#time and time again it feels like im failing them in one way or another and I can’t even say that to their face because they are already

[szparagus2002]

Not to trust my thoughts after 3am but God does it feel like I'm failing as a partner lately

[rollingeevee]

Wait if we have the Beasts bites what about Anciens?

Maybe in AU where they also corrupted or smth like that, how would their bites be like? (Ofc u don’t have to answer that im just dumping my ideas here xd)

I actually think I have an ask about Ancients somewhere else in my ask box that I plan to answer soon (they don’t have a bite but they do have smth similar in a way) but you specifically mentioned corrupted Ancients. And that inspired me… SO HAVE A TRUTHLESS RECLUSE X READER ONESHOT! MUAHAHAHA

You can now find part 2 here!

Warnings: A lil suggestive?

“Pure Vanilla, please!” You begged your lover. “Our friends need our help! I don’t understand how you can just sit here and refuse to acknowledge that!”

Pure Vanilla, or Truthless Recluse as he’d renamed himself, remained silent. He stared intently at you, a gaze that used to be so warm and filled with care and life, now reduced to tired, intimidating darkness.

As you pleaded with the one you adored so dearly, fallen to Deceit, his mind swam with thoughts. Shadow Milk had allowed your stay in the Spire with him for a reason yet unknown to you. But the reason was becoming apparent to Pure Vanilla. Shadow Milk knew of the relationship between the two of you, and he knew that with corruption now plaguing the Truthless Recluse’s heart, it would only be a matter of time before the once compassionate Cookie found himself overcome with that Beastly urge to bite. And Shadow Milk, ever the lover of theatrics, wanted to see the once so pure Cookie give into his new, corrupted urges. To embrace the inner Beast that he knew lay dormant within.

He was taken out of his thoughts when you announced that, if he wouldn’t help you, you would find and help the young Cookies on your own. He seemed to snap to life at that declaration.

His arms were around you before you could reach the door, pulling, almost yanking, you back into the depths of the room Shadow Milk had provided for him. You turned to face him with a scowl. “Pure Vanilla, let me go!”

“Stay.” Was his only response, though it was more of a command than anything. His tone had lost the warmth you’d come to know and love from it, replaced by a cool, possessive rumble from deep within his chest that seemed to vibrate your entire body.

Your expression became desperate. “Please, my love…” your voice was quiet and despairing. “Please… let me go… or come with me… I cannot allow Shadow Milk to torment those poor children who have done so much to help you… to help us…”

His grip tightened. “You’re not going anywhere.” He asserted.

“Pure Vanilla-”

“Don’t leave me…” His voice was but a whisper this time, far less oppressive and dominating than his previously issued orders. Almost… vulnerable. You felt a spark of longing familiarity in your heart. You raised your eyes to look into his own. Those tired, beaten eyes shimmered with anguish and a helpless need for your presence. Pure Vanilla was still in there… somewhere… buried deep, surely, but he was there.

With soft eyes, you turned your body to face his and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. He nuzzled his face against the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. He sat down upon his bed, dragging you down to straddle his lap so that he could hide his face in the crook of your neck. As he breathed in your scent, the muscles of his body seemed to relax. It was another glimpse of the Pure Vanilla you knew and loved, further solidifying your belief that the Cookie you adored still existed amongst the corruption. But your focus on this caused you to fail to catch the feeling of his lips twitching against your dough.

What little was left of Pure Vanilla in the corrupted cookie urged him to stay calm. To resist. But Truthless Recluse could no longer fight the urge to bare his new fangs…

You heard your lover suck in a breath through his parting teeth. His body was tense again, now feeling akin to a predator poised to strike. Before you could figure out what was about to happen, he sank them into your soft dough with a hiss. You cried out as the area was flooded with a chilling cold that quickly spread throughout your body like a potent venom. You felt him exhale through his nose in what seemed like relief, the urge that had been gnawing at him since he fell into Deceit finally sated. You weakly whined as he swiped his tongue across the fresh mark that seemed to pulse with magic, unable to move as he pulled you so close that there was no longer any space between your bodies.

“All mine…”

[witherby]

im so scared for the sick bed fic... I cant do angst man!! I am a man for the fluff and the romance not the angst- i'll cry when angst

(my imaginary therapist will be hearing about the fic if i do start to cry.)

-🕯

I had to cut myself off because this got wayyy long. It's still way long but not as long as it could've been. Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 3

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Content warnings: funeral proceeding, temporary child death, hospital visits, paparazzi harassment, slightly-obsessive behaviors from Damian but in a light-hearted way ⚠️

The funeral is a quiet affair. The entirety of the League are in attendance on the Manor grounds, varying degrees of sympathy and mourning on their faces. It's a strange juxtaposition to the rare, sunny day Gotham is currently experiencing. Damian can't stand to see it.

His suit feels far too tight against his skin. He doesn't dare complain about it, because his brothers all look similarly disgusted to be dressed up for such a terrible occasion. Dick's sleeves are stained because he ran out of tissues to dab at his eyes, but he's still mustering up a smile and thanking everyone for coming. Jason is robotically stone-faced and glaring at the ground, hands clenched into fists by his side when they aren't shoved deep into the pockets of his suit jacket. Tim hasn't left Bruce's side, eyes rimmed with pink and gaze unseeing.

Bruce and Hal... They haven't looked anywhere in your direction since everyone stepped outside. Bruce is trying his absolute damndest to hold himself together until after the procession, face a careful mask of neutrality everyone is too polite to comment on, while he hugs Tim's shivering form to his chest and wordlessly accepts condolences from the other Leaguers. Hal, on the other hand, is almost expressing his grief on Bruce's behalf. His pockets are bulging with accumulating tissues and his face is red and blotchy. Diana comes and hugs him tight, and Damian watches him just about fall apart right there as he white-knuckles her dress and stifles his sobs against her shoulder.

Damian is...numb. He's a statue in the grass, staring uselessly around the area like he has any idea of how to proceed. He doesn't know what he should be doing. He doesn't know what he should be saying.

He just knows that he has failed, and you are dead.

A hand, featherlight, touches his shoulder. Damian turns and makes eye contact with Alfred, who until now has never looked his age before. At this moment, it feels like the man might follow in your footsteps any second, his skin pale and eyes sunken with familiar loss. He looks so tired and so sad. He looks frail, worn down from suffering yet another tragedy in the Wayne family.

