ll have to wait until later. I think your friend is about to speak.”

He opens his mouth to reply, to bring your attention back to him, but you’re focused on the proceedings. He doesn’t like the jovial way you say friend, as if you’re almost happy about it, but he forces his gaze to follow yours as Satine begins her address.

Which, of course, goes terribly wrong. Because nothing seems to want to work out today.

Even your usually optimistic features are set with a grim expression as a testimonial from Satine’s own Deputy Minister slights her leadership, and the Senate turns against her. As her repulsorpod retreats from the center of the chamber, you cast concerned eyes towards him.

“Go,” you urge him, and he’s frozen between staying or leaving. “She needs you. I’ll buy you some time with the security detail.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to depart from your side, words hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he knows you’re right. He nods at you gratefully before chasing after Satine.

———

He tries again in the evening, while you’re between shifts of guarding the Duchess’ guest quarters.

“She seems...interesting,” you nod to the Mandalorian guard that passes by to take your post, speaking low enough that your conversation is relatively private. “She certainly had much to say about you.”

Obi-Wan wanted to scream. It seems everyone had been able to get you alone except for him. “I told you about that year on Mandalore after I came back,” he protests, and you shoot him a pitiful wink.

“Not the way she described it.”

Before he can demand just what Satine had let on, the sound of rapid footfalls draws both of your attention to the guard you’d greeted earlier. “Master Jedi! The Duchess is gone. We don’t know for how long.”

You curse lightly and rush down the hall to follow the Mandalorian, and Obi-Wan is about to do the same when his comm buzzes on his wrist.

He sighs in frustration. He knows exactly who it is.

———

After he’d relayed the untampered evidence to Padmé in time for the Senate convocation and Satine had been released from custody, Obi-Wan makes his way to your quarters in a determined stride. The past couple days were nothing short of a wild Bantha ride from start to finish, and he was tired of tiptoeing around you.

As he raises a shaking hand to knock outside your room, he stalls in a moment of fleeting hesitation. The impending metamorphose of your relationship nags at his brain, and he pauses. What he’s about to do will indelibly transform the dynamic between you, for better or for worse. It dawns on him that there won’t be any going back from this.

He hears your voice from a distant memory of late nights in the Temple gardens, basking in the light of the stars. Of course everything will change. Nothing can stop that.

So be it.

He stands as tall as he can manage, and knocks resolutely.

You open the door looking ready for bed, clad in a billowing camisole, face dewy from the refresher and hair still damp. He smiles at you as you open it wider. “Hello, Obi.”

He shuffles inside, meekly nodding in apology of his interruption. “I thought I’d come see you.”

Like routine, you’re already heating up a pot of water for him as you search for his favorite tea in your cupboard. Ever so thoughtful. His heart flutters beneath his robes. “I’m glad to see you found the Duchess,” you chime lightheartedly, “I had a hunch when you disappeared earlier.”

His hand finds the back of his neck. “I hope I didn’t make you look too bad, being on protection and all.”

You shake your head dismissively. “I was just glad to hear she was safe. You helped save her people from Republic occupation.”

Altruistic honesty radiates off of you, and his chest drops, in a good way. You care, and it’s written all over your actions.

You’re the best person he knows. Without question.

For a split second, Obi-Wan wonders if he even deserves you. But he pushes the thought in the back of his mind for later, hell-bent on not letting anything get in the way of what he wants to say.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

You face him fully, abandoning the tea as you take in the seriousness of his posture. He sucks in a stunted breath.

“It’s about —”

“I know.”

He startles, momentum lost as you interrupt him suddenly. Your gaze is penetrating. “What?” He asks dumbly.

“It’s about Satine, isn’t it?” Your bare arm comes up across your body to hold the other, and Obi-Wan finds himself staring at the way your too-long pants brush the floor as you sway to one side. Your sleeping shirt brushes the middle of your thighs, and he realizes how utterly small you seem in the moment. “You feel the same way about her that you used to.”

His eyes snap up to yours at your words, mind reeling. It takes him an eternity to force out a single word.

“...No.”

You tilt your head confusedly, and Obi-Wan wants to pinch himself to test if this is some sort of stress-induced hallucination. “No? You do know she’s positively infatuated with you, don’t you?”

“No, I —” he shuts his eyes desperately. “I mean, yes, I know, but I don’t —” he breaks off abruptly, opening his eyes at you with newfound willpower. Blast it.

Obi-Wan crosses the room in three steps, reaching his hands out to cradle you delicately as he pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

He hears your breath stutter, shock just about vibrating off of you, but in the next second your eyelashes graze his cheeks as you close your eyes and lean into him. His heart pounds in crazed gratification, and Obi-Wan feels downright dizzy from the sensation. He’s going to faint, he’s going to die right here in your arms —

Your hands find the top of his chestplate, fingers curling against it, but after a beat of his body singing with joy, he feels you apply the smallest pressure on his armor. You detach your lips from his slowly, and he blinks dazedly at you when you pull away. Disbelief paints your frame.

“Obi, what —”

“I love you,” he says quickly, hands still on either side of your face. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you. For so long.” One of your hands reaches up to clasp his own against your cheek. “I know that this goes against everything we’ve ever been taught, and you must be confused. I’m sorry.” He breaks off for a second, eyebrows creasing, because he’s not sorry. He could never be sorry for what he’s just done, not with the feeling of your lips still rippling in tingles through his brain. “But I had to tell you. I just...couldn’t go on without you knowing.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you flounder in his confession, and he studies you with more intensity than he’s felt in ages. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything about you, offhandedly concentrating to memorize every tiny detail. He’ll relive that kiss a thousand times over for the rest of his life if it’s the last one he’ll get.

“I — I don’t know what to say,” you manage to let out, and he presses his forehead to yours before releasing you. Say you love me, his heart cries. But Obi-Wan pushes the sentiment away.

“It’s alright,” he promises gently. You stare at him as he squeezes the hand that’s still holding his. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“Obi-Wan, I —”

Whatever you’re about to say is cut off by a loud knock from outside, and the way you jerk back from him pricks at his emotions. You quickly pad to the door, opening it a crack as he attempts to conceal himself from your unexpected visitor.

“Sorry to bother you so late, Master,” Anakin’s voice fills the air, and Obi-Wan shrinks further into the shadows. “I’m just checking in before I leave for Vanquor. I wanted to make sure you’re still available to train Ahsoka while I’m gone?”

It takes you a little to formulate a response, your eyes still wide. “Yes — of course, Anakin, always.” You attempt to shut the door, but Anakin speaks up before you can.

“Actually, I was hoping to ask you for some advice as well, if you don’t mind.”

You can’t look at Obi-Wan without giving him away, so he sends a subtle wave of reassurance your way, hoping you pick up on it.

The tension releases from your shoulders, and you nod at his old student. “I’d be happy to. Give me a bit to get ready,” you gesture behind you, “and I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

Anakin must nod in return, because you close the door without another word. You reach up to grab your outer robes from where they’re hung on the wall, and turn to him with a tormented expression.

Go, it’s his turn to coax you as he mouths the word silently. It’s alright.

Your eyes are shining with emotion that he can’t quite read in the dim light, but eventually you slip on your cloak and shoes and open the door once more. With one last lingering glimpse at him in the corner, you disappear into the hall where Anakin is waiting.

As he feels your presence dwindling away, he sends a final thought into the vacant room, more to himself and the aching emptiness of the Force than to you.

I love you.

#*DROPS THIS AND RUNS* #rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #i'm so excited to finally post this one it's been in my drafts forever #THE DRAMA! #don’t imagine the gif as his face after you leave just DON’T

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Ruathym, part Two

Rating: NSFW Words: 1219 Pairing: Male Drider x GN Reader

The second part of this dark “romance” for @kim-monsterlings

xxx

You play a game of cat and mouse, avoiding Ruathym in his own castle until he has no choice but to summon you through any servant who can manage to track you down. You learn the passageways like the back of your hand, daring to dart into any room at a moment’s notice to avoid the maids and soldiers and giant spiders that patrol the halls.

You’ve made a habit of crushing the little spies you find scuttling in the corners of the rooms you’re in for any period of time, checking every little crevice for webbing and four pairs of eyes. Instead of enraging him, your vehemence at maintaining some semblance of privacy seems to amuse Ruathym, who only continues to send smaller and smaller spiders to their deaths at your hands. Despite that, the back-and-forth between you two was just a way to pass the time. Ruathym himself never truly threatened or frightened you; that particular honour fell to his wife, the Queen.

Larger and more volatile in nature than Ruathym, the Queen hated the very air you breathed. An arranged marriage, there was no love lost in the relationship between the monarchs, but nevertheless there was a begrudging fondness between them that meant that she allowed you—his “pet”—to live. You learn very quickly to stay well out of her way, especially when she goes on one of her infamous rampages throughout the castle at any real or perceived slight.

The one spider you don’t avoid is Tinki, the kitten-sized spider that Ruathym gifted you with when you first arrived at the castle. Tinki is a colourful little ball of fluff who differs greatly from the earthy tones of most of the other spiders—incredibly venomous even to driders, but tame as a babe in your arms while you carry her around and rub her little thorax throughout your musings. She squeaks to let you know when you’ve been found, which is the only reason you see Ruathym coming before he can get a literal jump on you in the castle gardens.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” you sigh back at the King, placing Tinki on your shoulder and scratching along her head as she wiggles her pleasure.

Ruathym lifts his brows. “I wasn’t aware I’d gotten a parrot. Get out of the dirt, you filthy little worm.”

“Worms are good for the earth,” you feel the need to reply, needling him even as you make yourself obey.

“And they’ll eat your eyes out when you’re dead,” Ruathym shoots back, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him.

You grimace. “Charming.”

Ruathym looks amused. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

“I can try.”

“And waste both of our lives? You’d be better off humouring the man helping you carry out your schemes.”

“I see no man,” you flatly reply, keeping your eyes on the King’s chest. “Only a very big bug.”

“Arachnid,” Ruathym grits out, though you can still hear a smile in his voice. “We eat little insects like you.”

You roll your eyes. “Bitch, bitch, posture, posture. What is it you want? I’m not giving it up in the garden again. You got thorns in my thighs the last time.”

Ruathym laughs, and you curse yourself for thinking that it’s one of the only truly lovely things about him. “I came to tell you that we’ve broken their ranks,” he says, startling you into a rare bout of speechlessness. “I have agents poised to strike at your beloved brother at my command. All you have to do is say the word.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You remember being stabbed in your sleep in the shattered safety of your chambers by one of your most trusted advisors, the people turned against you by your charismatic younger brother. You remember your flight from the palace, stumbling and bleeding in the dark, the barking of hounds at your heels. You’d stolen a horse and fled into the forest, but the huntsmen chased you all the way to the cliffs where you tumbled with the poor beast into the frigid waters below.

You remember drowning, and you remember coming up for air against the rocks of the far shore after what felt like hours of being battered against rocks and down several mercifully small waterfalls. There, you were picked up by a scout of the driders who recognised your face, and you were saved from the brink of death just so that Ruathym could interrogate you and strike your deal.

Your fingers find the fresh scar tissue on your chest through your clothing, ice growing in the pit of your stomach. Ruathym is watching you expectantly when you finally look up into his ruby red eyes, and you give a short, sharp nod. “Do it.”

The King of the Driders flashes a feral grin down at you, all sharp teeth and gleaming fangs. Days later, distant smoke curls black and acrid from the direction of your former home, and you know the deed is done. You feel no triumph or grief; the fields in your heart have all but been salted, leaving you feeling only raw and tired. You almost sag back against Ruathym when he wraps his arms around you from behind like he had all those nights ago, drawing you away from the balcony and undressing you slowly. You don’t quite know why you allow it—the terms of the agreement had been fulfilled, after all—but you know that there is nothing left for you now that isn’t ash.

This time, when Ruathym takes you to bed, you don’t offer the token struggle. Instead, you surge up into his kisses with a desperate sort of passion, hands working the man’s thick, slippery cock once it slips free of his body. There’s a question in his eyes and you’re grateful that he doesn’t voice it, instead pushing you down against the bed and caging you in with his limbs. You hook your legs around his slender hips and push up into his thrusts when he slides into you, ignoring the burn of the stretch in your search for pleasure—for the ecstasy that you know will make it so that you don’t have to think about what you’ve done.

