Crooked Wings

by Anch53

Summary:

Mingi only wanted to escape the ridicule, but he ended up becoming the prey of a hunter. With the tip of an arrow aimed at him, unaware that this clumsy and fatal moment would change his life forever. Now, caught between fear, desire, and an instinct he cannot understand, the only thing he feels is the need to build the most beautiful nest…

Even if it has to be inside the one who was meant to devour him.

Chapter 1: Imperfect nest

He had always been fearful.

And he had always believed he didn’t belong.

His family was far too beautiful. They all had those shimmering feathers that seemed to catch the light even on cloudy days. There were elegant ducks with long necks, geese that walked with proud strides, herons that moved as if parading. Even his younger cousins already showed flawless wings and a straight posture, as if they had been born knowing exactly where they belonged.

Mingi, on the other hand, looked like a wrinkled version of something that had never quite bloomed.

His feathers were more yellow than white, dull, often ruffled. There was a strange blotch on his right wing, as though someone had spilled ink during its formation. His legs were clumsy, his wings a little short, and his crest didn’t rise with grace—it just fell into his eyes like a stubborn lock of hair.

"You don’t even look like a goose..." his older sister once told him, tilting her head with false compassion.

"Maybe you’re just... a wild chicken," another cousin murmured, setting off laughter among the others.

The bird community lived high among the thickest trees, in nests woven between branches, where each family had its space. Mingi’s was small, warm, always noisy. But also always full of eyes.

Eyes that weighed on him.

He tried to help: collecting soft herbs for the nests, tending to the smallest eggs, even learning to sing traditional melodies with his rough voice. But he always seemed… extra. An awkward accessory.

That morning, the sky was still gray when it began.

He had brought dried flowers to decorate the nest, thinking it would be nice to brighten the place after such a long winter. He placed them carefully at the edge, proud, waiting for his mother to say something.

"Where did you get this?" asked one of the young ducks, lifting a withered flower with his beak.

"It looks like a crow’s nest!" another shouted, laughing.

"How dreadful. As if the nest wasn’t already ugly enough with him inside."

The laughter hit him like a blast of icy wind. It crawled down his back. Twisted in his stomach.

Mingi said nothing. He only lowered his head, picked up one of the flowers, and crushed it between his fingers, feeling how easily it crumbled. Just like him.

And then, without thinking, he leapt from the edge of the nest.

"Where are you going?" they shouted, but it was too late.

He glided clumsily down through the trees, bumping into a branch, spinning around himself. He didn’t fly like the others. He barely managed to fall with some semblance of style.

He wandered away from the main clearing, where songs and laughter still echoed like taunts.

He walked through the forest, following a path of damp leaves, his feet sinking into the soft earth. He didn’t know where he was going. He just wanted to be far.

Far from his ugly feathers.

Far from the mirrors that were the others.

Far from himself.

It was then, in the soft morning mist, that he felt it.

A presence. The crunch of leaves.

A smell… of earth and something wild.

Mingi turned his head.

And he saw it.

Two dark eyes, like wet coal.

A large body, covered in fur.

Ears upright.

A hybrid.

A bear.

Time froze.

Mingi’s chest tightened.

His wings trembled.

And, without thinking, he transformed again.

Small, feathery, shining like a lost spark.

He screeched.

And ran.

He didn’t know if the other had seen him or not, but he didn’t want to stay and find out.

He knew how dangerous they could be.

He didn’t know if the other had seen him—he didn’t dare check—but he also couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand what it meant. He knew the stories. He knew what hunting hybrids did when they found something weak, strange, or alone… it was allowed.

Food.

Treasures.

Toys.

Mingi’s feet—meant for paddling in calm waters, not for running through sharp roots—sank again and again into the wet mud that slowed him down, as if the forest itself wanted to hold him back. His wings, barely formed, fluttered helplessly, trying to lift him off the ground, but he couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not now.

Tears mixed with the mist, hot, invisible, as he stumbled forward, chest burning, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Until his body could no longer move, and he dragged himself toward a fallen log—hollow, enormous, smelling of old rot and moss. He curled up inside, breath ragged, beak pressed to his chest, trying to become part of the wood, part of the shadow.

His heart beat so fast he thought it would burst out of his beak.

"Calm down... he didn’t see you... he didn’t see you..."

But then he heard it.

A crack, sharp.

Heavy footsteps. Slow. Steady.

And something else…

The shrill sound of air being cut.

Zzzzip!

It struck with violence just inches from his hiding place.

It bounced off the damp bark with a dull, heavy thud, vibrating for one eternal second, as if the entire forest had held its breath with him.

Mingi screeched again, and this time it wasn’t timid or restrained, but sharp, torn, ripped straight from the marrow—a cry that knew nothing of dignity or strategy.

It was pure fear.

A raw, piercing call like the frantic flutter of a life refusing to be extinguished.

His wings thrashed wildly, with no direction or form, stirring up a storm of leaves and dirt around him, as if that alone could blind the enemy—or at least confuse him for a second.

He didn’t think.

His body hurled forward with no clear direction, cutting through the thick mist and the green dappled with shadows, propelled by the sheer urgency of not being caught.

He wasn’t flying.

But he was gliding.

Or at least trying to.

His wings—more instinct than structure—kept him in the air just long enough to bounce from branch to branch, dropping and climbing in an irregular, desperate rhythm.

He was a crooked flash, dirty, a dull yellow streak through the foliage, like a spark dragged by the wind. With every leap, every impact, his body ached—yet he did not stop.

Behind him, the footsteps quickened.

They didn’t call out. They didn’t shout.

They only followed.

With precision.

With calm.

That was worse.

The air grew heavier, wetter.

The vegetation denser.

Mingi zigzagged clumsily through a narrow passage between two moss-covered rocks, his claws slipping when he stepped wrong on a root, and in an instant, he lost his balance. His body rolled downhill, hitting the ground with sharp thuds, feathers scattering, one wing twisting painfully.

He had no time to scream.

He only fell.

Until he landed in a small hollow blanketed with dead leaves, old branches, and rotting fragments of logs. He lay there for a second, chest pressed to the ground, face smeared with damp earth, gasping as if every breath was borrowed.

He had to hide.

He had to become smaller. 

Invisible. Nothing.

He dragged himself as best he could toward thick roots hanging from a fallen tree and slipped between them like a wounded animal seeking the last possible shadow. He curled into himself. Clenched his beak. Feathers pressed tight against his body. His whole being condensed into one trembling knot.

He didn’t know if he was bleeding.

A heavy silence fell.

The forest grew too still.

Not a bird. Not an insect.

Only him… and the other.

Boots.

Large.

Dark leather, weatherworn, marked by mud and use, stopped right in front of his hiding place. The weight of that body hit the ground with a dull thud. They were there. Inches away. Silent. Unmoving.

The hunter had found him.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The silence that enveloped him spoke louder than any threat. He crouched slowly, with a deliberate patience that froze Mingi’s blood, as if he had all the time in the world. From his low angle, between twisted roots, Mingi could barely make out the dark silhouette of a torso, the restrained motion of an arm being raised.

He couldn’t see it clearly.

But he could feel it.

That tension in the air, sharp as a string on the verge of snapping.

The arm stretching, steady.

The sound of leather pulled taut.

The faint creak of a bowstring being drawn back.

Another arrow.

And this time… it no longer seemed like they wanted to catch him.

Maybe…

Maybe they wanted to hunt him for real.

His wet, wide black eyes fixed on the dirty sky barely filtering through the roots. A fragment of gray clouds and branches, like a crack through which he could hardly breathe.

"I don’t want to die."

His legs trembled beneath his weight. His whole body was a living quake, convulsing. The air was dense, thick, as if every molecule refused to enter his lungs. It was heavier than snow. More suffocating than shame.

Time stretched.

Each second dragged on, as if the whole world were holding its breath to see what would happen.

And then…

He leapt.

With a torn, dry scream, ripped from the deepest core of fear, Mingi burst out from beneath the roots like a dirty lightning bolt. His body sprang forward with no clear direction, driven more by desperation than by strategy.

And then everything tilted.

CRACK.

The wing veered. His balance shattered.

Another arrow grazed his left wing, the vibration of the impact, the whistle of death brushing against his feathers.

He fell hard on his side, his body rolling through the mud like a sack of wet bones, slamming into roots, branches, stones. Mud clung to his feathers, stung his eyes, filled his mouth. His chest scraped against an exposed root. Everything spun.

Everything hurt.

A dull ringing filled his ears, tangled with his ragged breathing. His wing bled. He didn’t know how much.

Only that it burned.

He went still.

He trembled.

Every muscle jolted by electric impulses.

Every nerve set alight.

He tried to rise.

He couldn’t.

A spasm ripped down his back. His wings contracted uncontrollably.

And his control cracked.

And then… it broke.

The body shifted.

His legs stretched out, awkward, turning human. The shape of the beak blurred into a face, and that face lifted, caked in mud, with damp strands of dull blond plastered to his forehead. He lay there, sprawled in a cold puddle, trembling.

And his feathers…

Some still clung to his skin, embedded like living scars. There was plumage on his shoulders, where flesh seemed undecided about abandoning what it had once been. On his back too, jutting out near his shoulder blades. His arms were streaked with scrapes, his thighs smeared with mud.

And his wings hadn’t vanished completely. They were still there, heavy, bent under their own weight, filthy, twisted, and the left one bleeding.

He was naked. Vulnerable.

His chest rose and fell with difficulty. His parted lips quivered, and his gaze searched for something in the void.

Maybe mercy.

Maybe just air.

And that was when he saw him.

The hunter.

He emerged from the trees as if he had always been part of the forest. His silhouette was broad, solid, carrying a restrained brutality. His skin was dark, weathered by sun and cold, marked with thin lines of dry earth and old blood.

The bow in his hand, carved from dark wood and adorned with braided fibers, stayed taut, as though each breath could loose the arrow. The muscles in his arms seemed built to crush and to protect alike.

His torso, wrapped in thick furs strung with bone beads that rattled like tiny amulets, revealed old scars along his neck, marks of struggle and dominance. Symbols were etched into his forearm, ones Mingi couldn’t recognize.

His hair, dark and unruly, fell in loose strands across his face, shifting with the breeze as if it were part of the forest itself. And his eyes… dark, wild, burned with a deep fire.

Eyes that seconds ago had been like blades now widened with surprise, almost wonder.

“…What…?” he muttered, not releasing the bow, not lowering the string’s tension. “You’re…?”

Mingi looked at him from the mud, barely able to hold his gaze. The wounded wing still throbbed at his back, open like a lament. His lips moved faintly, broken by fear and cold.

“Please… don’t eat me,” he whispered, his voice so thin it nearly vanished with the wind.

Jongho blinked.

He stepped back. His brow furrowed as he took in the frail, battered body smeared with mud and torn feathers. This wasn’t some wild creature… It was a hybrid, like him.

“Tsk… Great. I just tried to hunt a chicken kid.”

And with that, Jongho finally lowered the bow, stepping forward—only for his foot to catch on a slick root, sending his heavy frame lurching sideways.

“Shit!” he spat.

The ground was treacherous, slick with moisture and sloped, and Jongho couldn’t recover his balance in time. He tried to throw his weight back, but it was too late.

He fell.

The cold air punched the breath from him just before his body pitched forward, and colliding with Mingi was the only thing that kept him from slamming face-first into the ground.

The impact was rough, a dull thud against the hybrid’s frail torso, and as he fought to steady himself, his legs buckled.

He felt his thighs brush against warm skin, feather-streaked, and inertia dragged him down until he landed…

Right on Mingi’s hips.

The hunter froze.

Mingi too.

There was a second.

Just one…

Of pure silence.

The kind of silence that burns the ears and neck, where both knew exactly what had just happened, but neither wanted to be the first to speak.

“Oh, no… no, no, no…” Mingi whispered, shrinking back, trying to move his hips away, though the contact had already been far too clear.

Jongho frowned and, against his will, let his gaze drop for an instant. He didn’t want to look, but curiosity pierced him like an arrow.

The other’s body was naked, and though wings and layers of mud covered much, they couldn’t hide the obvious.

A tense erection, pulsing with each ragged breath, drops of water sliding down its surface.

It wasn’t like the ones from his tribe.

The shape—long, thick—kept the same axis and proportions he would recognize in any man, but the skin was smoother, more uniform, darker in tone, without the hair that would cover a human’s.

Near the base, a natural ring of short feathers—soft, damp, bristling—blended into the flesh as if they were an extension of his own body. And higher up, running along toward the glans, fine striations shimmered like pearly filaments, catching the light, reminding Jongho of the markings on plumage.

“What…? Why do you… have a…?” Jongho asked, his voice deep, not so much angry as unsettled.

“Don’t look!” Mingi yelped, twisting as best he could, trying to cover himself with his hands and wings, only smearing himself with more mud. Yet the heat of the hunter against him only made his cock twitch. “It’s not my fault! I got scared! And you were… on top of me!”

Jongho was about to move off, to throw out something cutting to break the tension, but before he could, he felt the body beneath him shudder in a strange way. Not just from fear.

It was a small motion…

Rhythmic.

“…What the hell…?” he muttered, frowning deeper.

Mingi, breath ragged and skin chilled from mud, didn’t seem aware of what he was doing. His hips rose faintly, clumsily, almost desperately seeking friction. The thick fabric of Jongho’s pants was the only warmth in his whole body, and instinct clung to it.

Shame burned across his cheeks, but his hips moved on their own—timid at first, then a little more insistent. A low sound, closer to a muffled moan than a sigh, slipped from his throat.

Jongho stared, confused, caught somewhere between irritation…

And curiosity.

He wasn’t used to anyone reacting like this to his presence. Much less a creature who, seconds earlier, had been begging for his life.

“Hey…” he said, his deep voice struggling to stay steady. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

Mingi blinked, as if waking from a trance. But he didn’t stop. He bit his lip, eyes glimmering not just with shame, but with something more primal.

“No… I can’t…” he murmured, barely a sound. “Never… no one ever…”

His wings twitched nervously behind him, opening and closing in little spasms, as if his whole body were trapped in the impulse.

“Never… what?” Jongho pressed, narrowing his eyes, as if trying to drag the confession out of him.

Mingi swallowed hard, throat tight, and in a rushed, broken whisper, he let it slip:

“I’ve never been able… to lay my eggs…”

The silence that followed was so heavy the sound of droplets falling from nearby leaves filled it. Jongho blinked a couple of times, processing. Then he let out a rough, dry laugh, genuinely incredulous

“Eggs?” he repeated, as if the word itself were some private joke he hadn’t been told. “Are you telling me… you want me to…?”

Mingi nodded awkwardly, cheeks aflame, eyes darting away.

“You could… you could help me deposit them. You’d be… strong, steady… and warm.”

That only made Jongho laugh harder, shaking his head, the deep sound rumbling in his chest.

“Mingi, I’m a mammal. A bear. I don’t lay eggs, let alone…” He made a sharp gesture between them, a half-smile flashing his fangs. “…carry a bird’s.”

Mingi’s face fell, hurt flickering beneath his feathers as he curled in on himself, wings pressed tight.

“It’s not funny…” he muttered, voice thin. His hips still moved faintly, though, as if instinct refused to let go.

“Of course it’s funny,” Jongho shot back, still smirking. “Look, even if I wanted to help, we don’t work that way. I don’t lay eggs. I wouldn’t even know what the hell to do with them.”

Mingi pressed his wings tighter, as if trying to make himself smaller, but his voice came out a mix of pleading and stubbornness.

“You don’t have to lay them… just… hold them. Keep them warm until…”

Mingi averted his gaze, neck shrinking.

“Until they’re truly mine.”

For a moment, Jongho stopped laughing. He just watched him, silent, dark eyes tracing each damp feather, each involuntary tremor. Absurd, yes… but there was something so raw in Mingi’s plea that it stripped his sarcasm bare.

Not that he could think too long.

Because Mingi’s hips had shifted, his cock now pressed directly against Jongho’s center.

The friction wasn’t against a hard bulge, as anyone might expect of a bear. No. The heat gave it away—damp even through fabric. And Mingi’s eyes widened, awestruck by the warm space he found there.

“Ah…” his voice broke, surprise flickering in his eyes with something else. “You’re… soft.”

Jongho’s shoulders tightened, gaze snapping away as if admitting it aloud was too uncomfortable.

“Not what you expected,” he growled, though his tone lacked real anger.

“No,” Mingi trembled, smiling faintly. “It’s better.”

The bird-hybrid’s wings fluttered, and in an unconscious movement he pressed closer, grinding his pelvis against that hidden heat. Jongho’s thick pants only gave a suggestion of texture, but the warmth, the dampness… those couldn’t be masked.

Jongho bit back a growl.

He had lived his whole life knowing that, to others, his body might seem… unusual.

Less imposing.

For a bear hybrid, a hunter, strength embodied—this was not what his kin expected.

But Mingi didn’t seem to see it that way at all.

"You could…" the hybrid whispered, his voice breaking, as if the words slipped out before he could think them. "You could keep them. All of them. In there."

Heat rushed to Jongho’s cheeks, and for a moment he didn’t know if the answer burning on his tongue was a "no" or a growl that might end up sounding like a "yes."

Mingi, however, didn’t need a reply. The pressure of his hips grew firmer, moving in a slow rub, as if he wanted to memorize every sensation through the fabric. The warmth seeping from Jongho had him spellbound, and images formed in his mind that left him even more breathless.

"It would be… perfect," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the bear’s face. "Warm… closed… tight… like a nest made just for me."

Mingi leaned in closer, as if he wanted to melt into him, pressing his erection against the softness hidden beneath the pants. The friction was clumsy, but enough to make his breathing erratic.

"So warm…" he murmured, almost in devotion.

Jongho pressed his hands into the mud to stop himself from touching him, even though a part of him wanted to.

"Imagine it," Mingi went on, his wings trembling. "My eggs, small at first, but growing… and you would hold them there, keeping them warm, hidden… protected by you. Neither wind nor rain could ever touch them."

He pressed again, firmer this time, as if trying to memorize that invisible shape beneath the fabric. His pupils were dilated, and each word came out drenched in pure, unfiltered fascination.

"I could feel them when you moved… and you could feel them with every step. And when they were ready… you could give them back to me… one by one…"

Jongho’s breathing grew heavier, and though his brow was still furrowed, the tension in his shoulders had shifted. He wasn’t used to anyone speaking about his body like that, as if it were something precious. As if that difference was… desirable.

Mingi brushed the fabric with the tip of his length, a slow movement, as if he wanted to etch every inch of heat into his skin.

"Inside there… it would be perfect."

Jongho swallowed hard. His jaw was clenched, trying to appear unaffected, but his breathing betrayed him. A faint tremor ran down his thighs, and the heat rising along his neck wasn’t just from embarrassment.

"Stop…" he tried to growl, but his voice came out deeper, lower, as if it had lost its strength halfway through.

Mingi allowed himself the faintest smile, almost unconscious, and pressed again, this time with a short, sticky grind. The fabric of their pants trapped both their heat, and Jongho felt his own body respond, even if he hated to admit it.

"You… you don’t even know what you’re saying…" he muttered, trying to wrest back control of his voice.

But that murmur sounded different, less firm. And though his brow remained furrowed, there was a glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His breath, increasingly uneven, seemed caught between the effort to restrain himself and the urge to give in.

The rubbing grew more insistent. Mingi, his eyelids half-lowered, looked as if he were memorizing the exact spot where that heat pooled, as if he could pierce through the fabric by sheer persistence. His wings fluttered nervously, a soft brushing that grazed Jongho’s skin and sent a shiver down his spine, one he tried to disguise with a scoff.

He could pretend it didn’t affect him, could keep frowning all he wanted, but his body had other ideas. There was a different tension in his hips, a forced stillness, as if any wrong move would expose him completely.

Mingi noticed, though he said nothing. He only tilted his pelvis a little more, letting his erection mold itself against the shape behind the fabric.

"Warm…" he whispered, as if it were a secret meant only for him.

Jongho shut his eyes for an instant, gritting his teeth. He was losing control, and he knew it.
He arched beneath Mingi’s weight, seeking more friction, and that single movement was enough to break the balance. Jongho, precariously supported on his knees, lost a bit of his posture, and Mingi seized that moment to push him.

It was a desperate move, trying to force his tip as deep inside Jongho as possible.

Jongho’s body gave way and he fell onto his back over the damp grass, the thud softened by the wet earth. Before he could sit up or growl anything, Mingi was already moving, clumsily dragging himself forward until his knees locked at either side of Jongho’s hips.

Now it was him on top, panting, wings trembling—one twitching nervously, the other pinned to his side from pain—his chest heaving in an attempt to catch air.

His thighs pressed hard against Jongho’s sides, and his cock, hot and rigid, settled directly against the base of the pants, right at the center of the heat he had already found before.

The bear hybrid growled low, startled by the sudden pressure, but didn’t move to push him off.

The contact was more direct now, without the filter of the previous angle, and Mingi let out a low, shaky moan that quivered in his throat like the stifled song of a bird.

Jongho, sprawled on the grass, lifted his gaze to him, brow tight as though he were about to shove him away…

But he didn’t.

There was tension in his jaw, a hidden gleam in his eyes that didn’t match the rigidity of his posture. His hands, firm against the ground, seemed to resist the urge to rise and touch him, as if that self-control were the only thing holding him in place.

Mingi rolled his hips in a slow grind, savoring the friction, memorizing the exact spot where the fabric trapped the heat. The dampness building there excited him even more, and his ragged breath mixed with faint whimpers of strain each time the pain in his wing threatened to distract him.

He closed his eyes, his disordered breaths falling over Jongho’s neck. The rubbing, the scent of wet earth and mud, the heat pooled between them…

"Like this…" he whispered, as if speaking to himself, with a devotion that sent goosebumps over Jongho’s skin.

His hands descended, fumbling at the edge of the pants. His fingers, damp and trembling, tangled with the simple knot holding them closed. He touched it as though it were a forbidden secret he was about to unveil.

"Mingi…" Jongho growled. "No… you can’t… put anything there… that’s not how it works."

But Mingi didn’t seem to hear him. Or worse, he heard and didn’t care.

"Shhh… yes… I can…" he stammered, his fingers loosening the knot with clumsy movements. "You… you can… keep them… all of them… in there… you’d feel them… they’d be yours… and mine…" The cord gave a little, and the fabric slackened.

Jongho let out a huff, more from the heat rising inside him than from true indignation.

"No. Mingi… I’m not… I can’t…" he tried to insist, but his voice came out lower, almost trembling.

"Yes… yes you can…" Mingi babbled, barely brushing the words out as he tugged at the pants. "I don’t… I don’t care… I can… I can feel it… it would be perfect… so tight… so warm…"

"It doesn’t work like that," Jongho tried again, but his voice broke when he felt the fabric giving under the tugs. "Not even if—"

"Shhh…" Mingi cut him off, as if those explanations were just needless noise. He leaned in closer, his breath beating against the bear’s chest. "I want… I want… in there… I can’t hold back anymore…"

The fabric slipped down a little, leaving Jongho’s skin exposed to the damp air. He squeezed his thighs together, an instinctive reflex that did nothing to stop Mingi’s hand.

"Mingi…" he repeated, lower now, almost a whisper.

He knew he should push him away, knew that every second was carrying him further past the line he meant to draw. But the heat climbing his neck, the pounding of his pulse against his temples…

Mingi wasn’t listening.

His fingers moved forward with reverent slowness, as if afraid to break whatever he was about to uncover. His breathing quickened, his stammers mixing with short gasps.

"Here… here it is… I feel it… so…"

His trembling fingers pushed the fabric aside just enough for the dim light to reveal what he had imagined, but never truly understood until now.

He saw it.

Fleshy, closed, the lips marked and warm, covered by the soft, dense hair that glistened under sweat. The deep, ambered hue of its wetness held him captive. And the warmth… it was as though all of Jongho’s blood and heat had gathered there, pulsing against his fingers.

"Feathered heavens…" Mingi murmured, and he didn’t know if it was a prayer or a moan.

Jongho let out a short laugh at the mention of that bird, until Mingi’s fingers parted his folds, exposing the pulsing, wet entrance.

"It’s… beautiful…"

Jongho snapped his thighs shut, trapping Mingi’s wrist in the movement. It was quick, instinctive, as if he wanted to erase the image before it could burn itself into the other’s mind.

"Don’t look at it…" he growled, turning his face away slightly, embarrassed.

Mingi barely blinked, caught between the weight of those thighs and the glimpse he had managed to steal.

 "Why…?" His voice came out as a broken pant.

He couldn’t look away, even though he knew he should. Not because he fully understood what he was seeing, but because he had never had anything so alien—and yet so fascinating—before his eyes. He had never seen a vagina, not even from his own kind.

"Because…" Jongho couldn’t find the words, his throat closed up at once. The air scraping into his lungs felt raw.

Mingi tilted his head, refusing to let go, as if he were trying to decipher something beyond the skin. It wasn’t only curiosity; there was hunger in his gaze too, a hunger he didn’t even understand himself.

"You don’t have to hide it…" he murmured, his voice lower than he intended, almost as if speaking to himself.

Jongho’s pulse sped up; he felt it in his wrists, in his chest, in every place where Mingi’s body was far too close. He tightened his grip on the wrist trapped between his thighs, even though he knew he couldn’t hold him like that forever.

Mingi’s hand shifted just slightly, an unconscious impulse that brushed against his folds. The touch was faint, almost a sigh of a caress, but enough to sharpen Jongho’s tension like a bowstring about to snap.

Beneath his fingers he felt a searing heat, more alive than he had imagined, as if that part of Jongho gathered all the fire his body held. And with that heat came moisture—soft, sticky—clinging to his fingertips like both an invitation and a warning.

Mingi swallowed hard, his eyes gleaming with something primal. His instincts screamed at him to keep going, to explore, to force those thighs apart and look again at what the fabric and Jongho himself tried to hide.

But Jongho only squeezed tighter, as if the pressure of his legs could erase the contact. To him, every passing second was a cruel reminder of what he was. Not his strength, not his prowess as a hunter, but what he considered a flaw. That place, wet and vulnerable, didn’t fit the image of power he was supposed to project.

"You… you don’t understand," Jongho stammered, trying to shove away the hand that kept brushing him with a clumsy mix of resistance and restrained desire.

 "Let me…" Mingi whispered, his voice ragged, almost a whimper of need.

He wasn’t waiting for permission. He didn’t even know he was supposed to.

His fingers began to slide with more intent over the skin he could reach, right along the edge of Jongho’s thighs. There was no rush, yet an unspoken urgency pulsed through his veins.

"Come on…" Mingi breathed, voice rough, almost a pant, his eyes locked on him. "Just open a little…"

Jongho shook his head, rigid as a statue, but the tremor in his lips betrayed him. The pressure of Mingi’s touch was burning him alive.

Then, without warning, the tip of Mingi’s finger grazed a particularly sensitive spot—wet, warm. A jolt of electricity shot through Jongho’s body instantly. His thighs trembled, parting just a little.
"Ah!" A low, stifled moan slipped past his lips.

That was all Mingi needed.

He felt the shift and didn’t let it pass. With care, yet without hesitation, his fingers slid further in, following the heat and wetness that thickened under his touch. Jongho’s skin was soft yet strong, and the contrast drove him mad.

Jongho’s eyes narrowed, and tears began to well at the corners, caught between the shock of pleasure and sheer bewilderment. He didn’t know whether to feel exposed or to give in, but the heat and dampness around Mingi’s fingers were impossible to ignore.

"Mingi…" his voice shook, barely a whisper. "Stop…"

The taller male withdrew his fingers only for a moment, just to align his hips. There was no pause to ask, the urgency had swallowed him whole. He gripped Jongho’s waist and, with a slow but firm thrust, pressed his tip against that warm entrance. Jongho’s flesh tensed and clung to him as if it didn’t want to let him in—and at the same time, as if it wanted to swallow him completely.

A rough moan tore from Mingi’s throat.

“God… you’re… so… hot…” he whispered, feeling the heat wrap around him down to the root.

Jongho squeezed his eyes shut, his nails digging into the ground beneath them. He felt every inch as if it burned him from the inside, an impossible mix of pain and pleasure running up his spine. His breathing turned ragged, gasps mixing with a sob he tried to suppress.

Mingi, fascinated, lowered his gaze and watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into that tight space, framed by soft hair and warm skin. It was as if he were tucking it away inside a living nest.

“Here…” Mingi murmured against his skin. “This is where I want to keep my eggs.”

The ring of feathers at the base of his cock grew damp at once, soaked by the viscous heat that received him. Each fine strand, sensitive by nature, bristled as it brushed against Jongho’s entrance, sending an electric current racing down Mingi’s wings.

He pushed in a little more, just a few millimeters, and the contact changed.

Jongho’s soft flesh yielded and, at the same time, clung to him, molding itself around the shape of his shaft as if trying to memorize it. The pearly ridges, so sensitive they responded to the slightest shift in pressure, slid against the wet walls, ripping a shudder from him that shook through his wings.

“Ah…” he exhaled, voice breaking into a thin thread of sound.

He felt the temperature rising as he entered; once he passed the first tight ring of tension, the heat became almost searing, contrasting with the cool, damp touch of his feathers. Jongho’s inner walls seemed to pulse, alive, squeezing in brief waves that trapped every contour of his length and forced him to stop for a moment just to keep from spilling too soon.

The glans, sheathed in smooth, cool skin on the outside, now sank into thick, wet warmth that wrapped him like a liquid embrace. Every sensory ridge sent bursts of amplified pleasure, registering the rough, elastic texture welcoming him inside.

He pushed deeper, feeling the base of his feathers caught against Jongho’s inner lips, stroked and bent back by the pressure.

That stretch was a tactile paradise

The simultaneous brush of skin and feathers, the subtle tug whenever he pulled back, the way everything clamped down on him as if unwilling to let him go.

His small, warmed balls, tight against his body, quivered with the biological impulse burning hot in his belly.

He could picture it.

Each thrust brought him closer to the moment when he could “deposit” what his instinct demanded, burying it in that protective heat until it was his completely.

An involuntary spasm in Jongho’s inner muscles clamped down on him with sudden force. Mingi let out a strangled moan and, without thinking, drove his hips deeper, until the contact was total—his pelvis pressed into soft, damp hair, his cock buried to the hilt in that living, blazing cave.

“Perfect… nest…” he gasped, feeling every beat of Jongho’s body pulsing through the walls that held him tight.

“Fuck,” Jongho groaned.

The heat filled him, overwhelming. Every inch stretching him carried a pulse of its own, an alien heartbeat that locked into rhythm with his.

He could feel the exact shape of Mingi’s cock.

The broader, more sensitive head brushing the deepest part of him, the pearly ridges sliding like tiny grooves that awakened nerves he hadn’t even known were there, and that wet feathered ring rubbing against his inner lips, sparking a ticklish sensation tangled with surges of searing pleasure.

His inner channel, strong by nature, reacted instinctively: the muscles tightened and released in waves, as if trying to memorize him, molding to his shape so he would fit better. He felt every micro-movement, every subtle shift in pressure, amplified by the hypersensitivity running from his belly up the base of his spine.

A deep instinct, more animal than rational, ignited within him. Without thinking, his thighs clamped hard around Mingi’s hips, trapping him. It wasn’t a clumsy hold; it was the kind of pressure a predator would use to keep its prey… or a mate would use to hold onto what it refused to let slip away.

The nails of his toes dug into the damp earth, his strong legs wrapping around Mingi’s body like a living cage. Every time Mingi tried to move his hips, Jongho felt it to the deepest part of him, and the pressure of his legs only grew tighter, forcing him to remain buried to the root.

The heat inside him seemed to want to swallow him whole, as if his body recognized that cock as something that had to stay inside. Every feather brushing against his vagina sent an electric spark climbing up to his chest, and Mingi’s sensory ridges felt like tiny claws stroking him from within, scratching right where his sensitivity was most vulnerable.

Mingi tried to pull back a little, searching for relief, but Jongho’s legs snapped shut like a trap, pinning him in place.

“J-Jongho…” he gasped, wings trembling, “let me… move…”

Jongho squeezed his legs tighter, a low growl rumbling from his throat, without words. He wasn’t aware of what he was saying, but the message was carved into every fiber of his body.

You stay right there.

Mingi tried shifting his hips, but only managed to make that muscular prison clamp down harder, forcing him to feel how Jongho’s insides closed around him, wrapping every inch in wet, throbbing pressure.

Jongho opened his eyes, dark and locked onto the bird’s face, and in that instant there was no longer any doubt.

He wasn’t going to let him escape.

Mingi blinked, sweat mixing with the mud streaked across his skin.

His breathing came in trembling gasps, and the urgency tearing through him left no room for logical thought.

“Ah… please…” his voice broke into a ragged whisper, thick with a hunger he couldn’t disguise, “don’t squeeze me like that or… I’m gonna…”

Jongho’s insides clenched again, a warm, wet pulse squeezing down on him so suddenly it ripped a rough, almost screaming moan out of Mingi.

“Shit…” Mingi dropped his forehead against the other’s shoulder, his body arching involuntarily, wings shuddering open as if they needed to anchor him, “…you’re so tight… it’s like you’re… stealing my air.”

Jongho turned his face away, jaw tight.

He didn’t want to answer, not with words. Shame burned the back of his neck, but his body refused to obey the order to loosen. His powerful thighs clamped down as if his life depended on keeping him locked inside.

“No…” he barely breathed, refusing to look at him, “don’t… go…”

It was the most direct thing he allowed himself to say, and still his voice didn’t sound like he was talking about sex, but something more primal, more vulnerable.

Mingi’s heart lurched hard at the sound of those words.

His hips stuttered.

“Ah… yeah… just like that…” Mingi panted, already delirious, “don’t let me go… hold me… tighter…”

Jongho squeezed his eyes shut. The heat was drowning him, rising from his belly to his throat. He could feel Mingi’s thickness stretching him, the head pressing into a tender spot with every slightest thrust, the wet feathers brushing against his inner edge like tiny fingers searching for his weakest point.

The initial discomfort blended with a pleasure that unraveled him, and his body moved only on instinct: hold him, keep him there, drain every thrust as if it were vital.

Mingi let out a broken laugh, sounding more like a sob.

“It’s just… fuck… you’re… sucking me in…” his words slurred, dragged by ragged breaths, “I swear if I move, you’re gonna swallow me whole…”

His hips tried to retreat, but Jongho’s legs didn’t give even an inch. The suction inside him intensified, tightening around his cock as if determined to milk him dry.

“Jongho…” Mingi’s voice cracked, feathers bristling and the base of his cock throbbing violently, “if you keep this up… I’m gonna…”

The bear swallowed hard, heat crawling up his throat. He didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t stop feeling every thick pulse of Mingi inside him, every drop of wetness mixing with his own.

“Ah… Min… ahh… Gi..” Jongho’s voice broke out as a wet, guttural growl, his belly clenching uncontrollably.

Jongho’s whole body tensed at once, as if an invisible thread had snapped inside him. A shiver ran up from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck, and the heat, already searing, became unbearable in seconds. 

His inner muscles clamped down with raw instinct, locking Mingi inside him completely, sealing the union as if there were no possibility of pulling away.