"It's time," Alfred mutters, almost inaudible in its resignation. Damian clenches his jaw and lets out a slow breath, nodding.

He turns, catching Dick's eye. His oldest brother gets the memo and quickly grabs Jason and Tim, and together they all approach you.

"Alright, kiddo," Jason says, voice thin and shaking as he rests his palm on the top of your coffin, painted in all your favorite colors and beautifully crafted, "one last piggy-back ride, then it's bedtime."

The four of them take their positions around you, clutching the poles under your coffin, and lift, walking you to the plot a few yards away from Martha and Thomas. You are uncomfortably light, and your casket is uncomfortably small. Something a six-year-old should never, ever have to be placed in. Selfishly, Damian is glad that the lid is closed so he doesn't have to look upon your face and trick himself into thinking you're merely sleeping, that you'll wake up and smile at him and ask to play together again like it's just another day.

He wishes it were another day. Yearns for it so badly there's a physical ache in his chest.

Your plot is surrounded by sunflowers and your headstone has a carving of your beloved bat plushy on it. Damian knows the real one is carefully tucked into your arms, something for you to hold in that dark, little space and keep you company.

His hands are shaking as he and his brothers set you on the winch that will lower you into your final resting place. His heart is racing as Clark steps forward, solemnly volunteering to be the one to turn the crank and bid you goodbye. His head is spinning as he watches your coffin slowly but surely vanish into the ground, your life as his rambunctious and annoying and mundane and beautiful and lovely little sibling cut short.

Bruce finally breaks. He abruptly gasps and turns away and Hal clutches his arm to stop him from rushing off.

"I can't do this," he stammers, tears streaming down his face. "I can't, I can't — Hal, my baby, I lost another one —"

"I know," Hal whispers back, gathering Bruce into his arms as tight as he can and squeezing. Damian notes distantly that he's never seen his father look this small before. He watches his brothers and Alfred all converge to embrace Bruce, almost seeming to shield him from the sight of your grave, but he can't make himself join them. He feels rooted to the very ground that's now been shaped to cradle you, unable to do a thing but stare at your coffin when Clark finally lowers it all the way down.

Damian would surrender the Robin mantle a thousand times over, would go and take down the remaining League of Assassins, would end his own life without hesitation, if it stood even the faintest chance of bringing you back. All the years spent resenting you over a title that's been passed down to all of Bruce's children, all the years you've shown him nothing but love and adoration as one of your older brothers, when he could barely stand to be in your presence as you grew older...

For what?

You died knowing that three of your brothers thought you hung the moon and stars in the sky, while the fourth snubbed you for the sake of a competition he'd conjured entirely in his mind. It was not worth it. It had never been worth it.

Damian's vision is blurring. People around him are talking, either to him or each other, but he can't tell who they are. Can't make out the words. Can't understand anything except the dirt being shoveled over your lifeless body. He wants to scream at Diana and Oliver and J'onn and Dinah, wants to demand they put those damned shovels down and get you out of there, wants to pry the lid open and hold you to his chest until he can track your pulse again, he wants, he wants, he wants.

His head hurts. His heart is racing. He's so angry. He's so scared. He's so upset. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you to wake up.

He needs you to not be dead.

"Please," he sobs, giving into his grief and collapsing into the grass and sunflowers. All his careful stoicism and detachment is falling apart. How dare the field look so beautiful in the wake of this nightmare? Doesn't it know you lie among it now? Doesn't it understand the tragedy that's occurred? The wet earth squelches under his hands as he forms fists in the ground.

"Come back. Please come back, I'm sorry! I take it back, I take everything back! Don't leave!"

"Damian..." Someone mutters soothingly to him. A hand touches his back but he doesn't want it. He just wants you. He wants to see you open your eyes and be alive again. He wants his family whole again. "Damian."

"Don't leave!" He cries again. The ground under him becomes a strange texture as the hand on his back starts rubbing soothing circles against his blazer. It's soft, and pliant, and no longer damp. When he blinks, the sunflowers are gone. Your plot is gone. The tombstone is gone. "W-wait...where'd you...where's..."

"Damian," Bruce murmurs behind him. That can't be right, though, Bruce is a dozen feet away and crying over your grave. Why does he sound so calm all of a sudden? "Open your eyes, chum, it's just a bad dream."

It's...a what?

Damian's head feels like mush when he snaps his eyes open. He sits up in his bed and looks around in a panic. Bruce is there, sitting on the edge of the mattress with a small, concerned frown.

"Dami—"

"Move!" Damian snaps, throwing the covers off and scrambling to his feet. Bruce doesn't stop him as he runs to the window and leans out, scanning the grounds until he can just barely make out his grandparents' headstones in the distance.

There's no hole next to them. No newly-planted sunflowers in the field. No signs of a funeral about to be held.

He feels his body un-tense.

"A nightmare?" He still asks, cautious. Bruce nods. Damian slumps entirely and walks into his father's arms, groaning low and deep while he regains his composure. "I hate this. Take me back to the hospital."

"You know it's not your turn," Bruce says, rubbing the heel of his palm slowly and firmly up and down Damian's back to encourage calm breathing. "Tim's there with Hal for the day. Then it's Dick and Jason's turn, then you and Alfred get to go see them in the morning."

"I'll make one of them switch with me."

"That's not fair. The rest of us deserve to see them, too."

Damian fists his father's shirt and tries not to snap at him. It's not the point. Of course anybody can see you when they want, but he promised to stay. It was the only thing you asked of him before you fell into another seizure and had to be whisked off to the intensive care ward under a code blue. Damian had pitched a fit so bad when he wasn't allowed to follow after the staff that it ended up in a gossip column the next day:

YOUNGEST WAYNE SON TERRORIZES ICU STAFF AT GOTHAM GENERAL

Billionaire son tries to throw his weight around to get access to restricted area!

Bruce already has his lawyers stepping on the publisher's necks about it, but no one is mad at Damian for what happened. He saw you flat-lining, freaked out, and just wanted to stay by you to ensure your health and safety. Being told he couldn't was an understandably-frightening thing, but it also isn't good for him to just hover around the hospital waiting for your condition to approve, either.