That night, he’s especially rough with you, but you’re not gentle with him, either. You pull his hair and bite his lips until he hisses and swears and fucks you until your voice breaks. He claws at you when you ride his dick, breaking skin, but you can’t bring yourself to care as his neurotoxin obliterates every flicker of coherent thought you might have had, leaving you a wanton mess. He’s never touched you this way before, kissed you this way before, fucked you this way before; it’s as if you’ve awoken something in him, primordial and deadly, and you’ve become his willing prey. You come hard when he pushes you over the edge again and again, fingers cramping in the sheets, spine arching until you’re almost bent backwards in his arms.

You regain consciousness later in the night with his fingers in your hair petting you as gently as one would pet a sleeping pup, and you know in your heart that you will never leave him. You have nowhere else to go.

#exophilia #exophilia fic #monster romance #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend #drider #monster lemon #Ruathym #gn reader #My work

[nejibaby]

Time

Pairing: Sanji x F!Reader

Summary: Time is such an essential variable for a pirate cook like you. But outside cooking, you try your best not pay attention to it, most especially when it comes to the past. And yet because of the unpredictability of the Grand Line, you’ve come across someone from your past who you desperately wanted to forget. This incident makes you realize that despite how much time passes, sometimes feelings don’t really change.

Song reference/inspiration: Don’t You by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: It’s done! It’s finally done! I had this idea for quite some time now and I’m finally done with it. Imagine my relief. 😌 I liked how this turned out! But please let me know your thoughts about it… 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

There are a lot of oddities in the Grand Line. Among the concepts that are too complex to be explained are the drastic changes in the weather, the crazy magnetic fields of islands, and devil fruit powers.

What doesn’t change is the concept of time. In all technicality, time is what the clock reads. And regardless of your location inside or outside the Grand Line, it’s set on stone. There’s sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty four hours in a day, seven days in a week, and so on. It’s a fact that’s definitive, irrefutable, and beyond dispute.

And as a cook of the Kid Pirates, time is one of the essential variables, alongside temperature, in bringing dishes to life. That much you learned and mastered from the years you’ve been observing chefs in a certain restaurant in East Blue before you ran away to the South.

However, outside the kitchen — or to be more precise, outside cooking — you don’t pay too much attention to the time and dates, similar to your Captain, Kid.

You and your Captain would need Killer to inform you about preparing banquets and feasts for birthday celebrations for crew members, or to remind you of other important dates.

While you’re completely capable of keeping track of time, you didn’t want to and wouldn’t bother. What’s the point, really? It’s just that you didn’t want to be reminded of just how long since you ran away from the chefs who took you under their wing. You didn’t want to be reminded of just how long since you’ve last seen a certain curly-browed cook who you fell in love with but unfortunately got turned down from.

You’re entirely fine by saying it’s been a while since you’ve last seen those people. There isn’t any need to label a precise quantity of time since that moment in your life. It’s all in the past, and you have long learned to keep yourself busy so as not to be reminded of them in any way.

After all, remembering them always leads to pangs straight to your heart, and as a member of the Kid Pirates, it’s highly discouraged to wear your heart on your sleeve and show vulnerabilities like that.

Since leaving Baratie, you moved along with your life. You worked at a local restaurant in South Blue and somehow ended up meeting Kid and Killer. With Eustass Kid being impressed with your skills in the kitchen and the air of authority you exude while working, he demanded you join their crew. And in all honesty, it didn’t take too much convincing on their part as you too wanted to travel the world, and perhaps find All Blue, a dream you shared with the man you fell in love with.

Pledging loyalty to Eustass Kid is one of the decisions you could never regret. Ever since joining the crew, they have become masters of being subtle in their ways of showing they all care for you. And it’s only evident by the way they’re all overprotective of you (even if you’ve pretty much mastered self defense and the art of using a gun) simply because among the group of brutes, you looked like a lone flower — splendid, precious, and delicate. And due to that, traveling the seas with the Kid Pirates is particularly enjoyable for you; dangerous, sure, but enjoyable nonetheless.

On account of the unpredictability of the Grand Line; more precisely the New World, you have learned to always be ready to face anything. But maybe you aren’t as prepared as you thought you are.

Because somehow, in between gathering food supplies alone for the crew and fighting against a group of Marines who found you, you came face to face with the cook you desperately wanted to forget.

And to make matters much worse, when you quite literally bumped into him, you’ve already been shot twice by the Marines, leading you to lose your consciousness right in his arms.

For some reason, with how huge the Grand Line is, you have never taken into consideration the probability of meeting him once again. And this unpreparedness unsettles you right away. So when you wake up in the Straw Hats’ sailing ship, all bandaged up and weak from the loss of blood, you’re quick to show hostility as a defense mechanism.

But that facade doesn’t last long, your mask easily slipping after a day with the crew, showing your naturally gentle and sweet side to everyone except to a certain man named Sanji. Ultimately, it’s quite impossible for you to remain hostile and aggressive in the presence of such nice and hospitable characters, especially when they kindly offered to drop you off to the next island and allowed you to contact Kid to let him know about your predicament.

You do, however, isolate yourself from the Straw Hats as much as possible. The only time you allow yourself to be in everyone’s presence is during meal times. As a chef, you know well enough that food is at its best when served right away and eaten in the presence of company.

But you aren’t dumb. You know the dishes served by Sanji aren't purely coincidental. With just one look at the table, you could easily recognize all of your favorite meals — meals that reminded you of the days when you had fallen in love with him. It’s blatantly obvious that some of the foods on the table are made especially for you.

This is where your reservations come in. After all, the reason why your favorite foods were your favorites was because they’re what Sanji used to cook when you’re upset. And because of your feelings for him, the food would always make your heart full and happy. And to be honest, you didn’t want to remember that feeling.

Moreover, you didn’t want to give Sanji the impression that everything’s fine between the two of you. You also didn’t want him to think that you’ve forgiven him for turning you down, and proceeding to step on your heart by letting you watch him flirt with other girls.

If you were any other person, you probably wouldn’t even touch the meals he made to prove these points. But you’re a cook, and it’s against your morals to let food come to waste. The most you can do so as not to give Sanji the upper hand is to stop yourself from eating as much as you usually would, regardless of how delicious the food is.

You can tell it’s working from the way Sanji’s lips are slightly downturned as he watches you only take a nibble of your favorites while consuming the other meals that are meant for the other crew members. This goes unnoticed by the others though; they’re too enamored with the new variety of dishes on the table to even pay attention.

This goes on for a few meal times, but you have to admit that despite only taking a few bites of the dishes you used to love, they’re still capable of bringing back the memories of your past with Sanji, maybe not in full force, but it’s enough to disconcert you.

On your third day with the Straw Hats, after seeing him fawn over Nami and Robin, the tension between you and Sanji becomes a little too overwhelming for you to the point where you feel the need to hide in the crow’s nest to calm yourself down.

When you get there, you’re surprised yet relieved that Zoro isn’t there. You instantly take a seat facing the window. You relish the silence. But it’s only momentary, broken by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

Rude as it may be, you don’t acknowledge the person. Whoever it is still enters the room anyway.

“Y/N-chan, can we talk?”

You hate the way your heart starts wildly pounding again just by the mere sound of Sanji’s voice.

“I thought we’ve established the fact that I don’t want to talk to you,” you respond coldly.

This doesn’t discourage Sanji though. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But will you please listen to me?”

You frown, but you remain silent. Sometimes, most especially at times like this, you wish you could hate him. But that’s just something you can’t do no matter how hard you try.

He takes your silence as a good sign, so he sits himself beside you.

You aren’t looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. This lasts for a few minutes, Sanji just gazing at you without uttering a word.

You didn’t mean to count, but by the second minute of silence, you snap. “What? I thought you wanted to tell me something? Why aren’t you talking?”

He looks away and clears his throat. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just… it’s been five years since I last saw you.”

His statement takes you by surprise. Has it already been five years since you left Baratie? And more importantly, was Sanji keeping count?

For whatever reason, Sanji chuckles. He faces you once again and smiles, “It’s been five years but you still look as gorgeous and radiant as ever.”

As always, Sanji has a way with his words. The compliment makes your heart beat impossibly faster. But you know you shouldn’t fall for his words. “Sanji, don’t. Let’s not go there,” you say with a sigh.

He visibly deflates at your response. And it makes you want to take back what you’ve just said. “What have you been up to?” He tries asking, his voice low enough you almost don’t hear him, as if this conversation hurts him just as much as it pains you.

You didn’t really plan on responding. The agreement was to let Sanji do the talking and you do the listening, but you can see his sad expression in the corner of your eye and it tugs your heartstrings a little bit so you reply, “I’m a pirate now.”

“You are?” He perks up upon hearing you responding. “Who’s your captain?”

You finally face him, wanting to see his reaction. “Eustass Kid.”

His face instantly contorts into displeasure. “Kid?” He asks once again. When you nod your head, there’s a different look on his face, almost like he’s angry or he’s annoyed. “Why Kid? Don’t tell me he forced you to do it?! That bas—”

But before he could even finish his sentence, you pull out your gun and point it at his head.

He’s taken aback by your speed and the look of determination in your eyes.

“Watch your words, Sanji.” You cock your gun. “Just because we’re on speaking terms doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you. You can call me bad names if you want, break my heart like you did, but if you say one more bad thing about my captain, I won’t hesitate on putting a bullet through your head,” you threaten.

Sanji gulps, raises his hands in surrender, and nods his head.

Yet you pull the trigger anyway. Sanji could only close his eyes once he sees your finger move.

But there’s no impact at all. When he tentatively opens his eyes, he sees you putting away your gun in its previous location.

You’re well aware that you have no ammunition left, having used them all up when you fought the Marines, but sometimes even an unloaded gun is enough to intimidate and scare someone into submission, and to get your point across.

Silence envelopes the crow’s nest after that incident. Sanji isn’t afraid of you per se, he’s just a little bit surprised with the change in your attitude.

For a moment the thought of you having feelings for Kid passes through his mind, and he internally gets upset with the thought. In fact, he hates it but he doesn’t let it dissuade him from trying to make amends with you.

He allows you to have a couple more minutes of silence. But when he has decided that it’s time for him to talk, the first thing he blurts out is, “I missed you a lot when you left.”

His confession breaks something in you. You didn’t like the way you equally liked and hated hearing this from him. “Sanji, don’t…” your voice cracks and your vision blurs. “Don’t smile at me. Don’t ask me how I’ve been. Don’t you say you’ve missed me if you don’t want me. Don’t get my hopes up, because you don’t know how much I love you still. Just don’t…”

“Y/N-chan…” he calls out to you, his hand hesitantly reaching out to you. And when you don’t protest, he pulls you into a hug, rubbing his hands gently on your back.

Sanji hates seeing you like this — so defeated and broken, all because of him. He didn’t like seeing you cry. But right now he knows he needs to explain himself. “I liked you too back then…”

You pull away in shock after hearing his words, wiping the tears in your eyes. Just as you’re about to ask why he turned you down, he continues, “But the old geezer was against it. He says if I couldn’t stay loyal to you, then I’d only hurt you more and make matters worse.”

What Sanji was saying makes a lot of sense. Zeff highly respects women, which was why he couldn’t turn you away when you had nowhere else to stay. And knowing Sanji, you can tell just how much he looks up to him, despite him always talking back to the older chef. It’s only natural for him to heed Zeff’s words.

“I was young and I didn’t think I was ready yet, so I turned you down as gently as I could… and when you said it was fine, I was so relieved. But then you left without a word and I… I just… I really did miss you all these years.”

“What about now?”

“Huh?”

“Do you still… like me?” You ask meekly.

Sanji smiles, which makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. “I do, but…”

You sigh sadly, “But?”

He looks over the window, and you follow his gaze. The sight of Luffy being chased around by Usopp on the deck welcomes you. “My loyalty still lies elsewhere.”

You immediately understand what he’s trying to say, and for the first time since you arrived in the Thousand Sunny, you genuinely smile. “Someday, then?”