The bird let out a strangled gasp, his body arching involuntarily. The pressure was unlike anything he had ever felt.

The first spasm struck without warning.

Jongho clenched his jaw, but he couldn’t stop the deep sound—almost a muffled roar, that tore from his throat.

The heat in his belly tightened into a single point, bursting in a liquid surge that filled him from the inside. The fluid, more abundant than Mingi had ever expected, surrounded him at once—thick, warm—covering him as if Jongho’s insides had begun to boil.

Mingi’s eyes flew open in shock, his wings tensing.

“Shit… you’re… burning…” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of the contrast.

His own body, naturally cooler, registered every extra degree of that beastly temperature. It was like sinking into a thermal current, but trapped, with no way to escape.

The clash of sensations stole his breath; he could feel the heat seeping into his skin, traveling all the way down to the base wrapped by the damp ring of feathers.

Jongho did not loosen his grip.

The contractions persisted, relentless, dragging him in with the precision of a wet, living fist that refused to release its prey. The liquid kept spilling in smaller waves, each marked by a spasm that clamped down hard around him.

The feeling was so overwhelming that Mingi couldn’t tell if his own reaction was pleasure or desperation.

“No…” Jongho muttered, without looking at him, as if that single word could seal the invisible lock holding him inside.

Mingi swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine.

He tried shifting his hips—barely a centimeter—only to realize it was useless. The bear’s insides would not yield; every attempt to withdraw only made the slick flesh close around him tighter, as if determined to drag him further in.

His breathing turned ragged.

“Jongho…” he panted, “you’re choking me.”

But Jongho didn’t respond. His eyelids were heavy, his head tilted forward, his body trembling with the final spasms of climax.

The heat of his vagina kept rising, and with each new pulse of contraction, the liquid shifted, mixing and spreading, making Mingi feel the slippery friction wrap around him.

The smooth skin of Mingi’s shaft, lined with those pearly ridges, caught every inner movement. The feathers at the base, already damp, stuck against Jongho’s rim, soaking in the heat and crushed under the suffocating pressure.

The bird clenched his jaw, sweat sliding down his temple.

His testicles, pressed tightly at the base by Jongho’s thighs and the position, began to ache with that sweet, dangerous tension.

He knew what it meant.

His body was ready to let go.

And it wasn’t like with humans—his tighter, more compact sac contracted visibly, drawing in the borrowed heat as if it were the very trigger.

He broke with a spasm that arched his back. A rough moan burst from his throat as he came.

His seed, scarce but thick, spilled in short, sticky bursts, clinging to the inner walls instead of sliding freely. The density made each pulse feel like a burning thread that glued itself there, adding to the abundant mix already surrounding him.

“Ah… fuck…” he groaned, wings spreading wide, trembling.

Jongho shuddered with every spurt, feeling how those strands stuck to his inner muscles, trapped by his own contractions. The bird’s scent grew stronger—harsh yet sweet—blending with his.

Mingi thrust one last time, his shaft throbbing violently as he let his forehead drop against Jongho’s shoulder, panting out of control.

“No… I can’t… get out…” he murmured with a trembling voice, still feeling how the inner muscles held him with the same force, not allowing him to retreat even a single inch.

The pressure of Jongho’s legs gave way just enough for Mingi to move.

Panting, Mingi let himself collapse forward slightly, his wings folding awkwardly against his back.

He didn’t want to pull away, but the weight of his own body and the weakness in his legs forced him to move. When he finally slipped out, the sound was wet, thick, and Jongho felt a hot heaviness sliding out before he could close around it completely.

A shiver ran through his belly.

The liquid, dense and warm, pooled deep inside, and with every breath he became more aware of its presence. Unintentionally, he pressed his thighs together, as if his body were trying to hold it in.

“Mmh…” Mingi groaned low, as if the mere act of separating robbed him of something vital. “No… I don’t want to…”

Jongho averted his eyes, his breathing still uneven.

“We… have to move,” he murmured, not daring to look at him directly. “Before night falls.”

The bird gave a faint nod, though his hands clutched at the bear’s shoulders when he tried to stand. Mingi’s hips brushed against his, pulling a sharp gasp from him.

“I hurt you…” Mingi whispered, his hands carefully reaching the base of Jongho’s wing, palpating around to avoid worsening the injury.

“Pff…” Mingi tried to laugh, but the motion pulled a grimace from him. “A little.”

“It’s not a little…” Jongho retorted firmly, his fingers parting feathers to get a better look.

The contrast of the golden feathers against skin smeared with dirt made him clench his jaw.

Without another word, Jongho pulled his pants all the way up, leaving his chest bare, then stretched a hand toward Mingi again.

“You won’t be able to fly like this,” he murmured, a hint of reproach in his tone. “And it isn’t safe here.”

Walking was uncomfortable.

Every step reminded him of the thickness of what Mingi had left inside. It wasn’t like the natural wetness he knew from his own body; this was heavier, denser, as though a subtle weight sat within him. 

He didn’t understand why his belly reacted with that strange, deep heat that didn’t dissipate with movement.

Behind him, Mingi couldn’t stop staring.

His eyes, still glassy from instinct, followed the sway of Jongho’s hips, as if at any moment he might push him against a tree and bury himself inside again.

Jongho pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered first, guiding Mingi inside. The interior smelled of dry wood, cured hide, and the faint resinous scent of pine. A pair of thick pelts hung from the walls, and a low table stood beside a cast-iron stove.

“Sit down,” Jongho said, pointing to a bench by the table.

Mingi obeyed, though his eyes never left him. He could see how the bear, even as he walked within his own space, seemed aware of the sensation in his belly. It wasn’t something visible to just anyone, but the bird caught every slight change in his breathing, the fleeting way his hand brushed against his abdomen as if checking for something.

Jongho went to a shelf and took a thick towel. He set it on the table and crouched to search through a drawer. The silence was filled only by the creak of wood and the soft tapping of rain beginning outside.

Mingi leaned back slightly, exhaling slowly. The warmth in the cabin didn’t just come from the fire; he could still feel, on his skin and deeper inside, the trace of what they had done. The thought that this heat in Jongho might be transforming into something else, even if the bear didn’t know it yet, kept a half-smile tugging at his lips.

When Jongho returned with a damp cloth to clean his wing, Mingi watched him work in silence.

The large, careful fingers traced along the damaged edge without applying unnecessary pressure. That attentiveness stood in sharp contrast to the wildness from before.

“You’re going to stop moving when I tell you to,” Jongho murmured, without looking at him, as he gently dabbed away the excess water. “I don’t want this to get worse.”

Mingi gave a sideways smile, but didn’t answer. It was strange, really, that the same person who had trapped him with almost feral determination now worried so much about the tilt of a feather or the pressure of his fingers.

He could feel the warmth of those hands even through the pain, and something inside him was beginning to blur.

That haze that kept him aroused didn’t fade—it simply mixed with a feeling of…

Possession? Care?

He didn’t know.

Jongho set the cloth on the table and straightened up. The slight stretch of his body made Mingi notice how the fabric of his pants outlined his shape under the warm lamplight. The bird swallowed hard; it wasn’t difficult to remember what it had been like to have him underneath, how he had reacted every time Mingi tried to pull away.

“I’m done,” Jongho said, giving his wing one last look. “Try not to move it too much tonight.”

“Tonight?” Mingi repeated, raising a brow, his voice low and almost mocking.

Jongho finally looked at him, but didn’t respond right away.

The silence that stretched between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy, as though both of them knew something else was about to happen. Mingi held his gaze, and in those dark eyes he saw the same glimmer as before—the one not made of words, but of instinct.

The warmth inside the cabin seemed to rise, or maybe it was the thick heat Mingi had left within Jongho, reminding him with every deep breath that they weren’t finished.

The bear looked away first, walking to the door to secure the lock.

The wood creaked as he closed it, and Mingi, without moving from his place, knew he wasn’t going to sleep.

When Jongho returned, his steps were firm but slow, as though he were weighing every reaction before closing the distance. He stopped in front of him, and even without touching, Mingi felt the weight of his presence—that charged aura only predators carry when they’ve decided on something.

“You’ll have to stay here,” Jongho said, his voice deep. “I’m not letting you leave in this condition.”

Mingi laughed low, the sound rough, dragged. He straightened slightly, his injured wing adjusting against his back, and let his knees brush against the bear’s.

“Then…” he whispered with a crooked smile, “are we going to pretend you don’t know what I want?”

Three days passed after that night.

The fire in the stove burned out and flared up again, but the heat never left; it clung to their skin, their heavy breaths, the mixed scent of damp feathers and warm flesh.

Mingi couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than a couple of hours at once. The fever of reproduction kept him awake, devouring and claiming Jongho every time exhaustion tried to overtake him.

The bird had lost himself in a cycle: entering, spilling, staying inside, sleeping barely a moment, then moving again—sometimes with force, other times with a slowness so hypnotic it pushed him to the edge of delirium.

Jongho, for his part, never pushed him away.

Whether awake or half-asleep, his legs and his body kept Mingi locked in, as though his body itself had decided Mingi wouldn’t leave until something deep within signaled it was enough.

And that signal came on the third day.

The light filtering through the window was dim, softened by leaves and a cloudy sky.

He was still lying on his side, pressed against Jongho’s back. His cock was still inside, soft, but nestled there as if it belonged. He didn’t pull out. Instead, his hand slid slowly upward, following the curve of Jongho’s waist until it reached his belly.

He stroked it carefully, noticing the special warmth radiating from that spot—a heat different from the rest of his body. Beneath his fingers, the belly felt slightly firmer, as though something inside had changed. He wasn’t certain, but his instincts recognized that sign—that subtle density that formed after the seed had done its work.

Jongho breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly in sleep. The stillness of his face contrasted with the way his legs, even unconsciously, remained closed around Mingi, as if his body still wanted to hold him in.

Mingi’s thumb moved in soft circles, as though measuring that invisible change. The touch made the bear furrow his brow slightly in sleep and let out a low, rough growl that vibrated against the silence of the room.

Not long after, Jongho’s heavy eyelids opened slowly, revealing eyes still hazy with sleep.

“What… are you doing?” he murmured, his voice rasped from the long night.

“Sorry…” Mingi didn’t move his hand. “It’s just… it feels different.”

Jongho blinked a couple of times, trying to focus, then lowered his eyes to the large hand still resting on his abdomen.

“Different… how?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with sleepy curiosity.

Mingi swallowed, as if about to say something that made perfect sense to him… but that he wasn’t sure should be spoken aloud.

“Well…” he began, with that awkward uncertainty that sometimes slowed his words, “I think… you’re ready to lay the eggs.”

There was a second of absolute silence. Jongho blinked, as though making sure he had heard correctly. Then, a laugh burst from his chest—low, deep, and so unexpected it made his torso shake, leaving Mingi frowning in confusion.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked, genuinely perplexed, not lifting his hand from Jongho’s belly.

“At you…” Jongho grinned through his laughter, baring his teeth. “I’m not a bird, Mingi. I don’t lay eggs.”

The bird looked at him as though he’d just told the biggest lie in the world.

“Of course you do… well… not literally-literally, but…” He waved his hand vaguely. “That’s how it works, isn’t it? The body prepares, you make a nest, and then…”

“And then nothing,” Jongho cut in, still smiling in amusement. “There’s no nest. And there are no eggs.”

Mingi blinked, bewildered, and for a moment it seemed like his brain was rebooting.

“Then…” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if speaking about something delicate. “You’re not going to incubate anything?”

Jongho let out another laugh, this time softer, shaking his head.

“No, Mingi. That’s not how it works with me.”

The bird pursed his lips, somewhere between annoyed and genuinely disappointed. His wings twitched faintly, an unconscious gesture of discomfort, and his gaze dropped to Jongho’s stomach as if he wanted to argue with biology itself.

“Well… your body feels like it’s ready for that,” he murmured, half to himself, still caressing the area.

“Maybe because you haven’t left it alone for three days,” Jongho replied, raising a brow. “Not because I’m about to lay an egg.”

Mingi opened his mouth to argue, then stopped, biting his tongue. He wasn’t sure how to counter something that seemed so obvious to him, yet apparently didn’t apply to Jongho.

“So… we’re not even going to build a nest?” he finally asked, his tone unable to hide how genuinely confused he was.

Jongho looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And though he tried to hold back, a smile tugged at his lips again.

“If you want to make one, go ahead… but I’m not sitting on anything.”

Mingi studied him a few moments longer, as if still processing that revelation, before sighing and letting his forehead rest gently against his back.

“I don’t understand anything,” he admitted, his voice muted but filled with that honest awkwardness that defined him.

Still smiling, Jongho gave his hand—still resting on his stomach—a light tap.

“You don’t have to understand. Just stop imagining me brooding.”

Mingi mumbled something unintelligible, but he didn’t move his hand away. In fact, he pressed it a little harder, as if, despite everything, he wanted to make sure that whatever was inside stayed there, even if it never ended in an egg.

Time in the cabin began to stretch. The days slipped by slowly, marked by the creak of wood at dawn and the patter of rain on the roof in the afternoons. Mingi seemed to adapt with disconcerting ease: moving through the space as if it were already his, fixing things no one asked him to, and, above all, never straying too far from Jongho.

And yet, every time the bird stood by the window with that distant, distracted look, something in Jongho’s stomach tightened.

They were lying in bed, Mingi behind him, his good wing spread out like a blanket. The bird toyed absently with the fabric of Jongho’s shirt, running his fingers up and down his side, until he noticed the bear was too quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head to try to see him.

“Nothing…” Jongho answered, shrinking slightly. “Just… thinking about when you’ll leave.”

Mingi froze, fingers pausing halfway.

“Leave?” he repeated, as if he had heard a word in a language he didn’t understand.

“Well… you’ve done what you had to do,” Jongho said, trying to sound mocking, as if it were just a joke to lighten things. “And you look very diligent for someone who should already be halfway to another forest, looking for… another female.”

Mingi stared at him with a mix of confusion and offense, as if Jongho had just told him the sky was green.

“And why would I leave?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “Who’s going to take care of the nest?”

Jongho let out a short laugh, ducking his head so the other wouldn’t see his expression.

“I already told you, there’s no nest, Mingi.”

“Well… then we’ll have to make one,” the bird insisted, with a conviction so simple it was almost childlike. “Or do you think I’m going to leave you alone with that?”

Jongho laughed again, this time softer, but said nothing. His instincts screamed not to trust, not to be deceived by the warmth of that voice or the steady weight of the body behind him… but another part of him, smaller and stubborn, had already begun to believe.

Mingi, unaware of the turmoil in Jongho’s mind, leaned forward again and rested his forehead on his shoulder, his fingers gently squeezing the bear’s side.

“I don’t know how you people do things…” he murmured, in that clumsy tone that came out when he wasn’t sure of anything. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Jongho closed his eyes, letting the warmth of that affirmation sink in, even if he still tried to cover it with a mocking smile.

“You and your nests…” he whispered, more to himself than to him.

And Mingi, not fully understanding the irony, smiled as if it were the most serious promise in the world.

Mingi didn’t say anything after that smile, but inside, Jongho’s words had struck him like a blow, as if the air in the cabin had suddenly turned colder. He couldn’t understand how Jongho could think he would leave… and worse, that he was already expecting it.

He stayed clinging to his back for a few more minutes, listening to his slow breathing, and in his mind began to take shape an idea that, for his species, was the most logical thing in the world.

If Jongho thought he hadn’t been courted, then he had to be.

Properly. As it should be.

It was exactly the time when most of the birds he knew were finishing their nests or tending to their mates while they brooded.

Mingi had seen it thousands of times…

From afar.

Always watching, never part of it.

Because no one had ever chosen him.

His feathers were too ugly, and he was too large, so it had always been his fate to watch and learn. Sometimes he even helped, but he had never done it himself.

That’s why he knew the theory by heart: which fibers held better, which leaves kept the warmth, where to place the center so the structure wouldn’t collapse. He had never done it with his own hands.

He thought about building it on the bed, but dismissed it immediately. Too soft, too messy, no edge to contain it.

Besides, his instinct told him a good nest had to be slightly elevated, with a partial view of the surroundings, like the ones built on thick branches or rocky ledges.

Something that gave the feeling of both refuge and vigilance.

He found it in a corner of the cabin that opened to a low window, where sunlight filtered through the still-bare branches of the forest.

There, against the wall, was a small unevenness in the floor, the remains of an old chest that had once been fixed there, which he could use as a base. The hollow was close enough to the bed that Jongho wouldn’t have to walk much, but not so close as to feel invaded.

Mingi began bringing materials with a careful mixture of precision and devotion.

Flexible branches interwoven to form the outer ring, reinforced with strips of bark he had soaked in water so they wouldn’t snap. Layers of large dry leaves at the bottom, followed by a thick cushion of moss that smelled of damp forest. Then long grass fibers, braided and pressed until they formed a firm weave.

But the most important part was the inside.

Feathers from his own body, plucked from the base of his wings and chest, spread out to cover the entire center. They weren’t many, but enough to leave that fresh, sweet scent that, in his species, was meant to soothe and anchor a mate.

Every time he placed something, he thought about how Jongho would feel there: his higher body heat, the pressure his stomach must already be starting to notice.

For Mingi, there was no doubt—this nest would be where Jongho laid his eggs…

even if Jongho insisted that wasn’t going to happen.

When he finished, the nest wasn’t enormous, but it was solid, with closed edges and so soft it looked as if it would sink under its own weight. He surrounded it with a few smooth stones, not as decoration, but as natural protection against cold drafts from the floor.

He stood there for a moment, staring at it with a mixture of pride and nervousness. He had never made one before. He didn’t know if Jongho would understand what it meant. And worse, he feared Jongho would laugh at him.

He returned to the bed in silence, covering him again with a wing. And in his mind, only one idea repeated itself: when he woke up, he would see it. And maybe, just maybe, he would understand that Mingi had no intention of leaving.

When Jongho woke up, the first thing he felt was the warm weight of Mingi’s wing over him, and the second was that the bird was looking at him with that uncomfortable mix of anxiety and pride one wears when waiting for someone to guess a gift.

“What?” he grumbled in a deep, sleepy voice, rubbing his eyes.

“Come…” said Mingi, almost jumping out of bed to offer him his hand. “I want to show you something.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, suspicious, but accepted. The bird guided him to the corner of the cabin, and there he saw it: the nest. Soft, compact, with a solid ring of branches and an interior lined with dark, downy feathers. The smell of forest and Mingi was unmistakable.

“You… made this?” Jongho asked, surprised.

Mingi shrugged, his expression genuinely hopeful.

“It could be more comfortable, right? More… real.”

“Real?” Jongho looked at him in disbelief. “And what, you want me to curl up in it like I’m going to brood?”

“Not ‘like you’re going to’,” Mingi said, very seriously, though his nervousness betrayed him in the way he moved his wings. “To brood.”

That drew a stronger laugh from the bear, who shook his head, amused.

“Mingi… you’re incredible.”

“Really?” he asked, half hopeful, half unsure.

“Really,” Jongho confirmed with a smile. “Even if it doesn’t work that way for me, it looks… comfortable.”

The bird brightened and stood, gently taking his hand.

“I want you to try it,” Mingi said, puffing his chest a little, though his wings still twitched nervously.

“How does it work?” Jongho couldn’t help but smile. “Do I just sit in it?”

“Not just sit,” Mingi insisted, gesturing with his hand. “Lie down. I want to see if it’s comfortable for you.”

Jongho let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but stepped forward and dropped into the center. The nest gave just enough under his weight, wrapping his body in pleasant warmth.

“Well… not bad,” he admitted, adjusting himself a little.

“Now… could you try it in your animal form?” Mingi smiled, relieved, then leaned toward him.

“What?”

“It’s just…” Mingi shrugged awkwardly. “I want to know if it’s comfortable in that form too. That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? The nest is for both of us.”

“I didn’t know it came with usage conditions,” Jongho replied, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

In the end, he sighed and transformed, tucking his head between his shoulders as he felt the ring of branches surround him. His fur sank into the moss and feathers and, to his surprise, the warmth was deeper, more stable. Mingi leaned down to stroke his side, as if evaluating the quality of his work.

“You look good there,” he commented, with the simple sincerity that defined him. “I could get used to seeing you like that.”

Jongho lifted his head and gave him a soft growl, halfway between a warning and a laugh.

Mingi only smiled, and instead of moving away, he sat down at the edge of the nest, as if keeping watch. Quite happy to see Jongho accept his courting gesture.

“You could… stay there for a while,” Mingi said, as if it weren’t obvious that what he wanted most was to see him rest there.

And Jongho, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, was already starting to think he might come to like that corner.

“I want to show you something…” Mingi said then, and before Jongho could try to get up, he stepped back.

The bird’s body shrank, feathers ruffling with a soft crackle, and in the blink of an eye his human form disappeared. Now he was a small bird, round, with fluffy plumage and short legs that held him somewhat clumsily on the wooden floor.

Jongho tilted his head, watching him from the nest with a curious gleam.

It was strange to see that reduced, soft version of him—he looked stripped of any defenses.

Mingi gave a short hop, approaching the edge of the nest, and then another to slip inside, careful not to step on his belly. He curled up at his side, letting their warmth blend, and tucked his head between feathers and thick fur.

The contact was warm, but also strange. Jongho was used to sleeping alone…

This was different.

The silence stretched.

Mingi seemed comfortable, though from time to time he shifted his wings as if unsure where to place them. Jongho watched him from the corner of his eye, wondering how serious he was about staying. And in the middle of that thought, a dull pang ran through his belly, not painful, but deep.

He ignored it, trying to blame it on posture or the change in temperature.

Jongho wondered if this would last the whole morning.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to “answer” somehow, or if, for Mingi, this was enough. The silence between them was filled with the faint sound of feathers brushing against fur, and the steady weight at his side reminded him that, for Mingi, this was a mating gesture… and for Jongho, he still wasn’t sure what it was.

At last, the bird stood, stretched his wings, and hopped out of the nest. A blink, and his human form returned.

The feathers were gone, leaving skin and muscles exposed, his breathing a little ragged from the change. The cabin’s fresh air clung to his damp skin, and the silence grew heavier.

Jongho remained inside the nest, in his bear form, watching him with narrowed eyes.

He said nothing.

“Uh…” Mingi cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “Were you comfortable?”

The bear blinked, unmoving. Then his fur began to shrink, sliding away until he too was bare, sitting with his knees half bent, arms covering part of his chest. He avoided looking at him directly.

“Yes…” he answered softly.

Mingi nodded quickly, as if that were enough for him. He took a step, then another, but stopped near the edge of the nest, looking him up and down awkwardly, as if trying to decide where to rest his gaze without making it obvious.

“I made it thinking…” he bit his lip. “Well, of you.”

Jongho lowered his gaze, sinking his fingers into the moss, plucking out a few strands.

“Thanks.”

The bird smiled nervously. He didn’t know whether to sit or stay standing, so he ended up leaning against the wall, arms hanging loosely.

“Do you live here… always?”

Jongho barely lifted his eyes, his shoulders shrugging.

“Yes.”

“Alone?” Mingi tilted his head a little, as if the question needed a softening gesture.

“Yes.”

Silence. The wind knocked a branch against the window, and Mingi rubbed his arm, glancing sideways.

“This is weird,” Jongho admitted.

Mingi froze for a moment, as if unsure whether to feel offended or intrigued.

“Weird how?” he asked, dragging the nearest chair and sitting in front of him.

“We don’t know each other,” Jongho said, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know anything about you, except that you’re a bird… and that you don’t run very fast.”

The comment made Mingi narrow his eyes.

“You weren’t that fast either when you tried to catch me,” he shot back with a half-smile.

Jongho lifted his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

“I let you escape,” he lied without blinking.

“Of course you did.” Mingi let out a small laugh, but leaned back, crossing his arms. “You had that hungry predator look on your face.”

“It was my dinner,” Jongho replied, with a dry honesty that erased any trace of a joke.

Silence fell again. The bird held his gaze for a few seconds, as if weighing how serious that was.

“And if I hadn’t transformed?” he asked after what felt like eternal seconds.

Jongho didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand along his neck, his shoulders tightening.

“Then you wouldn’t be here,” he admitted, without a trace of remorse.

That left Mingi still, his wings giving a faint twitch, like a nervous tic.

“I like to think you would’ve let me go anyway,” he murmured, though it sounded more like a wish than certainty.

𓆰𓆪➶ฅ➷

Jongho was in the nest, half reclined among pillows and blankets, with an open book on his lap. The light streaming through the window fell directly on his hair, and Mingi had to stop for a second at the door to etch that image into his mind.

Not because it was new—he saw him like that almost every morning—but because every time he looked at him, he seemed different.

Maybe it was the belly.

It wasn’t huge, but for Mingi it was impossible not to see it as something growing at a perfect rhythm.

Rounded, firm, warm.

A home.

He called it an egg, though Jongho always corrected him.

“It’s a cub, not an egg,” he had said the first time Mingi mentioned it.

But for Mingi, it remained an egg, and it was hard to hide the anxiety he felt imagining it ready for the nest.

He came in quietly, though the old wood creaked under his weight. Jongho lifted his gaze, his dark eyes glinting a little, and calmly closed the book.

“You’re late,” he commented, not reproachful, but with a smile that gave him away.

“I saw something in the forest… I thought it might be useful for the nest.” Mingi scratched his neck and pulled, from behind his back, a bunch of long, soft feathers, white with gray tips.

“Do you plan to cushion it more than it already is? If I keep sinking like this, I won’t be able to get up,” Jongho arched a brow.

“That’s good,” Mingi replied, with that simple logic he used when he was sure of something. “That way you don’t go out, and the egg stays safe.”

Jongho rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop smiling.

“It’s a cub,” he insisted, though with less force than before.

Mingi came closer and set the feathers aside, sitting carefully on the edge of the nest. His usual clumsiness showed when he tried to move a blanket and nearly knocked the book to the floor. Jongho caught it just in time and gave him a look that wasn’t truly serious.

He managed to stay still for a short while, but soon enough the bird noticed small imperfections in the nest, and the ramps creaked as he rearranged them for the third time.

He had been obsessed with that corner of the nest for days, convinced that if it wasn’t perfect, everything could go wrong.

“It was fine already,” Jongho said from the center, his legs tucked up and a blanket covering his abdomen.

Mingi glanced at him sideways, frowning.

“No. It’s still not firm enough. And you can’t be without a safe place when it comes.”

The bear rolled his eyes, though without malice. He sat up a little and, before Mingi could react, tugged gently at one of his wings, pulling him to sit beside him.

“Sit.”

“But…”

“Sit. Now.”

Mingi obeyed, his wings half open in discomfort. Jongho, still wrapped in the blanket, leaned his head against his shoulder.

Mingi felt the warm weight of Jongho’s head on his shoulder and froze, unsure whether to move a wing around him or keep them folded.

“You’re more nervous than I am.”

“It’s just…” Mingi made a clumsy gesture, as if searching for words. “I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Jongho replied, his voice softer than usual.

Mingi lowered his gaze to the blanket, where the rounded curve of the belly was more evident than a few moons ago.

Noticing where he was looking, Jongho lifted the blanket just enough to uncover himself down to the waist.

“Do you want to touch?” he asked casually, as if offering something obvious.

Mingi blinked.

“Can I?”

“Of course.” Jongho shrugged, leaning toward him slightly.

The bird placed his palm carefully over the warm belly. He felt a new firmness, different from the early days. Not exaggerated, but there, like a tangible promise of what was to come.

Jongho watched his expression and, with a slight smile, caught one of Mingi’s hands and held it there.

“If you stay this tense, you’re going to wear your wings out before it’s even born,” he joked, though his tone carried a softness meant to soothe him.

Mingi let out a nervous laugh of sorts and ended up curling a little closer to him, letting the blanket cover them both.

“Even so… I’m still going to keep reinforcing the nest,” he murmured into his hair.

“I figured as much,” Jongho answered, with a hint of mockery that made Mingi, unwillingly, smile too.

Several days went by like that, with Mingi checking the nest every time Jongho moved more than usual. If the bear got up to fetch some water, Mingi got up too, following him like a shadow—too big, too obvious.

“I don’t need an escort just to go to the other side of the cabin,” Jongho said one morning, holding his cup of tea.

“It’s not an escort, it’s… supervision,” Mingi replied, stumbling over a misplaced blanket and nearly knocking over an entire pile of branches he had prepared.

“Supervision? Or are you just afraid I’ll run away?” Jongho raised an eyebrow, amused.

Mingi opened his beak to respond, but went silent when he saw that smile he had already learned to recognize: a challenge disguised as a joke.

“You could try, but you wouldn’t get very far,” he answered, giving him a gentle nudge with his wing. “Besides, any moment now you should be laying the egg.”

“Let me remind you I’m a hunter, and I already told you—it’s not an egg, Mingi.”

“For you.”

Jongho smiled, tilting his head with that gesture he had started using whenever he wanted to tease him.

“And what if I tell you that when it’s born, I’m going to let it sleep in my bed instead of the nest?”

“Don’t even dream of it.” Mingi looked at him as if he had just insulted his entire family.

“See? You’re predictable,” the bear laughed, leaning back. “I’m starting to know you.”

It was true. Jongho, who at first seemed to measure every word and every movement, now spoke more, laughed more… and, sometimes, teased shamelessly. He had even developed a habit of hiding things from him.

The rope Mingi used to tie branches, the feathers that fell when he preened himself, and even, one day, the blanket Mingi insisted on folding and leaving ready for “the moment.”

“You’re not going to find it,” Jongho sang one afternoon from the bed, while Mingi searched under the furniture.

“I need it.”

“To cover the nest… of course, what else.”

“It’s not for the nest.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mingi stopped searching and looked at him, narrowing his eyes. Jongho smiled with a mix of sweetness and mischief that Mingi found hard to face without getting nervous.

“You know what I think?” Jongho said, running a hand over his own belly. “That the nest is you.”

“Me?” Mingi blinked, bewildered.

“Yes. You’re always glued to me, surrounding me and protecting me… You’re worse than any branch or blanket.”

“I guess that’s… a good thing, right?” the bird stammered, scratching the back of his neck, feeling a heat that didn’t come from his biology.

“It’s perfect,” Jongho replied—and this time, without a hint of teasing.

From then on, Mingi started to relax a little more.

He was still obsessed with reinforcing the nest, but now he spent more time sitting with Jongho, listening to him talk about little things.

Like the taste of the fruits he craved, the strange dreams he had lately, or how he sometimes felt an internal movement that made him laugh without knowing why.

One night, while the wind howled fiercely outside, Jongho lay on his side, resting his head on Mingi’s thigh.

“If you really want to take care of us, there’s one thing you can do.”

“Anything.”

“Sing me something.”

“I don’t sing well.” Mingi tensed.

Jongho looked up at him from his position, tilting his head like he always did when something intrigued him.

“You’re a bird,” he said, with that simple logic that always poked Mingi in uncomfortable places. “What do you mean you don’t sing well?”

“No…” Mingi pressed his wings tightly against his body, looking away. “Not the way I’m supposed to.”

The silence that followed was heavier than usual. Jongho didn’t move, just waited, and that forced him to continue.

“When I was a chick, my family used to say my voice was too low. ‘Too low for a chick,’ they’d say. And for the villagers…” he huffed, trying to give it a light tone but failing, “for them it sounded like a duck that learned to speak late. They never liked hearing me.”

Jongho frowned slightly, as if trying to process something that didn’t fit with the image he had of him.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” Mingi looked at him, annoyed at how easily he said it. “And nothing. I don’t sing well. I never did.”

“I’m not asking you to sing well. I’m asking you to sing to me.” Jongho gave a small smile while one of his hands squeezed Mingi’s thigh.

Mingi looked down at him, jaw clenched. The idea of doing it made him more uncomfortable than facing any predator. Still, the warm weight of Jongho’s head on his thigh, and the belly growing under his hand, cornered him until he had no real excuse left to refuse.

“It’s going to sound bad,” he warned.

“Even better,” Jongho replied, closing his eyes as if already preparing to listen.

Mingi let the air out slowly. He took a few seconds, then let out a couple of low, rough notes that had nothing to do with the crystalline singing of other birds. It sounded deeper, raspier, but there was something warm in it—something that filled the space like a heavy blanket.

When he finished, there was no awkward silence. Jongho was still there, eyes closed, his breathing steady.

“It’s not bad,” he said, without opening them.

“I told you…”

“I said it’s not bad,” he whispered, half-asleep. “I liked it.”

Mingi kept humming a few more notes, even though Jongho was already so relaxed he only twitched an ear now and then, as if his voice was a breeze slipping in and out without asking permission.

And when Jongho’s breathing grew slower, he stopped.

The silence in the cabin was almost a relief, but it also pushed him toward thoughts he’d rather bury.

He stroked his hair with the tips of his fingers, clumsily, careful not to wake him, and let his gaze fall on the nest he had built and readjusted over and over again.

That was everything he could offer. A firm, protected, warm place. He couldn’t give him a beautiful song, nor feathers that gleamed like the sunrise, nor that elegance most birds used for courting.

He couldn’t give him any of that…

So he would give him a perfect home.

In his community, no one had ever wanted him as a mate. Females didn’t like dull feathers, and he had more than one spot that looked dirty even when freshly washed. That one in particular, the darkest one on his left wing, had been the reason for teasing ever since he was a chick.

It wasn’t a “pretty” pattern, it wasn’t even.

It didn’t help that, because of his strange crossbreed, he couldn’t quite fit the image of a “proper” bird.

A strange mix between duck and chicken. He never admitted it aloud, but the blend showed.

He didn’t have the slender neck of a duck, nor the sleek stature of a pheasant; instead, his legs were stronger, his wings heavier, and his chest broader… as if he had been made for something other than graceful flight.

In his village, glances always turned away, and the comments always came:

“He sings like his throat is closed.”

“He looks like a big chicken, not a water bird.”

“He’s not a good sign for breeding.”

He remembered them all. And even though he was far from there now, those words still clung to his head like dried mud on feathers.

That’s why he cared for the nest. That’s why he watched over Jongho almost suffocatingly.

Because if the bear started to see those imperfections… if he realized Mingi wasn’t even half of what he “should” be, maybe he would leave too.

“What are you thinking about?” Jongho’s drowsy voice pulled him from the thread of his thoughts.

He hadn’t heard him move.

“Nothing…” he lied quickly, ruffling his wings as if it were a nervous tic “go back to sleep.”

“Mhm… sure,” Jongho murmured, with that tone that didn’t buy even half of his excuses. Even with his eyes half-closed, he turned his head a little to glance at him from the corner of his eye, but didn’t move from where he was. He remained lying down, his head perfectly settled on Mingi’s thighs, as if it were the most natural place in the world.

The bird went stiff for a second, unsure whether to move his wings to cover him or keep them folded. In the end, he curved them slightly forward, surrounding him like a protective shadow.

“You’re doing that again,” Jongho said, half-smiling. “Covering me like I’m going to disappear.”

“Maybe you will,” Mingi replied, lowering his voice. “If I don’t take good care of you.”

Jongho laughed softly. His voice had that tone Mingi only ever heard in moments like this—warm and a little teasing.