That's why Damian is currently home. Bruce pulled him from school for the week, citing a family emergency, and created the visitation schedule they're all currently following.

Damian doesn't want to adhere to the schedule. He wants to be in your hospital room where he assured you he would remain.

He promised he would stay with you. If something happens to you and he's not there...

Bruce shifts, giving Damian a gentle squeeze to get his attention. He offers him a small, encouraging smile despite the worry lines furrowing his own brow.

"I know that face. You're following in your father's footsteps and catastrophizing again. Refocus some of that energy and come shopping with me."

"Retail therapy? I'm not five, father. Not interested."

"Hnn...let me rephrase: come shop for some "get well soon" gifts for Mouse with me."

Damian stands up and walks into his closet to get ready for the day, already plucking up the shirt and pants he wants to change into.

"Why didn't you lead with that? I'll meet you in the car," he calls. Bruce's gentle laughter trails behind him as he exits Damian's bedroom.

--

You wake up to the sounds of harsh whispering and crinkling plastic. Cracking an eye open feels like lifting the world's heaviest weights, but eventually you manage to focus your vision on your grandpa, dad and brother trying (and failing) to quietly set a bunch of things down on your bedside table.

"...u-um..." You croak, throat dry. Bruce's, Alfred's, and Damian's heads turn in your direction.

"Hi, Mouse."

"Good morning, young master."

"You're awake."

Their voices overlap each other, washing over you and making you smile instinctively. You lift your hand and wave a little. Damian thrusts the crinkly gift basket he was holding into Bruce's hands and approaches you, threading your fingers together.

"Hi," you greet him quietly. You lift your free hand and scratch your nose, briefly displacing the oxygen mask on your face. Damian readjusts it when you're done, looking solemn.

"I'm sorry," he says. You stare at him, confused, and his cheeks flush as he opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right words. "I... wasn't here during your second seizure. The hospital staff wouldn't let anyone stay with you, so I was forced to leave my post —"

"Ohh," you exclaim, then let out a raspy giggle. The red on his face gets even worse. "I forgive you."

"...what?"

You clear your throat. It's very hoarse and dry, but it doesn't hurt as bad as before. "I said...I forgive you, Dami. S'not your fault."

Bruce and Alfred are trying not to look amused. They're failing. Damian looks like you've told him something in one of the few languages he doesn't understand. His grip on your hand briefly tightens.

"What!?"

You sigh, about to repeat yourself again, but your brother shakes his head and furrows his brow.

"I broke my promise immediately after I made it!"

"I know."

"You were alone in here for hours!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Even now, everyone is on a stupid visitor's rotation that only has me here for the mornings!"

You nod. "I know."

"Then why aren't you mad at me!?"

You huff. "Because it makes you sad. I don't want you to be sad, Dami."

Bruce can't stop himself from muttering "oh, so precious," but Damian doesn't pay him any mind. He spent two days agonizing over this for nothing. Because you just took his explanation and his apology at face value, and forgave him.

"What if I lied?" He blurts, because of course he inherited his father's incessant need to pry, to work every angle of a problem until he reaches full understanding. "What if I didn't intend to stay?"

You smile again, pulling your plush bat out from under your blanket.

"You brought me Squimby," you state, like that answered everything. "You remembered to get him for me. You're not a meanie, Dami. You're my big brother."

Even Alfred makes a gentle humming noise at that. Damian feels all of the fight and stress and tension leave him, utterly helpless in the face of your unconditional love.

"Okay," he mutters. You grin.

"Hug?"

"Oh." He glances at Bruce and Alfred over his shoulder. "Uh."

"Hug," you demand now, tugging on his hand. "I'm sick. Gimme a hug."

Damian narrows his eyes. "Todd becomes infinitely more demanding when he's sick. He taught you this, didn't he? It's very unbecoming —"

You cough weakly, forcing your arms to tremble. Damian's lips press into a thin line, and he gently gathers you to his chest for a tight hug.

"Unbecoming," he whispers in your ear. You just grin and hold him back.

"You have to hug Squimby, too."

"Great. Of course I do. We can't allow Squimby to get jealous."

"Nope!" You grin, popping the P. Damian can hear Bruce snapping pictures behind him and relents to the mild embarrassment. In truth, he doesn't mind the hug at all. He just isn't amenable to public displays of affection. For you, though, he's quickly realizing he would do anything.

"Alright. Come here, Squimby. You get your hug and then Flit can open their presents."

"I'd like a hug," Bruce says.

"Squimby gets his hug and then Flit opens presents."

Bruce pouts. Alfred hides a smile behind his hand. Your laugh is hoarse, but bright.

--

"Thank you all for taking care of me!"

Several of the hospital staff "aww" and smile at you as Tim wheels you down the halls. You clutch your plush toy to your chest and grin, waving at familiar faces.

You spent a week in the hospital fighting a bad combination of pneumonia and the flu. The bright light constantly beating down on you had actually worsened it, due to the nature of your Umbrakinesis, which caused the second seizure. You spent most of your treatment after that in a darkened room receiving lots of fluids and antibiotics to help you fight it off, until finally the last of your fever broke. Then you were cleared to finish recovering at home with some more prescriptions to take.

"Bye!" You wave again, smiling at the staff near the exit. Some of them echo it back to you and wish you well, and then you're outside and breathing in fresh air for the first time in eight days.

Of course, living in Gotham, the peace doesn't last. You're almost immediately inundated with flashing lights and reporters hovering around the entrance, snapping pictures of you and Tim. You frown, hiding your face in your bat toy while your brother walks past like they don't even exist.

"Mister Drake! A quote for the Gotham Gazette about the scandal surrounding Damian Wayne's behavior in the ER?"

"Tim! Timmy over here! Gotham News is asking how the little one is fairing!"

"Mx. Wayne! Any comment on your hospital visit, sweetie?"

"Mx. Wayne, look over here, look at the camera! I'll give you a lollipop if you give us a biiiig smile!"

You shake your head a little. More cameras flash, and you hear the sound of a car door slamming several yards ahead of you.

"At least tell us how you're feeling! The people wanna know if you're okay!"

"Tim, any diagnoses we should be made aware of?"

"Just give us a wave, honey! Lemme see that hospital bracelet!"