Sanji faces you once again, and reciprocates your smile. “Yeah. Someday.”

#one piece imagines #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #kuroashi no sanji #sanji imagine #black leg sanji #one piece imagine #one piece angst #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenarios #one piece oneshot #sanji one piece #sanji oneshot #one piece

[diazbuckleys]

always looking for ways to love you

post 4.13, comfort and confessions

wc: 1800

Eddie can tell he's lying in a hospital cot before he even opens his eyes. He knows the scent of it by heart; that stark smell of Purell, body odor, and death, so strong it burns his nostrils. And then, the feel of starched sheets against his fingers. That terrible, burning pain, ripping through his right shoulder.

"Edmundo," a soft voice says, and Eddie opens his eyes.

It's Ana. Of course it is. No one else ever calls him by his birth name. There's something comforting in the way she says it, but it's also painfully familiar. He can still hear his father's voice ringing in his ears when he had told his parents about his plan to leave their hometown with Chris in tow. Edmundo, don't do this. You're making a terrible mistake.

He opens his eyes, and he really looks at her. And he feels that sharp, shameful stab of disappointment. She really is very beautiful.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says, and Eddie realizes she's been crying. "God-I really wondered for a moment whether you were going to wake up."

“Yeah," Eddie manages, his voice coming out in a weak croak that he's too exhausted to care about. "Yeah, I'm still here."

She squeezes his hand, where her thin fingers are threaded through his.

He sits up suddenly, blinking away the sleep and the heavy pain in his shoulder. "Is Chris...?"

"Asleep. Carla took him home a few hours ago. He wanted to stay, but, you know. It's getting late."

"Oh. Thank you." He looks around the room. It's sparse and dreary like they always are, with only a pair of plastic cushioned chairs in the corner and one large window with the blinds drawn. He wonders what time it is, how long it's been since the accident.

Slowly, inevitably, Eddie's mind starts drifting to Buck. He remembers pieces of the attack; Buck being tackled by Captain Mehta, as people screamed and ducked for cover all around them. In retrospect, Buck had probably laid on the ground across from him for only a few minutes. But in the moment it had felt like time had slowed. It had felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Ana seems to notice his distraction, and squeezes his hand again. "I let a nurse know you were awake. She should be over in a few minutes."

He smiles at her, feeling another piece of that piercing guilt. A part of Eddie wishes he could love her in the way he should. But he can't; he knows that now.

"Thank you, Ana. I'm glad you're here."

She looks at him questioningly. Despite everything, she has always been good at telling when something is wrong. "But?"

Eddie thinks about Buck on the ground, staring at Eddie soundlessly as blood dripped from his face and onto his clean white shirt. Eddie thinks about reaching out to him in the final moments before his eyes slipped shut, thinking I'm going to die, and he'll never know how I feel, or about any of it. But Eddie's alive, and so is Buck.

"But-I can't do this. I think you know that."

Ana, sweet Ana Flores, lets go of his hand with a sad smile. She sighs, like she's coming to terms with something she had tried to forget.

Finally, she says; "Yes, Edmundo. I know."

Eddie reaches for her hand again, soft and warm, and holds onto it tightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want-I didn't mean for it to happen this way.

Ana gives him that sad smile again. "Oh, Eddie. You can't choose where your heart goes. It hurts, but I'm just sorry I didn't realize it sooner."

Eddie frowns. His head is still pounding, and every part of him wants to fall back into the comforts of sleep. Instead, he props himself up on his elbows and blinks his eyes open. "Realize what?"

"That you already have a family. You have Chris. You have Buck."

It's the first time either of them have acknowledged it out loud, and Eddie swallows a lump in his throat.

"A family?

She lets go of his hand, carefully. “Do me a favor, Eddie? Don't mess it up. For my sake."

"I won't," Eddie says, throat stuck with emotion. But there's one more thing he has to ask. "And, um. Is he here?"

Ana frowns. "I'm sorry. They're all still trying to track down whoever it was that attacked you."

Eddie's face falls, and he lets himself collapse back into the sheets. If Buck is out there with the shooter- even the thought makes Eddie's chest constrict.

"Edmundo," Ana says, tone surprisingly firm, "he's going to be okay."

Eddie nods. Of course he is. It's Buck. He has to be.

"I'm really glad you're here," he says again, grateful.

"Good luck, Eddie Diaz," she says in lieu of a response, and smiles at him before she goes, like she really, really means it.

*******

At some point after a smiling nurse enters the room, checks his vitals, and declares him "in recovery", Eddie falls asleep again. He dreams about blood spilling on the open road, the St. Christopher pendant clattering against the pavement as he fell. Buck's blue eyes, wide with terror, staring, staring, staring.

*******

And then, some indeterminable number of hours later, he's awake again. This time, the sound that drags him to the surface of consciousness isn't a voice, but the steady beat of the hospital machinery. A sign that he's still here, breathing, despite everything.

Someone else is holding his hand. Eddie feels the strong, calloused fingers gripping him tightly, and he almost wants to sob. He's okay. He came back to me.

"Hey there," Buck says, and a thousand pounds of grief and worry lift from Eddie's shoulders.

"Hi," Eddie says, and cracks a sleepy smile up at Buck. Evan Buckley, Firefighter, friend, the fucking love of Eddie's life.

Eddie blinks a little in the harsh light. “What time is it? What day is it?"

Buck leans down to check his watch, and Eddie wonders distantly where it came from, or if he had just never noticed it before. He thinks that maybe becoming more observant is something he should work on. "11:27 PM, Tuesday. Three days since you were shot."

"And the shooter?" Eddie presses. "Did you find him?"

Buck shakes his head, still clutching tightly to Eddie's hand. "Nope, still on the lookout. But Cap thought it was more important that I be here."

Eddie feels a little lightheaded and dizzy at the words. Buck's here, real and breathing in front of him. Holding his hand.

He looks terrible, Eddie notices. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles resting underneath them. His hair is a blond, tangled mess, and his tee shirt has a coffee stain around the collar. Eddie thinks suddenly about how truly awful the shooting must have been for Buck. He wonders if he was able to get all of the blood out of his shirt.

"I brought Christopher with me," Buck says when Eddie doesn't speak. "He and Carla are both passed out in the hallway."

Eddie sighs. "Thanks, Buck. I hate for him to see me like this."

Buck nods, and strokes his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. He looks like he's trying to gather the courage to say something.

"Look, man," Buck starts abruptly, "I'm sorry. I should have done better."

It takes everything within Eddie not to take hold of Buck by the shoulders and shake him.

"Buck. Stop it, seriously. You did everything right."

"No, Eddie. Let me just-"

Fuck. Buck's voice is breaking. Eddie can't even remember the last time he saw him cry.

"I'm fucking sorry, man. I saw you get shot, and I just couldn't move. It was like I was frozen, watching the bullet hit you, watching you fall. And later I kept thinking about Chris, and how terrible it would have been if we-if he had lost you. Telling him what happened, after you got hurt, when we didn't know if you were going to make it-that was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. He kept on just looking at me, and fuck. I had to tell him that-and I didn't know-"

Buck's crying. Full on crying, and all Eddie can do is stare.

"Um." Buck says a moment later, clearing his throat with an embarrassed flush, and wiping furiously at his eyes. "Anyway. Sorry. You deserve better, and I just-"

"Evan Buckley," Eddie says with conviction, and that shuts Buck up.

"I don't know what it will take for me to get this through your head, but you are not a disappointment. You didn't do anything wrong. I have no fucking idea what I'd do without you, actually. So please, don't try to tell me you're not good enough for me, or that you should have done better. Because you are good enough. You are. Okay?"

"Okay," Buck says, and then they're quiet. The clock over the doorway ticks slowly. Outside, the overcast sky has started to rain.

Buck rubs one hand over his tired eyes. "I just care about you, so much, Eddie. And the fact that there was even a possibility I wasn't going to get to see you again, and laugh at your stupid jokes and eat your terrible dinners-I couldn't take it."

And, goddamnit, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone like he loves Buck.

"I'm sorry too, that I made you worry. But I'm still here."

Buck smiles. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"Shut up," Eddie retorts, laughing, "you love me."

Buck stills at that, fidgeting with Eddie's hand, but refuses to meet him in the eye.

"You know," Eddie says slowly, suddenly feeling brave, "Carla said something to me the other day, about following my heart. And then Ana was in here earlier, and I, uh. Ended things."

Buck sits up straight at that. "You broke up with her? Why?"

"Because," Eddie says. "Because-"

Buck kisses him. They're only sitting inches away from each other, but it feels like Buck's bridged a gap. Reached across a mountainous valley and pulled Eddie over to the other side.

Buck's lips taste like salt, and Eddie realizes one of them must be crying but he isn't sure who. They're both smiling, even if there are tears, too. It's sort of the most perfect thing Eddie has ever experienced.

Buck kisses him, and it feels like everything has fallen into place.

Eddie doesn't want to pull away, but he does anyway. He was just shot, after all, and already he’s feeling dizzy. He imagines there will be plenty more kisses in their future, ones that don't take place in stiff hospital beds. He hopes so, anyway.

"I love you, you know," Eddie says when he catches his breath. He feels like he's fifteen and he's just kissed a girl outside of their school gymnasium. He already wants to kiss Buck again.

Buck grins. "God, I love you too. But, Eds, please do me a favor."

"Yeah?”

"Try not to get shot again."

#HERE IT IS BABES #ROUGH BUT I HAD TO GET IT OUT #was i too nice to ana here? #maybe #but she’s pretty #911 #buddie #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ana flores

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High: The Seven Ep 3

Let’s Split Up and Look for Clues! 

Welcome back to the Seven and the Museum of Adventuring. My previous pronouncement of combat was a little premature but hold tight, we’ll get there. For now, we’re back with Antiope who just saw a glimpse of the Ending of Things (aka, Ending) and is freaking out a bit. She tells the others and they all do various checks to see what they can find out.

Ostentatia casts Commune With City and clocks that there is some kind of abjuration shield magic on the government buildings in town, stopping them from being spied on. She also clocks some lingering undead-ish magic and a weird divination effect on Antiope, specifically on the Aguefort logo of her jacket, like someone scryed on her and just got that she had something to do with Aguefort. At this, Penny reminds her that the only true piece of info they gave Ending when they broke her out is that they were from Aguefort.

Sam with a 19 Insight still feels the connection she and Ant have with Ending because of their spells turned against them in the initial encounter. Yelle does a Perception check (27) and once again doesn’t really get bad, dreadful, menacing vibes. But also, she recognizes that she’s chill with a lot of things most people don’t love. 

Antiope reiterates that she texted Charity that she’s interested in the internship so she can learn more info--even better now that they know the buildings are safe from scrying. Yelle remembers Aguefort’s warning about people watching them and Sam asks Zelda if her “weird boyfriend” (“he’s actually really cool”) is friends with the elven oracle. Zelda says yeah, they’re both friends with Adaine, she can ask about any weird divination stuff. Sam makes sure to specify she should look into TK but NOT Ending, no doubt remembering what happened when she tried to do a spell on her. 

It’s been a big day as Zelda says so they all go to the TGIF-esque Slappy McFinnigans to celebrate (which Sam has problems with--the fact that they’re celebrating I mean, but she’s mainly ignored). They’re quickly kicked out because Katja can’t help herself from trying to brush the mane of their centaur server and they reconvene at the more their speed SlamBurger, where a horse can fully destroy a soda machine to absolutely zero reaction.  Zelda says that Ostentatia was right in that they should all do the quest because it doesn’t close any doors and they have the 2 weeks to figure things out. They all seem a bit more on the same page (though Sam is still pretty frosty towards Ant) and start making plans.

Before they leave, Yelle pulls aside Ant and Sam and says hey, first of all, you two are still linked to Ending from before. Second of all, I know y’all are Going Through It right now and you don’t have to talk about it or make up right away but you need to get your heads in the game and you need to know that you’re both loved and still family. 

Penny, Zelda, Katja, and Ostentatia go back to the museum to try and get more information for their quest. Katja goes to the information desk (horse in tow, of course) and just starts asking information about TK. She’s told that she’s one of the museum’s benefactors and has been missing for years, and hey, do you understand that a museum’s info desk is about where the water fountains and exhibits are, not just random information about the world?