“You’re so dramatic…”

“I’m not dramatic. I’m… realistic.”

“Realistic would be accepting that, even while I’m carrying your young, I could bite you if I wanted,” Jongho shot back, squeezing his thigh with one hand just to make the point.

Mingi let out a strangled “Hey!” and, in a poorly thought-out impulse, dropped his hand to grab Jongho’s wrist, pinning it against his leg as if to keep him from getting away. Jongho burst out laughing, his shoulders trembling.

“You’re impossible,” he complained, though he didn’t try to pull away.

“No, I’m protective,” Mingi said, leaning a little closer, enough that the shadow of his wings completely covered the bear’s torso.

“Well, your shadow is warm,” Jongho murmured, letting himself be covered without protest, as if that were the most comfortable thing in the world.

Mingi glanced at him from the corner of his eye, trying to find in his expressions some hint that he was noticing his flaws… but no. Jongho seemed focused only on playing with the feathers near his elbow, as if the texture itself amused him.

“Don’t touch there,” Mingi said, shaking his wing with a sharp movement.

“Why?” Jongho asked, not stopping. “They’re soft… but here they feel rougher.”

The bird clenched his beak. That spot, right where the darkest mark began, had always been his weak point. Back in the village they used to say it looked like he had rolled in soot.

“This one’s my favorite,” Jongho said, almost in a whisper.

“It looks like soot.”

“No,” Jongho denied, with such conviction that Mingi stopped breathing for a second. “It looks like my mother’s fur when we first came out of the den in spring. She had a patch like this, darker than the rest, right on her back. I liked staying there, because it was always warmer.”

Mingi blinked, unsettled. He hadn’t expected anyone to associate that part of him with something so… warm.

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, almost by reflex.

“For me it is,” Jongho said, leaning in until his nose brushed the stained feathers. “It reminds me of home.”

Mingi felt a tingling run from the base of his wing to his chest. He swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the sensation, because that spot wasn’t like the wing tips anyone could touch. There, right at the base, the skin was more sensitive, and every brush sparked a heat that had nothing to do with the fire in the chimney.

“No…” he tried to pull his wing away, but Jongho held it gently, as if he didn’t want to lose contact.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his tone mixing curiosity with a hint of mischief.

“Not there…” Mingi said more harshly than he meant to, looking away.

Jongho didn’t answer at first, but his smile began to tilt slowly, like someone starting to connect the dots. His hand kept stroking the mark, slower now, and in that lingering touch slipped a different intention.

Mingi tried to keep his composure, but his wings shifted instinctively, trembling faintly, and the tension in his body became too obvious. Jongho raised an eyebrow, amused, and glanced down boldly.

“…Oh.” His voice was soft, but laced with mischievous humor. “I think I just discovered something.”

“It’s not what you think,” Mingi said immediately, clamping his legs together as if that could hide the obvious.

“No?” Jongho tilted his head slightly, his smile widening enough to show his canines. “Then… why does it smell like that?”

Mingi let out a strangled sound, his feathers bristling.

“Don’t start…”

“Start what?” Jongho leaned in just enough to bring his face closer. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read… or to provoke.”

The bird spread his wings wide, as if to intimidate, but only managed to look more awkward.

“I swear I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Of course not,” Jongho replied, with a tone of false innocence as he gently pushed him back until Mingi was pressed against the wall. “I only put my hand here…” he brushed the base of his wing again, “…and that’s all.”

“Jongho!” The name came out as something between a squawk and an embarrassed whisper, which made the bear burst out laughing.

“You’re just like that clumsy bird I almost caught the first time,” he said, laughing as he climbed onto Mingi’s lap. “You just stared at me with those big eyes, frozen, like you didn’t know whether to fly away or let yourself be caught.”

“I could try to escape,” Mingi shot him a glare, but the blush on his face betrayed him.

“Of course you could,” Jongho nodded, still smiling. “Though right now you don’t seem to want to run much.”

Before the bird could understand what he meant, Jongho tilted his head and, without moving his hand from the wing’s base, pressed his thumb right where the black blended with the rest of the plumage. He did it slowly, deliberately, as if measuring every reaction.

Mingi let out an involuntary gasp, his feathers rising and his wings trying to fold… but the bear held them firmly, pinning him to the wall.

“Do you remember?” Jongho murmured, his voice low and husky. “We fell like this… you underneath, me on top. And you were… so nervous.”

“That’s not how it was,” Mingi lied, though his breathing gave him away.

“Oh, it was,” Jongho said with a faint smile, lowering his face until his nose brushed the curve of Mingi’s neck. “And you were so tense… I thought you were going to break.”

Mingi’s wing trembled, as if trying to slip free, but Jongho stroked it again, this time with a circular, slow, steady motion.

“You looked at me just like you are now,” Jongho continued, his voice lower, hotter. “And you couldn’t stop moving under me.”

Mingi shut his eyes, trying not to remember… but his body didn’t obey. The heat was rising, the tension in his abdomen forcing his legs tight, and every touch on that part of his wings made him shiver harder.

“You’re… getting revenge,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Maybe,” Jongho said, with a crooked smile. “Or maybe I’m just checking if you still react the same way.”

His hand slid a few centimeters lower, brushing the inner edge where feathers gave way to softer skin, and Mingi let out a low sound, closer to a moan than a whimper.

Jongho chuckled, satisfied.

“Yes… exactly the same.”

Mingi swallowed hard, feeling Jongho’s weight over his lap like an unsettling repeat of that first time. The bear’s warmth seeped through their clothes, and even though they both still wore pants, the pressure was clear enough to stir his instincts, pushing him to move his hips. But along with that urgency, a cold knot tightened in his stomach.

He couldn’t stop staring at the rounded belly in front of him, already so large it seemed impossible not to break with any sudden move.

“You shouldn’t…” he murmured, his hands hovering uncertainly, unsure whether to push Jongho away or pull him closer.

“Shouldn’t what?” the bear asked, raising an eyebrow, amused.

"Moving like that…" Mingi muttered, lowering his gaze. "We could… I could… I don’t know, hurt the egg."

Jongho laughed softly, with that calmness that felt unbearable and reassuring to Mingi at the same time.

"It’s not an egg, so it can’t break."

"You don’t know that," the bird shot back, quicker than he meant to. "You haven’t laid it yet… and it’s big… too big."

His voice dropped, as if he were confessing a ridiculous fear:

"If I squeeze… if I push too much…"

Jongho looked at him with that mix of patience and mockery he used whenever Mingi started spiraling with his paranoias.

Mingi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Jongho on his lap in a way that stole his breath. 

The bear’s wetness was soaking clearly through the fabric of his underwear, and the heat of pregnancy made every contact unbearably intense. His cock was completely pressed down under Jongho’s body, and the mix of pressure and dampness made him shiver, tangled between a tingling discomfort and a knot of worry twisting in his stomach.

"Y-you’re… wet," Mingi stammered, his hands trembling over the bear’s thighs. "And… and hot. Too hot…"

The bear raised a brow, amused and fully aware of what he was provoking. The closeness, the heat, the wetness… all of it combined to heighten the tension Mingi felt, and there was no way to ignore the direct pressure against his body.

"That’s what happens when you’re pregnant, bird." His laugh was a damp whisper that made Mingi shiver. "And you’ve only been focused on the nest," Jongho murmured, voice husky as he leaned his forehead softly against Mingi’s. "Not on me."

Mingi swallowed again, the heat rising in his abdomen having little to do with desire… or at least not only desire. His hands landed on Jongho’s wide hips, as if to set a limit, but the bear never stopped moving slowly over his lap, pressing exactly where the bird feared most.

"I don’t want… to squeeze you too hard," he said, voice raw with a mix of arousal and anxiety.

"I’m not going to break, Mingi," Jongho replied, tilting his head with a slow, confident smile. "And if you did… I’d be the first to tell you."

The bird blinked nervously, noticing how the bulge in his pants instinctively adjusted between the bear’s thighs. 

The fabric was damp, hot, and every time Jongho leaned forward, the feathery base of his sex bristled, brushing in a way that was painfully pleasurable.

"Jongho…" His tone was almost a plea.

"Shhh," Jongho interrupted, leaning in until his lips grazed the corner of Mingi’s mouth. "Let me do it." He whispered as his hands went to the hem of his thick shirt, decorated with braided strips and small pieces of bone that clinked softly.

The fabric, flexible yet sturdy, stretched tight over his rounded belly, marking every curve of pregnancy. He pulled it upward, slowly revealing warm skin with patches of short fur that caught flickers of light. When the garment slipped past his rounded ears, his braid loosened a little, falling over his shoulder.

Mingi swallowed and forced his hands to stay still. His wings twitched nervously, brushing the air.

"Jongho… it’s not a good idea," he warned, though his voice sounded more like a trembling whisper than a command.

Without stopping, the bear reached for the leather straps holding Mingi’s shirt together. He unfastened the first, letting out a faint snap; then the second, freeing the base of his wings.

The feathers flared instantly, and Mingi closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the contrast of Jongho’s warm fingertips on his skin. When the last strap gave way, the fabric slipped aside and his wings opened instinctively, as if trying to wrap around him.

"No…" he tried to say, but Jongho’s hands were already at the waistband of his pants, tied with a couple of simple knots. He loosened one, then the other, letting the garment slide down his legs and release the trapped heat.

Only then did he lower his hands to his own rough, belly-tight trousers. He tugged at the cord holding them, and the fabric fell with a whisper over his broad thighs. 

The contact of skin against skin, with no more barriers, made Mingi hold his breath, his wings betraying him by closing a little more tightly around him.

His cock, hard and throbbing, was caught under the wet heat of Jongho’s entrance.

Mingi froze, the direct contact struck through him like lightning.

Jongho’s wetness enveloped him without letting him in, rubbing right at the sensitive junction of his shaft with the bear’s warm, slippery entrance.

Jongho placed his hands on his shoulders, and with a slow, almost lazy sway, began to grind, letting the tip slide between the wet folds, brushing with cruel precision right where Mingi was most sensitive.

The bird clenched his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to let the sound escape his throat…

But when his hips moved on their own, thrusting upward in search of more, he couldn’t hide it.

A low, rough, desperate moan spilled from his lips.

“Jongho…” his voice trembled, and his wings closed around them as if to hide the scene from the world. “Please… let me in…”

The bear smiled with calm malice, lowering his face until his nose brushed against Mingi’s damp cheek.

“Are you begging already?” he whispered, sliding his hips again, slower this time, in a torturous motion that made the head sink in just barely before slipping away, sending a shiver through them both.

Mingi gasped, his hands digging into Jongho’s thighs, his hips trying to follow that slow sway, desperate for more.

“I’m begging you…” he murmured in a thread of a voice, broken with anxiety and desire. “Let me feel your tight pussy.”

Jongho arched a brow, savoring the plea. He rolled his hips in circles, grinding with more intent, making the head of his shaft grow wetter with the slickness seeping from his entrance.

“Mmm… not yet,” he said with a crooked smile, slowing the rhythm until it was unbearably slow. “I want you to feel it, every second… until you can’t think of anything else.”

The swaying continued, slow, deliberate, brushing just at the entrance again and again, making Mingi moan shamelessly, his body burning up to the limit of patience.

The bird arched with a broken moan when, in one careless move from Jongho, the tip of his shaft sank in just a couple of inches into that throbbing warmth waiting for him like a sweet trap.

It wasn’t enough to sate him, but the shudder running down his spine stole his breath brutally, leaving him trembling, as if his whole body had been struck by a whip of sudden pleasure.

“Ah…!” his voice came out shattered, his eyes wide open, as if it had taken him completely by surprise.

His wings fluttered in an involuntary spasm, closing tighter around them, creating a damp, heated refuge where only the throbbing pressure of that entrance existed.

The heat was so intense it consumed him, a suffocating wetness that seemed to want to devour him inch by inch, swallowing him with a living hunger.

Mingi didn’t know whether to scream in relief or in fear, whether to push out or thrust deeper; the confusion ripped through him, leaving him panting like a cornered animal.

How could something so soft, so pliant and slippery, exert at the same time that suffocating strength that kept him trapped like living jaws?

“J-Jongho…” his voice was a trembling gasp, laced with a plea he hadn’t even realized he was making. 

His hands, once firm on the bear’s hips, began wandering blindly over the hard, heated skin of his stomach, as if searching for something solid to cling to so he wouldn’t lose himself. 

“Let me… let me in deeper… please…”

Jongho only smiled faintly, with that malice that didn’t need words to make clear he was in no hurry to grant what was being begged of him. 

He squeezed around him with a subtle, controlled motion that wrung a louder moan from the bird’s lips, sinking that suffocating warmth just a little further down on him.

“That’s what I like…” he purred against his ear, voice low and damp, his breath brushing his skin and setting it aflame.

Mingi gasped again, his wings trembling with an electric shiver that raced down to the base of his spine. He shut his eyes tight for a moment, clenching his teeth as if he could resist it, but his hips betrayed him, jerking upward in a clumsy, desperate thrust that drew a wet sound at the contact.

“Please… don’t leave me like this…” his words came out broken, chopped by gasps. “I need it… I need to go in… deeper… all the way…”

Jongho looked down at him, still, the muscles under his sweaty skin tense, feigning patience when in reality his own body burned to swallow him whole at once. 

The faint tremor in his thighs gave him away, but even so he allowed himself another second of enjoyment, watching the spectacle of Mingi begging.

His pelvis shifted just enough to let him in a little deeper, like a calculated gift, before tightening around him again, making Mingi nearly growl in frustration.

“You’re cruel…” he whispered, biting his lip, though his hands only clutched harder at the other’s hips, trying to drag him closer.

“No.” Jongho’s voice dropped to a low, raspy murmur, firm. “I’m just teaching you how to ask properly.”

“ Please… ”

The bear tilted his head, that crooked smile showing more mockery than tenderness, and in a slow, almost lazy motion, he let his body sink down completely.

The pressure built inch by inch, until Mingi’s length was swallowed whole into the wet, tight heat, taken mercilessly until the feathers at his base shamelessly brushed against the inner lips of his entrance.

Jongho let out a low, rough laugh, almost a growl of triumph. He stayed seated on him, bearing all his weight without moving, getting used to being filled again.

“Was that what you needed so badly?” he whispered against his cheek, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

Mingi was panting, chest heaving violently, unable to respond right away. His whole body trembled, torn between the fear of hurting him and the animal urgency to move.

Every involuntary spasm of his hips betrayed him, searching for more even though he was already buried to the hilt.

“Y-you’re… so tight…” he stammered, his voice breaking, unable to hide the shiver running through him. “It’s like you don’t want to let me out…”

The bear laughed again, deep and low, deliberately tightening the inner muscles around him to emphasize his words.

“Of course I don’t want to let you go.” He tilted his head, his lips brushing the corner of Mingi’s while keeping him completely trapped inside.

Mingi let out a long, broken moan that sounded like both a plea and surrender at once.

“Jongho… you… you’re going to drive me insane.”

“Mingi…” Jongho’s hoarse voice cracked just slightly as he whispered his name, but in that very instant a different, unexpected warmth slipped between their bodies.

The bird’s eyes flew open, his pulse hammering at his temples.

He looked down and saw a whitish drop sliding from the bear’s firm chest—thick, with a golden sheen that gleamed under the light, heavier than sweat. For a second, the air left his lungs.

“Blood!” Mingi’s voice came out ragged, harsh, laced with such real fear it seemed to vibrate in the air between them.

His hands, which a moment ago had been gripping firmly at Jongho’s hips, suddenly flew upward, fumbling across his abdomen to his torso, anxiously feeling every tense muscle as if a hidden wound might be lurking beneath that smooth skin.

His breathing turned erratic, and his fingers—clumsy with urgency—traced the hard lines of his pectorals, feeling the unusual warmth radiating from them, until they accidentally brushed against the large, dark areolas. Warm, soft to the touch, with that impossible sheen of moisture clinging to them.

The slightest pressure made Jongho’s body shudder, and immediately another thick drop welled up, sliding slowly from his nipple down the groove of his skin.

Mingi froze, watching as the liquid carved a glowing trail, as if the light itself clung to it before it fell. His pulse raced.

He held his breath.

It wasn’t blood.

The scent that reached him was nothing metallic or sharp; it was sweet, earthy, with an amber-like warmth, so dense and rich that for a moment he couldn’t tell if his senses were betraying him, or if instinct was whispering something he didn’t want to accept.

“Jongho…” he whispered, his voice cracking between relief and bewilderment, eyes searching his as though they might hold an explanation. “I don’t understand…” His hands stayed on his chest, not daring to let go, yet unable to stop exploring, to confirm that what he was seeing was real.

Jongho glanced down at his own chest, where more drops slowly beaded from his hardened nipples. His jaw tightened, discomfort flickering across his features before he let out a nervous little laugh, trying to mask it with mockery.

"It's just milk, Min." He arched a brow. "You didn’t know this could happen?" His voice carried a mocking edge, but the warmth in his cheeks and the faint tremor at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Mingi frowned, still unable to look away from the swollen areolas, darker from the blood flowing beneath the skin, with that natural wet sheen that seemed like an invitation to keep touching.

"I never…" He swallowed hard, as if even saying it cost him. "I’ve never seen anything like this before… I thought you were…" His voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, because the image of him being hurt struck deeper than he wanted to admit.

His hands pressed against him a little tighter, as if keeping the contact could reassure him that he was truly fine.

He didn’t finish the thought.

The fear of speaking the word silenced him, as though he were still haunted by the idea of having caused him harm.

But he couldn’t stop staring at the bear’s chest and those thick droplets gathering at the tips of his swollen nipples. There was a strange mix of fear and fascination in him, as though he didn’t know if he should pull back or lean in closer.

His trembling hands remained on his torso, clumsily tracing the firm pectorals until they brushed again—accidentally—against the hardened nipples.

Jongho lowered his gaze as well, feeling how his own body was betraying him. His nipples throbbed, overly sensitive, each breath squeezing out another drop.

He had known it would happen sooner or later…

But he had never imagined it would be in front of him, much less in a moment like this. Heat flared across his face, igniting his cheeks and ears.

A gasp tore from his throat, and the blush spread violently across his features. He lowered his gaze, uncomfortable, pressing his lips together as if he could hide the obvious.

"Mingi…" he murmured, voice barely a hoarse thread, lowering his eyes to avoid meeting the bird’s. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, as if even his breathing had grown heavy. "It’s not bad… it’s… normal."

He licked his lips nervously and, with a timid, almost clumsy motion, brought one hand to his own chest. He gently pinched one nipple, coaxing another drop to bead and slide slowly down his skin.

He looked up, hesitant, meeting Mingi’s wide, dark eyes full of awe. And then, without daring to say it out loud, he leaned forward slightly, offering what so deeply embarrassed him.

"If… if you want…" His voice cracked, broken with shame. "Try it yourself."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension. Jongho dropped his gaze again, biting his lower lip, the flush spreading all over his face.

Every fiber of his body screamed discomfort, and yet he held the posture, clumsily offering his wet nipples, dreading the reaction of the bird who stared at him as though he had never seen anything like it in his life.

Mingi didn’t look away. His breath trembled, uneven, while his wings twitched with a nervousness that didn’t seem to match the burning desire consuming him. The bear’s heat gripped him with every pulse, squeezing around him as though unwilling to let him go, reminding him with every second that he was still buried to the hilt inside.

He swallowed thickly and, slowly, lowered his face to the bear’s chest. His lips brushed first against the damp skin around it, warm and taut, sending a shiver through Jongho, who squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back slightly.

When Mingi closed his mouth around the nipple, sucking gently, the world seemed to collapse in an instant.

"Ah…!" Jongho’s moan broke, trembling, muffled against the bird’s throat. His vagina clenched violently around Mingi’s cock, as if the gesture had triggered some hidden spring inside him. 

The bird growled through his teeth, caught off guard by that sudden, strangling pressure—sweet, almost painful.

"Jongho…" he panted, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead against the bear’s collarbone, his hands clutching at that broad waist. "You’re… squeezing too much…"

The bear didn’t answer with words; he did it with another inner spasm, as if his own body were betraying him, each suction at his nipples tearing out another brutal, immediate reaction that gripped the bird even tighter inside him.

A thick drop of milk spilled into Mingi’s mouth, sweet and warm, and his wings shuddered violently, as if he had just discovered something both forbidden and fascinating.

He opened his eyes, still pressed against his chest, staring at him in disbelief, the golden liquid shining on his lips.

Mingi couldn’t stop.

His tongue traced over the damp nipple before catching it again between his lips, sucking harder, with the desperation of someone who had found a taste impossible to abandon.

Every swallow was warm, dense, with that animal sweetness that intoxicated him, and the more he drank, the deeper he sank into the sway of his own hips.

 

The movement was slow at first, clumsy, as if he feared breaking the spell, but soon instinct won. His hips began to thrust rhythmically upward, sliding in and out of the wet tightness that held him prisoner.

Mingi’s cock brushed again and again against the most sensitive spot inside Jongho’s cunt, pulling involuntary spasms from him that squeezed even tighter, as if sucking him further in with each thrust.

 

“Nghh… Mingi…” Jongho arched his back, his rounded belly trembling with the effort, while his nipples spilled more drops that the bird refused to let escape.

His insides clenched over and over, trapping the winged shaft as if trying to milk it.

 

Mingi growled against his chest, sucking with desperation, while his hips pushed deeper, burying himself until the feathered base slammed again and again against Jongho’s swollen, sensitive lips.

The bear lowered his gaze, his face flushed with shame and desire, and a crooked smile curved on his lips.

 

“You like it that much?” he whispered with soft malice, deliberately tightening his inner muscles around him, ripping a rough moan from the bird. “That milk… it isn’t for you.”

Mingi trembled, sinking his teeth in deeper and sucking fiercely, as if the taunt had challenged him.

“That…” Jongho went on, hoarse, his trembling breath hot against his ear. “That’s for our pups, Mingi… not for a gluttonous bird like you.”

The response was another deep, brutal thrust that filled him to the very end, accompanied by a muffled growl against his chest.

Jongho cried out sharply, his cunt clenching down violently again, squeezing every inch of his partner’s throbbing cock as his nipples spilled another thick wave that Mingi devoured with greed.

“Jongho… Jongho…” he babbled between sucking and panting, as if his name was the only thing he remembered, the only thing that mattered.

“Mmhh… greedy thing…” Jongho growled, his voice hoarse, trembling, his nails sinking into the broad, feathered shoulders. “I can’t believe… you actually like it that much…”

The answer was another thrust of his hips, deep, pounding until the feathered base smacked again and again against the bear’s swollen lips. The wet, hot friction made him tremble from head to toe.

“Mine…!” he moaned in a broken voice, as if he had no other words left in his vocabulary. “Jongho… mine…”

The bear looked at him through half-lidded eyes, sweat rolling down his neck. His breathing was heavy, uneven, but still he found the strength to lean in and seize one of Mingi’s wings with his hands.

The touch of his fingers through the feathers tore a cry from the bird, so sharp it was almost a screech.

His wings were sensitive.

Every stroke transmitted straight to his spine, an erotic tingling that weakened him.

He explored them mercilessly, dragging his nails across the softer feathers, pressing into the hard knots of the primaries until Mingi arched above him, trembling as if electrocuted.

“Mingi…” he murmured, hoarse, drawing out the name like a moan. “What’s with your wings, huh? Why are they trembling so much?”

Mingi couldn’t answer.

Pleasure had made him stupid, drooling against his chest as the milk filled him, while his cock stayed locked inside that hot cave squeezing him like a closed fist. His hands clawed at the bear’s thick thighs, his wings trembled under the caress, and his mouth couldn’t stop nursing from those hardened nipples that wouldn’t stop producing for him.

“You’re mine…” was all he managed to articulate between sucking and moaning. “Mine, mine, mine…”

And each time he said it, his hips slammed harder.

Deeper.

Until the wet sound of their union filled the air.

Jongho buried his fingers into the soft feathers at the base, right where flesh was most sensitive, making the bird scream.

A broken sound that resembled a strangled caw, his back arching violently. His cock throbbed inside the bear and his wings shook as if trying to escape that grip.

“Ahhh…! Jongho, no…” The plea came out broken, but it was cut off when another involuntary suction forced him to moan against the lactating chest. “Ngghhh…!”

Jongho smiled, fangs barely peeking through his wet lips.

“No?” He squeezed harder, stroking the hidden nerve that ran along the root of the wing, that point where muscle and feather became one. Each touch made him shudder as if jolted with electricity. “Then why do they feel so hot here?”

His nails scratched lightly, a measured, cruel gesture that sent spasms through Mingi’s whole body.

The bird lost his rhythm for a moment, almost collapsing over the bear, trembling like a wounded pup. His mouth remained latched onto the nipple, sucking like an addict, while his wings fluttered helplessly, unable to resist.

“L-let go…” he babbled, but the tone didn’t match the plea. It sounded more like a desperate cry, heavy with desire. “You’re driving me… ahhh…!”

The bear laughed into his ear, low, hoarse, a sound that vibrated in his chest.

“No… I’m gonna…!” he gasped, his voice trembling.

Jongho felt it. His body tightened even more, his pussy clenching with almost cruel force, as if trying to milk him dry in one go. The inner muscles closed around the bird’s curved cock, following every pulse, every throb, like a fist refusing to let him escape.

“Do it,” the bear growled, voice deep and rough, brushing his ear as his claws raked over the spread wings. “Come inside me.”

Mingi’s cry was devastating, a savage caw that reverberated against Jongho’s chest. His hips drove forward violently, burying himself to the hilt, and then he broke.

His cock throbbed brutally inside the bear’s tight flesh, spilling hot bursts that overflowed within him.

The feathers at his base stuck together with fluids, and his wings shook in a final spasm that left him nearly collapsing on top of him.

“Jongho!” he roared, voice cracked, as his entire body surrendered to the orgasm.

The bear arched his back, crying out too, because the moment he felt that release filling him to the belly, his body reacted violently.

His pussy clamped down even tighter, trapping him like prey that refuses to release its predator, and his chest spurted milk in waves, streaming down the bird’s face that still nursed relentlessly.

“Ahhh…! Mingi…” his voice was a torn moan, his belly convulsing as he came around him, squeezing every last drop.

The pressure was unbearable.

Mingi drank desperately from the nipple while still buried deep inside, as if he wanted to devour everything. Jongho clung to him fiercely, claws sinking into wings and back, his body squeezing around every inch of his mate.

They were both left trembling.

Caught in that wet tangle of sweat, semen, and milk soaking their bodies, breathing like they had run to the edge of the world and couldn’t return.

The bird collapsed against the bear’s chest, his face buried in the salty, still-dripping skin, lazily sucking at a nipple that no longer responded with the same violence as before, but with a sensitive, swollen throb that made Jongho shiver every time Mingi teased it with his tongue.

“Mmm…” It was barely a murmur, a satisfied sound vibrating against Jongho’s chest, warm and heavy like an oversized pup too big to be carried.

His body was still buried inside the bear, refusing to move, as if the very idea of separating brought him a stabbing, unbearable emptiness.

Jongho sighed, his breath still uneven, running his damp fingers along the trembling curve of those massive wings that covered almost the entire bed. His nails scratched slowly at the root, not to torture him, but to remind him he was trapped.

“Not planning to pull out of me?” he asked through clenched teeth, his voice still hoarse, laced with that low laugh that knew exactly how to set every nerve of the bird on edge.

Mingi barely lifted his face, lips wet, eyes half-lidded, drunk on pleasure and exhaustion. A sloppy smile split his mouth, syrupy, almost ridiculous against the sight of his body still buried to the hilt.

“Mmm… I don’t want to…” he murmured, drowsy, his voice raspy like someone refusing to wake “Let me stay like this a little longer… Jongho, please.”

The bear, still raw and sensitive, let out a low laugh that vibrated against the damp air of the room. Every shift inside made him shudder, still so tight that he could feel even the faintest pulse of the cock buried deep in him.

Even so, he lifted his hand and caught one of Mingi’s spread wings, playing with the feathers like someone tugging a confession out of him.

“A little longer?” he echoed, with a mocking growl, pressing at the nerve at the base of the wing until the bird’s body arched again in spasms—“With that dead-tired face, you’re bound to stay stuck here until sunrise.”

But his hands kept caressing, roaming the wings slowly, combing through the damp feathers with his fingers as if arranging them one by one. The touch was patient, almost hypnotic, and Mingi trembled under each stroke, sinking deeper against his chest.

“You’ll break my wings,” the bird babbled, barely above a whisper, as he let it happen, his cock still swollen inside him.

“And you’ll break my hips,” Jongho scoffed, though a trace of laughter colored his tone, a tired kind of complicity.

Mingi’s body began to shift clumsily, searching for a more comfortable position without pulling out of Jongho.

The movement was slow, sluggish, as if every muscle weighed twice as much, yet still reluctant to lose the warmth surrounding him. He leaned to one side, forcing the bear to move with him, until his winged back no longer rested against the wall and he collapsed onto his side on the mattress, dragging Jongho along with him.

The change in posture made the cock still buried in Jongho’s sensitive cunt slide just enough to tear a low moan from him, one he tried to bite back between his teeth. His rounded belly settled between them, soft and warm, pressed gently against the bird’s firm abdomen.

“What would you do if I really broke them, huh?” Jongho murmured, amused at the involuntary shiver that raced through the bird’s body under each touch—“You wouldn’t even be able to fly to the kitchen.”

Mingi chuckled under his breath, a low, messy sound, burying his face harder against his skin.

“I don’t care…” he whispered, his tone sticky with sleep, dependent “I don’t need to fly… if I’m with you.”

Jongho clicked his tongue, as if he meant to scold him, but the flush rising to his face gave him away. He tugged gently at a long feather, making the bird’s hips jolt and a low gasp escape him.

Winter had arrived like a dry bite in the air. Snow piled along the edges of the roof and crunched under the naked branches of the forest. Inside the cabin, however, the heat was almost suffocating, since Mingi insisted on keeping the fireplace burning day and night.

He refused to risk Jongho getting cold—not with that belly that had grown so much, leaving him heavy, sensitive, strange.

Jongho already felt it.

Sleep took him more than ever.

He spent hours in the nest, barely opening his eyes to eat what Mingi brought him or to shift among the pillows and blankets the bird kept tucking around him. His body, stubborn and proud, had begun surrendering to something stronger than his will.

It wasn’t full hibernation, but rather an overwhelming need to rest, to let his energy be stored for the inevitable moment looming ahead.

Mingi turned stubborn. He wouldn’t let him crawl back into the sheets.

“Not there,” he had said firmly, taking his hand and guiding him toward the soft hollow he had shaped with such care “Here, you’re safe.”

At first, Jongho growled in annoyance, muttering that he felt like a cub being dragged into a pile of feathers.

But little by little, the warmth overcame him, and the softness wrapped around him until it lulled him into a deeper sleep than he could remember.

Now, with the weight of pregnancy marking each of his movements, he no longer fought against the idea.

And in the end, he had to admit it. Deep down, the nest was warmer, more enveloping, as if it truly belonged to him.

 

Mingi lay beside him whenever he could, sometimes with his head on his shoulder, sometimes in silence, just listening to the bear’s heavy breathing.

The bear didn’t sleep completely. His fingers played with one of the loose feathers, while his voice, low and rough, broke the calm.

“Sometimes I think you turned me into your pet,” he growled softly, almost as a joke. “Always stuck in here, trapped in your feathers.”

Mingi chuckled under his breath, leaning in to brush his partner’s forehead.

“You’re the only bear who complains about having such a comfortable place,” he murmured. “If it were up to me, you’d never leave the nest.”

“Of course… because you want to trap me. You’re a possessive bird…” Jongho barely opened his eyes, tilting his head to look at him with a trace of irony.

The bird returned a clumsy smile, but his eyes softened.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing one of his feathers against the warm skin of Jongho’s arm, “when I was a kid… everyone laughed at me.”

Jongho slowly opened his eyes, blinking sleepily.

“At you? Why?” His voice came out hoarse, heavy with sleep.

Mingi laughed softly, though without humor.

“Because of my size. I was clumsy, too tall for my age, too skinny. They said I looked like a scarecrow. And when I tried to fly, I always fell first. Nobody wanted me on their team. I was… the joke of everyone.”

The bear tilted his face, watching him with that calm of his that rarely broke. His fingers, heavy with fatigue, barely moved to brush against the nearest feathers.

“And look at you now. You built a huge nest and carried me as if I weighed nothing.” He said it with a soft, almost teasing smile, but the glint in his eyes was genuine.

“I do it because you’re mine. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have the strength for it,” Mingi shrugged a little, as if he didn’t want to accept the compliment.

Jongho snorted, though a spark of blush rose to his cheeks. He lowered his gaze to his rounded belly, covered by the blanket.

“I didn’t always have someone to say that to me.”

“What do you mean?” The bird looked at him, curious.

There was a brief silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Jongho swallowed, as if the words were stones he had to chew before spitting them out.

He looked at Mingi in silence, and the memory of his own childhood pressed tightly against his chest.

“My mother kicked me out of the house when I was old enough to hunt on my own,” he confessed, his voice low, as if speaking more to himself than to him. “’A bear must fend for himself,’ that’s what she told me. And I… I wasn’t ready. I spent weeks starving, not understanding anything. No one taught me to be strong. I only learned not to ask for help.”

Mingi lifted his gaze, surprised.

“You never told me that.”

The bear pressed his lips into a hard line.

“I don’t like to talk about it. But now…” He cut himself off when a pang coursed through his belly. He let out a low gasp, both hands going to his tense abdomen.

Mingi reacted immediately, straightening up.

“Again?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Nnhhh… yes…” Jongho breathed deeply, his eyes shut as the pain washed over him like a wave. The contraction made him curl in slightly, his claws digging into the blankets of the nest.

The bird held him by the back, pressing him against his chest.

“Breathe with me… slow, steady.”

The bear growled, his face still twisted, claws buried in the blankets. He felt his belly harden with each surge, heavy, throbbing.

“Mingi…” his voice trembled, deeper than ever. “I think… it’s time…”

The bird’s eyes widened, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“Already? So soon?”

Mingi leaned over him, one wing wrapping around his back, while his hands searched his belly. Beneath the firm skin, he could feel a more defined movement, a pressure slowly descending through the inner channel.

The bear clenched his teeth, letting out a deep groan that almost sounded like a roar. His hands instinctively moved to his belly, as if trying to hold what inside him was seeking to come out.

The blanket beneath his hips suddenly dampened, darkening with a viscous sheen that spread quickly.

Mingi held his breath, leaning closer, until he saw it.

It wasn’t an egg like those of his species: hard, perfect, covered in a shell. What peeked out from the blankets was soft, wet, wrapped in a pearly membrane that looked far too fragile. It barely moved, pulsing with a strange rhythm.

The bird swallowed hard, instincts tangled, the feathers of his wings bristling. He held it in his hands clumsily, with a fear he didn’t know how to name.

“Jongho… this… doesn’t look…” his voice broke, choked with trembling.

The bear, panting, lowered his gaze as well. His eyes widened slightly, and his breath caught at the sight of the pearly, soft shape pulsing against the blankets, wrapped in golden fluid.