Something brushes against your wrist. Tim barks at the reporter who touched you to back up in a tone you've never heard from him before. It's loud and rough and no-nonsense, promising hefty consequences if there's no obedience.

"For God's sake, you vultures, we're still in the parking lot of the damn hospital!" Tim continues, pushing your wheelchair faster across the asphalt. "Move out of the way!"

"Just one quote for the column please!" Another reporter asks, grabbing your hand entirely this time.

You don't get the chance to react. Tim barely gets to reach for the man dumb enough to touch you. He's there one second and gone the next, removed from your side and thrown across the parking lot by one, hulking, furious Jason Todd-Wayne. He's in a sleeveless hoodie and jeans, fists clenched, standing at his full height, and glaring at everybody around as though daring them to try something next.

No one makes a sound. No one flexes a muscle. The gathered crowd just stands and stares and struggles to process what they're seeing. Who they're seeing. Because what the fuck, is that actually the dead son? How long has he been back? And why is he absolutely shredded?

You lift your head just enough to spot your brother and raise your arms, pouting. The easy familiarity only stirs up more questions no one is brave enough to ask.

"Jay-Jay..."

Jason looks at you and his entire person softens. Gone is the frightening, brick shithouse of a man and instead there's the kind and sweet boy he was before his apparently not-death.

"Hey, Mousey. Ready to go home?"

He steps forward and scoops you up in one arm, then comes around the wheelchair and grabs Tim in the other. Tim does not protest.

"Move." It's one syllable, quietly spoken, and seems to lower the temperature around them by several degrees. Reporters and columnists part like the Red Sea for him as he marches towards the car. Alfred holds the door open as Tim is ushered inside, then you're carefully buckled in after, then Jason follows suit.

The door is closed, the butler nods to the crowd, then he gets in and drives off.

The reporter on the ground finally sits up with a groan.

"Was that Jason Todd?"

--

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Jay."

"Thanks, Ma."

Hal smirks and shakes his head, dropping the newspaper on the breakfast table and sighing. He's only rolled out of bed ten minutes ago and every news site he checks is losing their minds talking about the "magically-resurrected Wayne boy." Bruce is undoubtedly going to frame some of the articles when he wakes up, because he's sappy like that.

"Everybody in this family is so dramatic."

"Didn't you come back from a three-week mission and make B piggy-back you around 'cause you were "gonna die and pass away and perish and die without human contact?"" Tim asks, pointing his pancake-filled fork at him.

"I'm pleading the Fifth," says Hal, snatching Tim's fork and eating the stolen pancake. Tim's cry of rage just makes it taste that much sweeter.

"I plead seven!"

Hal, Jason, and Tim all face the doorway where you stand, smiling sleepily at them and shuffling into the dining room. You lift your arms when you're beside Hal and he sweeps you into his lap, scooting his chair back so you aren't squished between him and solid mahogany.

"You're not seven yet, Mouse," Hal smiles. "Two and a half more weeks."

"Two and a half more weeks!" You echo. Your voice is still quieter and raspier than usual, but your energy is coming back in leaps and bounds and you've got the strength to travel short distances around the Manor as you recover —

"Flit! Return to bed immediately!!"

— much to one person's distress.

You grin and hide your face in Hal's chest, clinging to his shirt. Footsteps stomp down the corridor and Damian bursts into the dining room, locking in on you.

"Why did you leave your room?" He demands. "You have to take another round of medicine in eight minutes."

"Bored," you mumble into Hal's chest. "Lonely."

Damian huffs, opening his arms and looking insistently at the Lantern.

"I will keep you company, in your room. Release them, space cop."

Hal, in a scarily-accurate imitation of Bruce, lifts one eyebrow while his lips are pursed and crosses one leg over the other, hugging you tighter to his chest.

"I don't think I will, Ninja wannabe."

Damian scowls. "I'm not a wannabe if I was literally trained to be a —"

"Can't hear you, I'm cuddling Mouse."

"Yes you can! Those are two completely separate senses!"

"You hear somethin' honey?" Hal asks you.

"Nooo," you grin. "Just you, mama!"

"That's right. Just me." Hal grins right back, booping your nose. "And me says you can take your medicine anywhere; it doesn't have to be in your room."

Damian throws his hands up and stomps away in defeat, off to fetch your prescription. His absence makes you relax a little.

You love your brother very much, but he's been a bit overbearing since your return home. You understand it's because he's worried you'll get sicker again, and you definitely comply when he takes your temperature and gives you the medication, but...

Well. You're entirely unused to this level of attention from Damian. Dick is attentive, Jason is attentive, Tim is mostly attentive but sometimes gets sidetracked, and Damian? Before this, getting Damian to interact with you for more than two minutes felt like trying to getting blood from a stone.

He's never been mean. You know he loves you. He just never went out of his way to spend a whole lot of time with you, especially as Robin. It feels like a switch has been flipped and now he's making up for lost time. You don't mind it but you do want a little breathing room.

"Okay, here," Damian says, walking back in with the medicine already dosed out in the special measuring spoon it came with. The pale, pink liquid makes you pout. "Take this."

"Ugh," you groan. "Don't wanna..."

"You gotta," Jason pipes up, sipping coffee from Bruce's pilfered World's Okayest Dad mug. "Them's the rules. But you can have some pancakes after t'wash the taste out."

You grumble and pout and fuss, but no one lets you get away with it. Eventually, you open your mouth and let Damian feed you the antibiotics as though you were still an infant. He immediately hands you a juice box afterwards.

"Thank you," he says, taking the spoon into the kitchen to wash it. "We'll do that again in six hours."

You watch him leave from your spot in Hal's lap, little six-year-old brain spinning its wheels in your best attempt to understand where the change is coming from.

But then you start yawning, because it turns out walking the equivalent of a quarter-mile from your room to the breakfast table when you're still recovering from a compound-illness is exhausting, and find that you just don't care.

You are loved by everyone in your family, and you love them back. As Damian takes a seat at the table and starts cutting up some pancakes for you, insistent on hand-feeding much to the amusement of Jason and Tim, you content yourself with that being enough.

"Dami?" You say between bites. His eyes snap to you immediately, hyper-attentive. "Thanks for taking care of me."

His ears go pink and his mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile. Damian averts his gaze.

"Always," he mutters.