Ostentatia bails her out by calling her over so she can do her plan which is just to walk into the back area like she owns the place. Now, Aguefort students do have a certain level of clearance to be back there and she does have her school ID. But instead of explaining that, she tried to use her Earrings of Diamond Charm to charm the employee she runs into which fails. And then she does a pretty good tag-team lie with Katja about how they NEED to pass a class but that doesn’t fly. Then Ostentatia tries flirting which ALSO doesn’t work. Zelda at this point steps in and just headbuts the dude so they can book it away. I personally would have gone with, “Do you know who we are? We killed the dragon that’s your current main exhibit,” but you know. No backseat adventuring. 

While this is happening, Penny is stealthing like a pro, looking for anything Arcana related. Ostentatia and Katja also did checks (O getting a nat 20) and we’ll go through all their info gathered now. 

Katja basically gets info on TK we kind of already knew. She was a benefactor of the museum. She’s centuries old like Aguefort. She was concerned with consciousness and divinity and specifically how will and divine will manifested, as well as elemental magic.  

Ostentatia gets a lot of info with her Nat 20. She gets a full map to the temple where TK went which is called the Temple of Earth Defiant. The point of the temple is that it’s up in the open air and harsh winds--wind being a symbol of chaos and unpredictability to dwarves--but they still use it as a place to honor their heroes and they rebuild and upkeep it despite the erosion and how hard it is to get there. It’s hallowed from evil and lots of stories about it involve heroes racing there for sanctuary. It was made by dwarves but it’s a pilgrimage site for other primordial beings like goliaths and earth genasi (which is what TK is). There are 3 heroes who have big statues here: Asha Hammerheart (a SUPER dope name I must say), Yvonna of the Sundering Hills , and Kora Ironbrow.

Penny finds that, amongst Kalvaxus’s hoard there were 7 unrecovered artifacts--the Mirrors of the Eidolons (which are the smashed mirrors they found it seems). Eidelons are kind of like the elemental plane version of angels/celestials. They’re primordial (remember Katja saw primordial language on the wall of the dragon cave) and kind of aligned with things like titans and genies. Raw element with no agenda (unlike celestials and demons and such which have a clear alignment which makes up the D&D religious system). It is said by wizards--who look at these things in more of a nuts and bolts way than say clerics who take the fuzzier religions view--that Eidolons are the hands of the gods because gods are beings of spirit--how could they form the physical world. Will of the divine manifested by elemental beings? Sounds right up TK’s alley.

Sam decides she’s desperate enough for information that she calls her mom who she is understandably snippy with. Her mom gives her a contact to talk to when she asks about TK but Sam stonewalls her on show business talk. She tries to play the “mother knows best, you’ll thank me later,” in a kind of Gothel-y way while acting like anything in the past never happened and says Sam is attacking her but when Sam accuses her of neglect, she proves her right by hanging up the phone.

Sam then calls the number and it turns out to be Lola Embers (Fig’s agent) who has been waiting for Sam’s call for ages and wants to talk to her, even though she’s currently chasing her dog across the park. She says she met TK once at a genasi woman networking thing and also says she once saw Charity get into an argument with TK over government funding or not getting a grant or something similar. She then says she’s in a lake trying to get her dog and Sam, being a water genasi who can breathe underwater and also a fundamentally good person even though she’s currently being aggro as hell, goes to the park to help her. Lola assures her that if she’s ready, she’ll help her get new acting gigs and that the world is ready for the new her. 

Yelle meanwhile casts Speak With Plants on some trees near TK’s office and, after a super stoner to stoner conversation, gets a magical footprint trail of where she ran off to when she absconded 12 years ago. 

Antiope (who is in a sports bra because she destroyed her top with the Aguefort logo since that’s what was pinged, revealing in a wild, nat-1 fueled retcon that she got a tramp stamp reading “Leader” in the Red Waste) goes to see Charity to fill out some paperwork, ingratiate herself, and perhaps get some info. Charity has her hot, young, assistant (who Antiope is instantly crushing on) give Ant his shirt (and Charity’s lack of surprise at seeing his 4 horses pulling a chariot tattoo makes the group think they’re def banging). She kind of explains what the Ministry does and Antiope boils it down a bit to snitching on other adventurers. Charity says it’s more of a who watches the watchmen situation and visibly twitches when she has to say the word “snitch”. 

When she takes a second to call Antiope’s dad, she accidentally leaves a tab open on her computer which has TK’s file open (probably up from when the Maidens asked about her earlier). Antiope sneaks a peek and learns that the artifact that TK stole is called the Legendarium Extrodia and it tracks quests. It seems that at some point TK must have had top level access to get her hands on it. It also shows that TK was marked for assassination (which seems like a pretty good reason to get the heck out of dodge). Brennan also says she’s learned enough that she can use the L.E. if she finds it. 

At this point, Yelle tells everyone to come back ASAP so they can follow the magic footsteps. Antiope wants to come but doesn’t want to burn bridges with Charity (or chances with Preston--equally important) so she, at Katja’s suggestion--pretends to have diarrhea and is Nat 20 convincing. Interesting choice for the end of the first meeting with a person you’re crushing on. But Preston is actually pretty supportive as she races out the door as fast as possible.

The Seven follow the footsteps out of Solace and it becomes clear that TK was headed to the dwarven temple Ostentatia learned about. This is a multi-day journey so Cinnamon sings a glorious, magical, horse song and summons mounts for everyone which I will now name because this is obviously the most important part of the episode:

Snowfire - Danielle

Taffodill - Sam

Alagonia - Antiope

Candyheart - Penny

Starforge - Ostentatia 

Strawberry Dancer - Zelda 

Crucial info. 

As they travel, Antiope casts Primeval Awareness and gets that there is something ancient in the mountain. They travel through Pilgrim’s Pass (a village area most travelers to the temple pass through) but find it completely razed to the ground. They investigate. 

With an 18 Survival check, Antiope finds tracks that seem halfway between dog and cat. There are more than 4 legs and it’s hard to tell how old they are because there’s not a lot of rain in the area. They could have been left long ago and been undisturbed. Regardless, these are clearly from monstrosities. On a 26 History Check, Katja knows that this area used to be protected by Blink Dogs (teleporting dogs) but they seem to be all gone now. On a 22 Nature check, Yelle sees a weird feather made out of plant material. It seems like fae stuff but bad vibes. On an 18 Insight check, Sam knows this was a purposeful slaughter.

And on Penny’s 30 Arcana check, oh boy. Penny finds broken common scrawled on the wall in human blood talking about a queen of the mountain who rules the skies. That only the queen may see and none may see themselves. And that the people were told to destroy the seeing glass and did not obey. In from of that message is a bear hide covering something magic. Penny lifts it with reckless abandon and sees tons of mirror shards.

Friendship bracelets! She thinks.

Gotcha bitch, the thing in the mirror says.

Uh-oh.   

Penny calls over her friends to let them knows she may have made a tiny mistake. The group is pretty split between, “Understandable,” and “Girl, WHAT?” In her defense, she did try to cast Friends on the person on the other side of the mirror shards but that’s not enough to stop an entire pack of 50-60 Displacer Beast (magic tentacle cats)/Blink Dog hybrid monstrosities along with the Harpy Queen (voice from the mirror) and her plant feathered harpy minions to start rapidly making their way to their location. 

It is at this point that Ostentatia remembers that abominations and monstrosities cannot step into the temple which means it’s time to RUN. 

And NOW it’s combat time. 

The premise of this fight is that the girls are on their horses, moving towards the center of the temple as fast as they can while fending off the closest enemies. I won’t give an exact play by play but the two highlights are as follows:

Yelle conjures up a bunch of geese with raptor stats (...so normal geese) to swarm the head cat/dog abomination and has to do a truly stunning amount of math for which she is rewarded with SEVENTY POINTS OF DAMAGE. 

Antiope does some insane arrow trickery and gets the Queen Harpy in the wing (which Ostentatia helpfully gets on video so she can show Preston later) and then forces her to take damage as she falls. If not for an extremely lucky Box of Doom nat 20, she may have been down for the count. Antiope still comes away with more than FIFTY points of damage on her though. 

And we end the episode mid-combat! We will catch up on our girls next time!

Superlatives 

Penny: Most Likely to Make Friends During a Hostage Situation 

As a companion to Danielle’s superlative last episode, Penny gets this award for reading or misreading every situation as an opportunity to make friends or make friendship bracelets for the ones she already has. 

Random Thoughts

Did you guys notice that with Katja having Cinnamon and Charity’s assistant being Preston, that’s two of the main pet NPCs from A Crown of Candy?

Antiope’s Reaction to Yelle Saying That Maybe Things Ending Isn’t So Bad: Rail against the dying of the light! Why are you OK with this?

Penny’s Reaction to Yelle Saying That Maybe Things Ending Isn’t So Bad: Entropy is TERRIBLE! Everything needs order!

The greasy cashier’s response to Ostentatia’s flirty, “Come here often?” is “To my job? Honestly no.” Brennan? Chef’s kiss. 

My other fave line this episode is from Sam. “I believe Cinnamon fucks.”

It’s very cute that Penny is like, “I gotta text Riz about this Eidelon stuff!” Not because she wants help. Just so they can geek out together. 

The joke that Brennan didn’t think about the birds is so funny considering all the bird facts in Misfits.

Also re Birds attacking: “They made a movie about this Brennan!” 

Good on Ant for refusing an Aguefort sweatshirt from Charity when offered after the little scrying incident before. Remembering things like this saves lives. 

It has been brought up several times that Ending isn’t necessarily Bad just Ancient and Powerful and I trust Yelle’s vibe check but also, like, a forest fire doesn’t have malice behind it but it can still devastate a city while it clears out dead trees that need to be cleared, you know? Not ready to start wild speculation yet but I am curious. And am similarly curious about the sisters Ending has mentioned. Oh and the parallels of 7 Maidens, 7 mirrors. It’s all there, we just need a little more info. 

Honestly, get you a man who will see you rushing out of a building, loudly claiming to have diarrhea, and instead of being grosses out will just supportively confess his own stomach issues. I wish he was just a little younger cause I want that for Ant. 

I do like that D20 has been playing a little more fast and loose with the RP ep/combat ep format. I think it really helps with story flow. 

In this episode Antiope and Brennan as various non-Zelda NPCs rolled 2 Nat 20s. O rolled one. Ant rolled 1 Nat 1--which was on a self imposed roll to see how she responded to Sephie’s tramp stamp improv. And O may have rolled one for initiative also but I wasn’t sure. 

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high #the seven #spoilers #sorry this is a little late #life happens

[theshiningg]

the boy who learned how to love

part two to “the boy who was conceited”

hogwarts au

kinda angst, kinda fluff?

draco x slytherin!reader

warning: depressed reader, vague description about self harm, fight against parent

word count: 2.2k

you spent weeks isolated away from the slytherin table and stayed with cedric, after apologizing for disappearing during the ball, despite the black mark on your arm. luckily, since it was winter time, it was easier to hide the mark under a sweater or long sleeved shirt. most days, you would hide in the room of requirements, crying, about the stinging sensation present on your arm or stay dazed and out of it until someone snaps you out.

“y/n,” you hum as you look up at cedric, “what’s up?” he grabs your hand, thankfully not the arm with the mark, and caresses it. “if you’re not okay, just tell me so i can help you.” you put your other hand on top of large one, “thank you, but i’m fine. honestly, just a little overwhelmed with school work.” cedric smiles at you lovingly and then kisses your forehead. you wrap your arms around his waist, “i’m sorry i’m being so selfish. i just had to make everything about me when you’re the one in the triwizard tournament.” his fingers twirl around in your hair as you both continue to embrace, “it’s alright love, you matter more.”

during your classes, all of which you shared with draco malfoy, you sat next to daphne while pansy sat next to draco. you stare down at your paper, not having anything written on your notes. daphne glances over at you in pity and hands you her notes at the end of class, “finish your notes y/n. just return them to me later.” you flash a small smile to her before walking out of the class. cedric waits for you to exit your class and when he sees you, he grabs your bag. the both of you walk down to the courtyard.

a month passes, which included christmas and the new years, finally reaching january. “ced, do you know what your next task is?” he brushes his fingers through your hair, “i believe it has something to do with the black lake.” you look up to think, “what can it be?” your eyes meet his and a smile arises on both of your faces. “my god, you’re adorable.” he says as he cups your face. “enough, it’s absolutely putrid to see you all lovey dovey.” you sit up to see draco, his face contorts into a snide look, “hey diggory, how’s the bet going?” you stare at draco, “what are you talking about?” he scoffs, “oh you didn’t know? diggory here made a bet with his friends that he could get a slytherin to fall for him.”