It wasn’t a cub. It had no fur, no claws, not even an animal sound to confirm what his insides screamed should have been born.

A heavy silence surrounded them. The fire cracked in the wood, as if biting at the air in their place.

“Where is…?” Jongho’s voice came out harsh, broken. “Where is my child?”

His claws curled over the blankets, instinct roaring in his hollow chest. The gaze he fixed on the warm membrane was bewildered.

“That’s not…” his growl came out low, hoarse, more pained than furious.

Mingi looked at him immediately, nervous, clutching the warm membrane in his hands.

“Don’t say that!” he burst out, the words as instinctive as his fear. “It’s alive, I can feel it… look!” He lifted the sac to his chest, where a soft, irregular pulse throbbed beneath his fingers.

Jongho pressed his lips together, letting out a low growl that wasn’t anger, but anguish. He leaned forward, his heavy shoulders trembling, and hid his face in the shadow of Mingi’s wing.

“How am I supposed to take care of it?” he asked in a rough whisper, almost childlike. His claws were still dug into the blankets, and he seemed more like a wounded animal than a grown bear. “I don’t know how…”

Mingi bit the inside of his cheek, staring at the pearly, pulsing thing in his hands. It was fragile, strange, damp… nothing like what he had expected. Silence slipped between them, unbearably heavy. And finally, unable to endure it, he let out a short, nervous laugh.

“It’s kind of funny…” he tilted his head a little, as if speaking more to himself than to Jongho. “You were so sure it would be a grumpy cub just like you… and instead, it came out a little softer.” He raised his eyebrows with a half-smile. “I’d say it takes more after my side.”

Jongho looked at him, eyes wide, trembling slightly. His breath hitched, and instead of the annoyed growl Mingi expected, what escaped was a low, vulnerable sound—almost a whimper of anguish.

“Don’t say that…” he whispered, voice broken, as though fear had stolen his strength.

Mingi’s nervous smile vanished at once. His chest tightened at the sight of the bear lowering his head, shoulders rigid and heavy, as if carrying the whole world. Gently, he set the membrane down on the blankets and stretched one wing around him, pulling him close.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” his voice softened, almost a murmur. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid joke.”

Jongho buried his face in the hollow of his feathers, and Mingi could feel his trembling breath. He stroked the back of his neck with his softest feathers, soothing him without realizing it.

The warmth of the wing wrapped around him, but it wasn’t enough to drive away the chill running through Jongho’s blood.

“Mingi…” he rasped, voice full of fear. He lifted his head just enough to glance again at the pearly, damp form that beat faintly. “What if it dies because I don’t know what to do?”

His voice cracked on the last word, and a muffled roar of frustration stuck in his throat.

Mingi stared wide-eyed, the pulsing sac still in his hands, torn between pressing it to his chest or laying it back on the blankets. His fingers trembled, but he didn’t let go. On the contrary, he held it tighter, as if that gesture alone could give Jongho the certainty he needed.

Mingi drew in a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from breaking like Jongho’s. He held the sac a few seconds longer, watching the pearly membrane quiver with each faint heartbeat. Then, with utmost care, he set it down on the blankets closest to the fire.

The bird began shaping a hollow in the nest, pushing aside the damp skins and pulling in the driest, warmest ones. He used both wings and hands, arranging everything with the urgency of someone born to care for eggs. Once satisfied, he took the pulsing sac and nestled it in the center, covering it with a few loose feathers and a corner of the blanket.

“Look…” he murmured, leaning down a bit so Jongho could follow his gaze. “It’ll be fine here. The nest is warm, and if we keep it close, it’ll keep beating.”

Jongho followed with his eyes, still trembling. He leaned forward slightly, as if to make sure the fragile thing was truly safe.

Mingi noticed, and let out a soft laugh, weary but genuine.

“You know… you already did the hardest part. You carried it in your belly since spring, kept it safe inside you all the way until now, into winter.” He glanced sideways at him, tilting his head. “You’ve already done your share.”

Jongho growled low, out of habit more than anything, but his shoulders eased a little.

“And now what?” he asked hoarsely.

The bird extended his wing to pull him back close, guiding him toward the nest.

“Now it’s my turn.” His tone grew firm, as if the thought itself gave him strength. “I’m going to take care of it. Of him… and of you.”

The bear blinked, confused.

"Me?"

Mingi let out a chuckle and rested his forehead against his, not pulling away.

"Of course. You half-hibernate, remember? You’re going to be tired, half-asleep, grouchy… And I’m not going to let you wear yourself out more." He raised a brow, playful, but his voice was low and steady. "So while you rest, I’ll make sure it doesn’t lack warmth."

He leaned toward the egg, covered it a little more with his wings, and drew it against their sides. Their body heat mingled, soft and enveloping. The pearly membrane quivered once, faintly, as if in response.

"See…" Mingi whispered, almost smiling. "It’s not alone. Neither are you."

Jongho swallowed, and though his eyes still gleamed with the shadow of fear, there was something new in them: a timid, hidden relief. He leaned in a little more until he felt the egg’s warmth pressed to his still-sensitive belly and closed his eyes.

Mingi watched him for a moment, his heart pounding fast yet strangely calm.

"Sleep easy," he said softly, in a tone caught between a tender tease and a lullaby. "It’s my turn to keep watch now."

The wing wrapped fully around him, enclosing Jongho and the egg in the same embrace. Outside, winter kept striking with its cold wind, but inside the nest, the warmth of the three became a fragile, precious refuge.

Chapter 2: Under his Wings

Mingi didn’t sleep that first night. Every so often, the soft egg quivered beneath the blanket, and he felt his own heart matching its rhythm. It was strange, too delicate, nothing like the hardness he knew from his own kind. He couldn’t simply sit on it and let the heat do the work; any wrong pressure could harm it.

So he improvised.

From time to time, he rose from the nest to stir the fire in the hearth. Jongho grumbled in his sleep, shifting uneasily when he felt Mingi’s warmth slip away for a few seconds, and the bird would hurry back, making sure neither the bear nor the small life nestled in the blankets was left exposed to the cold.

He arranged the pelts as if they were layers of leaves, fluffing them carefully, creating a soft circle around the egg. And when Jongho, half-awake, tried to drag his claws toward the embers to move a log, Mingi leaned over him at once.

"Shhh, leave it. I’ll take care of it." He brushed his hand away gently, like a caress. "Sleep, your body needs it."

"Mingi…" his voice came out rough. "Don’t let me sleep alone."

The bird wrapped an arm around him, pressing the bundle and the bear both against his chest.

"Never," he promised in a firm whisper, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "I swear, Jongho. Never."

The next morning, when the sun barely touched the edges of the frozen forest, Mingi forced himself to go out. Jongho slept deeply, exhausted, and the egg lay cushioned between the blankets, warm thanks to the hearth’s nearness. The bird lingered for a long while, leaning again and again over the nest, as if afraid everything would vanish if he stepped away.

But more firewood was needed, maybe some dried herbs to keep the heat steady. So, reluctantly, he left the cabin.

The air struck his face, sharp and freezing.

His wings bristled under the weight of frost.

He was absorbed in checking for strong, dry branches when a familiar sound tightened every muscle in his body.

"Well, well… I thought the wind was playing tricks on us," said a voice behind him.

Mingi spun around, feathers standing on end as if bracing for an attack. Three silhouettes cut across the trees, wings folded and gazes piercing. They were birds from his clan, the very ones he had avoided for months.

"So you were alive after all?" one of them sneered, a half-smile curling his lips. "And here we thought you’d been hunted down like a clumsy deer."

Laughter rang out in the icy air, sharp as blades. Mingi clenched his jaw. He had heard those voices many times since childhood: the jeers when he fell trying to fly, the jokes about his gangly height, the comparisons to a scarecrow. That part of his past hadn’t followed him into the forest… until now.

"They didn’t hunt me," he answered, low and grave, though the tremor in his wings betrayed him. "I just have nothing to do with you anymore."

One stepped forward, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

"So the rumors were true. You went and hid with a bear." The words dripped with disdain. "Is that what you do now, Mingi? Warm another species’ nest because you never knew how to make your own?"

Heat surged into his face, boiling. He had imagined this encounter more than once, but facing it was different. His instincts urged him to attack, but the memory of Jongho’s rounded belly held him back. He couldn’t risk returning injured. He couldn’t let his anger endanger the warmth and calm he had built in that cabin.

"I have what I need," he replied, with a firmness he didn’t fully feel but forced himself to hold. "So don’t come back here."

Mingi dropped the wood with a sharp thud onto the snow, his chest heaving.

"And what if we do?" The shortest one tilted his head, taunting. "What are you going to do, scarecrow?"

A low growl rumbled from Mingi’s throat, mixed with a sudden flare of wings that filled the clearing with shadow. His feathers bristled, taut, enormous.

For a second, even the others fell silent.

“I told you not to come back.” His voice came out hoarse, strained with brutal effort not to attack. “If you dare approach again, I won’t answer for myself.”

An uneasy silence followed. The three exchanged quick glances, as if they hadn’t expected such a reaction. Finally, the largest of them scoffed, beating his wings with a dismissive gesture.

“You’ll rot before spring, and if you don’t, the bear will eat you.”

And with that, they rose into the air, leaving behind only the echo of their mockery.

Only when silence wrapped the forest again did he let out the breath he’d been holding, his shoulders falling heavily.

He looked at what he had gathered: branches, fibers, a few dry leaves that resisted the cold. Small things, useless compared to the storm they had stirred inside him.

“A bear…” the insult echoed in his mind.

But at the same time, the thought soothed him.

Because yes, he had chosen Jongho. And every time he saw him in the nest, heavy and drowsy, guarding the future they had created together, he knew that choice was not a shame.

It was the only thing he had ever done right in his entire life.

He returned to the cabin with his wings tense, but his heart steadier.

And when he entered, calm returned. The sight of Jongho, half-asleep among feathers and blankets, with the egg warm beside him, erased the poison of their words in an instant. He bent down carefully, kissing his forehead without waking him, and set the firewood by the hearth.

“Let them say whatever they want,” he whispered, wrapping his wings around them. “This is where I belong.”

Jongho stirred a little.

“Why did you take so long?” he asked, his voice drowsy.

“You took too long.”

Mingi dropped the branches near the fire and hurried to his side, kneeling in the nest.

“I’m sorry… I got a little distracted.” He brushed Jongho’s face with his feathers, softening the touch with tenderness.

Jongho squinted, noticing the tremor in his wings.

“Mingi…” his voice was low, husky, but steady enough to pin him with his gaze. “What happened?”

The bird looked away too quickly. He pretended to adjust a blanket over the egg, as if that distraction justified his silence.

“Nothing. I only took long because the firewood was damp,” he replied with a practiced calm that didn’t match the knot in his throat.

The bear watched him for a moment, and though his expression stayed serious, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Clumsily, he stroked one of the long feathers, as if that small gesture confirmed Mingi’s words.

“Good,” he murmured, closing his eyes again. “Because if you ever leave me alone too long again, I’ll rip your wings off.”

Mingi chuckled softly, leaning in to press his forehead against his.

The days that followed, Mingi remained restless. He faked normalcy, tending the fire before Jongho woke, bringing back excessive amounts of wood, keeping the egg wrapped with obsessive care. Every gesture was too precise, too deliberate, as if he feared any slip would reveal what had happened in the forest.

But in the silence of the cabin, the words of his clan kept bouncing around inside his head. Scarecrow. Rot before spring. And no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, each time he caught his reflection in the fogged glass of the window—tall, awkward, wings a little crooked—he felt they were right.

Jongho noticed soon enough. Though he dozed most of the day, his sense of smell betrayed him: traces of birds lingered in the air, faint but distinct, too close to their refuge. That presence made him wary, but what worried him more was seeing Mingi’s clumsiness. The bird spilled water when filling the pot, dropped the branches with shaking hands, tangled himself in his own feathers when trying to cover him.

One morning, while Mingi was adjusting blankets over the egg, Jongho frowned.

“Here…” he murmured, sniffing slowly. “It smells different here.”

Mingi froze, his hands mid-motion.

“Different?”

“Birds,” he growled low, barely a whisper. His eyelids opened a little wider, as if the realization had shaken him from his drowsiness. “Not you. Others.”

Mingi’s chest tightened as though an invisible claw gripped it. He forced a smile, shrugging.

“Maybe it was the wind… the forest always carries strange scents.”

“No. Not wind. They were here. Circling.”

Mingi lowered his head, the words stuck in his throat.

The shadow of their laughter pressed down on him again. ‘You never even knew how to build your own nest.’ And suddenly, he felt they were right: he wasn’t enough. Not enough to protect him, not enough to keep an egg warm, not enough to stand beside a bear who could topple trees with his claws.

“I…” he murmured, but didn’t finish the sentence. He forced a clumsy smile, looking away. “It doesn’t matter, Jongho. Don’t worry, I… I’ll handle it.”

Jongho kept watching him in silence, his brow furrowed, as if he wanted to pierce through the wall Mingi was building. In the end, he sighed and lay back down, but not without a low growl.

“You’re clumsy at lying.”

Mingi felt his heart tighten, somewhere between shame and fear. He walked over to the fire, crouching in front of the embers as if they were suddenly the only thing worthy of his attention. His large hands slipped out of control, fumbling with the branches, and still he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t let Jongho see the insecurity carved into his eyes.

Inside, he only repeated to himself, in a murmur he didn’t dare say out loud:

I’m not enough… but I won’t let them prove it to you.

The days that followed turned strange, as if a heavy mist had gotten trapped in the cabin’s air. Jongho noticed it, even though he was exhausted down to the bone.

But even in the middle of those heavy dreams, he could sense how Mingi was crumbling little by little.

The bird no longer hummed under his breath when he arranged the branches, no longer spoke awkwardly about reinforcing the nest, nor smiled when Jongho growled some teasing remark. Now he moved in silence, wings folded, gaze avoiding him.

Two more days passed.

Jongho slept a lot—too much for his liking—but the winter forced it; his body dragged him toward a rest that was never truly deep.

Half-asleep, he could feel Mingi tucking him in again and again, shifting the egg from side to side to keep it warm, lighting the fire even when it wasn’t needed.

At times, through the haze of sleep, he saw him sitting nearby, wings drawn tight against his body, staring at the glow of the embers with a lost expression.

“He’s worried,” Jongho told himself in those lapses of half-consciousness, but he was too exhausted to open his eyes, too sluggish to ask questions. He barely managed to stretch out a claw and brush against the feathers of his wing, as if that touch could anchor him. And Mingi always responded the same way—

With a tremor barely contained and a clumsy shuffle of feathers, wrapping him tighter.

On the third day, the silence grew denser.

Jongho forced himself to keep his eyes open longer, though sleep pulled at him. From his corner, he watched Mingi trying to fit damp branches into the fireplace.

A spark leapt, burning his wrist, and the bird let out a muffled cry. Jongho wanted to get up, but his muscles didn’t obey the way he wished.

“Mingi…” His voice came out hoarse, dragging.

The bird turned at once, with that smile that now felt more like a mask.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Sleep.”

Jongho frowned. The smell of scorched smoke and damp resin didn’t fool him. Something was wrong—he knew it—but the fatigue pulled him under again. Before sinking back down, he thought with frustration:

I don’t know how to help him.

In the days that followed, the bird’s insecurity became more obvious.

He no longer looked Jongho straight in the eye when they spoke.

If Jongho called him, he answered, but lowered his head, as if his eyes were too heavy to lift. Whenever Jongho shifted in the nest, he rushed to help, but his clumsy hands trembled, as if he carried more weight than he could bear.

At night, Jongho felt him more restless.

Even as his own eyelids closed with exhaustion, he noticed Mingi adjusting again and again—getting up, checking the blankets, reinforcing the edge of the nest as if it were about to collapse.

He wanted to help, to tell him he didn’t need to carry everything alone, but all he managed was to brush a feather tip with his claw.

“Stay here… with me,” he murmured.

And every time, Mingi obeyed.

He wrapped him in his wings, leaned over him, and in silence told himself it was enough. That even if inside he felt ugly, clumsy, insufficient, as long as Jongho kept breathing by his side, he would endure.

But every dawn, when the first light barely crept through the window, that voice returned.

You’re not enough.

And so, day after day, Mingi kept covering them with trembling wings, hiding the insecurity that devoured him, while Jongho, trapped between sleep and waking, could only suspect it, without knowing how to reach him.

Winter had been pressing down for days with a harshness that seemed relentless. The cabin endured thanks to the fireplace, but the real warmth was in the nest.

In Jongho, in the egg.

In the space they had built together.

And still, Mingi felt like an intruder in his own refuge.

He hated himself for it.

He hated it because, in his mind, everything those hands and wings did seemed to confirm what his old companions had said: that he was useless at making a nest, that he would never know how to hold on to what he loved.

But then, when night fell and Jongho sank into a heavy sleep, the need became unbearable.

Mingi stayed awake, chest burning, stomach twisted into a knot. It was as if the cold of the forest had seeped into his bones and there was only one way to drive it out.

By drawing closer and closer to Jongho’s warmth.

His feathers bristled when he wrapped around him, when he felt him breathe beneath his arms. Jongho’s slow, deep breaths became a balm, yet at the same time made him all the more aware of his own clumsiness. He felt that if he loosened his grip even slightly, Jongho would slip away.

His heart pounded hard, not at the thought of the winter outside or the exhaustion weighing him down, but because he feared that this desperate attachment would betray him. Because, even if Jongho was asleep, Mingi knew he was holding on too tightly—not seeking him as a companion, but as a lifeline to keep himself from collapsing.

His body tangled with emotions: shame, for needing so much; fear, for never being enough; relief, because at least he could bury his face against the bear’s neck and breathe deeply, filling his lungs with that warm, earthy scent that calmed him.

Every time he drew in that fragrance, the cruel laughter in his head faded just a little.

And yet, the calm never lasted.

His skin prickled, his throat tightened, as if his whole body were screaming that he couldn’t keep up the façade any longer.

A tremor that started in his wings spread through his chest and pushed him closer against Jongho, seeking warmth with an instinct he couldn’t control.

He felt fragile.

Too fragile to be a bird.

The movement was so small at first he didn’t even notice.

He only wanted to curl up closer, press his body against Jongho’s as if he could sink into him and stay there until winter passed.

Winter made no distinction between days and nights.

For Mingi, everything became a repetitive cycle of tending the fire, hauling wood, reinforcing the nest, and inevitably returning to that soft warmth where Jongho and the egg rested.

The bear’s rounded ears became his first obsession.

Soft, warm, with a texture no feather or skin could match.

Each time he brushed them, Jongho would shiver faintly, even in sleep—a tiny movement that was enough to send tingles racing down Mingi’s spine.

And at night, he would rub those brown ears with his long fingers, sometimes with the tipsof his feathers, and the slightest shiver Jongho gave in return filled him with a muted, dangerous thrill, as if there were something forbidden in the intimacy of the gesture.

It left him still for long minutes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the hushed rhythm of Jongho’s breathing, as if the whole world had shrunk to that calm melody—and eventually, that was how he drifted off to sleep.

The nights repeated with the same pattern.

Mingi struggling to resist, clinging to stillness as if he could truly fool his body, until a tremor shook his wings and forced him to yield. 

Each time his fingers drifted toward those rounded ears, each time he buried his face into the bear’s warm neck, he felt himself unravel inside—not because he sought immediate pleasure, but because the intimacy of it hurt more than any wound.

But soon, the innocent caress was no longer enough.

The tingling in his wings sank into his belly, and the erection he had tried to ignore began to ache with stubborn pressure, as if to remind him that looking, or even breathing the same air, would never be enough.

The contrast was unbearable.

Jongho’s heat radiated against him, while his own skin still felt cold, damp, as if he could never fully enter the shelter he so desperately needed.

His fingers, still tangled in the bear’s soft ears, slowly trailed down to his neck, and from there to his broad chest, clumsily stroking the curve where muscle met the warmth of his hidden glands.

And when Mingi slid his fingers there, he felt the change: nipples hardening, skin warm and sensitive, betraying something that didn’t match the virile look of his chest. A shiver coursed through him.

He didn’t know if Jongho was truly asleep, or if that body was reacting by instinct, but the areolas tightened at his touch, firm and sensitive. Mingi blinked, his breath catching, and the weight of tenderness disarmed him more than shame did. He circled one with the tip of his finger, pressing just lightly, and felt the immediate response.

A pulse beneath the skin, a deeper heat that seemed to call to him.

He leaned down without thinking, kissing that spot clumsily, a damp brush that turned into a gasp when his tongue met the hardened nipple. The salty taste of skin mixed with a honey sweetness, laced with a hint of resin.

“Ahhh…” it slipped out in a sigh he didn’t try to hold back, burying his face against that chest that smelled of resin and smoke. “I shouldn’t… but… I can’t…”

The shudder hit him so hard he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

It was as if that contact opened another door, a reminder that Jongho, with all his strength and the look of a relentless hunter, also carried a biological vulnerability that made him unique.

The contrast made him moan against his chest, licking and sucking with clumsy devotion, feeling his own cock throb violently as the short feathers at its base—sensitive like antennae—brushed against the fabric that separated them, carrying every shift in temperature to him.

He didn’t even need to move.

Just being that close set him on fire. But the need to rub grew stronger than the guilt. His hips slid forward, just barely, seeking the heat of Jongho’s belly, and the friction—minimal but real—drew out a strangled moan.

 

The heat pushed him lower, inevitable. Mingi’s trembling hand slid down to the bear’s firm, broad belly, and then lower, to the edge where fabric still covered him.

He didn’t want to do it all at once, didn’t want to violate the stillness of that heavy sleep—but when he carefully pulled the clothes aside and the earthy scent, stronger now, hit him full force, he knew there was no turning back.

 

Jongho’s natural wetness enveloped him the moment his fingers brushed over those dark lips. Fleshy, soft, burning hot to the touch—rougher on the outside, velvety and molten inside.

Mingi held his breath, a short sob escaping his throat. Just slipping a finger inside was enough to feel those instinctive muscles clamp down at once, as if the bear’s body, even asleep, refused to let him go.

The pressure was both punishment and welcome.

The inner channel tightened so fiercely that every slight movement sent shivers through him, as though milking him before he could even enter for real.

The heat seared him, clashing with the natural chill of his skin and his cock, already aching to be freed.

When he finally pulled it from the fabric, the cabin’s icy air struck it a moment before the base of his shaft, ringed with those bristling sensory feathers, brushed against Jongho’s burning skin.

The feathers at the base of his sex stood on end, grazing the bear’s swollen lips, sending an electric tingle racing through his entire body.

Mingi trembled, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed against Jongho’s neck, as if by clinging to him he could hide the enormity of what he felt.

“You’re so warm…” he whispered, nearly in tears. “My body doesn’t know what to do with you…”

Jongho’s insides answered without words.

A faint pulse, a reflexive spasm that tightened around him just slightly, as if those strong muscles recognized him even in dreams. Mingi gasped sharply, choking on it, and his wings folded over them both, suffocating the air around them.

The contrast drove him insane.

Damp cold against animal heat.

His feathers bristled, transmitting every vibration, every scent, amplifying the arousal until it became unbearable.

“Ahhh…” he moaned, a broken thread against the bear’s skin, as he brushed the tip against the wet entrance.

The pearly ridges along his shaft slid slowly, only probing, as though his cock were trying to memorize the texture before sinking in.

Each brush tore a shiver through him, head to toe, and the contrast between the slick smoothness of his skin and the soft roughness of Jongho’s fleshy lips made him tremble as if two different species were colliding at a single point.

Mingi’s hand slid down to the base of his own cock, holding it as though he feared losing control. The feathers surrounding it stood even stiffer, grazing Jongho’s burning lips, and the tingling that coursed through his body knocked the breath out of him.

He gasped against his skin, tears gathering beneath his closed eyes, a short sob breaking free alongside the moan.

“I can’t… I shouldn’t…” he stammered, voice cracked, teeth clenched against the bear’s neck.

Fear cut through him—that old terror of not being enough, of Jongho rejecting him even in sleep, crushing him with a single move, tearing him off.

But then another spasm squeezed him, an involuntary pulse of that iron muscle, seeming to close around him to hold him in, not force him out. Mingi froze, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe it.

His heart pounded so hard he felt the echo in his cock, each beat slamming against that entrance that seemed to devour him even though he was barely brushing it.

“You… you want me inside, don’t you?” he whispered, not expecting an answer, as if speaking more to himself than to Jongho.

He leaned forward, forehead pressed to the bear’s broad shoulder, and began to sink in further—just a little—letting the ridges drag inch by inch across the wet entrance.

He leaned forward, forehead pressed against the bear’s broad shoulder, and began to sink deeper, just a little, letting the ridges of his cock drag inch by inch along that wet hole.

The heat swallowed him immediately—wet, pulsing—and the feathers at the base of his dick vibrated, sending him every shift in temperature, every drop that made the cunt wetter around him. Mingi let out a strangled moan, a low sound caught against the hollow of Jongho’s shoulder.

 

“Ahh… so tight… you’re gonna break me…” he whispered, and still he didn’t pull back.

 

The pressure of that inner channel clamped down the moment he pushed in those few centimeters, into that warm pussy. There was no resistance, only that powerful, almost aggressive suction that caught him like a living trap.

The bird arched his back violently, wings flaring open for a heartbeat before folding again in a trembling beat that smothered both their bodies under a mantle of feathers.

Every centimeter was torment.

Scorching heat, instinctive suction, that muscle refusing to let him go. Mingi arched, wings closing like a shelter around them, muffling his own ragged gasps.

“Jongho… you’re… ahhh… fucking impossible…” his voice cracked in his throat, drowned in pleasure and fear. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Each word fractured, caught between the teeth biting into the bear’s skin as if that contact were the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

The thrusting began almost without him realizing it.

A small push of his hips, just a testing grind to ease the unbearable pressure—and the answer was immediate.

That pussy gripped him so hard a broken moan tore from his chest, vibrating against Jongho’s throat.

The bird squeezed his eyes shut, trembling all over. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to lose the last shred of control he still clung to, but the bear’s body forced him to surrender.

The suction was too much, that animal pressure trapping him with no way out. Jongho’s wet entrance sealed around him with instinctive precision, milking every throb of his cock until Mingi felt the air being driven out of his lungs.

He moaned, strangled, forehead pressed to the bear’s shoulder, trying to still the movement of his hips, but it was useless.

The damp chill of his own skin against Jongho’s blazing heat, the pearly smooth ridges of his shaft grazing walls that felt alive, tightening rhythmically, sucking him in with a force impossible to resist.

The feathers at the base of his cock grew wet against Jongho’s fleshy lips.

Mingi arched, breath broken, feeling those feathers bind him closer still, as if they were roots tethering him to that burning flesh that refused to let him go.

The fear was still there, buried deep.

He feared breaking him, feared being too clumsy, but more than anything, he feared that heat might expel him, leave him empty. Every tiny retreat was punished with a harsher squeeze, and every push forward was received with suction so intense it tore sobs from his throat.

“Ahhh… Jongho…” his voice broke, wet, lost against the bear’s warm neck. “I can’t… I can’t with you…”

The broad chest beneath him rose and fell slowly, deeply, breathing with the heavy calm of deep sleep. Mingi clung to that, to that movement that held him. 

Clumsily, he lowered his mouth again, searching for a hardened nipple, and when he caught it between his lips he felt milk flow out—warm and thick—filling his tongue with that taste of honey and resin. 

His moan spilled between gulps, broken, desperate, as his body gave in to the thrusts he could no longer control.

The contact with the milk shattered him in another way. Each time he swallowed, shame retreated a little, and instinct dragged him deeper. His cock throbbed inside the bear with unbearable violence, hard and raw to the point of pain, while the inner channel squeezed him in a rhythm that seemed designed to strip away his sanity.

The thrusts grew sharper, though still clumsy, uneven.

Every ridge of his shaft buried into that pulsing flesh, every nerve alight with unbearable force. And when his sensitive tip brushed deeper, the exactness of the pressure made him moan like a wounded animal.

“Ahhh… y-you’re… milking me…” he gasped, voice broken, still drinking from the damp chest. “I can’t… I can’t stop…”

The pressure was unbearable, an inner embrace holding him captive.

When he tried to pull back even a little for air, Jongho’s body caught him again, closing with a force that drove him deeper.

The pressure was unbearable, an inner grip that held him captive.

Whenever he tried to pull out just a little to catch his breath, Jongho’s body clamped down on him again, squeezing with a force that shoved him in deeper.

The rhythm was no longer his.

His body moved on its own, in a back-and-forth that went deeper each time, more and more submissive.

Shame mixed with the tears wetting Jongho’s skin, but even that didn’t stop him. He sucked hard, drinking like that milk was the only thing keeping him alive, while his cock—hard and slick—pushed further into that burning hole that welcomed him with brutal force.

“Ahhh… you’re… nhhh… so tight… so hot…” he mumbled with a broken moan that got lost against the bear’s chest. “I need you…”

Each thrust dragged him closer to losing it.

Fear didn’t hold him back anymore—it only made him moan louder, tremble harder, as if that vulnerability were part of the pleasure.

The bird let himself be dragged under, drowning in heat and milk, trapped in a body that wouldn’t let him go and forced him to accept he would never escape.

The rocking sped up, uneven, desperate, and Mingi knew there was no going back.

Everything pulled him in deeper, everything forced him to completely lose himself in Jongho.

Jongho’s hole squeezed him with a vicious rhythm, milking him, punishing every attempt to pull out with contractions designed to wring him dry.

“Ahhh… ahhh…” he panted against that broad chest, his voice broken and wet, heavy with sobs. “You’re gonna… aahhh…”

But Jongho didn’t wake. His breathing stayed heavy, deep, a low rumble in his throat and chest. Asleep, his body still reacted: every push of Mingi’s cock made him clamp down harder, every pull on his nipple made milk spill warm, filling the bird’s mouth with that thick, sweet taste that calmed him and burned him at the same time.

Mingi cried openly, tears sliding down his cheeks and mixing with the milk he licked up desperately. He drank like a starving child, sucking clumsily, and each gulp made him gasp harder, as if his throat and his cock pulsed in sync.

“You’re… ahhh… you’re mine… mine…” he babbled through his moans, his voice wrecked, barely audible. “You take me so fucking good…”

The thrusts were deep, frantic, wet slaps filling the cabin with a sticky sound, tangled with the trembling flap of his wings. Mingi whimpered, moaned, bit into the bear’s shoulder like he needed to anchor himself to the flesh or risk dissolving completely.

The smell was thick, animalistic. Jongho’s earthy scent mixed with the sweetness of his milk and the damp freshness of Mingi’s feathers, creating an air almost impossible to breathe, loaded with pheromones and sweat. The bird inhaled it with every breath, drunk on it, his world reduced to that.

Heat, scent, milk, pressure, suction.

“Ahhh… I can’t… I fucking can’t…” he moaned, his voice cracking into a desperate sob.

The inner grip caught him root to tip, spasming around him, milking him mercilessly. Mingi’s cock throbbed hard, spilling thick inside Jongho’s cunt in a heavy, sticky rush that tore him out of himself.

“Nhhhhh… ahhh! Jongho!” the cry ripped out of him, a wet moan that broke in his throat, smothered against the bear’s warm skin.

His cum spurted in short, violent bursts, sticky, filling that searing inside that kept milking him even after he came.

The cold sweat on his skin erased by Jongho’s heat, the electric buzz of his feathers twitching with every contraction, the taste of thick milk still spilling onto his tongue.

Everything consumed him.

Mingi shook all over, wings clamping down violently over them both as if he could hide that moment from the world. He cried and laughed at once, panting, half-choking, pressed tight to the bear’s broad chest.

Each spasm left him more drained, but Jongho’s insides kept him trapped, squeezing him tight, not letting his cock pull out.

The bear was still asleep.

His deep breathing hadn’t changed, his brow relaxed, that calm air untouched—yet his body acted awake, milking him, feeding him, holding him in that heat that wouldn’t let go.

Mingi buried his face against the damp chest, still sucking on a nipple that kept leaking warm milk in slow threads. He swallowed with difficulty, throat burning, and let out a muffled moan that disappeared into the earthy skin.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he whispered, his voice barely a thread against that flesh. “I couldn’t stop…”

Tears dampened Jongho’s skin, but the bear didn’t wake. He just kept breathing, kept clenching around him with that sleeping body, as if instinct alone was enough to keep him locked in, to claim him.

The bird stayed there, exhausted, breathing ragged, muscles trembling. His cock was still buried in that impossible heat, caught by the inner grip that wouldn’t release him, as if Jongho could keep him captive even in his dreams.

And Mingi knew that, even asleep, Jongho owned him completely.

Morning crept in slowly, spilling into the cabin in a pale glow that slipped through the cracks of the wood. The fire had burned down to embers, but the air wasn’t cold—or at least, not too much. The heat of their tangled bodies kept everything warm, heavy, thick with that dense smell that clung to every corner.

Jongho opened his eyes with effort, eyelids still heavy from the deep sleep.

The first thing he felt was the pressure in his lower belly, a different warmth, wet, as if something was still filling him even at rest. He frowned with a low, guttural grunt, confused.

He blinked slowly, processing.

Then he felt Mingi’s warm weight on his chest, the dark, messy hair brushing his chin, the heavy wings draped over them like a living blanket. The bird slept with his face buried against his chest, lips still damp, smeared with traces of milk, breath uneven but calm.

And he was still inside him.

Jongho didn’t move at first—he just looked at him, his eyes still fogged by sleep, feeling something soften inside as he saw him like that.

After a few moments of letting that heat linger, his rough, scarred hands rose slowly, careful not to wake him.

One slipped into his dark hair, fingers tangling in sweat-damp strands; the other rested on one of those folded wings, brushing the soft feathers that twitched faintly at the touch.

The reaction was immediate.

Mingi’s cock twitched with an involuntary pulse, and a thick strand leaked out, seeping deeper into the bear’s already stuffed insides.

Jongho’s brows arched in silent surprise and then a faint smile curved his lips—that tiny gesture holding a world of weight on his face. He felt it drip again, warm, and that tenderness sank in like a sting.

“You clumsy thing…” Jongho murmured, voice deep and low, still heavy with sleep, more tender than scolding.

Carefully, he stroked the wings again, tracing the line of feathers with an instinctive patience. Mingi trembled against his chest, a sleepy moan slipping from his throat, and Jongho lowered his gaze, watching each reaction with a mix of curiosity and something softer.

He leaned in just a little, kissing the damp hair of the bird, as if that could calm his shiver.

The contact slowly pulled Mingi out of sleep.

He blinked, dazed, throat dry, muscles stiff. The first thing that hit him was the warm, wet pressure.

It took a few seconds to place himself, and as soon as he did, the memory slammed into him like a hammer.

His face twisted, a shiver running down his back to his wings. He barely pulled back a few centimeters—just enough to realize he was still inside, his cock trapped in that warm tightness that wouldn’t let go.

His wings bristled as if they wanted to pull him away on their own, and his first reaction was to try and get out of Jongho immediately. But the bear’s body still held him snug, clenched from within, as if refusing to let him escape.