[uzurakis]

hi again!! (ik I just sent in a request I just had another one LMFAOOO) im back bc I got another request/idea!! jjk men (..yuta n Megumi 🙏 n whoever else u want :3) who got into a nasty argument (could be from ur argument post but it doesn’t have to be connected to that post!!) and then gets really injured on a mission right after the argument! it’s up to you if reader + jjk men end up making up, or it could end on a angsty route of them anxiously waiting for reader to wake up while trying to think to ways to apologize with regret; doesn’t rlly matter!! do what you want 😛😛

HEY, WAKE UP . . PLEASE?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. first, i apologize this one took a very long time because i wanted to carefully hit the right spots and nail the each character. second, i only make 3 characters this time ‘cause each one of them is long enough to read. third, i wanna make you guys suffer <3 enjoy !!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi’s fingers trembled as he reached out to touch your hand, the memory of his harsh words replaying in his mind. “why didn’t i see it coming?” he muttered to himself, voice hardly above a whisper. the guilt was suffocating, the feeling that he had failed you as a partner, both in life and on the field, gnawing at him relentlessly.

he hadn’t slept since you were brought in, eyes red and heavy, his emerald pupils weren’t evident anymore with the dark circles underneath a testament to his vigil. every beep of the monitors felt like a countdown, each passing second a reminder of how fragile everything was. he kept running through what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this from happening.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, repeating the words tremendously. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

“i’m so sorry. i never meant for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

his mind was filled with images of your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. he wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, to hear your voice, to have the chance to make things right.

the silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. megumi’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and determination. he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show you that he cared more than he had ever managed to express. but how could he make up for the pain he had caused? how could he prove to you that he was truly sorry?

he squeezed your hand gently, as if the simple touch could convey all the words he struggled to find. “please wake up,” he pleaded softly. “i need to tell you how much you mean to me. i need to show you that i can do better. that i will do better. please, just wake up.”

as the hours dragged on, megumi’s resolve only strengthened. he would make things right, no matter what it took. the door to your room opened, but megumi didn’t look up. his focus was entirely on you, silently willing you to open your eyes. he wouldn’t leave your side until you did. he couldn’t. the weight of his regret was too heavy, his love for you too deep.

“please,” he whispered again, each syllable filled with desperation. “come back to me.”

GOJO SATORU

“you’re always so damn reckless!” gojo had shouted, his voice echoing in the small office.

“maybe if you weren’t so arrogant all the time, you’d understand why!” you had snapped back, feeling the sting of his words cut deep.

now, the same guy sat by your hospital bed, his usually confident demeanor shattered. his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, blood seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. the sight of you lying there, pale and unmoving, tore at his heart. he cursed himself repeatedly, the words tumbling out in a desperate, angry whisper.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, voice breaking. “why the hell did this have to happen? why couldn’t i fucking save you?”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to give him some sign that you were still there with him. the argument replayed in his mind, each harsh word a dagger in his chest. he wanted to take it all back, to tell you how much he loved you and needed you.

“shit,” he hissed, slamming his fist into the armrest of the chair. “i’m supposed to be the strongest, but what the hell does that mean if i can’t even protect you?”

a hollow aching threatened to eat away at his chest, a gnawing remorse. tears blurred his vision as he looked at you, voice a broken whisper. “wake up. i want to apologize. i want you to know how sorry i am.”

the room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. gojo’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of guilt, also his helplessness. he had faced countless curses and enemies without flinching, but this, seeing you like this, was unbearable.

he cursed again, the words raw and filled with pain. “damn it, why didn’t i stop you? why didn’t i fucking do something?”

his mind raced, trying to think of ways to make it right, to fix what had been broken. but all he could do was wait and hope. he reached out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip trembling.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i love you. please, just wake up. i don’t know what i’ll do if you don’t.”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

yuta, who was normally expressive, was pale and drawn as he sat beside your bed. his voice was crushed by the weight of his remorse, and he was unable to speak. he was completely broken by the sight of you there, so still and vulnerable, in ways he never imagined. his fingers barely touched yours as he extended a shaking hand, fearing that the slightest touch could break you.

memories of the argument replayed in his mind, each moment seared into his consciousness. your angry words echoed in his ears, mingling with his own harsh retorts. he remembered the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you were done talking. he had let you walk away, his anger blinding him to the danger you were about to face.

tears welled up in yuta’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. he had to be strong for you, even though you couldn’t sense a thing. the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast that whispered of his failures. he had promised to protect you, to be there for you, and yet here you were, injured and unresponsive, because he had let his anger get the better of him.

“it’s all my fault,” he grumbled, voice barely audible in the sterile room. “i should have stopped you. i should have been there.”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to open your eyes and tell him it was okay. but you remained still, your breathing steady but shallow. yuta’s mind was a storm of regret and self-recrimination. he blamed himself for everything, convinced that his failure to resolve things before you left had led to this. if only he had followed you, things might have been different.

“wake up, please,” he begged, voice breaking. “you can’t do this to me..”

he felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, determined not to break in front of you. he had to be strong, even if it felt like he was falling apart inside. the thought of losing you was unbearable, a gap that threatened to swallow him whole.

“why did i let you go?” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “why didn’t i fight for us?”

the minutes stretched into hours, each one an eternity as yuta sat by your side, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, couldn’t bear the thought that he might have lost you because of his own stubbornness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice choked with emotion. he stayed there, silent and unmoving, the weight of his regret a constant presence. all he could do was wait and hope, praying that you would wake up and give him the chance to apologize, to tell you how much you meant to him. until then, he would sit by your side, holding on to the hope that you would come back to him.

“i love you. please, just give me a chance to make things right.”

@uzurakis

[yujinnieswifeu]

Can you do tomboy reader× who you want

Where reader is a called a bunny by her girlfriend because she like to bounce on her mommy's cock and like when her girlfriend spread her buttcheeks

(G!p idol×non idol bottom reader and can reader wear a bunny head band plzz?)