“y/n it’s not true, don’t believe them.”

it felt as if everything was going in slow motion. like you were falling off the astronomy tower and no one was there to catch you. your eyes appeared hurt but it was like you knew it would happen. you back away from the boys until you bump into a tall red head, “oi, you alright l/n?” not wanting to look at him, you shake your head, “no.” the yellow scarf on your neck stayed vibrant as you ripped it off and dropped it on the floor.

it was lunch time and you never left your shared room with pansy and daphne. the both of them stayed by your side, occasionally leaving to eat and bring you back food. you didn’t feel the need to cry so you just laid on your bed, feeling betrayed.

pansy and daphne finally convince you to get out of bed as you go to your last class of the day. watching the floor as you walk, you ignore the faces around you. you bump into a tall figure, not watching where you go. “y/n, it did start as a bet but i actually fell for you. i love you, don’t believe anything that weasel says.” he starts to say your name when you interrupt him, “but do you? or do you like the idea of having someone? because i really, i really needed someone.” you walk around him and let your feet lead you wherever, not caring about your final class.

walking up the stairs to the astronomy tower, the wind gusts blow strongly. you reach the top and stand by the railing. your eyes stay closed and arms open wide as the wind blows through your hair. you roll up your sleeves to see your dark mark, bulging and red, throbbing. you scratch at it until it starts to bleed with long strokes. draco walks up the stairs and notices you staring off lifelessly with a bloodied arm. going in and out of consciousness from blood loss, you fall over, luckily into draco’s arms. his eyes widen at your scratched up mark. he lifts you up bridal style and takes you to professor snape’s office.

you wake up and sit up in bed. you feel his presence in his room as you lay in his bed. “i appreciate your help,” you speak hoarsely, “but next time, just leave me there to die.” your arm had appeared to be bandaged up but you could still feel the throbbing from the mark. you grab your robe and shoes before walking out the door, leaving the platinum haired boy speechless.

people stared at you as you walked through the halls with your head down and bandaged arm. cedric sees you and jogs up to you. “y/n, what happened?” you let out a deep sigh, “cedric. i think we should breakup, it’s for the better.”

“y/n, no. our relationship started as a bet but i really love you.” cedric says almost desperately. “i do too. that’s why i have to let you go. the first boy to ever love me, my first kiss, my happiness.” you let out as a whisper. you peck his cheek softly and walk away to conceal your tears.

you spend the next couple of weeks in bed, only moving to go to the bathroom or eat food pansy or daphne brings for you. staring out the underwater window, you clear your mind of thoughts. with your mind fogged up with random thoughts, you don’t notice the two poeple sitting on the common room couch. raising your head, you notice them. “y/n! why haven’t you been attending your classes!” your father yells. you just reply with a simple, “i’m done.”

“what do you mean, ‘i’m done.’” he replies sarcastically. “it means i’m done with this bullshit-“ you barely finish your sentence before getting slapped right across your face, the slap echoing through the room, turning the heads of other students. your cheek bleeds from the cut your father gave you from his ring and you turn your head back to glare at your father. he pulls his wand out and corners you to a wall while sticking his wand on your neck. “kill me. kill me coward.” you let out as angry huffs of air erupts from your nose. you don’t let your stare leave your fathers until a figure steps in front of you. “mr. l/n, i’m going to have to ask you to leave.” your father scoffs, “got the malfoy boy on your side now? at least you’ve done one thing right.” your hand clutches you wand, shaking ever so softly. your mother apparates away with your father as you finally let out a shaky breath.

the cut on your cheek drips blood ever so slowly but you stare at the place your parents once stood. draco turns around to examine your cheek, he cups your cheeks in his hands. snapping out of your daze, you pull back and let out a soft thanks as you walk back to your room, planning on never leaving again. but before you could reach your door, draco pulls you into another awkward hug, mouth close to your ear. you squirm in his grip, “draco please, let-“

“run away with me.” you stop squirming at his offer. “we can run away to paris and live our lives out there.”

you gasp quietly. “what about school.” you whisper back.

“screw school. you can go to beaubaxtons. so let’s run away and never look back.” he continues to hug you and not let you reject his proposal, “we leave on saturday. so collect your things and say your goodbyes.”

the next couple of days, you pack and tell your friends about your leave. first you start with cedric, thanking him for loving you even though it started as a bet. next was pansy and daphne, for taking care of you when you were at your lowest. last was the golden trio, for not seeing the bad in you.

it was saturday night, after dinner, when you and draco gathered all your things and snuck through the castle. but before leaving, you told draco to wait for you while you visit professor dumbledore once more. you climb the staircase and see him jotting notes. “ah miss l/n, to what do i owe the visit?” you give him a secure smile, “i’ll be leaving hogwarts, professor. and i’ll be taking draco with me. i just wanted to thank you for being the best professor. i wish you the best with harry.” he flashes you a closed lipped smile as well, “as do i, miss l/n.”

you turn the corner to find draco frantically running. he spots you and runs up to you. “what’s wrong?” he pulls you into his chest, “i thought you left me.” draco pulls away from you and you grab his hand, “let’s go.”

draco buys two tickets for the midnight train as you walk around hogwarts station. by eleven thirty, the both of you board the train and sit in one compartment. draco puts your things into the storage as you stare out at the life you were leaving behind. for most of the ride, you stare out of the window while draco reads the daily prophet, both sitting side by side. you quietly lean your head against draco’s shoulder and grab his hand, gently, rubbing your thumb across it as you fall asleep.

the next time you wake up, you’re already arriving at kings cross station with draco now leaning against you and sleeping. he continues to hold your hand in his sleep until you wake him up. “draco,” you whisper, “we’re here.”

before you know it, you and draco has already traveled from london to paris, and arrive at his summer home. “we’ll stay here until we can move to somewhere else.” you nod and settle in his guest bedroom as he goes to his room.

that night after dinner, you lay on your bed and read a book. that’s until you hear screaming from the other room, which made you grab your wand and follow the noise. you end up at draco’s room and see him thrashing around in his bed. walking up to him, you sit on the bed and brush your fingers through his hair. “draco. draco, wake up.” you barely whisper. he lets out a gasp as he wakes up with tears sliding down his face and embraces you. “they were hurting you, and you were screaming, so loudly.” draco gasps in between each word. “i’m fine draco, i’m here, aren’t i?” he nods while sniffling, “so lay down, it’s alright.” he shifts and lays down. “i’m alright draco, so go to sleep.” you say as you stand up to leave his room. but before you could leave, he grabs your hand. “don’t leave me, don’t leave me y/n.” you nod and lay down next him. “everything will be better now, draco. believe me.” he hums a melody as you hold him close to your chest.

a couple years later, you wake up to a rustling noise next to you. he looks over at you, “oh y/n, did i wake you?” you shake your head, “it’s alright. where are you going?”

“i was gonna go make a breakfast in bed for you. but looks like you’re already awake.” you chuckle. “come back to bed.” you reply, “no, i’m going to make breakfast.” you pout at his reply, “i’ll let you be little spoon.” you speak again. his expression turns from a small smile to an larger one as he undresses again to lay in bed.

with your arms wide open, he lays down with his back facing you, curled up into a ball. your hand drags itself through his hair as your legs intertwine with his. he turns around to look at you and then snuggles himself into your neck. “y/n?” you hum, acknowledging his question, “i love you,” your eyes widen, “i love you so much. i couldn’t have done anything without you.” for the first time since you’ve met draco, he finally said i love you. small sniffles erupt from you as tears fall down your cheeks. not tears of sadness but of joyous happiness. your sniffles echo through the quiet room as he sits up to look at you surprised.

with tearful eyes, you grab his hand and rub your thumb across it before embracing him tightly. he leaves small kisses on your neck as you think of what to say to his first confession. you let go of him and imprint a smile on your face as he stares at you.

“thank you for saving me draco, i love you too.”

a/n: hi lol. no matter how many times i proofread this, it sucks in all honesty. sorry this post is so spontaneous, i had a ton of school work lol. anyways, thanks for reading my stories.

masterlist

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco x you #harry potter angst #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagine #draco #draco angst #draco fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco one shot #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco x slytherin!reader #draco fanfiction #draco x oc #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #dark mark #malfoy x you #malfoy angst #malfoy family #dracotok

[honeymoonjin]

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

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

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

--------

It’s a day off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

“Hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink in surprise. “We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah, there’s so many of them!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin. Jiminie.

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

--

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

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

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

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

“To go butterfly hunting? Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “Long wings?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

In his defence, Jimin does exactly as he promises.

He gives you space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

“Can we talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely not.”

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

--

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

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

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

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

“Expedish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he a lepidopterist too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

"You've already what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk in silence, leading the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The funeral?"

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The first time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sits up, an unreadable expression dulling his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whose bed?"

More deliberation. "Y-your bed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am touching you," you retort simply.

"Down there!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About what?"

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. "The question?"

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

"Come back?" you repeat, barely breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chest heaving, he cups your breasts with gentle hands, thumbs skimming over the sensitive nipples like you'd done to him. The electricity of his slightly calloused fingertips on your skin is sent right to your core, and you let out a shaky breath, his hands rising and falling with it.

"Good?" he questions softly, and you nod, sighing out your confirmation. Jimin blinks down at you, wetting his lips. "Can I...?"

Without a second's hesitation, you nod, hoping he means what you think he means. You're proven right when he ducks his head, hot mouth latching onto your right nipple. The contact sends a bolt of arousal through you and you whimper as he immediately begins to suck, hard.

"Jimin," you make out in a strangled voice, taken aback by his sudden vigor. "Oh, god, it's so go-"

"Minnie," he interrupts, bringing his face up to your neck without lifting his mouth so that he leaves a wet trail ran behind him, "it's Minnie."

You laugh breathily, but your grin drops away to a shocked moan as he hungrily laps at your skin, sucking lovebites over your pulse point in a way that has you arching your neck, desperate for more. "Fuck, Minnie, where did this come from?"

"Wanna make you feel good," you hear in a muffled sigh, feeling the vibration on your skin. With a boldness you hadn't associated with him before, Jimin reaches between you and rolls your other nipple between his fingers, grasping at the flesh and tugging roughly.

Though it feels better than you'd like to admit, something's wrong, and you pull him away. "Wait, wait," you ease, struggling to detach both his hand and mouth from you. Once he realises you want him off you, he sits up with the confused look of a kicked puppy. "Do you not like it?"

His hands hang limply at his sides, and you interlock your fingers to reassure him. "Minnie, how come you're acting like this? You've never been this way before."

He blinks, a dimpled line between his brows where he furrows them. "Because we're having sex," he answers in an uncertain tone, "and I wanted to make you feel good. Is it not right?"

Belatedly, you recall a conversation you'd had about a month ago, about his friend's sexual habits. Poor Jimin really had internalised one man's preferences as the rule of thumb and taken it to heart. "Minnie," you say in a soft voice, and his face crumples, sending a spike of pain through your heart. "It's not wrong, it's just not...us, is it? Don't you want it to be gentle?"

Jimin sniffs, turning his head to the side, but not before you glance a tear tracking down his cheek. "I- Yeah, I like gentle. But Taehyungie-"

"Was Taehyung in love with the people he was having sex with?" you cut in to ask. "I don't want you to fuck me, Minnie, I want you to make love to me."

Sat on your lap, he looks so small, sniffling away. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," you coo, "don't think about how anyone else does it. Let's just do what feels good for us. You wanna do that?"