“N-no…” he whispered, voice breaking, turning his face away, burying it in Jongho’s chest as if he wanted to disappear. “I used you while… you were asleep…”

The bird curled in on himself, trembling, as if all his weight shrank into that knot of guilt in his stomach. The sticky mess between them betrayed him.

He had been inside Jongho, he had cum in him—even while he slept.

Panic iced his blood.

“I’m sorry… really…” he stammered, a muffled sob in his throat, his breath hitting the bear’s warm skin. “I’m a mess… I never should’ve…”

Jongho listened in silence, letting the trembling voice drown against his chest. He held him calmly, without moving his hips, without pushing him away or letting him go, simply letting him speak until the words completely broke apart.

Then he spoke.

“Mingi.”

The name rumbled from his throat, low and firm. The bird shivered.

“I couldn’t… stop…” Mingi insisted, his voice cracked, as if he needed to confess everything before being thrown out. “I gave in… and now… even while you were asleep… I kept…”

“Mingi. Look at me.”

It took him effort to lift his gaze, eyes wet, shame tinged with fear. But when he dared, he met that unshaken calm in Jongho’s stare. No anger. No reproach. Just a warm seriousness that broke him down more than any shout could.

The bear cupped his nape, rough fingers patient, and drew him back to his chest.

“I don’t mind.”

“What…?” Mingi blinked, confused, as if he hadn’t heard right.

Jongho looked straight at him, his expression calm, almost serene, though the weight of sleep still hung on his face. He lifted a hand and wiped away a tear trailing down his cheek.

“I don’t mind,” Jongho repeated, quieter.

The bird’s wings tensed, as if unsure whether to sink deeper or flee.

“H-how could you not…?” his voice cracked, torn between disbelief and plea. “I touched you… without asking… I went inside you when you weren’t even awake…”

Jongho let out a low grunt, not of anger, but of weariness at his self-flagellation. He pulled him a bit closer, lips brushing the damp temple of the bird.

“Because you came to me.” His voice was low, slow, still heavy with sleep but clear. “Because you wanted to be here… with me.”

Silence thickened. Mingi trembled, hot tears spilling as he heard him.

“I like it,” Jongho added, with a disarming honesty. “That you come to me. That you use me if it calms you. That you feel me as your refuge.”

The bird couldn’t breathe.

The contrast between that peace and the shame tearing him apart made him curl tighter against him, trying to hide in his warmth.

“Mingi,” he repeated, low, almost paternal, in a tone that left no room for argument. “You belong to me. You don’t need to ask permission to be here.”

The bird let out a strangled sob. His cock, still trapped deep in the bear’s tight insides, throbbed as if it answered before he could. Jongho felt it, the thick leak escaping warm inside him, and instead of pulling away, he squeezed their hips together with an instinctive push, forcing him in a little deeper.

The bear’s hand slid down to his lower belly, feeling the wet mess dripping, and he sighed at the sticky touch.

“You’re a mess…” he said, one brow arching, more tender than scolding. “If you use me like that, then you’re going to clean me too.”

Mingi parted his lips, trembling, unable to answer. The thought burned him, left him clumsy.

Jongho tilted his head, leaning to his ear.

“Do it now,” he whispered, low, squeezing his hips tight to remind him he was still buried inside. “And don’t neglect the egg again. It’s under our warmth, but I noticed you left it alone too long last night.”

Mingi’s heart skipped a beat. A sharp sting of shame pierced through him as he remembered, in the middle of his desperation, he had completely forgotten the warm, twitching bundle nestled beneath him.

“I… I’m sorry…” he muttered hoarsely, eyes dropping.

But Jongho didn’t let go. He yanked him closer, lips brushing his temple in a rough, almost tender kiss.

The bird lowered his gaze, lips parted, and with a trembling, helpless impulse, he started to move.

His hips barely pulled back before sinking in again, and that small, needy grind was enough to drag a guttural growl out of the bear. Jongho’s insides clenched around him—tight, hot, slick—milking every throb of that over-sensitive cock already leaking.

“Nhh… more…” Jongho growled, arching his back slightly, muscles tightening beneath Mingi’s weight. “Don’t stop until you make me cum.”

The bird obeyed, shaky, letting his hips set a clumsy, shallow rhythm—just a rocking motion, not even chasing his own pleasure, only chasing the reaction in Jongho’s body. And he got it instantly.

Jongho was raw, still overstimulated from the night before; every thrust made him moan low, a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest against Mingi’s skin. That hot, wet channel gripped him greedily, squeezing like it wanted to keep him inside with every pullout, and that slick friction sent uncontrollable shudders crawling up the bear’s spine.

“Ahhh…” Jongho grit his teeth, ears twitching faintly, flushed red. “It’s… too much…”

His chest arched when Mingi’s clumsy fingers toyed with his nipples. Just a rough brush was enough to make a warm spurt of milk leak out, streaking across the bird’s skin.

The overstimulation made Jongho let out a broken growl, turning his face to the side, trying to bite down his sounds—and failing miserably.

“Nhh… ahhh…” Jongho snarled under his breath, face buried against Mingi’s damp feathers. “Fuck… you’ve still got me… oversensitive…”

Mingi’s uneven rhythm kept dragging him closer, each sloppy push stirring up the sticky mess still clinging inside from last night, making it burn like old heat being reignited.

“Mingi…” the bear’s voice cracked, deep, breathless, like the mere friction was torture. “Your cock… it’s so good for me…”

His fingers dug into the bird’s hips, slamming him down harder, forcing that shaft to scrape rougher over that raw, twitching spot that throbbed unbearably.

The pressure wrung him out, deliciously brutal, forcing animalistic gasps out of his throat.

And then his body gave in.

Jongho’s insides clenched with a violent spasm, as if trying to milk him from the deepest point.

A low roar broke in his throat as the release hit him.

And then that thick heat spilled out, flooding the space between them, pouring in waves that mixed with what was already dripping inside him.

 

His nipples leaked uncontrollably, sensitive to the point of pain, milk soaking Mingi’s face and chest as the bird clung to him like he wanted to drink it all.

“Nhhahhh…!” the growl turned into a ragged gasp, the bear arching his back, trembling with each contraction that refused to let the bird go. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…”

 

Mingi obeyed until the very last pulse, until the spasms slowly softened, leaving only the bear’s broken breathing and the overflowing wetness between their bodies.

 

Exhausted, the bear let out a deep huff, small shudders still rippling through him. He buried a hand in Mingi’s damp hair and pressed him to his chest.

“That’s… enough…” he murmured, voice rough but firm. “Now clean me.”

 

The bird pulled back, wings tucked against his sides as his hips trembled, sore from the relentless grind.

The withdrawal was slow, wet, and Mingi’s shaft emerged slick and shining with the thick mess clinging to it, feathers at the base bristling from overstimulation. A viscous string stretched between them before snapping, dripping down Jongho’s thick thighs and soaking the nest beneath.

 

He bent immediately, obedient, and dragged his tongue over Jongho’s sensitive skin, lapping up every drop that slid free. His licks were clumsy, desperate, as if afraid to leave even a trace.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured against his skin, the words muffled between licks and wet kisses. “I’m sorry, Jongho…”

His mouth wandered down to his belly, slowly licking away the mess mixed with sweat, then lower—down between his thighs. There, where the cum ran in heavy ropes, Mingi buried his face.

Trembling, he traced the edges of those thick thighs with his tongue, cleaning the white trails as they dripped.

The sticky texture clung to his tongue, and he had to swallow with a low groan, as if ashamed of how much he savored it. Jongho rumbled low, a deep sound that vibrated in his chest.

The bear’s ears twitched faintly, tinged with heat, as his fingers tightened in the bird’s dark hair, guiding his movements with a slow, patient rhythm.

He let out a surprised moan when Mingi’s tongue moved up to his nipples. Milk still dripped, painfully sensitive, and the touch made him gasp.

“Nhh… slower…” Jongho ordered, his voice deep but gentle, like setting the pace of a game.

Mingi obeyed, wrapping his lips around the wet nipple, sucking tenderly. The liquid welled up again, warm, filling his mouth. He swallowed with a muffled moan, and his wings shivered as Jongho’s hand held his nape, keeping him there.

The bird licked with devotion, tracing every drop from chest to belly, then down again toward his thighs.

“That’s it…” Jongho whispered, low, voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. “I want you to clean it all. Leave me ready to take you again.”

The bird obeyed, lowering himself to that slick entrance, still stretched from the penetration. His tongue brushed first over the swollen lips, drenched, and the taste hit him hard: humid heat, strong and musky, a sticky mix coating his mouth. Mingi groaned again, pushing his tongue deeper, licking carefully to collect the residue leaking from inside.

Jongho’s body tensed instantly, his muscles twitching with small spasms that tore a low grunt from his chest.

“Deeper,” he ordered, voice low. “Don’t leave a trace.”

Mingi moaned against him, shame crawling over his skin like a slow burn.

But he obeyed. He pushed his tongue in further, tracing the tender channel that still pulsed, dragging out the thick remnants and swallowing them without pulling away. Jongho let out a rough breath, his belly trembling under those wet strokes, and a fresh bead of milk welled from his chest, dripping down his ribs.

When the inside finally stopped clenching with those little aftershocks, when the thick mix no longer spilled in waves, Mingi pulled back just a little.

He was panting, face flushed, lips shining with wetness.

He looked up, hesitant, meeting the bear’s calm but unyielding gaze.

“It’s done…” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re clean now, Jongho…”

Jongho sighed, running a hand through the bird’s damp hair, petting him like one would soothe a frightened animal.

“Good,” he murmured softly. “Now go to the egg. Don’t neglect it again.”

Mingi’s heart tightened. He straightened at once, still trembling, and turned toward the egg. He adjusted it carefully, changed the damp cloths, and tucked fresh feathers around it, drawing his body heat close until he was sure it was warm and safe again.

Mingi had just finished arranging the nest when Jongho’s deep voice cut through the air from the bed:

“Mingi.”

The bird tensed, turning his face slightly. Jongho was half-upright, eyes still heavy with sleep, but his gaze was fixed, unwavering.

“I want you to tell me what happened last night,” he said calmly, though his tone left no room for dodging.

Mingi’s heart shrank. He dropped his gaze at once, hiding his hands among the nest’s feathers as if he could bury himself there.

“I told you already… I just… came to you because I couldn’t…” his voice cracked, faltering to a stop.

"No." Jongho interrupted him, with that calm gravity that made it impossible to ignore him. "I already know that. I asked you what led you to it."

The air grew heavy. Mingi opened his mouth and closed it instantly, like a child caught in a lie.

"No… it’s nothing," he whispered, folding his wings, turning his back to the bear. "It was just… instinct."

Jongho frowned. He stood up slowly, his body still heavy, but every step toward the nest sounded like a warning. He stopped behind him, leaning just enough to cover him with his shadow.

"Look at me." The order was dry, without harshness but with an authority that allowed no rejection.

Mingi pressed his lips together, trembling.

"Mingi." Jongho’s voice dropped another tone, rough, steady. "Don’t hide behind that word again. Tell me what happened."

The bird shook his head, barely a trembling movement.

"I can’t…" he whispered.

The bear’s large hands descended onto his shoulders, heavy, immobilizing him without force.

"You can." The warmth of his voice brushed his nape. "And you will."

Mingi bit his lips hard, tears burning in his eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, struggling against the command as if it were too much.

"I don’t want you to know…" he murmured, barely audible, his wings folding tighter around himself. "I don’t want you to think… that I’m weak."

The silence that followed was so dense that Mingi thought the fire had stopped crackling. The weight of those hands on his shoulders kept him still, cornered between the nest and the bear’s imposing presence. He could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck, constant, inescapable.

"It’s nothing…" he murmured once more, weakly, with the useless hope that the bear would let it pass.

But the firm hands held him by the shoulders, and that deep, unshakable voice didn’t yield.

"Mingi."

The bird squeezed his eyes shut, the tears welling before he could even begin. And then, suddenly, the truth burst out like a torrent, stumbling, as if it had been trapped too long and could no longer be contained.

"They laughed at me!" he blurted, his voice breaking, almost a strangled cry. "They were there, I saw them, and they looked at me the way they always did… Like I was… like I had never been good for anything… They called me scarecrow again and… and…"

The words spilled over, soaked in shame.

"And I was afraid…" his voice cracked, barely audible. "Afraid that one day they’d come to you… that they’d dare look at you with their arrogance and… convince you that I’m not enough…. Some birds can be cruel, Jongho. They can hurt you… and I… I’m not strong enough to protect you."

His hands clenched against the edge of the nest, knuckles white with tension.

Jongho straightened slowly, still drowsy, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before letting his feet touch the cold floor. The bird remained hunched before the nest, as if fearing that any movement might shatter the fragile calm of the moment.

"You… can’t protect me?" Jongho’s deep voice sounded low, almost incredulous, more filled with tenderness than reproach.

Mingi tensed, the feathers on his back bristling. He didn’t dare turn around.

"Not the way I should," he murmured, barely audible. "You see me big, but in reality… I’m clumsy. Tall, yes… but that doesn’t mean strong. Every time I spread my wings to cover you I think of how ridiculous I must look, trying to protect a predator… Because I know it’s really you who protects me… And it shouldn’t be like that. I want to protect you!"

The words left him empty. His voice broke on the last syllable, and he lowered his head even more, unable to face the answer.

The silence that followed made him hold his breath. Until he heard the creak of the floor under Jongho’s steps, slow but determined. The bear approached, wrapping his arms around the bird’s broad torso from behind, pressing his forehead against his feather-damp back.

“Mingi…” he murmured, low, with that deep timbre that softened whenever his voice dropped. “How can you think you don’t protect me, when every night you cover me with these wings?”

He tightened his hold a little more, clinging to his waist as if he wanted to merge into him.

“You make me feel small…” he swallowed, as if the admission cost him. “I like that you’re bigger and that you cover me… In truth, I love how you’ve protected me all this time.”

Mingi trembled at the sound of it. He shut his eyes tightly, tears burning once more.

Jongho stayed like that for a moment, pressed against his back, as if by keeping still he could absorb every small shiver running through Mingi. Then his voice, still soft but steadier, broke the quiet.

“And Mingi… I like you just as you are. All of this… you, with your giant wings, your height, your clumsiness… I like it. I don’t want you to change a thing.”

Mingi blinked, incredulous, as if the bear were joking. He turned slightly, trying to glimpse Jongho’s face through the nest’s dimness, but his heart was beating so fast he could hardly focus.

“Really?” he murmured, his voice trembling, with a trace of disbelief. “You really… like this?”

“Yes.” Jongho smiled, brushing his lips lightly against the bird’s cheek. “It even makes me want to do… crazy things with you.”

“Crazy things?” Mingi arched a brow, caught between dream and reality. “Jongho… you’re sure this isn’t just because you’re sleepy?”

“No, it’s not that,” he insisted, though a playful glint shone in his eyes. “What if… we visited your family?”

Mingi nearly choked on his own breath. He had imagined a thousand wild things in his dreams, but never that Jongho would…

“My family?” he croaked, unable to hide his bewilderment. “Now? At this hour? Why would you…?”

Jongho chuckled low, with that mix of tenderness and mischief that always unsettled him.

“Because I want to see you in your world… I want to see where the big bird who protects me every night comes from. And…” his voice lowered, almost a whisper, “…I want to see how they react when they realize their ‘scarecrow’ has a predator at his side.”

Mingi let out a huff, half laugh, half nerves, and hunched down again, as if trying to disappear into his own nest.

“You’re insane… it has to be the sleep talking…” he repeated, though a tingling in his chest told him it wasn’t.

“Maybe I am a little crazy,” Jongho admitted, tightening his hands gently around his waist, “but… I like you too much not to do something completely outrageous with you.”

Mingi could no longer hold up the invisible barrier that kept him half-curled, half-incredulous. He turned abruptly, a wide, awkward movement that dragged along the clumsiness of his long body, and wrapped him up. 

His arms circled Jongho tightly, but it was his wings that trapped him completely, unfurling like a soft mantle that covered him, burying him in the dimness of warm feathers.

Jongho’s bare skin against the damp velvet of the wings, that light brush that seemed to run through him with a slow, lulling electricity. The bear let out a low growl, more sigh than anything, at the way each feather caressed him in unexpected places.. 

His neck’s curve, his waist, his thighs still marked by weariness.

“You’re so soft…” he murmured, turning his face to brush his cheek against the feathers, sinking into them as if he could never get enough of their texture.

The bird held him tighter, burying his nose in his soft hair and rounded ears, breathing in the thick, warm scent of his skin.

For an instant, there were no insecurities, no memories of mockery—only the certainty that he could cover him entirely, keep him safe within his chest and wings, and that Jongho wouldn’t try to pull away.

But the intensity overwhelmed him.

As if, all at once, Jongho’s confession, his outrageous proposal, and that fierce tenderness had left him breathless. And then he pushed him, with an awkward roughness that was really desperate tenderness, forcing him to lie back again in the soft center of the nest.

The bear, surprised, fell onto his back among blankets and feathers, ears tilted and expression disarmed. Mingi followed immediately, covering him with his body and open wings, until he was curled up against him.

Jongho let out a low chuckle, broken by the yawn he couldn’t contain. He turned his face, rubbing his nose against the feathers as if they were a soft pillow.

“Mmm… I could stay like this all winter,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Mingi lowered his gaze, blush burning on his cheeks, and held him a little tighter, as if he wanted those words to be etched into his skin. But then, against all logic, Jongho spoke again, and his tone shifted just slightly: more serious, clearer, though his lashes were heavy.

“Even so… I mean it, Mingi.” He half-opened his eyes, focusing his drowsy gaze on the bird’s face. “I want to see who was foolish enough to call you scarecrow. And I want them to know you have someone now who won’t let them say it again.”

 

Mingi stared at him with parted lips, feeling something clench hard in his chest. Jongho, with his tilted ears and sleepy voice, was speaking as if it were a vow.

“Jongho…” he whispered, his throat tightening. “You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do.” The bear interrupted, tilting his head against the wings wrapping him, with a small but stubborn smile. “Because if you’re my chick… then I have to take care of the nest too, don’t I?”

The bird blinked, swallowing hard. That “my chick” made his chest burn, but the mere thought of his family made him nervous. He didn’t want to open that door yet, not when he had him here, warm and half-asleep within his wings.

So he decided to do what he knew best: distract him.

“Protect me, you say…” he murmured with a mocking lilt, leaning toward him. “And how are you going to do that, with those soft little ears?”

Before Jongho could answer, Mingi lifted a hand and rubbed one of his round ears gently. The bear let out a low growl, somewhere between protest and pleasure, and squirmed under the touch.

“Mingi…” he warned, but his voice came out hoarse, broken by the tickling.

The bird smiled faintly, leaning closer to brush the base of the ear with his fingertips, knowing the skin there was more sensitive. Jongho pressed his lips together, cheeks flushed, trying to hold on to his serious air.

“You won’t distract me with that…” he muttered, though the nervous twitch of his tail betrayed him. The fluffy ball swayed side to side with every caress, revealing just how much it affected him.

“Are you sure?” Mingi whispered, letting one of his wings glide over Jongho’s bare torso. The soft texture of the feathers brushed him slowly from his neck to his abdomen, like a damp, silky caress that made him shiver.

Jongho arched his back slightly, breath quickening against the bird’s chest. His ears drooped, caught between drowsiness, warmth, and the stubbornness of not wanting to yield.

“Mingi… I’m serious… your family…” But his voice broke when the longest feather brushed right at his waist, making him laugh low, half-laugh half-complaint. “Hey, that tickles!”

The bird let out a playful huff and pulled him tighter, burying his nose in his neck to murmur:

“I’d rather hear you laugh like this with me… than think about them right now.”

Jongho’s ears flicked nervously, but he didn’t protest. With a low growl, he sank back into the feathers again, like a tired bear who could no longer pretend at hardness against the wings that held him.

Jongho tried to compose himself, puffing out his chest as if he could recover the lost seriousness, but Mingi already had him cornered. The bird slid his feathers along his side, making him squirm with ticklishness, then leaned in to nibble gently at one of his rounded ears. Jongho’s growl was as clumsy as it was tender, a mix of muffled laughter and protest.

“Enough, Mingi!” he laughed, pushing him with a strength he never really put into it, because he knew if he truly wanted to move him, he could with no effort. But he didn’t want to. And Mingi knew it.

The bird took advantage, stretching over him with that clumsy, playful air, his wings forming a kind of tent that enclosed them. With the tip of a long feather, he tickled his nose until it tingled, and Jongho sneezed between bursts of laughter.

“You’re unbearable!” he growled, cheeks flushed.

“And yet you love me,” Mingi retorted, brushing his neck with the tip of his nose.

“That’s right… I love you.”

Winter turned into routine, a circle of white days and long nights where the world seemed reduced to the warmth of the nest, everything flowing with a perfect rhythm. Nights of gentle desire, days of games and laughter, and that egg at the center of it all, like a promise of the future that neither spoke aloud, but both cherished as the most precious thing.

Notes:

Heyyyyy!

I didn't know how to end this story, so I'm sorry if it ends up sounding weird, hahaha.

Anyway, it ended up being much longer than I originally planned, TT.

So, I hope you liked it. Thank you so much for reading and giving the story a chance.

Love you all <3

That's all for today.

Byeeeeee

Chapter 3: Smell of Sunshine

The end of that winter was unlike any that had come before.

The cabin was no longer an empty refuge, nor the forest a place of solitude. This time, Jongho did not wake up alone.

He was surrounded by the warmth of a nest made of golden feathers, braided branches, and furs that smelled of smoke, and within that circle lay his mate and the tiny creature that had only opened its eyes for the very first time the night before.

Mingi wasn’t alone either.

No one laughed at his crooked feathers or his hoarse song anymore.

Because now that song was a lullaby, clumsy but sincere music that kept his family calm. In the middle of the nest he had built with his own hands and his own body, Jongho rested, his hair tousled and his belly still warm with memories, and beside him, a little hybrid: his chick, his cub.

The blend of the two of them was imperfect and, precisely because of that, beautiful.

His hair, still soft like down, tangled in messy strands that hid a pair of tiny rounded ears, barely peeking through the golden and dark tangle. His face seemed undecided: the bridge of his nose hinted at humanity, but when he opened his mouth, his pink lips revealed tiny fangs, sharp as needle tips, contrasting with the fragility of his round cheeks.

When he searched for air, he let out a short cry, sharp like a bird just out of the shell, breaking at once into a deep, vibrating purr more fitting for a bear cub. That strange, hybrid sound made his parents look at each other first in surprise, and then with a trembling laughter that filled their chests with wonder and tenderness.

The wings that weren’t wings, two barely suggested appendages on his shoulder blades, flapped clumsily, as if trying to unfold. They were nothing more than tender, soft feathers, bristling at the slightest touch, still translucent at the tips, carrying a pearly sheen that promised to grow one day.

With clumsy little fingers, he clutched at the blanket with the surprising strength of newborns who still believe they must hold on to life with everything they have.

Jongho already knew. That anxious cry wasn’t from cold or discomfort. It was hunger.

“Easy…” Jongho whispered, his voice low and rough, heavy with a patience he was only just learning to practice. “I’m here.”

He placed the cub in his lap, brought him to his bare chest, and waited. The little one opened his mouth, but lingered in confusion, as if fumbling toward a path he didn’t yet understand.

With the tip of two fingers, Jongho gently brushed the nipple over those tiny lips, barely grazing the damp, trembling skin. The contact triggered an immediate reaction: the cub tilted his head, opened his mouth, searching for the source that called to him, his soft wings flapping anxiously.

“Like that…” Jongho murmured, more to himself than to the child, lowering his tone until his voice became a deep purr.

He repeated the gesture a second time, sliding the nipple across the corner of the mouth, stirring that ancestral reflex. The cub responded as if he had been waiting for the signal: opening wider, with a broken cry, and the moment the nipple brushed his wet tongue, he latched on with force.

The suction was immediate, voracious. A rhythmic pull that made Jongho let out a surprised gasp. Milk flowed at once, caught by the hungry mouth, and the cub swallowed with a wet, satisfied sound.

Mingi watched in silence, his eyes wide. At first, all he felt was surprise. His chest swelled with air he didn’t know how to release right away.

A bird does not nurse.

There was no pattern in his memory to tell him whether he should feel pride, reverence… or the heat that was pooling in his belly at the sight of Jongho’s chest rising and offering itself

He swallowed hard. His feathers bristled with a strange tingling.

Heat spread through him as he watched Jongho’s chest, exposed, sensitive, giving. The droplets of milk that escaped the corner of the baby’s mouth slid down in thin lines over the bear’s skin, and Mingi imagined licking them away, catching them before they were lost. His feathers trembled, lifting just slightly in a gesture that betrayed his arousal.

“He latches well…” Jongho murmured suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse, weighted with more than just fatigue. There was pride there, and a trace of vulnerability that made him even more beautiful in Mingi’s eyes.

The bird smiled awkwardly, shrinking a little, as if he wanted to hide what he felt.

“Of course he does…” he answered softly, almost like a lullaby.

The cub nestled closer, his budding wings flapping against Jongho’s chest as he drank greedily.

Mingi shifted beside them, his feathers brushing Jongho’s bare shoulder. He didn’t need words: the touch spoke for him, carrying the mixture of desire and tenderness that overflowed within him. He watched the cub keep nursing, tiny lips clamped tightly, his throat moving in a steady rhythm that filled the cabin with life.

Jongho glanced at him sideways, reading what his eyes left unspoken. The blush on his neck, the gleam in his pupils, the tremor in his feathers. He didn’t judge. He only let out a soft breath and, without moving the baby from his chest, leaned just enough to rest his forehead against Mingi’s.

The bird felt the weight of the air in his lungs, charged with something that couldn’t be just the heat of the fire. It was a moment too intimate, so still it almost felt frightening to break it.

We have to give him a name,” Jongho murmured, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. His voice sounded lighter now, as if that thought alone could ease the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Mingi blinked, nervous. He hadn’t dared to say it out loud, though he had repeated possibilities in his head while building the nest, during those sleepless nights when fear squeezed at his chest.

“A name?” he echoed, as if he had no idea where to start.

Jongho lowered his gaze to the little one still nursing eagerly. The movement of his throat, the barely visible ears, the faint squeak he made when taking a breath. Jongho smiled.

“Sumin,” he said at last, in a whisper that sounded almost solemn.

Mingi’s eyes widened.

“Sumin?”

“Sumin.” Jongho’s voice was firm, sure, but carried a playful glimmer. “It sounds strong, warm… and besides, it’s a little like yours.”

The bird turned his gaze toward the little one. His wings fluttered faintly. Yes, the name seemed to wrap around the cub, to give him a place in the world.

“Sumin…” he repeated softly, testing the sound.

Jongho chuckled under his breath, amused by Mingi’s focused expression.

“Look at you, frowning like it’s an exam,” he teased, brushing the back of his hand gently against the bird’s cheek. “It’s just a name.”

“But it’s important,” Mingi replied, the feathers on his neck bristling in a nervous gesture.

“Of course it is,” Jongho admitted, leaning a little closer. “But it’s also perfect. Look at his face…” he pointed with his chin at the cub, who had let go of the nipple only to latch on again, with the satisfied look of someone who had no intention of letting go.

“He has your face.”

Mingi’s heart skipped a beat. He leaned in slightly to look more closely at the cub, whose clumsy little hands pawed insistently against the bear’s warm skin. The baby’s eyes, still half-lidded, glowed with a golden-amber shine that pierced him like an arrow. The tiny lips, the curve of the nose… all too familiar.

“N-no…” the bird stammered, flustered, lowering his feathers as if that could hide the heat rushing to his face. “It’s… it’s too soon to say he looks like me.”

Jongho arched an eyebrow, amused, and let out a short snort that blurred into a laugh.

“Too soon?” he repeated, with playful irony. “Mingi, look at his eyes. That nose of yours, those lips that always look like they’re about to apologize…” he pressed his large hand against the bird’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t deny it, it’s obvious.”

Mingi’s feathers twitched nervously, and he lowered his gaze, as if afraid of being caught in a forbidden act.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing…” he whispered. “I don’t want him to… to go through what I did.”

Jongho tilted his head, watching him, then immediately burst into a rough chuckle, short but full of affection.

“Really? You’re already worrying about that?” He shook his head with tender disbelief. “If he ends up looking like you, it’ll be the best thing that could happen to him. Because I…” his eyes shone, locked onto the bird’s… “I love that face.”

Mingi shivered, unable to hold his gaze. The blush spread all the way to his ears, and his wings folded close against his body, as if he were trying to make himself smaller. Jongho watched him with that mix of patience and mischief only he could sustain.

The bird hunched a little more, the flush burning hot on his ears.

“That’s not something to say with pride…”

“For me it is.” Jongho let out a low laugh, rough with sleep, and plucked lightly at a feather of the nearest wing. “I like that he looks like you. I like it so much it makes me want to show him off.”

Mingi stared at him, bewildered, until the bear’s open smile drew a short, relieved laugh from him. He let himself fall a little closer, until his forehead rested against Jongho’s once more and his wings wrapped around them both, forming a soft refuge.

“Sumin…” he repeated for the third time, now with reverent gentleness. “All right. He’ll be Sumin.”

Jongho smiled at him as if he had just handed him a treasure, and with his free hand, he stroked the edge of a feather until Mingi shivered faintly.

“You see,” he murmured. “Nothing to worry about. It’s perfect.”

Dawn filtered into the cabin through the cracks in the wood, painting everything in a glow more orange and warm than the cold air outside.

The fire in the hearth had burned down almost completely, leaving only glowing embers that crackled softly, and the scent of old smoke mingled with that of milk, damp wood, and the skin of the three bodies tangled together in the nest.

Sumin had stirred earlier and was now asleep again on Jongho’s chest, his tiny mouth open, the corner damp with milk.

The deep, steady purr still vibrated in his throat, sometimes broken by a brief squeak—like a bird’s echo—that drew inevitable smiles from his parents. Jongho ran a thick, calloused finger along the soft cheek of the creature, carefully wiping away the white trace that shone under the light.

“He sleeps like he fought a deer,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying a tenderness that surprised even himself.

Mingi watched him closely, feathers tousled from restless sleep, eyes shining with exhaustion. He had been awake all night, each time the cub cried, each time Jongho stirred or sighed. He wasn’t used to this kind of heavy silence, broken suddenly by a cry. 

The responsibility kept him on edge, as if one careless moment could make the whole world fall apart.

“You should sleep too,” Jongho said, his gaze fixed on him, as if he could read the weariness behind those dark circles.

Mingi shook his head, fluffing the feathers of his wings that still surrounded the nest.

“I can’t. If I close my eyes, I feel like something’s going to happen. That he’ll get cold, or stop breathing…”

Jongho let out a quiet snort, a laugh tired but real.

“It’s been a whole day already. He’s not going to break.”

The bird lowered his gaze to the cub and brushed the edge of the blanket with the tip of a feather, as if trying to convince himself of those words. He had spent months imagining the moment, and now that it was before him, it seemed far too fragile.

Silence filled with the ordinary sounds of the forest. A lone early bird sang in the distance, the creak of wood blended with the distant howl of some nocturnal animal retreating to its den. Mingi suddenly remembered the world was still out there, but it no longer felt as threatening.

“Do you think he’s hungry again?” he asked, leaning clumsily toward Jongho.

The bear raised an eyebrow, amused.

“He just emptied a whole breast. If he’s still hungry, then he’s just like you.”

Mingi’s eyes went wide and he shrank down, blushing, covering his face with a wing.

“Don’t say that in front of him!” he protested, though his voice came out more of a clumsy whisper than a real scolding.

Jongho let out a deep laugh, the rumble vibrating through his chest and jostling the little one just enough to make him squeak in protest before settling back to sleep. The sound filled the cabin with a warmth different from the fire’s.

A while later, Jongho carefully shifted to lay the cub among the furs. Sumin stirred, seeking warmth, and at once the bird spread one of his wings over him like a soft mantle. It was instinctive, protective, and Jongho watched with narrowed eyes.

“You’re never going to let him touch the ground, are you?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Mingi lowered his gaze, a little uncomfortable.

“The ground is cold. And hard. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Jongho stretched his hand until his fingers brushed the wing covering Sumin.

“I’m not saying to set him down now… but one day, he’s going to have to walk.”

The bird clenched his jaw, as if those words weighed heavier than they should.

“One day. But not today.”

The conversation faded, and in that silence, Jongho slowly pushed himself upright, body heavy and muscles still sore. Winter still lingered in his bones. Every movement reminded him he hadn’t yet fully recovered.

The bird noticed right away.

“Wait, don’t get up,” he said, reaching out nervously to stop him. “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Jongho asked, arching a brow.

“Everything.” Mingi stood, clumsy and sleepy but determined. “Lighting the fire, making food… whatever needs to be done.”

The bear followed him with his eyes, still reclined among the furs, and let out a tired smile. There was something ridiculous and endearing about the way he walked, wings dragging a little, feathers rumpled.

Mingi tried to get the fire going again, but the log was damp. He cursed under his breath, blew, flapped his wings, and ended up covered in ash. Jongho laughed again, more openly this time, and the sound made Mingi turn with a frown.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked, coughing a bit from the smoke.

“At the fact that you’re a mess,” Jongho answered without thinking. “But you’re my mess.”

The bird froze, beak slightly open, feathers bristling in surprise. Then, slowly, he allowed himself a smile—a nervous but genuine one.

The cub squeaked again, as if demanding his share of the moment, and Mingi hurried back to the nest, gathering Sumin clumsily but with a softness that seemed impossible in his large hands. Jongho watched him settle the baby against his chest, the child burying his face into golden feathers as if recognizing that scent.

The first weeks became a series of small discoveries.

The first time Sumin opened his eyes under the morning light, Jongho felt the air catch in his lungs.

The golden-amber of his gaze was so intense it seemed to mirror the rising sun. The baby blinked, confused, then squirmed as if trying to reach for the brightness filtering through the cabin’s cracks.

Excited, Mingi stretched a wing to cast shade, fearing the light was too harsh. But Jongho shook his head, smiling.

“Let him. He’s looking at the world for the first time.”

In the days that followed, Sumin began to move his soft, useless wings with more strength.

When he was full after nursing, he flapped them in the air as if celebrating, hitting Jongho’s chest or tangling himself in Mingi’s feathers.

The sound was clumsy, a damp, soft flutter, but to his parents it became its own kind of music—a reminder that he was alive, growing.

Sleep was another battlefield.

Sumin rarely slept in silence.

There was always a short squeak before he settled, an intermittent purr, or the restless motion of hands seeking something to hold.

At first Mingi grew desperate, unsure how to calm him, but he soon learned to let the baby bury his face in his feathers.

The first time he did, Sumin let out a long sigh and went still. From then on, every time the child stirred restlessly, Mingi wrapped him in his wings and whispered clumsy, made-up words that worked like lullabies.

“You’re good at that,” Jongho remarked one night, watching the bird sway gently with the cub pressed to his chest.

“I don’t know…” Mingi answered nervously, lowering his gaze. “I just want him to recognize me.”

“He does.” Jongho’s voice was steady, full of conviction. “Look how he clings to you.”

Jongho barely slept, growing used to waking every few hours to settle the child against his chest and wait patiently for him to latch.