-💫

a/n: hi 💫 anonn, firstly wanna say that i’m truly sorry for the long update, thank you for being so patient w me yall 🥺. And secondly, thanks for req heh, i think i wrote smtg similar w wony if im right, but here is another one w wony since i think she fits the description the best heh, hope thats alright w you!! Enjoy this one~

pairings: bottom reader x dom g!p Wonyoung

warnings: porn w/o a plot (i’m rlly busy these days so apologies 🥹) , smut, reader is referred to as bunny, cumming on face, spanking, reader calls Wony mommy, choking

———————————————————————

No one knows you like Wonyoung does. The way you would whine for her behind closed doors, only she knew how needy you truly were for her. See, you were someone that dresses up like a tomboy, so of course people would think you were the top in the relationship. What they failed to see was that you truly were the opposite. Which brings you to the situation now.

“Not so cocky now huh bunny?” Wonyoung hisses against your ear, her hands sliding down your back to rest on your ass, gripping the now red and swollen skin making you let out a whimper. “S-sorry mommy..p-please…” you didn’t know exactly what you were begging for as you bounced on her cock, a moaning mess.

You were the prettiest like this to Wonyoung, eyes rolling back, hands gripping her arms tightly, boobs jiggling, and with the bunny headband, fuck. You were perfect. “Whose pussy does this belong to bunny?” She says rather breathlessly, her hands landing another harsh smack to your ass, hearing a cry escape from your lips as your body twitches, your head resting against her shoulder, whining softly against her ear. She removes one of her hand to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Answer me.” She growls, her other hand squeezing your asscheek which was now sore. “Y-ou…you mommy..!” You whine out, feeling her land another slap against your asscheek. It makes you let out a pained cry this time, and she revels in the way your eyes shine with tears.

“I didn’t say you can stop right bun?” Your girlfriend shifts her hand over your neck, squeezing the sides of your neck with her long and slender fingers, it makes your eyes roll, mouth agape as you let out a soft moan. “Don’t. Stop. Bouncing. On. Mommy’s. Cock.” Her hips moves up with each of her words, it almost makes you see stars with how her tip brushes against your sweet spot, the delicious feeling causing your walls to flutter around her even more. “Understand?” Wonyoung’s voice comes out low and you nod your head yes, starting to bounce on her cock again. She groans softly, her hands now at your hips, guiding you as you bounce on her cock like the good slut you were, your moans getting louder which was music to Wonyoung’s ears.

“F-fuck, faster.” She groans, her head resting against the headboard as she watches you bounce on her cock, the headband you were wearing which was bunny ears moving with each bounce, and it makes her cock twitch inside of you. Her hands slides down to your asscheeks, spreading them in the process, your eyes immediately flutters shut at the feeling of her spreading your asscheeks, feeling her tip hitting your cervix this time as you let out a whimper. “Taking me so well…y-you’re so fucking tight bunny.” She moans out, starting to lose herself to the feeling of your walls deliciously fluttering around her.

Her hands squeezes your asscheeks, landing another smack to them as she feels your walls closing around her even more. “Y-you like it? Like when mommy is rough with you bun?” You could only nod your head, too lost in pleasure as you let out loose moans. “Fuck, i…i knew it.” She lands another harsh smack, your body twitches again and she enjoys the way your body responds. “Mommy..! Mo-mommy please please, wanna cum mommy..!” The desperation in your voice has her groaning, her hands squeezing at your asscheek as she spreads them. “Cum for me bunny.” At her command, you came all around her cock, moaning her name as you thank her repeatedly for letting you cum.

It was now Wonyoung’s turn to feel her impending orgasm, flipping you over as she hovers over your face, not letting you get time to calm down from your high as one of her hand strokes her twitching member, the other brushing your bunny ears. “O-open your mouth bun.” She stutters out, her mouth apart as she breathes shakily from the intense feeling between her legs. You immediately part your lips, wanting to taste her so desperately, watching how she crumbles atop of you, hips spasming as spurts of cum litters over your face and mouth, and you swore you would never get tired of her taste on your tongue. You could feel your clit throbbing again at the sight of her eyes closed as she strokes her cock slowly, breathing heavily as some more of her cum spurts over your mouth this time.

When she finally opens her eyes, she pushes her tip past your lips, watching how you eagerly bop your head over her cock, and she feels herself getting hard again. “We’re not going to stop anytime soon bunny…not until you learn your place.” You hum against her cock, hearing her groan softly as she strokes your fake bunny ears.

And that was half truthful of course, Wonyoung was as needy as you were for her, but something that will never change is that you will forever be her good submissive bunny.

[rene-darling]

Innocent scaramouce first time with dom fem reader?

Innocent little kabukimono

...yandere reader...red flag reader!...toxic relationships please do not imitate irl...I think.. I took way too much creative liberty with this..but-...im tired of seeing innocent readers x corrupted men. We need so corrupted yandere-ish readers!...

...kabukimono x yandereish reader...

Innocent little kabukimono who knows nothing of real life, and is just oh so naive. And you, this corrupted person who goes around doing whatever they please, leading on a man and then ditching him for good, a cruel harbinger who revels in the suffering of the innocent, and oh my is he innocent.

Kabukimono who doesn't know right from wrong, he doesn't even have life's most basic skills. The perfect man for you to corrupt.

Kabukimono who doesn't know that kisses are only meant to be shared by lovers and to be done in private, so you might be in the middle of talking to another harbinger when he approaches you and casually leaves a kiss on your lips.

The other harbinger and your underlings are left in a state of shock. He kissed you And he still has his head?? Kabukimono notices their weird stares and questions them "Hm? Do you not know? This is something friends do with each other!" he informs them proudly. He's your dearest friend.

Dear little kabukimono who gets scared when you come home drenched in blood, but you just smile at him and open your arms. He knows he can't deny you, you told him that denying your friend's hug is very rude!

So he hugs your bloody form, shivering a bit. You're so cold, like a corpse. It's okay. You reassure him, that you were just getting rid of some bad guys. Some real baddies who harm the innocent. This reassures him, wow, you're so cool! You help people by getting rid of bad guys right? Wow!

Innocent kabukimono who admires you so much. You're the coolest person out there, and he trusts you.

Pure little kabukimono who tries making you some yummy food, only to fail since for some reason it always turns out to sour, too hot, or just burnt. It was like someone was messing with him and doing it on purpose.

And when he tells you that he's messed up yet again and sees how your face falls, he can't deal with it. He's so dumb, so stupid, he can't help it! He can't do anything without you. So he starts crying, soft little hiccups turn into full-on sobs as globs of tears fall from his eyes.