Jimin nods with a rueful pout, quietly leaning down so that he was lying on your bare chest, face tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Oh, sweetie," you murmur into the waves of his honey-blonde hair, a hand coming down to rub over his back. "We'll have all the time in the world when you get back to try new things if you want. I just want to make this one special for you, yeah? What do you wanna do, Minnie? Do you want to be on top or do you want to lie down?"

He shifts, relaxing within your embrace. When he speaks, you have to strain to hear it. "I- I thought maybe both of us lying down. Under the covers so it's comfy." He lifts his head back to meet your eyes. "Can we still face each other?"

You brush back his hair with a fond smile, nodding. "Of course. Do you wanna finish getting undressed and we can both get under the covers, hm?"

Your duvet is the thinnest possible one you could find, but even so, it feels like a furnace when the two of you curl up, lying on your sides to face each other.

Jimin seems considerably more calm and content with his setup, giggling as you plant kisses all over his face.

"Happy?" you ask, just to be sure, and Jimin nods decisively, eyes bright no longer with tears but with warmth and love. "Ready?"

He nods again, humming in confirmation, so you run a hand over his shoulder, down his side and dipping over his crotch to take a hold of him, being able to better see his pleasured expressions as you stroke him to full hardness.

Having his face so close, though, is too much of a temptation, and so you lean forward to capture his lips again, deeper this time, hooking a leg over his hips.

One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, and he sighs beautifully into your mouth. "So happy," he mumbles, and your heart leaps as his lips form the words.

Reaching between your spread legs to gather some wetness - which is more abundant than you were expecting, though you've been aching for stimulation down there for a while - you use it to slick Jimin's cock up, preparing him for an easier entry.

His breathing stutters with a hitched moan, already starting to shiver. You smile at his responsiveness, before focussing on lining him up, head dipping just slightly into you.

You can tell the exact moment Jimin realises he's inside you by the way he goes stock still, holding his breath in anticipation. "Still okay?" you confirm, and he mumbles the affirmative.

Unable to keep kissing as you push your hips down on him, you simply pant into his mouth, moaning as he fills you out.

The elegant upwards curve of his cock means that it presses along your top wall, making your thighs jerk when his tip hits your g-spot. "You're so good inside me, Minnie," you praise against his lips, groaning throatily when you finally take all of him, "do I feel good?"

He bites his lip with a whimper, hand on your hip moving to grasp clumsily at your ass cheek, like he wants to make sure he stays buried inside. "It's so tight," he gasps, "I- oh god, it's amazing, I love you so much."

You giggle lightly at his odd choice of timing on the love confession, inadvertently clenching around him which makes Jimin let out a stuttered high keen, curling inwards and jerking his hips to thrust shallowly.

You hiss in a breath, not expecting him to move so soon, but the feeling of being full, of it being Jimin hitting those spots inside you, is too addictive to stay still for much longer.

You start rutting against him in a slow rock, so that he doesn't quite slip all the way out of you before you grind back down, and his hand tenses on the meat of your ass, mouth falling slack.

With no urge to pick up the pace, you simply let Jimin and you enjoy the sensations of being connected on such an intimate level, nosing his chin back so that you can lap tenderly at the skin of his neck, picking a sensitive spot just above his collarbone to softly suck a reminder, something he can take back to Korea with him.

The thought of him leaving makes your heart sink, and to fill the void you begin to pick up your pace, building a delicious heat low in your stomach that has you moaning every breath. "M-minnie, I'm getting close, can you cum with me?"

"Y-yeah, I wanna cum. With- With you," he pants with a full-body shudder, hand leaving your ass to slide up to your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to hold you to him, gasping prettily into the air until you lift your head away from his neck to join your lips again, kissing him like it's oxygen.

You take the chance to slip a hand down and rub at your aching clit, and the extra sensation has you bearing down on him, causing him to start meeting your thrusts halfway.

Like a chain reaction, the pleasure between the two of you skyrockets until you meet your edge, toes curling and rocking needily against him, wanting to feel him fall apart too.

He cums with a high shout, gripping desperately onto your shoulder as he rides the intense waves, ebbing as you throb rhythmically around him with the force of your orgasm.

The two of you pant, mouths connected but too blissed out to properly kiss, and slowly your hips still, bodies wracked with aftershocks for a few minutes of nothing but the sound of you catching your breath.

Surprisingly, it's Jimin that speaks up first, eyes at half-mast as he nuzzles his nose against yours. "Can we stay like this? Sleep like this?"

In his vulnerable eyes, you read the fear of reality, of the fact that he's really leaving tomorrow. You can't say no to Jimin, never have been able to, but neither do you want to.

Instead, you simply press one last, tired kiss across his swollen lips. "Goodnight, Jiminie. I love you."

An almost inaudible sigh of relief. "I love you too."

--

It’s a day off.

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

You’re happy to be up early, though, because you're waiting for someone.

You always take this time of the morning to sit on the porch and drink a cup of tea, but today is different. You've already set up the spare room with a blow-up mattress, keeping the two single beds pushed together in your room. The fridge is stocked thanks to an antsy trip to Quito yesterday, and all night you were filled with restless energy.

Now, though, a sense of calm washes over you like deja vu. A contented warmth that blooms inside you when you finish your hot tea, eyes on the far end of the campground where you can see two figures chatting back and forth.

You stand, but you don't rush over, knowing they'll come to you. The short blonde, paler after returning from Korea, and at his side, a taller, dark-haired figure. Even though you've never met this second man, you recognise the boxy smile he wears as he glances around the campsite in wonder. The same smile that you'd first seen in a framed photo in Jimin's room.

A hand on his friend's back, Jimin points out your cabin, his eyes finding yours, crinkling shut with the radiant beam that stretches across his face.

Home.

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

[kashimos-hajime]

fragrance | a.h.

summary: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

WARNINGS: LMAO SMUT (18+), oral (m!receiving), swearing, drinking, nervous and awkward y/n and hotch heehee pairing: college!aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: lmao so i watched a tiktok of THAT SCENE in love and human remains so i am legally obligated to write what inspired me. ok but @venusbarnes,,, it happened,,,

part of the bitter end universe but not required beforehand to read this. takes place in their second year of college

In retrospect, you know you’re freaking out over nothing.

You just showered, changed outfits twice, tried to fix your hair, inspected your makeup constantly since you’ve finished, and tried to figure out a way to call it off to pass the time.

Why are you even worried? Ever since you’ve gotten off the plane, which, in itself, is a step you cannot backtrack since you are merely a college student with limited funds, your knees have been weak and you feel like you don’t really have a stomach.

Why? It’ll be fine.

You’ve been over Aaron for two-and-some-months years, now. The distance did you good, did you both good. Namely, you’re quite damn sure you don’t feel anything for him anymore besides the occasional flicker of irritation, the excited burst in your stomach, the absolute terror of seeing him again.

How has he changed? It feels like it’s been so long.

You glance at the clock.

9:55

You said 10AM. You have five minutes at the most to get yourself together and just run down the staircase, shove yourself into his presence before your nerves can tell you to turn back. Taking a deep breath, you look at your reflection in the mirror one last time before heading to the desk and grabbing your wrist watch. It’s worn down leather is soft to your touch and you feel an overwhelming sense of calm overtake you.

This will be fine.

As you fasten it to your wrist, you glance at the face. Time seems to tick by slower as you pull on your ankle boots, swipe a finger over your lip, and grab your room key. As you descend the cold stairwell, memories grasp at your consciousness, tease you, but you push them away and instead focus on putting on foot in front of the other, focus on gathering the courage to stand in front of him again.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door and walking over to the pacing figure you only know to be your best friend. His hair is still long, but he’s wearing a leather jacket, so that’s new, and he’s frowning to himself.

And it makes you smile, because that’s him. Aaron Hotchner, master frowner, broody boy. His hair is still long, his eyes still so dark. He hasn’t changed.

God, what will you say to make him laugh?

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you say without thinking.

“George? And here I thought I was John,” he replies just as quickly, matching your tone and your entire heart lurches into your throat as your smile grows stiffly.

Crap. 

And that’s when you realize that, quite frankly, that convincing yourself that you’re over Aaron Hotchner is going to be a lot harder than it looked at first.

You’re fighting the urge to let the whole facade drop, but you can’t because this is Aaron, your best friend you haven’t seen in forever and although you’re so fucking happy to see him, you know everything is easier said than done.

He’s just your best friend, and you’re… you’re… feeling great. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves but that’s because you’re excited to spend time with him. Right?

“So, where to?” you ask, feeling quite exposed as he looks at you strangely. “I’m starving,” you say, an overwhelming need to explain causing word vomit to spill out of your mouth, “so, I was thinking we could get some breakfast, first. I’m in the mood for anything really.”

“Oh,” he says. “I have a place in mind.”

“O-okay. Lead the way, then. It’s kinda chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you needa grab another coat?” he asks as you step closer and they begin to walk to the door. He opens it for you and as you slip past him, your entire system shuts down. Your mind heads straight for the gutter, vivid images, voices, feelings from your dream flashing through your head.

Cheap beer, smoke, sweat, and a cologne you can’t forget.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. Are you, uhm, are you going to be okay in just that jacket? It looks great, by the way.” Are your hands shaking or is that just the swelling throat and the hard lump in your gut’s fault?

Shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“Thanks, and, uh, no. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

You nod and smile shakily. “Great. It’s just… I’m really glad to see you.”

He stops for a moment, stares as if he knows or maybe you just feel naked in your own skin, and then matches your timid smile. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

Right. What did you say again about nerves?

[TWENTY HOURS EARLIER]

“You guys better behave,” Aaron sighs. “I’m not gonna be responsible if I have to deck Carter.”

“Woah there, Hotch,” his roommate comments, sliding off his bed and slinging an around his shoulders. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We’re on a break, actually.”

“I thought you don’t believe in breaks.”

“Well, we’re just talking things out with the long distance thing. It’s not like when she was in high school. She just needs to adjust to her first year, and we’re still talking. So, it’s more like… an intermission before we resume after mid-terms.”

“So, you’re single.”

“Technically, but I’m also not looking,” he retorts, just in case his roommate tries to set something up behind his back, but the guy merely shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Hotch-o.”

He scowls, getting up and running a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket off the hook. “I’m just trying to say that Y/N’s been there for me since before you guys and before Haley.”

“I get it,” his roommate, named Earl, says as he flips the collar of his varsity jacket and grabs the room key. “She’s like a sister to you, right?” Aaron doesn’t say anything to that and Earl doesn’t prod him any further as he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hotch. I’ll spread the word to the guys. They won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, thanks, Earl.”

“I’m heading to class, but it’s the bar tonight, right? You’ll pick her up from the airport?”

“Yeah.” The door opens and closes with a click and Aaron lets out a sigh, turning away from the mirror so he can stop pretending he’s trying to fix whatever Earl thought was wrong with his appearance. He just wanted to stay busy so his friend could leave him alone to his messy thoughts.

He had received your last letter on Monday, confirming your flight for the Thanksgiving weekend. You’d be here with him and his friends for three days.

It wasn’t his idea, nor yours. Sort of like… a mutual epistolary understanding that enough is enough and one of them should just… go.

You had volunteered for that. You had always wanted to see Harvard’s gorgeous campus, according to your last letter.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He has one day off to catch up on the work assigned, get ahead of the reading, and just relax before his friends drag him off to hang out until the sun rises for an entire weekend. He’s sure you’ll love it. You’ve always loved staying out at night where it’s light, watching the sunrise and going to sleep to it.

Despite everything, you enjoy the solitude the night, the contemplative silence of it. Just like him. 

He can’t wait to see you again.

Sitting in the RA office and watching time tick by, he can’t help but feel like something is chaining him down. A heavy weight sits between his shoulders and he stares at the clock for what feels like a short eternity, unable to focus.

The day is slow in its passing, and a growing, unwanted hollowness begins to fill his soul as he half-heartedly finishes his criminal causation theory assignment, reviews for the quiz on Tuesday, and reads the next chapter on the foundations of the criminal justice system. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, though, and he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he gets up for the first time in hours and stretches, glancing at the time.

Your plane is supposed to land at 6:30.