He no longer had to brush the baby’s lips as much as in the beginning.

The cub had quickly learned to search with an open mouth, eager, until he found warmth and nourishment. His reflex was so strong that sometimes he even latched onto the edge of the blanket, which always drew a deep laugh from Jongho and an anxious comment from Mingi:

“What if he gets confused and bites something he shouldn’t?” he’d ask, wings fluttering nervously.

“Then he’ll have your frustrated face,” Jongho answered with calm irony, stroking the feathery hair of his son.

One morning, while Mingi was tucking fresh leaves beneath the blanket, the child let out a different sound—not a cry or a purr, but something like a broken laugh. It was so brief that the bird blinked, unsure he had really heard it. But when he repeated the gesture of brushing a feather against the boy’s cheek, the little one opened his mouth in what seemed like an attempt to imitate his song.

“He smiled,” Mingi said, eyes wide.

“That’s not a smile,” Jongho replied, though the curve of his own lips betrayed him. “He’s just testing sounds.”

But from that day on, Mingi sought every chance to draw out another of those laughs. He sang to him, clumsily, and Sumin answered with cries that grew less sharp each time, as if the rough rhythm of his father’s voice encouraged him.

The child also began reaching out his hands, clumsy but determined.

He grabbed at anything—cloth, feathers, Jongho’s fingers.

One afternoon, while the bear held him in his arms, the little one managed to grip the tip of his ear with surprising strength. Jongho growled, half in pain, half in surprise, and Mingi doubled over with laughter until he collapsed into the furs, his wings flapping uncontrollably.

“He’s strong like me!” Jongho said proudly, trying to free himself from the tiny grasp.

“No, just mischievous like you,” Mingi shot back, still laughing.

As the sun grew warmer, they began to go outside.

Mingi prepared the spot, spreading furs across the wooden porch and reinforcing the edges with branches so nothing disturbed their little ritual. Jongho carried Sumin pressed against his chest, and there they would lay him down beneath the soft morning light.

The child fluttered his budding wings, their tips still translucent, and each time the air passed over them he shivered, as though discovering that the world had texture.

One day, while they watched, Sumin lifted his head with enormous effort, his neck trembling.

Both of them froze, holding their breath as if witnessing a feat.

The head fell back onto the blanket, but Mingi celebrated as if he’d won a race.

“Did you see that? He lifted it!”

“He lifted it for a second,” Jongho replied, though his voice carried the same proud tenderness.

That night, while Sumin slept, Mingi spent long minutes recounting “the great head-lift,” exaggerating every detail until Jongho burst out laughing with a growl that rumbled through the cabin.

The warm sun always made the bird drowsy.

Mingi, who had promised to watch every breath of his son, found himself dozing off sitting against the wall, his wings spread across the nest like a soft shield. Jongho would find him like that when he came back from the river, face slack with sleep and a tiny hand clutching a feather.

He didn’t have the heart to wake him, so he’d cover them with another blanket and let them sleep together, father and child hopelessly entangled.

Sumin’s body began to change.

His cheeks rounded, his tiny fangs peeked out a little more, and his sharp cries turned into coos of increasing variety.

One afternoon, while Jongho held him, the child made a sound so close to an “ah” that the bear repeated it in jest. The little one mimicked it back, and for a while they traded noises, which to Mingi sounded more melodious than any song.

“He’s talking to you,” the bird exclaimed, eyes shining.

“He’s just babbling,” Jongho corrected, but his pride was clear.

There were hard days too.

Fleeting fevers that nearly drove Mingi into panic, dipping feathers into cool water to bring the heat down while Jongho held the child against his chest.

Endless crying that filled the cabin and stole their sleep.

And the first time the little one spat up milk on the blanket, the bird nearly shrieked in alarm—only to hear Jongho’s rough laughter, calming him with a simple:

“That’s normal… I think.”

They spent hours like that, taking turns watching the baby’s breathing, wetting his lips with fresh water, rocking him with trembling voices. When the fever finally broke at dawn, Mingi wept in silence, hiding his face against the bear’s neck. Jongho let him, stroking his nape until he calmed.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to him,” the bear whispered, as if pronouncing an oath.

As the days passed, Mingi grew gentler in his clumsiness.

At first, he held Sumin as if the child would break, his wings stiff and his brow furrowed. But over time he learned to rock him, to soothe him with the rough song that had once embarrassed him so much. He discovered that the boy calmed at the vibrations in his chest, as though the bird’s harsh voice were a melody meant only for him.

The first spring flowers began to bloom when Sumin turned six weeks old. To celebrate, Mingi arrived with a clumsy bouquet of wildflowers, barely tied with a knot of grass.

He placed them beside the blanket and stood there, uncertain.

“What if you like them?” he asked, as if the baby could truly answer.

Jongho laughed, but gave the gesture its due. Instead of teasing, he laid the child upon the bouquet and helped him wave his little hands through the petals. Sumin squealed with delight, the sound melting into a purr, and Mingi stared, entranced, convinced the boy had given his first sign of approval.

By dusk, the three of them were nestled again in the nest. Jongho, tired but content, reclined against the furs with Sumin asleep on his chest. Mingi spread his wings around them, creating a warm refuge, and sighed.

“You know what’s the strangest part?” he murmured, half-asleep.

“What?” Jongho answered, eyes closed.

“That it doesn’t scare me so much. Before, everything frightened me. Now… I feel like we can handle this.”

Jongho opened one eye, looked at him in silence, then let out a low laugh.

“Of course we can. We’re three.”

By the time Sumin was a month old, he was already trying to push himself up when they laid him on the blankets.

He flailed his arms and legs clumsily, hitting at the air, shrieking in frustration when he couldn’t manage to rise. Jongho encouraged him, placing a hand beneath his back to help him push off. Mingi, on the other hand, watched with his heart in his throat, afraid he might get hurt.

“Let him try,” Jongho would say patiently. “He has to learn.”

“But he’s so little…” Mingi protested, spreading a wing as if ready to catch him before he fell.

The bear chuckled softly.

“Little, yes. But also strong.”

𓆰𓆪ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚𓆰𓆪

As the days passed, they began to notice that Sumin no longer only cried: now he shaped different sounds. First came messy coos, then wet babbles that seemed like imitations of the voices around him.

If Mingi sang, Sumin answered with softer squeals; if Jongho growled playfully, the boy replied with a vibrant purr.

“He’s testing his voice,” Jongho said one afternoon, watching him move his mouth insistently.

“Or mocking mine,” Mingi muttered, blushing, though pride shone in his eyes.

The little one spent hours listening to them. When Mingi spoke, his tiny head tilted toward him, his small ears twitching as if trying to catch every note. When Jongho rocked him against his chest, he seemed hypnotized by the rhythm of his deep voice, as though the vibration in his father’s body was more powerful than any song.

It was then that he began to recognize words.

Mingi, still clumsy in his new role, often whispered to Jongho, as if trying to convince himself:

“You’re an excellent dad.”

The bear would always snort, uncomfortable, but never denied it.

Other times, when Mingi was overwhelmed by nerves—because of a cry he didn’t know how to soothe, or because the boy coughed too hard—Jongho would calm him by stroking his wings and murmuring:

“Easy, dad. You’re doing fine.”

Sumin listened to those words intently. His little eyes widened slightly, as though something in the repetition fixed them in his memory.

One early April morning, the sun streamed warmly through the cracks of the cabin. Jongho was sitting in the nest with Sumin on his lap, holding him under the arms to help him sit upright. The child fluttered his soft wings, squealing with excitement each time he managed not to topple forward.

Meanwhile, Mingi was trying to rekindle the fire. He cursed under his breath when a spark burned the back of his hand.

“Dad!” Jongho exclaimed playfully, raising a brow at the bird. “Careful.”

Mingi spun around, feathers bristling at the shock of being called that so suddenly. Jongho didn’t seem to have thought much of it, as if the title had simply slipped out naturally. Sumin, however, froze. He stopped moving, staring wide-eyed at his father, as if the word had struck something within him.

The silence lasted only a moment.

“Da…” the child babbled clumsily, dragging out the sound.

Jongho blinked.

“What?”

The little one tried again, mouth opening with enormous effort:

“Da…Da.”

Mingi dropped the sticks he was holding. The crack against the floor was lost beneath the puppy’s excited squeal, as though he were savoring the word like a game.

“He said it,” Jongho whispered, stunned, a smile spreading across his face until it lit him up completely. “Mingi… he said it!”

The bird rushed over at once, wings trembling. He knelt beside them, staring intently at the boy, who gazed back with that serious expression that sometimes seemed like a mirror of his own.

“Sumin…” he whispered, throat tight. “What did you say?”

The little one, thrilled by the attention, opened his mouth again.

“Da…da.”

This time the sound was clearer, firmer.

Tears filled Mingi’s eyes. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. He scooped the boy carefully into his arms and lifted him against his chest, wrapping him in his wings as though he could merge with him.

“It’s me,” he said, voice breaking but full of tenderness. “I’m dadda.”

Jongho watched him, still in disbelief, but with a fierce pride in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed the boy’s forehead, making him squeal with delight.

“Our son is a genius.”

“He’s only saying two syllables,” Mingi replied, laughing through his tears.

“Yes,” Jongho answered, more serious than he’d intended. “But they’re the most beautiful two syllables I’ve ever heard.”

The rest of the day, Sumin dedicated himself to repeating his new feat. He babbled “da-da” every time someone looked at him, as if he had discovered the key to keeping their attention. Mingi couldn’t contain his joy: every repetition felt like a gift.

At night, while Jongho settled him against his chest to sleep, the boy murmured

“Dadda” again in a drowsy voice. The bear smiled in the dark.

“Listen to that,” he said, stroking the feathers of Mingi’s wing. “He recognizes us.”

The bird, his eyes still shining, rested his forehead on Jongho’s shoulder.

“I don’t know if I deserve for him to call me that.”

“You’re his dad. His favorite, even. Believe me, you can hear it in his voice,” Jongho snorted.

Mingi let out a shaky laugh, incredulous, and looked down at the sleeping boy. Sumin breathed peacefully, mouth slightly open, as if repeating that word had exhausted him.

Time passed with the uneven calm of spring, between flowers blooming and sudden rains darkening the forest.

Sumin was growing fast, too fast for Jongho and Mingi’s eyes, who sometimes could hardly believe that the little one babbling on the blanket was the same they had welcomed only a few moons ago.

He was no longer that fragile newborn who barely opened his eyes.

By three months, Sumin had become a restless little explorer.

When they placed him on his stomach over the blankets, he tried to lift his head with a titanic effort, and if he managed to stay up for a few seconds, he squealed with pride. Jongho encouraged him with playful growls, and Mingi clapped awkwardly, as if every gesture were a miracle.

Crawling came first.

It happened one afternoon when Jongho had set him down on the floor, among spread-out furs, while he gathered firewood.

“Dadda… Dadda.”

Frustrated at not being able to reach a feather Mingi had left nearby, Sumin began rocking on his knees. He pushed once, fell flat on his face, and squealed. He tried again. And again. Until, suddenly, he moved far enough to catch the feather.

His triumphant squeal echoed through the cabin.

Jongho nearly dropped the firewood in surprise, and Mingi let out a cry of excitement that scared the child more than the fall itself. Even so, both of them rushed to him, lifted him up, and showered him with kisses until Sumin forgot his frustration and burst out laughing.

From that day on, nothing was ever still.

Sumin crawled everywhere while babbling his favorite syllables.

He found impossible corners, chased shadows on the wood, tried to climb Mingi’s wings as if they were branches. The cabin became a constant playground, and with it, both parents learned not to take their eyes off him for even a second.

“He moves faster than you do when you’re hungry,” Jongho joked one day, catching him just before he could stick his hand into the unlit fireplace.

“He has no sense of danger. He’s like you… but in miniature.” Nervous, Mingi gathered him into his arms.

“Then we’ll just have to teach him.” Jongho laughed deep in his chest, kissing the boy’s head.

And so they began to accompany his every movement.

Jongho set up soft obstacles, like cushions and branches, so the child would learn to go around them.

Mingi spread his wings, creating little feather barriers that redirected him when he came too close to a dangerous corner. Every fall was met with the bird’s startle, and every success with the bear’s laughter.

Time became a strange calendar.

And the days were organized around him: when to eat, when to sleep, when to play. Mingi and Jongho stopped thinking of themselves as individuals and began to think of themselves as a “we” that revolved around that little being.

And then, one summer afternoon, it happened.

For weeks, Sumin had been getting up on his knees and grabbing at anything to pull himself upright. Sometimes he clung to the edge of the nest, other times to Mingi’s wings, or Jongho’s pants. He could stay standing for a few seconds before plopping down, laughing as if it were all part of the game.

But that day, the sun filtered in golden through the cracks, scattering warm patches across the floor. Jongho was sitting in a corner, carving wood with his large, steady hands. Mingi, meanwhile, was kneeling at the center of the nest, arranging fresh pelts.

Sumin pulled himself up, wobbling, holding on to his bird father’s outstretched wing. The child squealed in excitement and took an unsteady step toward him.

Mingi felt his heart stop.

“Jong…” he whispered, calling the bear without taking his eyes off their son.

Jongho looked up just in time to see Sumin let go of his support and take another step, tottering toward Mingi.

“Come on…” murmured the bird, his voice breaking with emotion. “Come, Sumin.”

The child took a third step.

Then a fourth.

Balance betrayed him and he fell on his bottom with a thud, but instead of crying, he burst into shrill laughter that filled the cabin.

Mingi rushed to gather him up, hugging him tight, almost in tears.

“You did it! You walked!”

“Dadda!”

Jongho immediately stood, setting the wood aside, and approached with steady steps. His smile was wide, proud, and when he stroked the child’s head, his deep voice rumbled.

“Our son just walked.”

Sumin tried again, feeling just like he had when he spoke his first words.

He held onto Mingi’s knee, pushed himself up wobbly, and took two more steps toward Jongho before falling again. The bear caught him in his arms, tossing him gently into the air and catching him again, pulling out peals of laughter.

That day, the three of them repeated the game until exhaustion.

Mingi spread his wings on one side, Jongho crouched on the other, and Sumin staggered from one parent to the other, falling, standing, always laughing.

Every attempt was celebrated like a feat.

Every fall softened with kisses and caresses.

At night, when the child finally fell asleep, exhausted, the two of them stayed watching him in silence. Sumin breathed peacefully, tiny fists clenched as if he still wanted to hold on to the air.

“He’s not such a helpless baby anymore,” Jongho murmured, stroking the downy hair.

“No…” Mingi admitted, a lump in his throat. “And I don’t know if that makes me happy or scared.”

The bear chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against his.

“Both. I suppose that’s what it feels like to be Dadda.”

Mingi sighed, burying his face in the bear’s shoulder, and in that gesture there was tiredness, pride, and a love that overflowed him.

“Min…” Jongho whispered as he leaned a little closer to his partner.

The bird lifted his head, surprised by the low, almost insecure tone he so rarely heard in the bear’s voice.

The fire had dwindled to embers, the cabin silent except for the faint purring of Sumin in his sleep. Mingi arched his wings slightly, as if unconsciously trying to wrap around them both.

“What is it?” he asked, barely a murmur.

Jongho hesitated. He pressed his lips together, lowered his gaze, then lifted it again with the look of someone about to say something far too heavy. His thick, calloused fingers toyed with a loose feather caught between the furs.

“It’s been… a long time since we talked. Just the two of us,” he finally admitted, his deep voice trembling. “Everything revolves around Sumin. I’m not saying it’s wrong, only that…” he inhaled deeply, gathering courage, “…I feel like I’ve fallen behind.”

Mingi blinked, startled.

“Behind?”

“Yes.” Jongho swallowed, the shyness obvious in the blush rising up his neck. “Sometimes I think… that you’re only here for him. For the child. That if he hadn’t been born… you and I…” He broke off, unable to meet his gaze, clenching his fists against his thigh.

The silence thickened. Mingi stared at him, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t understand. Jongho, uncomfortable, glanced toward the little one sleeping between them.

“I know it all started during mating season,” he went on, quieter, almost as if confessing to himself. “It was instinct’s fault and…” he faltered, shoulders hunching, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, “…I’m afraid that’s all that ties us together. That I’m only here because I gave you a child.”

For a moment, the air seemed to stop.

Mingi froze, not knowing what to say, because Jongho’s words hit with the weight of a truth he had never faced head-on. He bit his lip, lowered his eyes toward Sumin, and his rough song slipped out as a trembling sigh.

“Jonggie…” he murmured, barely audible.

Jongho tensed.

He couldn’t stand that heavy silence, that pause that seemed to confirm his fears. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and added in a tight whisper:

“If I’m just… the means for you to have offspring, tell me. I’d rather hear it now than keep fooling myself.”

The harshness of the words cracked under the tremor in his voice. His eyes shone, not with anger, but with true fear.

Suddenly, Mingi leaned forward. His wings folded clumsily around Jongho, as if he wanted to envelop him completely, and he pressed his forehead to his. The gesture was more instinct than reason.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, throat tight. “You’re not just that. You never were.”

“Then what am I?” Jongho drew in a shaky breath, still unconvinced.

Mingi bit his lip, desperate to find the right words. He knew he wasn’t good with them. They always tangled, always sounded clumsy. But the anguish in Jongho’s eyes forced him to speak, even if his voice broke.

“At first, yes… It was instinct.” He admitted it honestly, knowing it was useless to pretend otherwise. “I was… nervous, and you were there. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t think further. But…” he took a deep breath, brushing Jongho’s jaw with the tip of his feathers, “…if I’m still here, if I keep building this nest every day, it’s not because of that.”

The bear looked at him, incredulous, with a glimmer of hope he didn’t dare release.

“Then why?”

“Because… you’re my partner.” The word came out clumsy, almost like a lull. “Because when I look at Sumin and see how you hold him, how you care for him, I know I couldn’t do it without you. And because…” he paused, swallowing hard, “…when I sing, even though my voice is awful, you smile as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Jongho felt his lungs tremble with air. That simple, awkward confession weighed more than any elaborate promise.

Mingi shrank back, embarrassed, but didn’t pull his forehead away from his.

“I can’t say it well. But you’re not an accident, or an impulse. You’re… what I want.”

The silence returned, but this time it didn’t hurt. It was thick, warm, heavy with something that needed no more words. Jongho blinked, eyes wet enough for Mingi to notice.

“Do you mean it?” Jongho asked in a broken whisper.

Mingi nodded, firm.

“I mean it.”

The bear let out a trembling huff and, for the first time in a long while, allowed his own arms to wrap around the bird. He pulled him close, careful not to crush the pup between them, and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“I needed to hear that,” he admitted, his voice hoarse, vulnerable.

“And I needed to say it,” Mingi replied, stroking his messy hair with his feathers.

For a long time they stayed like that, holding each other in silence, the fire reduced to a glow and Sumin breathing between them, unaware of it all. It was the first time, since the child’s birth, that Jongho allowed himself to ask for attention without guilt. The first time Mingi realized how much he needed him too.

Jongho tilted his head slightly and brushed his lips against the corner of the bird’s mouth. It was brief, timid, testing whether he still had permission to cross that line. Mingi trembled, heart pounding, but didn’t pull away.

The second kiss was firmer. A slow, warm press that made him let out a muffled moan against the bear’s mouth. It was as if his body had been waiting for that contact, hungry for something that wasn’t only parental tenderness, but shared desire.

Mingi raised his hands, clumsy, and pressed them to Jongho’s broad chest. He felt the strong heartbeat beneath the skin, the heat of his body, and a shiver ran down his spine.

“I love you,” Jongho whispered against his mouth.

“I love you too…” Mingi answered, almost breathless.

The baby stirred in his sleep, letting out a faint squeak that made them pull apart instantly. Both glanced down, tense, until they saw it was only an involuntary movement. Sumin went still again, fist tucked against his mouth.

They both breathed out in relief, and Mingi let out a soft laugh.

"Not even asleep does he let us rest."

"He's a good guardian," Jongho replied, joking. "He doesn’t want us to forget him."

Mingi leaned in again, this time seeking the bear’s lips. It was a short but intense kiss, loaded with everything they had been forced to keep quiet.

When they pulled apart, Jongho looked at him with half-lidded eyes, tired but shining.

His breathing was shaky, as if he feared breaking what they had just built with only a few kisses.

He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words, and in the end he simply did what his body asked: he curled up against Mingi. He did it clumsily, lying on his side, pulling his legs in a little until he was pressed to his chest. It was an almost childlike gesture for such a big, strong body, but in that moment he allowed himself to be small.

Mingi, surprised, felt the bear’s weight rest on him. His wings reacted on their own, wrapping around them carefully, creating a soft refuge. The heat gathering beneath those feathers was dense, reassuring.

Jongho lowered his gaze, insecure.

"Is it okay… if I stay like this?" he asked quietly, as if he feared he was asking for too much.

Mingi looked at him with tenderness, a clumsy smile tugging at his lips.

"You don’t have to ask that. Stay as long as you want."

The bear let out a relieved sigh, hiding his face in the bird’s neck. The contrast of textures—warm feathers and soft skin—made him shiver. He closed his eyes and let the rhythm of Mingi’s heartbeat lull him.

Between them, Sumin shifted, seeking warmth. His tiny hands pressed against Jongho’s chest, and the child let out a little purr before sinking back into sleep.

The scene was ridiculous and perfect.

Jongho curled up, his powerful body turned fragile, Sumin breathing peacefully in the middle, and Mingi holding them both with his spread wings, as if he could shield them from the entire world with that one gesture.

Mingi glanced down and noticed the blush on the bear’s cheeks. It was strange, because Jongho always seemed more confident, stronger, even arrogant. Seeing him like this, shy, seeking his refuge, filled him with a warmth he didn’t know how to handle.

"I like being like this. Small with you," Jongho mumbled as sleep began to overtake him.

Mingi held him tighter, and his reply came out as a trembling whisper, heavy with emotion.

"And I like taking care of you."

The bear let sleep take him, his heavy breathing blending with the child’s. Mingi stayed awake a while longer, stroking them both with his wings, his chest full only of affection for his little family

Sumin’s first year came like a sigh.

It felt unreal that the baby of clumsy cries, who barely knew how to cling to the breast, was now walking with unsteady steps, laughing at every fall, filling the cabin with babbling that sounded more and more like words.

Mingi, always nervous, had avoided going too far. The lake was his limit: a space where he felt safe, where he could watch over everything around his family. But that morning, with the songs of new birds and the sun caressing the branches, he finally gave in.

"Today is his birthday," he said, as he arranged his wings around the nest. "We can’t keep hiding."

"Are you serious?" Jongho raised a brow, surprised.

Mingi nodded, though his feathers bristled with the tension of fear.

"A walk. Just a little farther. I want him to see the forest, not just the cabin and the lake. I want… him to see there’s a world."

"So you did hear me," Jongho grinned, wide and proud, before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, he’ll see it’s a good gift."

They packed blankets, a small leather bag where Jongho stored dried fruits and water, and Mingi’s protective wings, which seemed intent on covering the child even when he squealed to be set free.

The walk was slow. Sumin walked for a while, wobbling, laughing at every stone or branch he found fascinating, and when he got tired, he curled up against Jongho’s chest or hid among Mingi’s feathers.

The forest was more alive than the spring before. Insects buzzed, wildflowers opened to the sun, and birdsong filled the air.

Mingi walked with a furrowed brow, alert to every shadow, but little by little, as he watched his son laugh and point his tiny hands at everything new, the stiffness eased. Jongho noticed and, without saying anything, laced his fingers with the bird’s.

"Look how he lights up," the bear whispered, as Sumin clapped for spotting a butterfly.

Mingi swallowed hard, and for a moment, pride outweighed fear.

"He’s… braver than I am."

"Mmm, I think he’s just as brave as you," Jongho replied, squeezing his hand.

They walked on until they reached a clearing. The air was cooler there, and a stream ran between smooth stones. Sumin squealed in delight, trying to run toward the water, and Mingi barely managed to catch him before he threw himself in. Jongho laughed heartily, while the bird sighed with his heart pounding.

They sat on the grass, letting Sumin splash at the edge under their careful watch. Jongho lifted him each time he leaned too far, and Mingi never stopped spreading his wings to shield him from the sun. In its simplicity, it was the most beautiful day they had lived.

Until they heard a familiar song.

Mingi tensed instantly, his feathers bristling like armor.

His heart pounded, reminding him of everything he had wanted to avoid: mocking stares, whispers disguised as laughter, cruel comparisons to his twisted feathers, to his rough song. He swallowed hard, scanning the area. And then he saw them.

Several figures emerged from the branches, moving with the fluid grace of birds in full splendor. Their wings gleamed under the sun: pearly gray, pure white, shades of blue that seemed stolen from the sky. And at the center, walking with steady steps, a swan.

Mingi recognized him immediately. They had shared a childhood, or something like it. The swan was one of those who never soiled their feathers, who moved with effortless elegance. He didn’t need to prove anything. Just looking at him was enough to feel he belonged to a world from which Mingi had always been excluded.

"Mingi…" His voice was soft, almost lulling, laced with false surprise. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

The bird’s expression twisted, his feathers bristling. He felt the urge to shield Jongho and Sumin with his wings, as if he could hide them from those gazes. But Jongho had already turned, curious, and Sumin squealed in delight at seeing so many new figures.

Mingi clenched his fingers, his nails digging into his palms as that horrible feeling returned—being in the shadow of a radiance he could never imitate.

"I see you have company," the swan murmured, a lopsided smile playing on his lips as he leaned slightly toward Jongho. "And what company it is."

His eyes, a pale, almost translucent gray, lingered on the bear. They traveled shamelessly, from the broad chest, marked beneath the fabric, to the hard angle of his jaw.

"How imposing…" he added in a low tone, almost a purr disguised as a compliment. "I’ve never seen a hybrid like you in these lands."

Jongho raised a brow, confused by the sudden attention, but he didn’t look away. Sumin splashed happily, oblivious, while Mingi felt his chest shrink.

It was just like before.

The stifled giggles, the glances that left him outside the picture, the reminder that there were better birds—more beautiful, more worthy. A voice in his head screamed that Jongho was there by mistake, that any moment now he could realize it.

A swan at his side would look better.

The swan tilted his head slightly, leaning just enough toward Jongho, as if confiding a secret.

"You must have infinite patience to stay here, hm?" he whispered, feigning innocence. "Though if you ever want to know what it’s like to fly with someone real, I could show you."

Mingi’s feathers bristled all at once, a cold shiver running down his spine. His wings trembled, spreading in an involuntary reflex of defense. But he couldn’t speak. His tongue stuck.

Once again that cruel echo in his mind.

"Too clumsy. Too ugly. Always too much. Never enough."

He glanced sideways at Jongho. The bear was still there, solid, his brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and annoyance. But Mingi’s insecurity blinded him: Jongho’s perfect jawline, his dark eyes that seemed to capture everything—even the glow of the swan’s wings.

"He’d look better with him," he thought, feeling the air clog in his chest.

A rough knot formed in his throat. His hands trembled, and he wanted to reach out to Jongho, to touch him, to make sure he was still there, that he wouldn’t get up and walk toward those flawless wings.

But he couldn’t.

It was as if he were back in that nest, surrounded by laughter, with his dark stain on his wing and the withered flowers no one wanted.

The swan, noticing Mingi’s silence, smiled wider. He stepped closer to Jongho, his feathers stirring in the breeze with rehearsed grace.

"A hybrid like you deserves company at your level," he said, this time clearer, for everyone to hear.

Mingi’s heart pounded so hard he thought he might collapse.

His wings trembled, bristling against his back. He wanted to cover himself, to make himself smaller, invisible, like that chick who hid beneath rotting logs to keep from being seen.

The group of birds behind the swan laughed under their breath, a murmur that blended with the wind but which Mingi knew too well. It was the same tone that had marked his childhood: restrained, razor-sharp laughter that said more than any direct insult.

The swan tilted his head with elegance, his feathers fanning like an immaculate white veil. He leaned a little closer to Jongho, lowering his voice to a whisper dripping with venom masked as sweetness:

"I could give you far more beautiful offspring, you know? Chicks with feathers like snow, not… twisted and stained."

The words fell like an axe.

Mingi froze, his knees shaking, barely holding back a sob that burned in his throat. His wings pressed tight against his body, stiff, as if trying to hold him together so he wouldn’t collapse right there. The air grew dense, the river in the distance no longer crystalline but a dull, buzzing drone.

The voice inside his head roared louder:

"It’s true. He’d be better with him. More beautiful. More worthy. All you can give him is shame."

He swallowed hard, but the bitterness stuck to his tongue. He barely dared to lift his gaze, dreading to see Jongho staring at the swan, enthralled by his perfection.

And Jongho was staring.

But not the way Mingi feared.

The bear’s dark eyes, until then calm, darkened further, as if a veil of fury had fallen over them. His jaw clenched, and the line of his lips became a taut snarl.

A low, deep growl rumbled from his chest. It wasn’t human, not even a tame hybrid’s sound. It was the raw snarl of a predator.

The swan froze for a moment.

Jongho rose slowly, every muscle tightening like a bowstring ready to snap. His shadow stretched across the clearing, and the group of birds took a step back, though they tried to keep their composure.

The growl swelled, vibrating through the air, a brutal reminder of what he was: a hunter. Not a bird of branches or high nests, but a predator who could tear them apart in an instant.

"Open your beak again," Jongho said, voice low and dry, every word dripping with threat, "and I’ll rip those feathers out one by one."

The swan swallowed, trying to mask the tension in his throat. He stepped back, though he forced a smile—an empty smile that no longer carried the same weight.

"I didn’t mean to offend…" he murmured, but his voice no longer sounded steady.

The bear stepped forward, and the other birds rustled nervously, wings flapping. The air was thick with unbearable tension, charged with that primal energy that reminded everyone who was prey and who was not.

The swan lifted his wings, as if to shield himself from Jongho’s burning glare, and retreated faster than he intended.

"See… you," he stammered, and with a strong beat of his wings, he took flight. The others followed, some glancing back, others lowering their heads as if the ground had suddenly become fascinating.

In seconds, the clearing was silent again.

Only the brook and Sumin’s innocent splashing could be heard, the little one still playing as if nothing had happened.

Mingi didn’t move. His chest rose and fell violently, as if he had run for miles. He wanted to thank Jongho, to hug him, to say he was sorry for being so little, but his wings felt heavy, and his throat, closed.

Jongho said nothing.

He didn’t look at him.

He sat back down by the stream, caught Sumin when the child leaned too far, and lifted him into the air, making him laugh with a pure, bright giggle that had nothing to do with the venom that had just poisoned the air.

Mingi blinked, a knot of anguish tightening his stomach. He walked closer, trying to sit by his side, but Jongho kept his gaze fixed on the little one, deliberately ignoring his presence.

The silence was worse than the growls, worse than any words.

Mingi felt himself shrink, as if his body wanted to vanish into the grass. His wings wrapped around him, trying to give him a shelter that no longer reached.

Sumin, oblivious, stretched his little hands toward Mingi, wanting him to join the game. And he did, forcing a smile that never reached his eyes.

But all he could feel was the weight of Jongho’s silence, that cold wall that shut him out, punished him without words.

The way back was a silent nightmare.

Mingi walked one step behind, with Sumin asleep in his arms, and each branch cracking beneath his feet felt like reproach. Jongho hadn’t looked at him once the whole way; his broad, rigid back was an impossible wall to climb.

Every now and then, Mingi tried to stretch out a wing, to brush his partner’s shoulder, to seek the slightest contact that might break the distance. But Jongho always moved ahead, never turning, as if he didn’t feel it. As if Mingi himself didn’t exist.

The bird clutched the little one tighter, tucking him close to his chest. Sumin breathed calmly, unaware of the tension that split them apart. And though Mingi wanted to protect him from everything, he couldn’t protect himself from that absence.

They reached the cabin in the woods once the sun had already sunk completely. Jongho pushed the door open, let Mingi go in first, and went straight to set logs in the fireplace. Silence filled everything, thick as fog.

Mingi laid Sumin down in his little makeshift nest, stroking his hair tenderly until he settled with a sigh. He watched him a moment longer, making sure he was deeply asleep. Then, with a knot in his throat, he turned toward Jongho.

The bear was seated on a wooden chair, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the fire. His harsh profile looked even sharper under the flames. And still, what hurt most was the emptiness in his eyes, as if he had pulled himself away completely.

Mingi swallowed hard.

"Jongho…" his voice came out low, trembling. "I… I’m sorry."

The bear didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

The silence pierced his chest.

Mingi pressed his wings around himself, feeling clumsy, ridiculous, like that trembling chick that never knew where it fit. He took a step, barely drawing closer.

The crack of the wood was the only answer for an endless instant.

A rough knot formed in his throat, and the words slipped out in a choked sob.

"Maybe… maybe you should go with them. With someone who really…" his voice broke, "who really matches you."

The air tightened in an instant.

Jongho turned so fast that for a second Mingi thought he saw fire in his eyes. The bear stepped forward, each of his movements thundering in the small cabin.

"What did you say?" he growled, low and dangerous.

Mingi shrank instinctively, but he didn’t stop speaking, because the voice in his head pushed him to finish tearing himself apart.

"That… that I’m not enough. That they’re right. Look at them, Jongho… don’t you see how much better it would all look if you were with someone like that swan? Beautiful chicks, perfect feathers… You wouldn’t have to carry a clumsy, ugly bird like me."

The words fell like knives. And then Jongho exploded.

His shadow filled the room, heavy, overwhelming. And for the first time all day, his eyes locked on Mingi. But not with coldness. There was fire in them, fire that forced him to shrink.

"That’s what you think?" his voice was deep, harsh, loaded with restrained fury. "Do you really think I want someone else? That I should have followed them?"

Mingi opened his mouth, but only a broken gasp came out. Jongho stepped closer, the wooden floor groaning beneath his weight.

"Do you really think I’ll stand here while you say that kind of stupidity?" he went on, his voice rising a notch, rough with rage. "If I wanted to be with a damn swan, I would be. If I wanted chicks with white wings, I’d have them. But no!"

He slammed his hand on the table, and the blankets fell to the floor.

"I chose you, Mingi." His voice shook, not with doubt, but with sheer intensity. "Only you."

The bird stumbled back instinctively, bumping into the table’s edge. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Jongho leaned in, bringing his face close, growling through his teeth as if each word was a claw.

"I want you, Mingi. Do you get it? You. With your twisted wings, with your rough voice, with everything you are. I want you because you’re mine. And it drives me insane that you don’t get it."

Mingi felt his legs trembling, unable to hold him under the weight of that gaze. A strange heat mixed with the fear: the certainty that Jongho meant every word, but also the shame of not having been able to defend him.

The bear finally looked away, jaw clenched in frustration.

"Do you know what hurt me the most today?" he said in a lower voice, but just as hard. "Not what that damn swan said. But that you didn’t say anything. That you let him talk, as if he were right."

Mingi’s heart clenched.

"I… I didn’t know what to do," he murmured, voice thin.

"You should’ve said I’m yours!" Jongho exploded, slamming his fist on the table. The sound thundered through the whole cabin, and Mingi shrank even more. "You should’ve put him in his place, shouted that he has nothing to look for with you or with me!"