Who hugs you and apologizes over and over, he's sorry he's such a dummy! He'll learn! He'll be more useful to you, he doesn't know where the dish went wrong! Please don't abandon him, he's sorry for being useless!

And it brings him so much comfort when you hug him back, holding his tiny waist as you almost feel bad for purposefully messing up his dish, not that you'll actually apologize and tell him.

When you're sitting on the couch and you pull him onto your lap, it startles him. He shifts around a bit uncomfortably, but it's fine, he'll manage. You tell him that this is what friends do! And since you both are such close friends he doesn't complain when you pull him into your lap, even in front of other people

Eventually, he gets used to it, when you assure him that, this is what friends do- and you're his dearest friend aren't you?

He's used to it. He's trained for it. He could simply be doing some work around the house but the second you pat your lap he drops whatever he's doing, crawling onto your lap like a cat.

He doesn't know any better, so while you're in important meetings with the harbingers he'll simply crawl onto your lap like it's his own personal bed. The other harbingers always stutter in their next words- they just never seem to get used to your little boytoy

Some of the harbingers find it rather amusing, questioning why you've kept him around this long. They've never seen you with one of your boy toys after the first 3 weeks. You simply shrug, perhaps it's his innocence, his naivety to the world..and people, around him. Whatever it is, he proves to be entertaining. Which is why you just can't get rid of him yet.

Cute little kabukimono who ignores any red flags. You following him around whenever you have some free time, or sending one of your henchmen after him whenever you aren't available. What do you mean that's weird? No- you just care for your friend, he's your dearest friend after all! You just wanna make sure nothing bad happens!

Innocent kabukimono who you've quickly learned has no idea of what intimacy is. He doesn't know the first thing about- love making.

Kabukimono who sits on your lap like another day, resting his head back onto your shoulder, you can hear his quiet breaths and whispers as he mumbles and rambles about his day thinking you were listening. You on the other hand were occupied by your own deranged thoughts, ...it's been long enough..hasn't it? You're sure he can handle you- fondling him further..right? You mean he should. You've done so much for him, and he can barely even cook a proper meal for you.

Biting down harshly on his neck while he was leaning it back on your shoulder eliciting gasps and whines from him. He tries grabbing your head, trying to push you away. It hurts! But you're too strong. So he sits there helpless tugging at your hair softly as he lets out little moans as you suck on his neck. He feels heat pool in between his legs... it's so weird..he doesn't like it.

Later that day he stares at himself in the mirror. Examining the big red purple-ish mark you left. Afterward, he questions you about it. Huffing as he asks the reason behind this strange good feeling mark you've left.

You reassure him, it's simply because he's your dearest friend. And you just want people to know that he's yours, he belongs to you. And no one else.

[marstons-angel]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

isat thoughts: stupid rotten adults isn't talked about enough

y'all can we talk for a minute about stupid rotten adults event because dear god i have thoughts

[tw for talk of death and suicidal ideation]

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

it's honestly one of the more tragic party interactions in my opinion, purely because in this case... siffrin was trying to do the right thing, or at least what they thought was right. they tried to use touch to comfort them, something that they had heard would help, and had it rebuked. Which isn't bonnie's fault, really. they're a kid going through something that a kid should never have to go through. we don't acknowledge enough how fucked up it is for bonnie to be with the party on their journey, even if it leads to them bonding with the group. so it's not surprising that it could come out like this at an age when kids may not have the words or emotional intelligence to express how they're feeling (lord knows some adults never learn either)

but then.

they hit you with this:

and i remember just full stop going "holy fuck bonnie" when this happened. because holy shit, in the context of everything that siffirn is going through, especially if you already had the dagger interaction... they have. they have done that. over and over again, they've died. This isn't directed at isabeau, who was the one to bring it up in the first place, or mirabelle and odile who answer, it's directed to Siffrin, who lost their eye trying to save them, and who could have died for bonnie but didn't. Bonnie doesn't want to lose any of them, but they lash out because of the stress, and direct it at the person who they hold guilt over.

But from a Siffrin POV... it's similar to the time travel joke with isa. it's just another reminder of the ways in which they've failed, and another nail in the coffin of their misgivings regarding what the party thinks about them. All of the things bonnie says here- that siffrin should die, that nobody cares what happens to them, that they are hated- these are all things echoed in act 5 by siffrin.

so i just have to wonder... how much of this conversation stuck with Siffrin? they can resolve it by completing the quest and reassuring bonnie that nothing will happen, if you've done the king quest then you know... something already has happened. And maybe in a way siffrin sees bonnie's anger towards them as a sort of confirmation that it was their fault, and that Bonnie trusted them to keep them all safe, and he failed.

anyways im sick and this probably is rambling and disconnected im goin to take a nap

[smoothlikealikeasnake]

Strong Coffee and Sweet Cakes

Chapter Four ‘Sweetest Rain’

Genre - BTS FF, a/b/o dynamics, a/b/o BTS and MC, Ot7 x fem MC/reader, so fluffy, little angst, eventual smut

Warnings - doctors appointment, discussion of medical concerns, effects of exhaustion physically, feelings of uncertainty, so much fluff it’s actually a warning, lmk if there’s any more xx

Summary - A new cafe near the Hybe building will change the 7 members of Bangtan’s lives forever, 7 alphas in a pack? A recipe for disaster. Until a sweet omega starts to stir up their world with a little bit more sugar and slowly their loneliness dissolves

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Author Notes - Ugh I love this chapter so much. 13k words of LOVE. well, kinda.

I wrote this so quickly in comparison to other chapter and I was aiming for 8k… yeah that went out of the window.

I just love them, i love where its going, i have so many ideas and ugh just so cute.

“Your scents sweetening again Y/nie, when are you next seeing Dr. Kim?” - Soojin nags, her voice quiet across the counter whilst you both prepare drinks. It makes you frown a little because, in the last few days—dare I say maybe it started a week or two ago?—your scent has been flaring randomly, a little sweeter and heady. 

Luckily for you, you obviously use scent blockers, but in close proximity, your friends can differentiate your usual scent from a sweeter version, an indication of your impending heat, but you're not due for your heat for at least another month. 