It’s 6:00 now, and he was supposed to eat dinner before going to pick you up.

Shit. He’ll just have to eat at the bar.

Gathering his books and papers into his bag, he slings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the cold sweat clamming his hands up just as the phone in the RA office rings. It’s so jarring her starts, turning to the device and his heart pounds in his throat as he goes to grab it. Duty to the job means he has to, even if he might be late. You’ll understand, right?

“Hello, Resident Assistant speaking,” he says with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Student Services was kind enough to reroute me.” A car beeps behind you and he frowns, holding the phone closer to his ear as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder to sit more firmly. “I’m calling from an airport payphone, but bad news. My flight got delayed, so I can’t come to the bar tonight. I’ll be arriving, like, dead in the morning. Two or three AM.”

“Damn. The boys will miss meeting you,” he says, unable to help the unhappy but forced smile. It comes across as a grimace but he hopes you appreciate the effort. It’s what you’d say if you were here.

“The boys?” you echo, amused. “Well then, tell the boys that they’ll have to wait until morning.” More seriously: “I’m really sorry, Aaron. I was so excited to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s—it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” you repeat and Aaron feels his throat shrink to the diameter of a needle. “You don’t call me that unless you’re genuinely sorry about something bad. Like, death-bad.” Then, a bright laugh that shouldn’t bat away the dreary disposition overcoming him, but it does. “Aaron, it’s not that important—just one night. Look, let’s meet up at 10AM in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning and make up for it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. See you in a bit, Hopscotch.”

“Bye.”

He heads to his room, your voice echoing in his head. Freshening up with a splash of cold water and a rake of a comb through his hair, he explains the situation to Earl as they head down to the bar near campus where some of the other guys are already drinking.

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been nice to meet her.”

“Tomorrow, Earl. She isn’t cancelling.”

“I know, but y’know, it would’ve been fun to beat her in darts.”

“You’re awful at darts.”

“Bigger opponent pool. C’mon, cheer up, Hotch. It’s just a delayed flight, you said so yourself.” More grumpy silence. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. First shots are on me.”

.

His cheeks flushed with heat, he grabs at the shot blindly and throws it back, laughing as his friends get on the dance floor. The bar seems to haze before him. The darkness is pierced by blue lights and red as the shadowed patrons swing to and fro on the floor. Everything is gauzy, edges blurred as the lights flicker and filter through the crowd. Aaron slouches against the booth, smirking at the way Earl’s trying to lay the moves on a girl who merely walks away and he flashes a sympathetic thumbs up before his friend simply rejoins the rest of the guys on the floor.

Everyone had chipped in to buy him round after round in order to get him to loosen up, and it’s hard to admit, but it’s worked. Everything is ethereal, and he feels like he’s floating through life.

He wants to dance, but he doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet, to be honest. His entire world is tipped and the silly smile on his face isn’t going to disappear any time soon as a figure makes her way through the crowd, making her way towards him. It catches his eye, the way she moves around people, keeps her head held up.

He can’t quite see her face but even then, he knows that he knows her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself, like he isn’t in control of his mouth. He gapes as the woman sits down beside him. Her skin smells like sweet fruit and the sting of tequila as she slings an arm around his neck, and his entire stomach flips as she leans over, her arm bent and her fingers playing with the hair by his ear. “You’re not… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, twirling hair around her finger as she gently trails her other hand down his chest. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, no, I’ve missed you, I just—” Her palm runs lower, over his stomach and further. His head whips towards her and he catches the sweet, dulcet notes of warm vanilla spice shampoo. It calms him, sweet in his sinuses and he watches her indistinguishable face. Despite not seeing quite clearly, he knows she’s beautiful with an unintentionally seductive smile, a tentative charm to her movements.

The hand stops and a heat burns through his chest, following the trail she’d carved into him and he feels blood drain from his head so viciously it leaves him lightheaded.

“Just what?” she asks quietly, yet still so loudly over the pub’s pounding music and he groans softly, head tilting back.

“Shit. I just didn’t expect you here. I should introduce you to my friends—” He wants to get up but finds his entire body moving through molasses. He can barely lift a finger and, through the blurred streams of the conscious and the subconscious, he knows he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t want to share.

“Oh, then let’s go.” Her hand lifts but, like a flash of lightning, his fingers wrap around her wrist and keep her firmly against him. “Aaron.” Chastising this time, like he’s a housecat, and she, the exasperated owner. Fingers thread through his hair as he grins at the woman.

“I’m not keen on sharing you right now,” he admits, eyes falling to lips that press into a wondrous smile. “I don’t feel keen on sharing you ever.”

“Is that a fact?” she asks, and he nods, his nose brushing against hers as she leans down to kiss him. Her mouth is warm ecstasy, like cider on a cold winter day that burns through his blood, and his heart is beating everywhere at once—in his throat, in his fingers, between his legs. Fingers card through his hair as his hand finds the curve of a hip and he pulls.

Immediately, as if sensing his intentions before he even thinks it, the woman swings a leg over his hip and straddles him, the dress riding up luxurious thighs and he chuckles to himself as her hands find his neck, thumbs brushing over the sharp cut of his jaw. Her mouth opens against his, breathing into the next ferocious kiss again as his hands trace the shape of her, the swell of her legs, the cool heat of her skin against his burning hands.

“What do you want from me, Aaron?” she whispers, leaning in close enough that he can feel her lips against the shell of his ear, and then down his neck. He gasps, breath catching in his throat as her hands gently squeeze his throat as if reminding him of her previous question but he can’t quite speak. She kisses down past his collarbones, pulls down the neck of his shirt teasingly and peppers kisses to the skin that she can reach. Her fingers are pressing into his pulsepoint, the other hand travelling down his waist again and he knows she can feel it, the hard bulge pressing up between her legs. 

She trails back up again, her kisses teasing the corner of his mouth and he turns, trying to catch the elusive minx only to delight in her light laughter when she pulls back.

“Tease,” he mumbles, eyes shut tight and only then do her lips find his again just as fingers pull at his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as she glances down with him, curiously running her knuckles gently along the curve of it. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down his gasp and he hears her chuckle. As if he’s a mere bystander to his own actions, Aaron watches his hands trail up the sides of her and slowly find purchase on her shoulders.

With the gentlest of pressure, he pushes down, and it’s like she melts between his hands, legs sliding, entire body sinking as his legs open wider to welcome her. Her breath is warm as she unzips his jeans, fingers prying his boxers down until they brush against it, pulsing and hard against his abdomen.

“Jesus,” she whispers but he hears it so clearly, her breath teasing the tip as fingers wrap around his dick. A strong, warm tongue follows, from the bottom to the tip, tracing the vein and every single ounce of oxygen leaves his body when she goes down on him, endlessly warm and wet. Hands wrap around what isn’t in her mouth and his fingers find her scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as his head hits the wall behind him.

Swallowing tightly, a lopsided smirk crosses his face and he lets out a soft sigh when she tilts her head, takes him in until she’s gagging on it. His hips twitch but a hand against his pelvis stalls him, a firm pressure that makes him open his eyes and look down to see her already staring back at him. Eyes dark, lips shining in what light there is, he nearly loses it right there as she swallows him down, making his entire body clench. His jaw tight, he lets out a hissed moan and the hand not on her head grabs his thigh, trying to stave off the desire to fuck her mouth.

The bass beat of the pub beats in his head as the hand on his hip finds the hand on his thigh, traces the tense veins along the back as her head slowly draws up, teeth grazing, tongue flat against his cock.

And then, down again, heavy breaths against his navel through the nose, and he’s in fucking bliss as the woman just goes on and on, deeper and deeper and when she gags, it almost makes him lose his already ill-tempered control because her fingers dig into the back of his hand, the other one squeezes the base of his cock, and stars explode behind his eyes as he chuckles breathlessly, blindly to the ceiling.

A ringing splinters through his skull as he groans, the need to thrust growing too powerful but she squeezes his hand, telling him to stay still without ever lifting her mouth off his cock. He can hear it, the sounds of her wet mouth rising and falling, sucking and licking and fuck, if he’s not going to come down her throat—

Her tongue drags along the underside of his cock as she pulls away, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her fingers up his painfully hard erection, through the wet slick her mouth left behind and she pulls herself up, back bending underneath his hand, chest pressed flush against his and he can taste her again; the sweetness of vanilla, the sweat the pub brings all its occupants, the desire that fizzles so wantonly against his tongue.

“Am I still teasing?” she asks, lips brushing against his chin before he’s lifting his head again. Her hands run over his chest, find the planes of his shoulders, the cord of his neck, and he chuckles, squeezing his waist as she climbs into his lap again, sits squarely so that his erection rubs against her stomach. He bites back a groan and her smirk tells him all he needs to know.

“Seeing as you didn’t let me finish…” he trails off, just as humorous and she laughs, mouth ghosting his, and he almost reaches for it before she’s drawing back, always just out of reach. Never his. Never. “C’mere.”

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her faux displeasure and as his hands down and under her dress, skirting along the waistband of lacey panties, he chuckles huskily. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And do you know how much I want you? How much… how much I need you?” His fingers hook on the waistband and begin to tug just as she cups his face and leans down. His eyes flutter shut and everything seems to melt away as her breath tickles his nose and he grins, pulling down, down, down…

“You could show me, if you’d like…”

Her laughter is the only thing he can hear. Well, that and…

And that ringing—

Holy shit, what is that ringing?

Opening his eyes, there is nothing. Reaching blindly in the darkness, his hand collides with his alarm clock and he slaps the button, turning it off as he groans, turning the digital numbers towards him.

5:45AM

When did he get back? God, his head is pounding, and… he has to get up. Shit. His thoughts are a disorganized mess as he gets up, throwing off the blankets and it’s only then he’s painfully aware that he got… more than excited about his dream.

His dream that’s fading from his memory the longer he’s awake that he can barely remember any of it. Iit was at the bar last night? When did he even get back to the dorm? 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he flicks the light on the nightstand, spotting a glass of water with a dissolving alka selzter tablet and a note. Grabbing it, he squints against the light as he reads the messy, uneven scrawl.

Stayed by your side all night because you sulked and got hammered. Like blackout drunk. Even outdrank me, buddy, which is fuckin impressive.

Wake me up for breakfast. I’m drunk.

Goodnight. And you’re welcome.

-E

Shaking his head, he downs the water despite how much his head throbs at the movement before he gets up and awkwardly palms the front of his boxers, trying to ignore how much it physically hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

He needs to shower and take care of this.

Grabbing new clothes, Aaron glances at his snoring roommate and curses his routine of waking up so damn early. He collects his toiletries, and as he heads for the shower, he tries to think back on his dream, but it’s dissipating quicker by the second.

It was definitely at the bar, he thinks. Something about… he doesn’t know but something smelled and tasted sweet. What was I even doing at the bar?

Well, by the erection against his thigh, it’s safe to assume what he was dreaming about.

The question is more about the who.

.

Your eyes fly open and you lurch up on your bed.

Your whole body is burning as the remaining wisps of your dream begin to fade and you glance around yourself, disoriented. You could’ve sworn you weren’t in your bedroom for a second, but as you glance around, you know you are. You’re no longer in that dark place with blue lights that swung, figures blurry. That someone who was crouched in front of you, you think, is gone and his hands which had pulled your legs apart with gentle hesitation hadn’t left scorch marks, but they might as well have.

The sensation still lingers.

God, it feels like you haven’t slept a wink and as you slowly wake, your body rebooting, you become more filled with dread. Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes and touch your cheeks, trying to remember what you did before sleeping.

I showered, went straight to bed. Didn’t go out… then… What’s happening? What was I even dreaming about?

It’s only then you become acutely aware of between your legs. The soaked, uncomfortable sensation, the strange tightness of your thighs.

Holy fuck. And about who?

Running a hand over the cold sheets, you shiver and get up, grabbing the unopened complimentary mini bottle of water you’d gotten from the plane from your bag.

As soon as you take one sip, you’re chugging it down, trying to alleviate the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, slipping down your back. You feel oily and strangely empty, your heart racing as you toss the empty plastic into the trash can and head back towards the bed, reaching blindly for the light switch. Turning it on, you glance at the clock. 5:47 in the morning.