The words burned. Mingi lowered his head, feathers bristling against his back, and a silent sob escaped his throat.

Jongho was breathing hard, fists still tight. But when he saw the way the bird was trembling, something in his fury cracked.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, throwing shadows that danced on the walls.

Finally, Jongho sighed, exhausted, and ran a hand over his face. His voice came out rougher, less violent, though still loaded with frustration.

"It felt like I wasn’t worth raising your voice for."

Jongho’s words cut into Mingi’s chest like blades.

As if I wasn’t worth it… That phrase repeated in his head, hammering hard. His wings pressed against his back, as if to hide him, but at the same time something inside him broke.

He didn’t want Jongho to think that. He didn’t want him to believe, not even for a second, that he’d leave him adrift, that he wasn’t his, that he wouldn’t choose him a thousand times over any arrogant swan in the forest.

The bird lifted his head, eyes red with tears, breath broken. Jongho was still standing before him, exhausted, frustrated, shoulders heavy with contained rage. That image tore him apart.

"No…" Mingi stammered, voice cracked. "No, Jongho…"

And before the bear could say anything else, Mingi took his face in both trembling hands and kissed him.

It wasn’t a soft or timid kiss. It was desperate, clumsy, soaked in tears and fear. He kissed him so hard that Jongho staggered back in surprise until his back hit the wooden table.

Mingi didn’t stop. His body shook, wings flaring as if they wanted to cover everything, and his lips searched insistently for the bear’s, as if with every contact he could erase the doubt eating him alive.

"I’m sorry…" he murmured against his mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe. "I’m sorry, Jongho… you’re mine, only mine… I don’t want anyone else…"

The words came out in a rush, tangled with sobs and kisses. Each apology was a wet touch, each promise a desperate clash of lips.

For an instant Jongho let himself be carried by the surprise, stiff under the bird’s intensity. But slowly, his hands —which had hung tense at his sides— lifted. Wrapping around Mingi’s neck, answering with a firmer kiss, less frantic, but just as deep.

The movement was rough.

Driven by his own momentum, Mingi pushed clumsily until Jongho lost his balance and fell back onto the bed. The wooden frame groaned under the weight, and the air filled with a heavy silence, broken only by their ragged breaths.

Mingi stayed on top of him, wings spread wide like a clumsy white blanket, shielding them from the world. His chest heaved wildly, eyes shining with both fear and devotion.

"You’re mine," he repeated between gasps, kissing his lips again, his jaw, the hard angle of his neck. "You’re mine, Jongho. I’ll shout it, I’ll do it, I swear… no one else… no one can touch you…"

The bear watched him with wide eyes, startled by the intensity. He had never seen Mingi so unbridled, so fierce in the midst of tears. He had known him as insecure, shy, always shrinking under others’ shadows. But in that instant, even in his clumsiness, he was claiming him with his soul.

And though the initial surprise held him still, the heat coursing through him was impossible to ignore.

Jongho narrowed his eyes, catching the bird’s hands in his own, and finally answered with a deeper kiss, one that spoke without words.

The bird sobbed into his mouth, refusing to stop, mumbling broken promises between kisses.

"I’ll do better, I swear… I’ll shout that you’re mine, that you always have been… I don’t want you to doubt me… I don’t want you to think you’re not worth it… because you are, Jongho, to me you’re everything…"

He paused at his chest, panting, as if he needed to mark him there, in that place he knew so well from lying against him on quiet nights. He looked at him for just an instant, and without thinking, sank his teeth in.

Jongho arched his back, shoulders tight, a growl breaking from his throat, followed by a rough gasp, half pain, half pleasure. The bite jolted through him, a sting mixing with the raw sensitivity left from nursing Sumin.

For a moment, his hands clenched in the air, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

Mingi froze.

His wings trembled, his breath caught, and guilt pierced his chest like a spear. He pulled back just slightly, his mouth still wet against Jongho’s skin, and licked softly, as if trying to erase the mark of his teeth.

"I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love…" he whispered against his skin, his tongue tracing a damp path that was both apology and caress. He kissed there again and again, desperate to soothe any mark.

Jongho watched him in silence, eyes narrowed from the intensity of the sensations. His breathing was still unsteady, but slowly the anger dissolved, replaced by something heavier, warmer.

The bear lifted his arms, calmly circling Mingi’s back. With a steady motion, he drew him to his side, guiding his head down to rest on his chest, right over the heart that still pounded hard.

The bird resisted just slightly, as if afraid he was still angry, but Jongho held him firmly, forcing him to relax. One of his large hands slid into his hair, stroking slowly, with the same gentleness he used when soothing Sumin in the middle of the night.

"Shh…" he murmured, letting his fingers smooth through the ruffled feathers, tangling in strands damp with sweat. "That’s enough, Mingi."

The bird closed his eyes, his throat still tight from the restrained crying. But the warmth of Jongho’s chest, the steady rhythm of his caresses, slowly began to extinguish the storm within him.

He clung tightly to his torso, hiding his face like a child seeking refuge. His wings folded around them both, wrapping them in a white cocoon that trembled slightly with each breath.

 

Jongho sighed, lowering the tone of his growl until it became a soft murmur, almost a lullaby. His hand kept stroking the bird’s hair in slow, steady movements, full of patience.

Like he would with Sumin whenever he woke restless.

Like he did now with Mingi, because deep down he knew he needed that kind of comfort too.

But Mingi kept licking clumsily at the mark he had left, as if every brush of his tongue were a desperate prayer to soothe what he had done. His breathing was erratic, his feathers brushed Jongho’s torso, and from time to time he trembled, mumbling broken apologies.

Jongho let him, watching the contrast of his dark hair against the skin of his chest. At first, he had wanted to stop him, to gently push him away and tell him it wasn’t necessary, that he had already forgiven him.

“You know that milk isn’t yours, right?” he murmured with a crooked smile, lowering his head just enough to whisper in his ear. “It’s Sumin’s.”

Mingi froze, mouth pressed against his skin. Heat flushed his cheeks all at once, and he let out a rough sound, half embarrassment, half protest.

“I don’t care…” he mumbled, not daring to look at him, hiding his face against his chest.

Jongho let out an amused huff, which blended into a soft gasp when the bird pressed his lips back against his nipple—this time gentler, sucking lightly as if he only wanted to steal warmth instead of milk.

“Mingi…” the bear said, half mocking, half indulgent, his hand tightening a little more in his hair. “You’re worse than the kid.”

The bird shrank, but didn’t pull away. On the contrary, he closed his eyes and let himself drift into the slow, comforting rhythm of the suckling.

“I… I should take care of you,” he murmured against his skin, voice broken, barely audible. “I’m older than you, Jongho… it should be me protecting you, not… not this.”

His words drowned in a rough sob. The warm, familiar taste reminded him of old nights, when winter pressed in hard and all they had was their bodies for warmth. Even then, he had felt clumsy, insecure, incapable of giving Jongho more than his trembling embraces.

And yet, it had always been the bear who held him.

“And who said you don’t?” Jongho murmured back, voice low and deep, gently stroking his hair.

Mingi let out a weak groan, shaking his head.

“Not today… not in front of them. I just stayed quiet…” his wings tightened, bristling as if he wanted to sink deeper into his cocoon. “You’re mine, Jongho, but I didn’t defend you. And that… that makes me weak.”

The guilt clenched his chest so hard he held on tighter, hiding his face, biting softly before licking as if apologizing with every gesture.

The bear released a long, heavy sigh. Instead of arguing right away, he lowered his hand to stroke the line of his wings, pressing the feathers calmly, as if trying to smooth them one by one.

“Mingi…” his voice was low, grave, filled with patience. “Stop punishing yourself.”

The bird shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.

“No… it’s always you who comforts me. Always… always you who holds me up. And I… I’m only a burden.”

Jongho gave a short, incredulous laugh.

“A burden that keeps me warm,” he countered, with that teasing tone he used to hide feelings too deep to show. “And right now, one that’s sucking at me like he’s trying to steal my soul.”

Mingi shuddered, shame intensifying until he curled in on himself. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Inside him, the battle was fierce: the part that screamed he should be strong, that he should stand tall and protect, against the broken part that only knew how to cling and seek refuge in Jongho.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered again, voice in pieces. “Sorry for not being what you deserve.”

Jongho pressed his lips together, eyes closing for a moment, then let out a low grunt.

“Shut up already, stupid bird,” he said, though his hand kept stroking the bird’s hair with infinite patience. “If you say again that you don’t deserve me, I’ll make you sleep on the floor.”

Mingi raised his face slightly, surprised by the stern tone. He met the bear’s dark eyes, which held a mix of annoyance and tenderness that completely disarmed him.

“Do you understand?” Jongho pressed, lowering his voice to a deep, intimate murmur. “You’re mine. That’s enough.”

The bird nodded, lips pressed tight, and buried his face against his chest again.

Mingi wanted to argue, but the knot in his throat betrayed him. Instead of words, only a low, embarrassed whimper escaped. And, as if he didn’t know any other way to hold on, he pressed his mouth to his chest again, suckling softly, searching for warmth and comfort in the only place he always found it.

Jongho let out a rough laugh, his chest vibrating under the bird’s lips.

“Again with that?” he said teasingly. “I already told you, that milk is for Sumin.”

“Mmm, I don’t care,” Mingi murmured, sounding a little calmer now.

The bear huffed, amused, though the laugh soon turned into a heavy sigh. His hand never stopped stroking the bird’s hair, threading slowly through it as if he wanted to memorize every strand.

The fire crackled, throwing warm shadows across the cabin.

Fatigue began to seep into their bodies, mixing their ragged breaths with yawns growing deeper. Little by little, Mingi’s wings relaxed, falling like a soft blanket over them both, enclosing them in a white refuge.

For a moment, neither spoke, content to just listen to each other’s heartbeat, the slow, heavy cadence of the other as sleep began to pull them under. But then, Jongho broke the silence with a low, hoarse voice, barely a murmur.

“You know… you’re not the only one with insecurities.”

Mingi blinked against his chest, surprised by the tone. He lifted himself just enough to look at him, eyes wide, damp, and weary.

“What… what do you mean?”

Jongho watched him for a moment, his expression serious, his jaw finally relaxed, though there was still a weight in his gaze.

“Sometimes… I still think you could leave,” he confessed, lowering his voice as if afraid the fire or the walls might judge him. “That one day you’ll get tired of me, of my growls, of how difficult I am.”

Mingi’s mouth fell open, incredulous, but Jongho lifted a hand to stroke his cheek and silenced him with the gesture.

“You know in my species… they usually leave after getting their heat partner pregnant.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the dark ceiling. “It’s… instinct, I guess. Plant the seed and walk away. Sometimes it feels like it’s in my blood, that idea that everything is temporary. That nothing lasts.”

Jongho’s eyes glimmered with the reflection of the fire.

“But you…” his voice wavered slightly, almost imperceptible—“you got me pregnant, and you didn’t leave. You stayed. You endured my silences, my anger, my walls. You endured me.”

Mingi clung to him tighter, feeling a huge knot swell in his throat.

“How could you ever think I’d leave?” he whispered, stunned.

The bear smiled sadly, running his fingers through his hair again.

“Because I’m difficult, Mingi. You know that yourself. It’s hard for me to talk, hard to trust. I’ve spent my whole life behind that wall… and then you showed up, clumsy, with the messiest wings I’ve ever seen, and somehow you got me talking like never before.”

His voice softened, breaking at the end.

“That scares me. I’m scared of needing you this much.”

The bird lowered his gaze, lips pressed tight. Every word from Jongho was a cruel mirror of what he himself had felt all day: fear of not being enough, fear of losing him. And now he heard him say the same thing, and his heart ached differently, deeper.

“I… I need you too,” Mingi murmured, hiding his face against his chest again, his feathers bristling with a shiver. “It doesn’t matter if you growl, if you ignore me, if you make me feel like I’m falling… I couldn’t leave, Jongho. Because…”—he took a trembling breath—“because you’re my nest.”

Jongho hugged him tighter, wrapping him in his big arms, pulling him in so close it nearly stole his breath.

“And you’re mine,” he whispered, hoarse, with a fierce tenderness.

They stayed like that, pressed together, no space between their bodies. They kept murmuring random things.

Memories of their first nights together, clumsy promises, little jokes that brought out smiles between yawns.

The fire dimmed to orange embers. Mingi’s breathing grew slow, deep, and his wings stopped trembling. Jongho watched him a few seconds longer, running his fingers through his hair the way he would with Sumin, lulling him until he finally gave in to sleep.

 

𓆰𓆪ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚𓆰𓆪

 

It had been three years since that night of confessions, and the cabin was no longer the same quiet refuge it once was. Now it was full of laughter, of little footsteps running across the wooden floor, of improvised toys made from twigs and fallen feathers that Sumin kept as treasures.

The little one had grown strong and lively, with his Dadda’s boundless energy and his Daddy’s endless curiosity. His eyes lit up every time he discovered something new, and at that moment, they shone brighter than ever.

“Is a baby brother really going to come out of there?” he asked with the shameless innocence of a three-year-old, pointing with a tiny finger at Jongho’s round belly.

Mingi nearly choked on the tea he was preparing.

“Sumin!” he exclaimed, flapping his wings nervously. “Don’t point like that, sweetheart… your Daddy feels… sensitive.”

But Jongho, reclining in a chair with a soft cushion behind his back, let out a deep laugh, not the least bit offended.

“Let him, Mingi. It’s natural for him to be curious.”

Excited, Sumin ran to his Daddy’s lap and pressed his ear against the swollen belly.

“I heard something!” he shouted, though all he caught were stomach noises.

Jongho ruffled his hair affectionately, laughing again.

“That’s my stomach, bug. Your little brother doesn’t talk yet.”

Mingi rushed over, flapping his hands as if afraid Sumin might hurt him with his weight.

“Sumin, careful! Your Daddy is tired, don’t press on him like that.”

The boy pouted, though he didn’t move away entirely. Jongho raised a brow, amused, and stroked Mingi’s cheek with one finger.

“You exaggerate, bird. I’m not going to break.”

“Yes, you could!” the bird insisted, his wing feathers bristling with pure worry. “You’re carrying a baby, Jongho. A baby! Everything you do is risky.”

Jongho smiled mischievously, as if that warning were an invitation to do the opposite.

“Oh, really? Then tomorrow I’ll go chop wood.”

“What?!” Mingi’s eyes widened so much that Sumin burst out laughing.

The child mimicked his Daddy, exaggeratingly holding his little hands over his belly.

“I’m going to chop wood too,” he repeated between giggles, making Jongho lean down to tickle him.

The room filled with laughter, and for a moment Mingi didn’t know whether to scold both of them or join in the game. In the end, he only sighed, defeated, though a smile escaped him quietly.

Nights were another spectacle.

Sumin insisted on sleeping between them, even though he already had his own cot. He would sneak in with the excuse of “protecting baby brother” and settle against Jongho’s belly, resting his head as if it were a pillow.

“I’m taking care of him,” he would say with childish seriousness, though his little eyes closed instantly.

Mingi watched him with tenderness, though he then spent half the night making sure he wasn’t pressing too much on Jongho, getting up every hour to adjust blankets, check the fire in the hearth, or bring fresh water “just in case.”

“We’re not going to dehydrate in the middle of the night, Mingi,” Jongho huffed, with a tired smile, though deep down grateful for all the attention.

“Don’t tell me that!” the bird retorted, feathers bristling. “I won’t risk it.”

Sumin, half-asleep, giggled softly, mumbling something like,

“Dadda is like a big chick…”

The days were also full of little domestic wars.

“Don’t climb the tree!” Mingi shouted whenever he saw Jongho trying to reach a low branch to pick fruit.

“I’m fine,” Jongho replied, with that irritating calm that always ended up making Mingi spread his wings to try to lift him down by force.

Sumin clapped from below, cheering his father on.

“Daddy can! Daddy can!”

Mingi felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

The bear, his belly round and heavy at six months pregnant, stretched his arm as if it were nothing, as if he didn’t have another fragile life inside him begging him to rest. Sweat beaded his brow, his movements clumsier than he admitted, but he insisted he could do it.

Mingi, feathers bristling, hopped closer, wings flapping like he might actually take flight just to grab him.

“Jongho, you’re going to fall!” his voice came out sharper than usual, filled with panic.

“Don’t exaggerate,” the bear replied, tensing the muscles in his arm as he plucked a piece of fruit and lifted it in triumph.

Sumin shrieked with delight, waving his little hands.

“Daddy won! Daddy strong!”

Mingi covered his face with his hands, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How was he supposed to raise two little creatures if his mate insisted on acting like nothing could stop him?

Once down, Jongho crouched to offer the fruit to Sumin, who took it with both hands and immediately smeared his mouth with sticky juice. Mingi watched with a frown, wings still trembling from the scare.

“I told you a thousand times,” he muttered, lowering his voice as if that could calm the shaking in his chest. “Don’t overdo it. You don’t have to do everything.”

“That wasn’t overdoing it,” Jongho replied, shrugging as he wiped Sumin’s face with the sleeve of his own shirt. “I just wanted to treat him.”

“Daddy strong. Daddy beat everything.” The child grinned, his mouth stained red with juice.

Mingi felt something inside him crumble. How could he argue with that? Jongho raised an eyebrow, proud, and leaned back against the fallen log they used as a bench. His belly forced him to tilt back, and when Sumin tried to climb into his lap, the bear let out a tired but content huff. The little one nestled there, in his arms, as if there were no better place in the world.

“See?” Jongho murmured, stroking the boy’s dark-golden hair. “Nothing happened.”

Mingi watched them, his heart split between fear and tenderness. Slowly, he walked over and sat beside them, spreading one wing to cover the three of them. The forest around was calm, sunlight filtering through the branches, the distant birdsong sounding almost like an answer to him.

The silence didn’t last.

Sumin, as full of energy as always, suddenly scrambled down from his father’s lap and darted into the bushes.

“I’m going hunting!” he shouted, brandishing a stick like a spear.

“Sumin!” Mingi cried, springing up. “Don’t go too far!”

“Let him,” Jongho growled, rubbing his belly. “He’s playing.”

“With a sharp stick!” the bird snapped, wings flapping in panic. “What if he trips? What if he falls?”

“He’ll get back up,” Jongho said, with the serenity of someone who had already seen his cub survive countless bumps, scratches, and falls. “He’s not made of glass.”

Mingi chased after the boy anyway. He found him a few steps away, attacking a pile of dry leaves as if it were a monster.

“I beat it!” Sumin cried, laughing with flushed cheeks. “I’m strong like Daddy.”

Mingi scooped him up immediately, not letting him protest, and carried him back while the boy kicked and giggled.

“No, no, I win,” Sumin sang, thumping lightly on his bird-father’s chest.

Jongho watched them from the log, chuckling softly—until his laughter shifted into a weary grimace. He set a hand on his belly and drew a deep breath. Mingi noticed right away, putting Sumin down and rushing over.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with worry.

“It’s just moving a lot,” Jongho answered, rough but calm.

Mingi crouched in front of him, placing both hands over the taut skin of his belly. The movements were clear, a pressure pressing back against his fingers, as if the new life inside wanted to be noticed already.

The bird swallowed hard, overwhelmed, letting his fingers slowly trace the warm skin of Jongho’s belly.

Every shift beneath his hands made him shiver.

It was different from the first time: now he understood what it meant, now he could picture a face and laughter, now he could imagine that little one growing and running with Sumin, taking up space under his wings.

But amid the chaos, there were moments of pure peace.

One afternoon, as the sun was beginning to sink, Jongho sat in the rocking chair by the window, Sumin asleep in his lap and his large hand resting on his round belly. Mingi watched him silently from the table, his heart tight and yet full.

That sight—the bear with his child nestled on him and another growing inside—was proof of everything they had survived.

Jongho lifted his gaze, catching the bird’s damp eyes. He smiled softly.

“You’re overthinking again.”

Mingi got up, crossed the room, and bent down to kiss his forehead.

“It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That we’re like this.”

“Believe it. And get ready… because when this one is born, you’ll have two cubs running all over the cabin.” Jongho looked at him with that mix of tenderness and mischief that defined him.

Mingi paled instantly, but Jongho laughed, rumbling with soft chuckles so as not to wake the child.

Jongho’s laughter was still softly echoing through the room when a knock interrupted the calm. It wasn’t loud, more timid, like the flutter of a bird’s wings against the wood. Mingi frowned and turned his head toward the door. No one usually visited them in the middle of the forest.

A second knock, this time accompanied by a metallic scrape, made him rise cautiously to his feet. He walked to the entrance, opened it slowly, and what he found was a white envelope, slipped under the door. In the corner was the seal of his family.

The air froze in his lungs.

“Mingi?” Jongho asked from the rocking chair, noticing the stiffness in the bird’s wings.

The bird didn’t answer right away. He took the envelope between trembling fingers, feeling the familiarity of the seal, the initials engraved with the proud care of his lineage. A lineage that had never accepted him. He swallowed hard and returned to the table, dropping the envelope on top as if it burned.

“What is it?” Jongho followed him with his eyes, the darkness in them tightening.

It took Mingi a while to answer.

“It’s from… my parents.”

The silence that fell was different from before. Heavy, thick, filled with an echo they both knew too well. Mingi stretched his wings nervously, as if he wanted to hide Jongho and Sumin behind them.

“Do you want me to read it?” the bear asked calmly, though a spark of distrust flickered in his eyes.

Mingi shook his head slowly, drew in a breath, and with trembling hands, broke the seal. The paper crackled as he unfolded it. His eyes scanned the lines written in elegant handwriting, and each word hit harder than the last.

"Mingi, we have heard rumors of your life away from the clan. They say you are raising a child with a hybrid who has nothing to do with our kind. They say you are even expecting another.

Son, you cannot keep dragging the name of the birds into ridicule. You were not born to roll around with beasts. You were not born to raise clumsy, heavy, graceless hybrids.That bear is dragging you to the lowest depths, and you, blind, follow him.

There is still time to come home, to leave that creature and its offspring behind. You cannot stain our name any further. Come back home. There is still a place for you here, as long as you abandon those fantasies. You can still rebuild your life."

Jongho carefully stood, placing the sleeping Sumin on the nearby cot. He approached Mingi in silence, his heavy steps resonating against the floor.

“What do they say?” he asked in a low voice, though his eyes already suspected.

Mingi pressed the paper to his chest, unable to look at him.

He held the letter there as if the heat of his body could erase it. The letters burned his fingers, but not with the pain they once would have caused: they were no longer chains for him. 

Three years by Jongho’s side, three years of building a home together and watching Sumin grow, had changed him. He had learned to accept himself, to find beauty in his crooked feathers because Jongho had caressed them a thousand times with devotion, because Sumin fell asleep nestled in them with a trusting smile.

But what the letter contained was not an attack on him: it was a dagger aimed at Jongho. And that was something he could not allow.

“Mingi…” Jongho’s voice broke the silence, deep, patient, but carrying a latent tension. “Let me read it.”

The bird shook his head sharply, his wings tightening around him.

“No.”

“Why?” The bear stepped closer, his shadow falling over the paper. “What are they saying to you?”

Mingi closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t want to repeat it, didn’t want to give it shape out loud. If he did, those words would stain Jongho too. And he wasn’t going to allow it.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in you reading it. I… I’m not that fledgling anymore, the one who feared their judgment. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”

“Then what are you so afraid of?” Jongho narrowed his eyes, frown deepening.

Mingi lowered his gaze, and the answer came out as a trembling whisper.

“That it hurts you. That you read what they say about you.”

The silence thickened. Only the crackle of the fire and Sumin’s steady breathing filled the cabin. Jongho stared at him, as if trying to read the words off his eyes.

Finally, Mingi moved. With a sharp gesture, he threw the letter into the fire. The paper curled instantly, flames devouring it in a bright orange glow, and within seconds nothing remained but ash.

The bird breathed deeply, relieved, as if he had just saved the most precious thing he had from an irreparable stain.

But Jongho didn’t move away. His dark eyes remained fixed on him, and Mingi understood too late that even though he had thrown it into the fire, he hadn’t been fast enough. Jongho had seen a line.

Just one, but enough.

“Leave that creature and its offspring behind.”

Jongho’s chest tightened. He didn’t say it, didn’t repeat it, but the words sank into his mind like thorns. He lowered his gaze, crossing his arms over his swollen abdomen, instinctively shielding the life growing inside.

Mingi noticed immediately. His heart clenched, a cold panic crawling up his spine. He lunged toward him, wrapping him in his wings as if he could stop those words from cutting any deeper.

“No,” he murmured fiercely, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Don’t you dare believe any of that. They’re nothing but empty, bitter voices. I… I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the most beautiful thing I have, Jongho.”

The bear stayed silent, a shadow of sadness passing through his eyes. He clenched his jaw, trying to hide it, but Mingi knew him too well. He had seen him laugh, growl, get angry… and also hide when something hurt him.

Mingi cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look at him.

“You think I can’t take it?” Jongho asked, his voice rough.

Mingi shook his head immediately, wings spread as if to shield him from an invisible enemy.

“That’s not it.” His tone grew firmer, though still weighed down with fear. “I don’t want you to read it because you don’t deserve to carry those words. I already went through it. It took me years to stop hating myself for what I am, and it was with you that I learned I could love myself. But you… you don’t need to be tainted by their poison.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the crackling fire. Jongho took a deep breath, his heavy breathing filling the space. He stepped closer, until he was right in front of him.

“Mingi, what hurts you, hurts me,” he said slowly, as if every word weighed a ton. “Don’t hide anything from me. I’m not made of glass, and I won’t break just because I read what your family thinks of me.”

Mingi’s eyes grew wet, but he didn’t cry. He lowered his head and let his wings fall to his sides, as if suddenly too tired to keep them lifted.

“Listen to me carefully,” he whispered, his wings trembling as he spread them wide to wrap Jongho completely. “I chose you. Not once, not twice. Every day. And I’ll keep choosing you tomorrow, and the next, and every day I have left.”

Tears gleamed in the bird’s eyes, but his voice was steady, steadier than it had ever been.

“They have no power over me anymore. And even less over us.”

Jongho held his gaze for a long moment, the silence filled only by the crackle of the fireplace and the soft murmur of Sumin’s sleeping breath. Finally, he sighed, resting his forehead against the bird’s.

“Sometimes I forget how strong you can be,” he murmured, with a trace of both bitterness and tenderness.

Mingi gave a faint smile, crooked, tired.

“I’m only strong because I have you.”

The silence had grown thick, but warm. The fire still burned, casting dancing shadows across the cabin walls, and Mingi still had his wings spread, shielding Jongho as if afraid the whole world might collapse on them at any second.

That was when a small sound interrupted everything: a long yawn, followed by a clumsy rustling on the nearby cot.

Sumin, his hair tousled like a nest, was slowly sitting up, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists.

“Daddy…?” he murmured sleepily, with that low, sweet voice children have when just waking.

Mingi turned immediately, his protective instincts flaring. He opened his wings wider, as if to hide the lingering tension in the air.

“Everything’s fine, little chick. Go back to sleep.”

But Sumin didn’t seem convinced. He climbed down from the cot clumsily, dragging his blanket like a cape, and wobbled toward them. When he reached Jongho, he hugged his leg tightly, resting his cheek against his thigh.

“Why are you sad?” he asked, voice thick, still rubbing his eyes with his small hands.

“We’re not sad,” Jongho murmured, stroking his messy hair. “We were just talking.”

Sumin squinted, unconvinced.

“You looked sad,” he insisted with childish seriousness, turning his little face toward Mingi. “Did you hit Daddy?”

“What?! No!” Mingi’s eyes went wide, so surprised that his wings shook awkwardly.

The child eyed him with suspicion, as if he could read the truth behind the ruffled feathers.

“It’s just… when I fall and get hurt, I cry. And now Daddy’s crying.”

Jongho pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a laugh, but the rumble in his chest gave him away. The bird froze, not knowing how to respond, until at last he covered his face with both hands, red to the tips of his ears.

“I didn’t hit anyone…” he mumbled from behind his feathers. “We were just… talking.”

Sumin tilted his head, thoughtful, then smiled with a mischievous glint that made him look exactly like Jongho.

“Then kiss each other, so you won’t be sad anymore.”

Mingi nearly choked on his own saliva. Jongho, on the other hand, let out a genuine, deep laugh that filled the whole room.

“See what I mean?” the bear said, looking at Mingi with a spark in his eyes. “This kid always knows how to win the fights.”

The bird slowly lowered his hands, still flushed, and couldn’t help but laugh nervously under his breath, caught up in their child’s brightness.

“You’re too smart for your age,” he told him, leaning closer to brush his cheek with a wing.

Sumin beamed at the touch but didn’t let go of Jongho’s leg. He stayed there, staring at them both, as if he wouldn’t budge until his conditions were met.

“I want to see it,” he insisted, with that quiet stubbornness he had inherited from both of them. “If you don’t kiss, I’m not going back to sleep.”

Jongho leaned back in the rocking chair, chuckling.

“I don’t think he’s going to leave you alone,” he said, amused, turning his head toward Mingi. “And you know if he doesn’t sleep, neither will we.”

The bird sighed, defeated, though secretly grateful for the excuse. He leaned in slowly, bringing his face close to Jongho’s. The kiss was soft, just a brush of lips at first, but Jongho held it a second longer than necessary, his large hand at the nape of Mingi’s neck. It wasn’t only to calm their son; it was a silent way of telling him he wasn’t angry, that Mingi hadn’t lost him.

When they pulled apart, Sumin clapped his hands, laughing with joy.

“Now you’re okay!” he announced, satisfied. “Now I’ll go to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Mingi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure,” the boy confirmed solemnly. But instead of returning to the cot, he climbed into Jongho’s lap and curled up between them.

Mingi settled beside him, wrapping them both with open wings like a warm shell. Jongho let out a long breath, his body finally relaxing against the rocking chair’s back. The fire had died down, casting a softer, golden glow that made the scene feel suspended in time.

“You know,” Jongho said quietly, stroking Sumin’s back as the boy began to drift off, “I like that he insists. I don’t want him to grow up thinking he has to swallow things just to avoid bothering others.”

Mingi glanced at him sideways.

“He won’t. He’s got the two most stubborn parents in the world,” he replied, with a tired smile.

There was a moment of silence, comfortable this time, as they listened to Sumin’s deep breathing. Jongho let his head fall onto Mingi’s shoulder, and the bird, without thinking, kissed his hair. The gesture was so natural it almost hurt, because it reminded him why he was so afraid of losing him.

“I swear I won’t let them touch you,” Mingi murmured suddenly, barely audible. “Or look at you like you’re worth nothing.”

Jongho glanced sideways at him, his expression softer than before.

"I know." His fingers slid down until they caught his hand. "But someday I want to go. Not because I need them to accept me, but because I want them to see this." He made a small gesture toward the sleeping child.

 

𓆰𓆪ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚𓆰𓆪

Time passed faster than they imagined. Between caring for Sumin, the arrival of Riki, and the routine they had managed to build in their cabin, the idea of visiting their families always seemed like something for “later.” 

But Jongho didn’t forget, and every time he looked at his children asleep, with that warm weight on his chest, it became clearer to him that sooner or later they would have to face that moment. 

It wasn’t about asking forgiveness or begging for acceptance; it was simply about showing what they had achieved despite everything, proving that their life—no matter how imperfect it might look to others—was full of something unbreakable.

So, on a cold noon, they packed the few things they needed for the trip. 

Sumin was excited, bouncing around with the inexhaustible energy of his four years, dragging a scarf almost as long as he was. Riki, on the other hand, only six months old, slept cradled against Jongho’s chest, shielded by his animal warmth and the thick cloth wrapped around him. Mingi walked ahead, spreading his wings every now and then as if to repel the icy wind or mark the safest path.

The village where Mingi’s parents lived could be seen from afar, as neat and orderly as always, with spotless rooftops and fences so straight they looked more like barriers than ornaments. For him, returning there was like stepping back into a cage: everything was too in place, too rigid, too cold.

His mother was the first to greet them. She stood framed in the doorway, tall, upright, her feathers perfectly arranged without a single one out of place. Her eyes passed over Jongho with a restrained gleam of judgment, but stopped at the children. Riki whimpered in his father’s arms, and only then did the woman step aside.

"Come in," she said in a tone that allowed no refusal.

The inside of the house was prepared as if they were expecting guests of honor. The table was carefully set, with gleaming dishes and lined pitchers. Mingi recognized the effort, but to him it felt like a disguise. And it was confirmed when he saw his father already seated at the head of the table, rigid, his eyes fixed on him as if he were still fifteen and had done nothing but disappoint him.

"So this is your partner," he pronounced gravely, not bothering to name Jongho.

Jongho didn’t answer right away. He merely bowed his head seriously while adjusting Riki against his chest. It was Sumin who, with the natural ease only childhood possesses, broke the tension.

"I’m hungry!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, climbing onto the nearest chair. "And my little brother is too, but he only drinks milk."

That comment eased Mingi’s breathing a little, though he knew the hardest part hadn’t yet come. And it didn’t take long. Jongho’s mother had also been invited. He hadn’t seen her in years, and when she entered the room with slow steps, the air seemed to thicken. Her dark eyes, so much like his own, were dull. She stopped in front of Jongho and extended a trembling hand, barely brushing his arm.

"Jongho…" she murmured, as if even that one word weighed too much.

He held her gaze, serious, without stepping back, without leaning closer. There was no reproach and no tenderness, only a dry recognition of what had been and what could never return.

The silence before the first course was so heavy that even Sumin, always restless, hesitated a second before reaching for the bread they had placed within his reach. The long table, polished to excess, looked more like a stage than a family gathering, and every movement carried an invisible weight.

Mingi’s father presided as if the whole encounter were a trial. His dark, stern eyes hardly moved, but when they did, it was only to rest on Jongho, on his arms full with Riki, or on Mingi, as if searching for a crack, some proof of weakness. His mother, at his side, kept her face neutral, though her wings folded too stiffly betrayed her unease.

Jongho’s mother, on the other hand, remained a little apart, more observer than participant. She watched her son with an expression hard to decipher, as if trying to recognize the child she had left behind years ago, yet at the same time refusing to come closer.

"Serve the stew," ordered Mingi’s father in a voice that allowed no discussion.

A servant placed the steaming bowl in the center, and little by little they all filled their plates. The spiced aroma filled the air, but the atmosphere remained just as cold. Sumin was the only one to break the stiffness; he clutched his spoon clumsily and, after tasting a bite, grinned from ear to ear.

"It’s yummy!" he announced, as if he’d just discovered a treasure. "Better than dadda’s."

Mingi choked, coughing on his water, while Jongho shot him an amused look, as if their son’s words had been a sweet stab to his pride. For an instant, the tension broke with a soft laugh that escaped Jongho, and even his mother’s face seemed to soften slightly.

"Daddy taught me to climb the tallest tree near the cabin. And dadda flies with me when the wind is strong. And Riki… well, Riki only sleeps and cries, but I take care of him," he said with his chest puffed with pride, as if just telling it were enough to fill the room.

Mingi’s father looked at him with a frown, though he said nothing. It was clear that every word from the boy sounded like a reminder of how “out of place” everything was.