Charming.

In less than five hours, you’ll have to be heading down to the lobby and facing your best friend.

Why does that thought suddenly fill you with a terrible concoction of nerves, nausea, and cold shivers?

Trying to grasp the last remnants of your dream, you head for the bathroom to splash some water on your face and change your underwear, too bone-dead tired to even think about showering. Then, you head back to bed to try to get some sleep, but the heat seems to be more than skin-deep because despite the amount of splashing and patting of freezing water against an exhausted face, a terrible, sinking feeling twists your gut, making your knees weak.

What on Earth were you even dreaming about? You can’t even remember now except you feel utterly exhausted in the wake of it and the only hint of the content is the slick between your thighs.

Your sleep-addled brain eventually convinces any part of you still awake to just try to sleep, and as you slip into the covers, the faint but entirely unique scent of cologne, beer and smoke clings to your senses.

[THE PRESENT]

Really, it should be okay. 

The hotel isn’t too sketchy, the lobby smells vaguely of lavender and cinnamon from one of those bath shop candles, and he shouldn’t be worried.

Why is he worried? His guts have been in knots since he’s woken up, his head feels like it's been dunked in water for hours and everything is swimming as he sits in the lobby, his palms sweating. Maybe it’s the hangover, but it feels heavier than that. Yes, his head is hammering, but there’s a strange upset in his gut, too.

Must’ve been something about that dream he can’t quite place. Just thinking about it makes his head beat even harder.

But, you had said ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

He looks at his wrist watch.

9:57

Time seems to be passing so slowly that he’s not sure the seconds even tick by as his knee begins to jiggle, his hands run flat against his jeans. When he can’t take the nervous ticking inside his chest, he gets up to pace, eyes darting to the staircase where you’d be coming down from.

Is he nervous about seeing you or excited? Is it both? Neither? Something else?

Aaron thinks he’s going to throw up. What if it’s awkward? After all, years between the last visit and now—in the summer, somehow they always just miss each other or there’s money problems or some other plan—things are bound to change.

It’s nerves. It has to be.

The door opens and he turns around to see you there, walking over to him with a dark jacket over a green shirt. It clashes wonderfully and you’re smiling like the sun lives in your heart and you’re smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you tease, gesturing to his leather jacket.

“George?” he repeats easily, too easily. An overwhelming flood in his chest and you arch an eyebrow, grinning still, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “And here I thought I was John.” Your smile only grows and he feels like he can’t breathe and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

As you adjust your own jacket, compliment him on his, and ask where he wants to go for breakfast, Aaron can’t help the terrible ache in his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

He opens the door and you walk by, the smell of shampoo invading his entire space and he reels back, blinking. His breath hitches, his entire body stiffens.

Warm vanilla spice.

Oh, shit.

a/n: so, uh, sex dreams for the win? to be decided ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dont forget to reblog if u liked loves ❤️ 

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison​ @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack​ @sercyan​ @forgottenword

#fic: bitter end #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch fanfiction #hotch fic #hotch imagine #hotch x reader smut #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #my writing

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Can’t Get Enough Part 2

Hi friends! What do we think of Billie and Lee? How will Lee keep Billie? Only time will tell *evil laugh*. 

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 1.9k

Billie awoke the next morning nervous. Not nervous that she was going to be pregnant, she may have been a small town girl but she wasn’t stupid. No, she was nervous because she knew she had crossed a line the night before. It was something she had dreamed of doing, for almost a full year. But she had plans to leave Knockemstiff and she couldn’t be deterred. She figured there was no sense in worrying about it for the time being. Knowing Lee Bodecker, she knew that he never paid a girl attention for very long. And she had to get ready for church. 

Being part of a family of eight meant that trying to pile everyone into the car on Sunday morning was an event. Wesley sat between his parents. And the three girls sat in the back. Joseph and Thomas sat in the trunk area. It was plenty big for the two of them. Joy fussed over her children. Straightening the boys ties and attempting to keep the girls’ dresses from getting rumpled. She had recently focused much of her attention on Billie. Billie was at the age where she needed to think about finding a nice fella to settle down with. John and Joy didn’t approve of Billie’s plan to leave Ross County. They knew she could find a nice boy in town and have wonderful grandchildren for them. 

Today Joy was especially grating to Billie. She thought about faking sick and skipping the church services. She didn’t know why her mother made the family listen to both services. They weren’t the same, but they were similar. Billie thought one service was plenty. But no, they had two every Sunday and Joy insisted that her daughters help serve lunch between the two services. The local women who could find some room in their budget to contribute a dish or two each week ran the lunches. She hated that everyone expected her to help. But she never put up a fuss about it. 

Lee awoke that same morning very excited. Excited about his future with Billie and today he would start to woo her. He knew the entire family would be at the Sunday church service. So, he went to the Sunday service and actively sought out the Dechswaan family. He saw Joy in one pew, she was toying with Billie’s dress. It’s white with pink flowers embroidered on it. Joy is obsessively running one hand over the dress, as if she think there’s wrinkles in the fabric. Billie looks entirely unamused. Lee walks over to the family as they’re starting to sit down. 

“Deputy Bodecker,” Joy beamed, “How are you on this fine Sunday?”

“Doing well ma’am,” he responds. 

“Good, good. Why don’t you sit with us today,” Joy grins, sitting down. 

“I would love to,” Lee smirks. 

“You and Billie can sit next to each other,” Joy suggests. He was used to mama’s shoving their daughters at him. What mama wouldn’t want a nice man with benefits to marry their little girl? 

Lee grinned to himself as he sat. If Joy was already trying to push Billie on him then this would be easy. Billie hesitantly sits between Lee and her mother. Lee’s legs spread open so his thigh brushes Billie’s. She strains to take a deep breath in. The air in the church was sweltering. You couldn’t expect much more from a stuffy church in Southern Ohio in June. 

Sweat was pouring down Billie’s back. She could feel her heart beating out of her chest. Lee moved his leg up and down so it rubbed on Billie’s leg. She wanted desperately to lean into it. The preacher asked the congregation to stand and sing. Billie stands with the rest of the family, she felt all the blood rush to her head. She stumbles back into Lee a bit. He rights her, he’s not sure what to make of her stumble and the intense blush in her face. She moves her hair off of her neck. She can’t feel the tips of her fingers, there’s ringing in her ears, and she can’t breathe. She starts to see little black dots hopping across her visual field. They’re halfway through Amazing Grace when Billie’s vision goes black and she collapses. 

Lee catches her before she hits the floor. There’s gasping and panicking. The preacher’s wife jumps to action.

“Let’s get her to the kitchen, we can get her some water,” she says, coming to the rescue. Lee carries Billie and Mrs. Dechswaan follows closely behind, ordering the other children to stay with their father to finish the sermon. Billie’s loss of consciousness is very brief, before they even get fully downstairs her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t fight Lee holding her. He manages to get her downstairs to the church kitchen, where he gingerly sets her on a countertop. 

“You feeling alright, sweetie?” Her mother coos with concern. Billie nods, not trusting her own voice. “I told you to eat breakfast,” Joy admonishes, handing her a glass of water provided by the preacher’s wife. Lee gathers Billie’s hair off her neck and starts to fan her with a church bulletin. If Joy wasn’t so concerned with her daughter fainting she might have noticed that such an action was too familiar. Billie sipped the water for a moment. 

“Thank you for catching me Deputy Bodecker,” she whispers. 

“Of course,” he responds.

“Mama, I just wanna go home,” Billie begs. 

“We can’t, honey. I’m signed up to serve luncheon between services,” Joy sighs. 

“Well, daddy or Joseph or Thomas could drive me home between,” Billie counters. 

“Honey, you know they’re going straight to that hog auction from here,” Joy says, clearly irritated that the three are skipping a church service. 

“I could take her,” Lee offers.

“We couldn’t impose,” Joy argues. 

“No, really. It’s quite alright. I was going to duck out between services anyway. I have a shift down at the station,” Lee promises. 

“Mama, just let him take me,” Billie urges. Joy looks at Lee, studying him.

“If you’re sure, I would really appreciate you helping us out,” she exhales. 

“Of course. It’s no problem,” Lee smiles. 

“Alright,” Joy allows, “Thank you Lee.” Billie slides off the counter and onto her feet. The four sneak back up to the main level. The preacher’s wife and Joy go back to the chapel for the remainder of the service. But Lee leads Billie outside with a tight grip on her arm. He opens the passenger door for her, before going around to the other side of the car.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as Lee starts the car. 

“You feeling any better?” He asks, eyes straight ahead on the road. 

“Still a little light-headed, but yeah,” she says. 

“You scared me there,” he tells her. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. Lee nods. He’s silent for a moment. 

“I wanted to chat with you about the other night, actually,” Lee says. 

“Are you going to lecture me?” Billie wonders aloud. 

“No,” he laughed, “I just want to make myself clear going forward.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I would like to start dating you,” he responded.

“Huh,” Billie hummed. 

“You’re a beautiful girl and you deserve someone who can provide for ya and treat ya right,” Lee murmured. 

“Sounds like you’re ready to settle down.”

“I am. The sheriff’s gotta have a lady on his arm.”

“And you want me… to be that lady.”

“I do. You’d be good at it. Already help serve Sunday luncheon and you could volunteer to work with the little kids during one of the services. Until we have our own babies, of course.”

“I think you’re moving too fast, Lee. I intend to go my own way for a time. I want to experience the world.”

“Baby,” he shakes his head, “The only experiences you need are right here. I can give you a good life. Once I’m sheriff, anything you want I can get ya. The fanciest house. The prettiest dresses. I don’t care. We’ll be so happy.” Lee stops the car, they had finally arrived back to the old farmhouse that Billie’s family lived in. Billie’s eyes are wide. She seemed almost panicked by what he had to say. 

“Uhmm, do want to come in? Have a glass of lemonade?” She asked, politely. 

“Of course,” he smiled. He was glad that she was already catering to him. She’d make a pretty little wife. He followed Billie up the steps of the house, she stumbled a little and he caught her by the elbow. 

“Thank you,” she sighed. She opened the door and led him to the kitchen. The table where the family ate was scuffed and scratched, all the chairs were mismatched. He would buy her a much nicer dining room set. He sat and waited for her to join him. She gathered two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade before sitting down at the table. She poured them each a glass. Lee drank from his glass deeply, while Billie sipped. 

“I appreciate what you’re saying Lee, I really do,” she began, “But I really want to go to college. I want to be a teacher and live in a big city.” 

“I know, honey. But my plan is better for you. You don’t have to work. You just gotta take care of me,” he explained. It was simple to him. He couldn’t fathom what it was that she wasn’t getting. Billie was quiet. 

“Didn’t you have fun last night, sugar?” He asked, his voice was gravelly and low. 

“I-I did,” she answered. Lee reach his hand over to rub her thigh. 

“I could love on you like that every night, baby,” he told her, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Billie nodded dumbly. It did sound nice. Her heart was beating quickly again. She fought to control her breath. Was he going to do that again? Right now? Part of her really hoped so. 

“Well, we don’t have to get married anytime soon,” Lee reasoned, “We can take it slow and maybe next summer we get married. Just give me sometime to prove to ya that I can treat ya right, okay?” Billie nodded again. Lee leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. 

“I gotta head to work, baby,” Lee downed the rest of his lemonade, “Let’s meet tonight. Go through your woods over here and I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Alright,” Billie nodded. She didn’t know why she was agreeing. 

“Good, I’ll see you at ten, then. Now give me a kiss and walk me out,” he commanded, standing up. Billie stood and reached up on her tippy toes to kiss Lee. He was at least six foot and she was just five feet five inches tall. She pecked his lips. But he wrapped his arms around her, and held her to him. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue against hers. She kissed him back eagerly. Her tongue fought his for dominance. His hand snaked down to her ass to palm it. He pulled away from her with a gasp and released her. Billie walked him to the door and pecked his lips a second time. 

“Bye,” she smiled. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby.” She watched Lee drive away before closing the door. She went back to the kitchen to clean the two glasses, before slinking up to her bed. If she was meeting Lee tonight then she would need to get some sleep. 

@greeneyedblondie44

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