Just then, Riki began to cry. First a low whimper, then a louder wail, impatient, with that unmistakable timbre of hunger. Jongho rocked him silently for a moment, trying to soothe him, but the baby arched, rooting with his mouth.

Discomfort spread through the room when Jongho, without hesitation, loosened the top of his clothes and brought Riki to his chest. The baby latched immediately, suckling eagerly, and the tension in his tiny body melted at once.

Sumin, not understanding the weight of those words, looked at his grandfather with a puzzled frown.

"So… besides being a bear," Mingi’s father muttered with a cutting tone, "he also takes on the role of a female."

"Daddy’s not a female," he said innocently, wrinkling his nose. "He’s stronger than all the bears in the forest put together. And Riki loves him. And I do too."

The boy said it with such conviction that for a second the harshness at the table cracked. Jongho’s mother, who had been silent until then, lowered her gaze with a bitter expression, yet her lips curved slightly in a gesture of pride toward her grandson.

Mingi leaned forward, his wings spreading almost unconsciously, like a shield that covered Jongho and the children.

"I’m the one who gives milk, that’s why I feed him. And I do it because he’s my son. No gaze can change that."

For an instant, even Mingi’s father seemed to lose his composure. The strength with which Jongho said it left no room to ridicule him.

Sumin, in his innocence, lifted his eyes from the bread he was nibbling.

“Daddy makes the best milk in the world,” he said proudly, as if he had just revealed a precious secret. Then he pointed at Riki. “That’s why my baby brother is chubby.”

The comment disarmed Mingi, who couldn’t help but let out a nervous, almost trembling laugh. But his son’s gesture was like an unexpected shield: the simplest and purest truth spoken without shame.

Mingi felt his parents’ eyes fixed on him, as if accusing him of having let things come to this point, but he didn’t look away from Jongho. He watched him feed Riki with that calm expression, his large hands holding the small body with tenderness, his jaw relaxed as if neither judgment nor stares could touch him. And somehow, that gave him courage.

“This is our life,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with unexpected firmness. “And there is nothing shameful about it. Jongho cares for our children because he can and because he wants to. And I do it too.”

His father stared at him for a long time, feathers barely bristling, before lowering his gaze to his plate.

“You’ve always been stubborn,” he growled, but there was no reproach left in his voice, only weariness.

The meal continued, this time with a quieter but less hostile murmur. Sumin, oblivious to the tension, spoke of everything he remembered: the frozen river where he had wanted to skate, the tracks he had found in the snow, how Riki only smiled if dadda sang to him. Every word from the boy was a gentle blow that softened the ice at that table.

Jongho’s mother remained silent, watching every gesture. There was something in her face hard to decipher: not pride, but not disdain either. She seemed torn between guilt and bewilderment. When Riki finished eating and Jongho shifted him onto his lap to burp him, she leaned forward slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come.

“Do you want to hold him?” Jongho asked, his tone neutral.

The woman looked at him in surprise, but eventually extended her arms. Riki settled against her without protest, burying his nose in his grandmother’s neck as if he recognized something in her scent. She held him awkwardly, her fingers stiff at first, until the little one let out a satisfied sigh and relaxed. Then her expression changed, just a little, softening.

“He looks just like Mingi. Even the cheeks, look,” she said, with an unexpected spark of humor. “It’s like you copied him by hand.”

Jongho let out a low, brief laugh and nodded.

“I know. Every day I look at him, it feels like I’m looking at Mingi as a child.”

The mother lifted her eyes toward Sumin, who at that moment was trying to steal a piece of bread from the table. She caught him by his scarf with a playful tug.

“And this one too… he’s another copy of you,” she said, now looking directly at Mingi with a crooked smile. “What kind of magic did you do? Because so far, I don’t see anything of Jongho in either of them.”

The comment drew a genuine laugh from Sumin, who instantly felt important.

“I’m just like my dadda Mingi!” he shouted proudly, climbing into the bird’s lap to hug his neck.

Mingi, on the other hand, went rigid. Heat rushed to his ears and the feathers of his wings rustled nervously. That mix of sweet teasing and obvious truth cut him like a double-edged knife. 

A part of him was relieved that the children looked so much like him, but another part gnawed at him inside: what if people looked at them the way they had always looked at him? What if they mocked them for being “copies” of a clumsy bird with imperfect feathers?

“I love that they’re like you,” Jongho murmured, loud enough for the bird’s parents to hear. “Because that means I’ll have two little Mingis running around the house when they grow up. And there’s nothing in the world I want more than that.”

The bird looked at him, surprised by the clarity in his words, and saw the unmasked tenderness on his face. He felt the pressure in his chest ease a little, though the discomfort still pulsed inside him.

Jongho’s mother let out a snort that was half amused, half resigned.

“Well, I never thought I’d hear you speak like that, Jongho.” She looked back at the children and added, with a tone almost playful, “It seems your partner has completely won you over.”

“Really…?” he asked in a murmur, barely audible.

Jongho arched a brow and, with an almost playful gesture, tugged gently at a feather that had come loose from the bird’s wing.

“Of course. I want the world to know who they belong to. And if anyone dares laugh…” his voice dropped a tone, deep, dangerous, “they’ll have to deal with me.”

Sumin, who had been listening with the selective attention of children, raised his little hand to add with solemn seriousness,

“And with me too!”

Jongho’s laughter rang out loud, and even the mother let out a small chuckle. Mingi, though still hunched, felt the weight on his chest grow lighter.

When the time to say goodbye came, the bird straightened stiffly. His father remained seated, not having moved from the head of the table, his dark, stern eyes as always. His mother, though she had joined the conversation, kept that restrained expression that had never been either tenderness or pride, only distant expectation.

“Thank you for receiving us.” Mingi took a deep breath, standing as tall as his dignity allowed. There were no tears in his eyes, though the feathers of his wings rustled nervously, as always when he tried to hold firm.

“You still have time to reconsider, Mingi,” came his father’s dry reply.

“You have to write us,” said his mother, bluntly. “I don’t want to hear from others how those children grow.”

“I will. I’ll bring you news every full moon.” Mingi bowed his head slightly, a little ashamed.

And in the middle of that crack, Jongho’s mother. She was the only one who stepped forward, the only one who walked with them to the threshold, as if she couldn’t let the door slam shut behind them. Riki was still cradled against her shoulder, his cheeks flushed with the warmth of contact.

At the doorway, the woman stopped. She looked at the baby for a second longer before raising her eyes to Jongho.

“I don’t know if I have the right to say this,” she murmured, her voice low, almost trembling, “but… you have something beautiful here. Something I never knew how to give you.”

Jongho looked at her in silence, with that seriousness that sometimes seemed like a wall and other times, a crack filled with pain. He didn’t reply, but the fact that he didn’t look away was already a concession.

She handed Riki back with care, as if giving away something precious, and in doing so, her fingers brushed against her son’s. It was barely a touch, but enough to make her falter.

The air outside was cold, but also lighter. Mingi breathed it in as if he had just stepped out of a cage, his wings spreading slightly in an involuntary reflex. Jongho adjusted Riki against his chest and, in the same motion, slipped an arm around Mingi’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side.

Sumin trotted ahead, dragging his scarf like a flag.

“Are we going home now?” he asked, turning his head with a smile. “Riki fell asleep and I want to show him my hiding spots when he wakes up!”

“Yes, little one,” Jongho replied, his voice deep but calm. “We’re going home.”

The bear’s mother walked with them a few more steps, silently by their side. Mingi glanced at her from the corner of his eye, still surprised she had chosen to follow them to the path. It was she who finally broke the silence.

“I know I can’t erase what happened,” she said, without looking directly at them. “But today… seeing you together… I realize you’ve already done what I never knew how to do.”

Jongho studied her with an impenetrable seriousness, then dipped his head just slightly. It was the closest thing to reconciliation he could offer her.

The woman smiled sadly, brushing her eldest son’s cheek with her fingers before stepping back.

“Take care of them. And let me visit someday. If you’ll have me.”

“Our home will always have the door open,” Mingi was the one who answered, his throat tight but without hesitation.

Sumin, who had been quiet until then, tugged at Jongho’s sleeve.

“So… is she really our grandma?” he asked in a loud whisper, just enough for everyone to hear.

Jongho arched a brow and, after a second of silence, nodded.

“Yes.”

The boy grinned with that bright simplicity that knew no grudges and reached his hand out to her.

“Goodbye, Grandma.”

The woman looked at him for a moment, surprised, then clasped the small hand in hers with a clumsy tenderness.

“Goodbye, little one.”

After giving Sumin a hesitant kiss on the forehead, she turned and began the walk back.

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t heavy—it was freeing. Jongho looked at Mingi, and though the bird still seemed withdrawn, wings half-spread as if bracing for another blow, the bear pulled him closer against his side.

“It’s over,” he murmured, holding him tight.

Mingi closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He looked at his children, at Jongho, and at the open forest ahead, and he knew that even if his parents’ approval never came, he didn’t need it. His true home was walking beside him, babbling in arms and laughing with small, stumbling steps across the earth.

 

𓆰𓆪ᨒ↟ 𖠰𖥧˚𓆰𓆪

The afternoon drifted slowly over the forest, painting the treetops in golden light. The cabin stood open, letting in the fresh air, and on the wooden floor Sumin had spread a blanket filled with improvised toys: carved twigs, smooth stones painted in colors, and a couple of little wooden figurines Jongho had made for him.

Riki, barely a year old, wobbled on his chubby legs, steadying himself as best he could on the blanket. His eyes sparkled with the curiosity of someone eager to devour the world, though his tiny body couldn’t quite keep up.

“Look, Riki, this is how it’s done,” Sumin said with the solemnity of a teacher, placing the figurines facing each other like warriors. Then he crashed them together with an exaggerated “boom!” making them bounce.

The little one watched, fascinated, mouth open and a trail of drool on his chin. Then he tried to copy, grabbing a painted stone, but instead of making it clash, he shoved it straight into his mouth.

“No, no, no!” Sumin squealed in alarm, rushing to pull it from his lips with clumsy hands. “That’s not for eating, dummy. It’s a soldier.”

Riki looked at him with wide eyes, as if he understood nothing, and then burst into a scandalous laugh that echoed through the whole room. The laughter was so contagious that even Sumin ended up smiling, though he pretended to stay very serious.

“It’s not funny, Riki. You have to behave if you want to play with me.” He placed the stone back in his hand and showed him again how to hit it against the figurine. “Like this, see? Boom!”

The little one copied the gesture, this time hitting so hard the stone flew off and almost hit his brother’s leg.

“Hey!” Sumin stared at him wide-eyed, surprised, then lowered his voice the way Jongho did when he wanted to sound firm. “You have to be careful, okay? If you fall or get hurt, I… I’ll take care of you.”

 

Riki, oblivious to the seriousness, stretched out his arms and toppled right onto Sumin, rolling together across the blanket. The older one let out a grunt, but instead of pushing him away, he hugged him tightly, as if afraid he might break.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you stay here with me,” he murmured, lips pressed in a protective frown.

From the table, Mingi watched them in silence, a tired yet proud smile on his face. His wings shifted faintly, as if wanting to wrap them up from a distance. Beside him, Jongho snorted under his breath, amused.

Riki, his rounded little ears trembling with excitement and wings spread in sheer happiness, patted the floor with his tiny hands and looked at him as though he really understood the solemnity of the moment.

“You have to learn how to use these,” Sumin explained, pointing at his own wings. “Because if you don’t, you won’t be able to keep up when we race.”

Sumin spread his wings. They were still small for his body, but strong enough to stir some dust off the floor. He gave a couple of clumsy hops, flapping with all his might, until his feet lifted just a few centimeters.

“See?” he said, breathless with excitement. “That’s how it’s done!”

Riki squealed, flapping his wings like a hatchling. The result was chaotic—he lost his balance and plopped down on his little bear tail, blinking in surprise.

“It’s fine,” Sumin said right away, rushing to help him up. “You just have to open them wide and not fall on your belly.”

He stood behind him, spreading his own wings to demonstrate the movement slowly, just as he’d seen Mingi do. Riki tried to copy, his fluffy feathers quivering with effort. Each flap made his ears twitch as if they, too, wanted to join in.

Jongho watched them with a soft smile, his heart swelling with pride. Sumin’s clumsiness only made him more adorable, especially because he tried to keep such a serious face, like a professional teacher.

“You’re doing a good job, big guy,” Jongho murmured, never taking his eyes off them.

Sumin turned his head slightly, still holding Riki by the shoulders.

“I have to teach him, because when he grows up I’ll be his real big brother,” he said, with a seriousness that made Jongho swallow hard.

 

Riki let out an excited shriek and, without warning, flapped his wings so hard he lurched forward. Sumin caught him just in time, wrapping him up and rolling on the floor. The scene ended in a little mess of laughter, loose feathers, and twitching ears.

“You did it!” Sumin shouted, lifting his brother by the armpits and spinning him in the air. “See, Dad? He lifted his wings!”

Jongho let out a deep laugh and stepped closer to help them up. Riki clung to his neck, still flapping away, while Sumin danced around, convinced he’d worked a miracle.

“Dad!” Sumin cried, running up to him. “Riki already knows how to flap his wings!”

Mingi set down the basket he was carrying and scooped up his eldest, planting a quick kiss on his head. Then he extended one of his own wings to brush against Riki’s, like congratulating a trainee.

“Really?” he asked, glancing at Jongho.

“Yes,” the bear answered with a proud smile. “Though I think it’s more thanks to Sumin’s patience than to instinct.”

Mingi crouched beside the little one, who was still flapping with delight. He touched the feathers with his fingertips, inspecting them like a cadet’s uniform.

“You’re doing well, little one,” he murmured, and Riki squealed with joy.

Sumin crossed his arms, puffing out his chest.

“Told you I could teach him. When he grows up, we’ll fly together.”

Mingi ruffled his hair and hoisted him onto his shoulders.

“First learn not to crash into walls, then we’ll talk about flying.”

Riki babbled, turning his head toward his brother as if he understood, and flapped even harder, almost slipping from his dad’s arms.

“It’s okay!” Sumin declared with authority. “If you fall, I’ll always be here to pick you up.”

Mingi and Jongho exchanged a glance over their children’s heads. The bear wore an expression of pride that softened every scar of the past; the bird, on the other hand, felt a knot in his chest, a mix of tenderness and fear. Because he knew that one day the world outside wouldn’t be as forgiving as the warmth of that cabin.

But seeing Sumin teaching with fierce patience and Riki laughing through squeals and clumsy flaps, he understood something: no matter how hard it got, they would be there to hold them, lift them, and try again.

Over and over.

Sumin had been insisting he wanted to learn to fly properly, and Mingi refused flat out—until he couldn’t anymore.

Blame it on those little bear eyes Sumin made when he wanted something.

The forest clearing glowed with soft light, the kind that made Mingi’s feathers shine like burnished metal. Sumin stood at the edge of a low rock, wings half-spread and brows furrowed in concentration. Mingi watched closely, his own wings open so the boy could copy the angle.

“Slower,” the bird corrected, his voice calm. “It’s not about strength, it’s about feeling the air. Wings don’t move like arms, remember?”

Sumin nodded with all the seriousness a five-year-old cub could muster, his round ears trembling with excitement. He tried again, spreading his wings and letting himself ride the little draft that flowed between the trees. He barely hovered a couple of steps in the air before landing on his knees, laughing, feathers ruffled.

“You almost had it!” Mingi grinned, bending to brush the leaves off the fur on his back. “You just have to feel when the wind pushes. Try again, but this time listen.”

Sumin closed his eyes with all the solemnity he could manage, as if he really could hear something beyond the distant birdsong and the hum of insects. He spread his wings and, for an instant, Mingi felt proud. 

The movement was clumsy but precise, the feathers opening just in time, and this time the boy glided a little farther—far enough to land on his feet.

"I did it! Dadda, I did it!" Sumin shouted, his voice breaking with laughter.

Mingi caught him in his arms, lifting him up and spinning with him in the air.

"I knew you could." He planted a couple of noisy kisses on his cheek, pulling more laughter out of him.

A little farther back, Riki crawled with the determination of a tiny explorer. He had found a fallen branch and was trying to drag it like a trophy, mumbling unintelligible sounds while his little tail wagged in excitement. Mingi barely stopped him before he could put the branch in his mouth.

"You're fast too, huh?" he joked, settling him on his hip.

It was at that moment that the crunch of branches announced Jongho’s arrival. The bear came out of the woods with an easy step, his broad shoulders dusted with leaves as if he had been searching for something. His expression was calm, but in his eyes shone that spark Mingi recognized instantly: something had changed.

"Still fighting the air?" he asked with a half-smile as he came closer, running a hand through Sumin’s sweaty hair.

"He still fights a little," Mingi replied, pretending seriousness, "but he’s close to getting it."

Jongho nodded, but his gaze drifted toward the clear sky, as if mentally evaluating if there was enough space for his son to keep practicing.

"We need to go home." His voice was calm, but there was a note in it that made Mingi look at him more closely. "I’m hungry… and I want you to cook something."

"Anything in particular?" Mingi asked, raising a brow.

Jongho smiled faintly, a small gesture heavy with meaning. His fingers brushed over his own stomach before he could stop himself, an absentminded touch that Mingi wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching so closely.

"Anything is fine," he said. "But make plenty. I’m going to need to eat for two again."

The clearing went silent instantly. Sumin blinked, confused, before looking from his daddy to Mingi, as if trying to put the pieces together in his head. Mingi felt his heart pound against his chest, his wings spreading before he could control them.

"Are you…?" he began, his voice a whisper.

Jongho nodded, this time not hiding his smile.

"Yes."

Sumin was the first to react. He ran to hug his daddy’s leg, laughing with pure excitement.

"Are we going to have another baby? Really?"

"Really," Jongho confirmed, bending down to ruffle his hair.

Mingi approached slowly, as if afraid to shatter the image before him. He caressed Jongho’s cheek with the back of his fingers, then rested his hand over his stomach, reverent.

"I’m going to cook something special." His voice came out rougher than he expected. "We’re celebrating today."

Riki, unaware of the weight of the news, began clapping his little hands, laughing as if he understood. Sumin imitated him, and soon the clearing was filled with their laughter.

Mingi guided them back, carrying Riki and holding Sumin’s hand, while Jongho followed with slow steps, a strange peace in his eyes. For Mingi, the forest had never seemed so bright, nor the air so light.

As soon as they reached the cabin, the bird went straight to the kitchen, folding his wings to avoid hitting anything, while Sumin climbed onto the little wooden stool he always used to "help" his dadda. Riki, meanwhile, stretched his arms toward Jongho, asking for attention with a soft whimper.

"I know what you want, little glutton," the bear murmured, sitting in his favorite corner and settling him in his lap.

Riki clung immediately, burying his nose in his chest and searching with anxious little sounds until he found what he wanted. Silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic suckling and Jongho’s quiet sigh of relief.

From the kitchen, Mingi watched them out of the corner of his eye. The sight disarmed him every time.

Jongho, huge and calm, with that almost vulnerable expression as he held the pup like he was the most precious thing in the world. He forced himself to turn back to the pot, but the warmth in his chest lingered.

"Dadda, can I stir this?" Sumin asked, already holding a wooden spoon.

"Slowly," Mingi replied with a smile. "If you splash it, everything’s going to get sticky, and then you’ll have to help me clean."

Sumin nodded with a grin, but the moment Mingi let him have the spoon, he began stirring with all the strength he could muster. The bird laughed, leaned down to guide his hands, and showed him how to move in circles so the stew wouldn’t burn.

"Like this, see? Feel how it thickens." Mingi lowered his voice, making the moment intimate, almost like sharing an important secret. "If you learn to do it right, you’ll be able to cook for your sibling when I’m not here."

"Really?" Sumin looked up, his eyes shining with pride.

"Of course. You’re going to be the big brother of two, you have to take care of them."

Jongho watched silently from the other side of the room, his head resting against the wall, his body relaxed.

His eyes lingered on Mingi, on the way his wings spread slightly without him noticing, an instinctive gesture of protection toward his children. No matter how many times he saw it, it always seemed wonderful.

"Smells good," the bear commented, breaking the silence.

Mingi smiled over his shoulder.

"It’ll turn out better if you don’t distract him, he’s focused." He winked at Sumin, who grinned proudly and kept stirring.

Riki, now satisfied, let out a small whimper, and Jongho adjusted him over his shoulder to burp him. The sound was tiny but enough to make Sumin turn, fascinated as always by those everyday gestures.

"Can I hold him after we eat?" he asked.

"Yes, but after," Mingi replied, pressing a quick kiss to his crown.

The kitchen filled with simple sounds—the bubbling of the pot, the spoon clinking against the sides, Riki’s calm breathing as he began to drift to sleep.

Jongho couldn’t stop his hand from drifting back to his belly, stroking it absently. It was still too early to feel anything, but his body already reminded him that it was full of life once more.

Mingi noticed the gesture and paused for a moment. His wings drew in slightly, as if holding back the impulse to rush toward him right away.

There was something in that image that struck him deep. Jongho, holding one pup while carrying another inside him, watching them all with that serene expression.

It was too much.

"I love you," he said suddenly, almost without thinking, his voice filling the entire kitchen.

Jongho looked at him, and the answer came in one of those smiles that seemed to light him up from within.

"I already know." His tone was soft, almost teasing, but his eyes were full of tenderness.

Sumin, oblivious to the emotional weight, raised the spoon high.

"It’s ready!" he announced proudly.

Mingi laughed and went to taste the stew, nodding in approval.

"Yes, chef. Good job."

Jongho stood, still carrying Riki, and walked over to them. He stroked Sumin’s head and then kissed Mingi’s lips, a simple gesture but overflowing with affection.

They served the food in clay bowls, simple but plentiful, with freshly toasted bread at the edge of the fire. Mingi served carefully—first Jongho, then Sumin.

The bird barely ate at first. His eyes kept darting from one scene to another: Jongho’s relaxed gestures, Sumin’s face lit up with joy, the warm little body resting against his partner’s chest.

The thought cut through him unbidden: the cabin was already too small. Every time Sumin stretched his wings halfway open in play, the tips hit some piece of furniture. Riki, once he started walking in earnest, would need space to run around. And now another pup was on the way.

"I’ll have to rebuild all of this," he thought, swallowing a bite he barely tasted. He pictured a second floor, a new room with beds side by side for the little ones, more space in the kitchen, maybe a wide window to let in the morning light. All of it spun in his head while the taste of food became almost secondary.

"Daddy?" Sumin’s voice pulled him out of his plans. The boy stared at him, eyes wide, a crumb of bread at the corner of his lips. "Do you think this time it’s going to be a girl?"

Jongho raised a brow, surprised.

"A girl?"

Sumin nodded with all the strength of his conviction.

"Yes, because we already have Riki who’s a boy, and I’m a boy too, and if another boy comes we won’t have anyone to take care of properly. A girl would be better, so I can be her guardian."

The seriousness with which he said it drew a soft laugh from Mingi, though he tried to hold it back when he saw his son was speaking from the heart. Jongho, meanwhile, smiled tenderly, glancing down at the pup nestled against his chest.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, Sumin. What matters is that it’ll be your little brother or little sister, and you’ll have to take care of them all the same."

"But I want a girl," the boy insisted, clenching his little fists on the table as if that could make his wish come true.

Mingi stroked his hair, tucking back a rebellious strand.

"And if it’s another boy?"

Sumin pouted, but a second later he smiled.

"Then I’ll take care of him anyway. But when the girl comes, she’s going to be mine forever."

Jongho’s deep laugh filled the space, low and contagious. Riki, as if he understood the joke, pulled away from his daddy’s chest for a moment to babble a cheerful sound before settling back with a sigh.

Mingi watched the three of them, and something inside him shifted into place. The fear was still there—fear of not having enough space, of not being able to carry it all, of not giving them what they deserved. But that fear mixed with a fierce pride, with the certainty that this family, chaotic and noisy as it was, was the most perfect thing he had ever had.

While Sumin devoured the bread, the bird let slip in a low voice:

"We’re going to need a bigger house."

Jongho looked at him over his bowl, brow raised.

"Already thinking of expanding the cabin?"

"Of course." Mingi shrugged, though the seriousness in his voice betrayed him. "With another pup, we won’t fit here. They need space to grow, to play. And I want each of them to have their own corner."

Sumin, mouth still full, raised his hand as if in class.

"I want a big bed! That way I can sleep with Riki and the baby when she’s born."

"Or the baby boy," Jongho corrected with a patient smile.

"The baby girl," Sumin repeated, as if there were no other option.

"Well," Jongho murmured, stroking his hair with a crooked smile, "boy or girl, they already have a big brother who’s way too bossy."

"I’m not bossy!" Sumin protested, crossing his arms, though his smile gave him away. "I’m just the leader of the siblings."

The comment pulled another deep laugh from Jongho, and even Mingi had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but filled with images overlapping one another: an expanded room, Sumin’s wings learning to stretch without hitting anything, Riki’s unsteady steps chasing after his brother, a new pup crying in Jongho’s arms.

Mingi pressed his lips together to contain the emotion rising in his throat.

"I’ll do it," he murmured, more to himself than to the others.

"We’ll do it together."

Night fell over the cabin with the same serene rhythm that the laughter and plans around the table had set. The cool air drifted gently through the open window, carrying the distant murmur of the forest, the muffled song of crickets, and the hoot of some night bird keeping watch from afar. 

The little family moved through their almost-learned ritual: clearing the bowls, snuffing the candles, securing the door, and then the sweetest, most chaotic part of the day.

Putting the children to bed.

 

Sumin was the first to be carried into the room. He was already half-asleep, though he protested in a low voice, with that drowsy and stubborn tone of a five-year-old. Jongho lifted him easily into his arms, settling the pup against his chest, the little ears twitching faintly.

He carried him to the small wooden bed, sturdy, with toys piled in one corner. Mingi stepped closer to help tuck the boy’s wings under the blanket, a careful gesture since the feathers were still fragile, new in their growth.

“Daddy…” Sumin murmured, eyes barely open. “If I dream about the baby… will she already be here when I wake up?”

“Not yet, little guardian,” Mingi whispered, brushing his hair. “But if you dream about her a lot, she’ll surely feel less alone.”

The child nodded, satisfied, and sank into the pillow with a faint smile. Jongho tilted his head to press a kiss to his forehead, then stroked his round ear, that trait of his that always melted him.

Riki, on the other hand, took more time. Though he was only a year and a half, his energy seemed endless at that hour.

He crawled from one side of the bed to the other, laughing at his own clumsy movements, letting out a happy little sound every time he fell into the soft blankets. Jongho sat with infinite patience, settling his large body on the edge of the bed, letting the little one climb up his leg and down again, over and over.

Riki’s laughter filled the room as if tiredness didn’t exist.

Mingi, standing at the doorway, watched them with his arms crossed over his chest, his heart tightening at the sight. 

Finally, he stepped closer and, with a firm yet gentle movement, took the child into his arms, holding him close to his chest with his wings spread open like a shelter. Riki kicked for a moment, but as soon as he felt the warmth and sway of his father’s body, he calmed little by little, until he ended up yawning wide.

“Time for bed, little one,” Mingi whispered, kissing his hair. “Tomorrow you’ll have to keep up with your brother, and that’s not easy.”

They laid him in the small crib beside Sumin’s bed, and Jongho leaned down to stroke his back, letting the boy cling to his finger for a moment before releasing him. Riki’s eyes closed with a deep sigh, his round cheeks relaxing into an expression of pure peace.

The house fell into silence, broken only by the steady breathing of the two little ones. Mingi and Jongho lingered there for a moment, watching them, as if they wanted to etch the image into memory: Sumin’s wings spread over the blanket, Riki’s dark curls tangling against the pillow, the soft ears barely visible in the shadows.

When they finally left the room, Jongho closed the door slowly, as though the slightest sound could shatter the magic. They met in the hallway, under the dim glow of a candle still burning, and in that instant no words were needed: they looked at each other, both knowing they shared the same mixture of exhaustion and fullness.

In their room, the atmosphere was different.

More intimate, heavy with the warmth they had shared for years. Jongho let out a long sigh as he sank into the nest, opening his arms as if he could embrace it all. Mingi approached slowly, as though testing the moment, and when he sat beside him, he tilted his head until his lips brushed against his partner’s.

The kiss wasn’t quick or desperate, but slow, steady, full of the silent gratitude the bird didn’t always know how to put into words. Jongho answered without hesitation, his large hand sliding up to the back of Mingi’s neck, threading into his hair with unhurried, almost lazy strokes.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jongho murmured against his mouth, his deep voice resonating in Mingi’s chest.

“I can’t help it,” Mingi admitted, lowering his gaze though he didn’t pull away. “The cabin, the kids, another pup… sometimes I feel like I won’t be able to keep up.”

Jongho pulled him closer, until he was resting against his chest, wrapped in his warmth.

“You already said it before,” he whispered. “You won’t do it alone. We’ll do it together.”

Mingi closed his eyes for a moment, letting those words steady him. The fear was still there, but Jongho’s embrace made it bearable.

The bear slid his fingers down his back, caressing the base of his wings, a gesture he knew soothed him.

“Besides,” he added with a faint, crooked smile, “you’re doing an incredible job. Just look at them: happy, healthy, noisy. That’s all they need.”

Mingi lifted his gaze, meeting his partner’s dark eyes, and felt something inside him loosen. He leaned in again, kissing him more decisively this time, searching for the warmth and certainty only Jongho could give him.

When they pulled apart, their breathing was a little heavier, but there was no rush. Jongho stroked his cheek with the back of his hand, and Mingi smiled faintly, resting his forehead against his.

Jongho’s tilted smile appeared. He had felt his partner’s weight against him, the unmistakable heat, and—inevitably—the hardness pressing into his hip as their kisses deepened.

“Tsk…” he let out a playful snort, narrowing his eyes at him. “I can’t leave you alone for a second. Just a few kisses and you’re already like this.”

The bird stiffened, as though suddenly caught in something embarrassing. His wings folded instinctively, and a flush climbed his neck, coloring his ears.

“It’s not… it’s not what you think.” His protest sounded weak, as though even he didn’t believe it.

Jongho chuckled low, a laugh that rumbled in his chest and spread through him. He pulled him closer, pressing him tight so that Mingi’s erection pressed more firmly against him.

“Not what I think?” he repeated, brushing his mouth along the line of his jaw. “I’d say it is.”

Mingi shut his eyes for a second, as though the heat surrounded him too quickly. He wanted to retort, but Jongho caught his chin firmly, forcing him to look at him.

Mingi’s eyes closed again, jaw tight, but the hardness beneath his clothes betrayed him too clearly. And Jongho, with that deep voice and teasing laced with desire, had no intention of letting him go.

“Tell me, Mingi…” his tone dropped, low and slow, while his fingers played with the fabric around the bird’s waist, “how many kids do you plan on giving me? Hm? Because with how easily you get fired up, you’ll fill this house with pups sooner than you think.”

The question cut straight through him, heavy with teasing but also with a weight that felt real, and Mingi’s eyes flew open, caught by the dark gaze that ensnared him every time.

“Jongho…” he murmured, unable to fully withstand the intensity.

But Jongho gave him no respite. He leaned in until his lips brushed against his neck, biting just enough to make him shiver.

“You’ve already given me two, and another is on the way. Do you want five? Six?” he whispered against his skin, with that voice that made him tremble. “Or maybe a dozen, until there’s no space left in this bed to even move.”

The bird pressed his hands against the blanket, his wings trembling at his sides as if he needed something more to hold onto. The picture Jongho painted was too vivid: the cabin full of laughter, of tiny footsteps, of wings spreading everywhere… and him, always chasing after his partner’s desire, unable to say no.

“Don’t… don’t tease me like that,” he pleaded in a whisper, though his voice came out broken, overwhelmed by the sudden heat rising in him.

Jongho lifted his head just enough for their eyes to meet again. And that crooked smile was still there, dangerous and playful at once.

“Who said I’m joking?” he replied, his hand already sliding slowly down the bird’s abdomen, deliberately brushing the hardness that left no room for doubt.

Mingi’s body arched immediately, an involuntary, almost desperate reaction. What had been calm and tenderness just moments ago shifted into that raw heat that always swept them away. And Jongho knew it; he knew him too well not to play with it.

“Look at you… just a touch and you’re already desperate.” His voice dropped lower, heavy with intent. “If it were up to you, I’d be pregnant all the time.”

The words ignited Mingi more than he wanted to admit. His wings fluttered, spreading slightly on instinct before folding back, and his lips sought Jongho’s with a different urgency—hungrier, rougher. 

The kiss was wet, almost clumsy with need, and Jongho received it with a tilted smile, letting him lose himself, savoring the sight of him unravel under something as simple as provocation.

When he pulled back just enough for air, Jongho let out another murmur, dripping with malice.

“Tell me the truth, Mingi… do you want another right now? Is that what runs through your head every time you touch me? That two isn’t enough, that you want to fill me over and over again?”

The bird squeezed his eyes shut, a gasp slipping past his throat. He couldn’t deny it. Every word, every image, struck deep into his chest like a truth impossible to hide.

“Yes…” he finally whispered, his voice breaking, trembling between shame and desire. “Yes, I want everything with you. As many as you’ll give me.”

Jongho gazed at him with a dark gleam in his eyes, a mix of tenderness and power, and stroked his face gently, as if to contrast the rawness of the confession with an intimate gesture.

“What an insatiable bird I ended up with.” His lips brushed against his again. “I’ll have to think about it… though I do like seeing you this desperate.”

Mingi’s hands slid down his body, tracing the curve of his waist until stopping at his belly, where the faint beginnings of a new life already showed.

The touch made him shiver; the warmth of that skin beneath his palm was a living reminder of what they had built together, of what they were still building. Jongho let him, watching quietly, like someone contemplating a truth too immense to interrupt.

The silence that followed was thick with quickened breaths, with hearts beating in unison, with a desire that was physical yet deeply emotional. Mingi leaned in again, pressing reverent kisses to his partner’s belly, and Jongho let his head fall back onto the pillow, closing his eyes, surrendering for a moment to being adored.

“If you keep this up,” he murmured through a sigh, “you’ll end up convincing me to give you as many as you want.”

Mingi lifted his gaze, and his expression—alight and vulnerable at once—drew another low chuckle from the bear. He didn’t need more proof of what those moments meant. 

The life they shared was chaotic, exhausting, full of responsibilities. But in that bed, with the other’s body burning against his, they could afford to dream of more—of a future as vast as the forest surrounding them.

The outside world could wait. In that bed, in that small cabin brimming with life, they had everything that mattered.

Jongho pulled him up again, kissing him with the same strength with which he spoke, and between them lingered one certainty.

They would always have each other. And that was the only thing they truly needed.

Notes:

I didn't know whether to publish it separately or in this same work, but as you can see, I ended up leaving it here.

I hope you liked it. I enjoyed writing this extra chapter.

Thank you for reading and for your comments.

Love you all.

<3

Byee

Notes:

Holaaaaaaa

I hope you like this little story.

It was for Mingi's birthday, but with going back to college, I didn't have time to post it earlier, lol.

I hope you like this weird thing.

Love you all.<3