Dr. Kim is your doctor for checking your omega biological needs; you go to see her every 3 months, a week before you're scheduled to enter pre-heat and start symptoms. Shes dear to you; your comfortability with her spreads far since you’ve gone to her since you were 13, as most omegas begin to see their doctor regularly as signs of puberty set in. 

This routine is one of the many things you keep on top of to ensure your health and state are completely in your hands, whilst it would be a lot more laid back for an alpha or beta; as an omega, one without a pack and anyone you try to rely on, you are quite tight on these smaller things. You go every 3 months without fail. This time though, you're going to have to schedule an extra appointment.

“Not for another few weeks… maybe I should try to schedule another appointment sooner.” You mumble it out, not entirely happy because you never get your heat early-—it's perfectly on time every 3 months, 4 times a year, without any interruptions. You don't have any other symptoms, just the flaring of your scent and increased nesting instincts, but if it's going to come early, you're going to be prepared for it.

“That sounds best; now, go say hi to one of your lovesick puppies that has just walked in” - Your pushing at her shoulder and scold her immediately, scowling and denying her words because the ‘one of your lovesick puppies’ is her new way of referring to the 7 alphas who have recently started to attend more often. 

“They are just customers.” 

“Aish, im just being friendly.”

“It’s hardly special treatment.”

“I care for all my customers like that.”

Yeah, your friends have heard all the ‘excuses’ - as they call them - not believing a word you say although you insist there's nothing special about them, right? “Taehyung! Oh, new hair!” - You gush and fret over Taehyung’s freshly cut hair, refusing to let the disappointed frown settle over your lips because it was just so fluffy before- it looks amazing now but before - 

“Ah yeah, it’s a little short, no?” - He runs his hands through it effortlessly, but it makes you capture the jewellery decorating his wrist and hands; he's always well put together, favouring elegance most of the time when he comes in. Even when he's in some sweats, he somehow makes it look put together. Taehyung spins his head a little to show it off, seeing you lean in to observe whether you agree, and he catches your fingers twitch - from wanting to run your fingers through it - although you never would, of course. 

“It’s shorter, but it really suits you, although I do like the grown-out look” - You admit, you’re always honest with them, expressing what you really think, and you know your opinion won’t hurt Taehyungs feelings, so you tell him it, and he likes that. 

“Mmm, it was fluffier, right?” - Taehyungs fishing for your reaction without you even knowing, smiling teasingly and wiggling his eyebrows when you nodded firmly, not catching on until he continues.

“Do you want to touch it? Feel if it's still just as soft?” - Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows at you before breaking out into his boxy smile at your stunned look, your gaze switching between his hair and his face over and over, not knowing how to respond before lightly swatting his arm rested on the counter

“Aish, don’t be silly, Taehyung” - Your smile shows you’re also only playing, then you move on to taking his order, but whilst you do so, he freezes momentarily. 

Just as Soojin mentioned just a few minutes ago, your scent flurries around you in a sweet burst, no reason behind it and in such close proximity, Taehyung stills, breathing in a little too deep and his brain falters; he can see the scent blockers under your ears so why- 

He’s launching back with a big gulp, standing upright to put a little distance and not get even more affected than he already is by your scent because he’s holding back a rumble in his chest and his alpha is clawing at him to get in a little closer and get hooked on the scent, which he refuses to do because he has basic manners, for god’s sake; he’s not an alpha going through puberty. 

The rest of your interaction goes without much of a problem; he’s taking his sweet frappe to go. You’ve learnt Taehyung doesn’t like coffee, and you approve- harder for him to have unhealthy amounts of caffeine through it this way. He likes a singular teaspoon - just under, to be specific - in his teas, of all kinds, unless it's the citron tea, in which he takes a large and has nearly two teaspoons. You just prepare it for him at this point; he's always so appreciative of it too, gushing and exaggerating his approval to see you laugh. You’ve progressed your friendships with them all a lot since your meeting, maybe a little closer with the rappers, but you’ve warmed up to the vocal line very quickly, as they have to you. 

You speak more with Jungkook and Jimin on your late-night run-ins at the convenience store than at the cafe. Taehyung is just like this—fun, friendly, warm, a little teasing and flirty, but you can give it right back when he offers it. It's comfortable and the kind of interaction that really brightens your day. 

Maybe you shouldn’t admit it, but that’s why you’re extra quick to pick up on any day he’s not feeling as happy, just like with Hoseok; if they aren’t happy, it’s such a stark difference that it has you frowning the second they aren’t walking in with a bright smile. With Taehyung, it hasn't been often enough for you to work out a real way to help. What you have done is always make sure to put the jazz music he's so partial to next on the playlist when he comes in and write a little poetry quote on a small paper to give to him when you give him his drink - an interest you’ve found you both share. 

Jin, oh Jin, he's so attentive it's criminal. He's gentle and soft-spoken despite how intimidatingly handsome he is. Alongside that, he never misses a thing, and he's firm in how he shows his concern for you, no matter how much you brush it off.

“You’re trembling” - He first points it out on a late Wednesday, refraining from taking your hands within his own. It was just not a great day; a couple of rude and straining interactions, your back hurting a little more today, burning yourself on a batch of cookies that early morning—it just all seemed to add up, and your body was bearing its edge. 

“Ah, its just a habit.” - You wave him off and get back to preparing his drink but you can hear him over your shoulder

“No, that’s a reaction to your body being overworked; you should be at home in a nest right now” - Of course, Jin didn’t say this right off the bat the first time you met; he’d seen it many times at this point, alongside your other small symptoms, the rashes, the strained muscles—you get it. 

You look at him in surprise because theres no denying that but to mention an omega’s nest - even in passing - is incredibly intimate and you cant stop the flushing of your cheeks and your stuttered response

“It-I’ll be okay; I’ll do that soon...” - You mumble the last part, blushing furiously as you let on that you will indeed rest in your nest later but although Jin knows it’s intimate and nowhere near his place to comment as an alpha-—one not in your pack-—he does it from a place of concern; he might be blatantly pushing an unspoken boundary but he sees it in you too often not to say anything

“It’s nearly closing, isn’t it? You’ll go straight home?” - He pushes; he has too

“I still have to do some baking prep for tomorrow, a few cakes and uh, pretzels, i think” - You mutter out in response, feeling scolded, but also something within you feels warm, and maybe there's a purr threatening to spill out from the care he's showing—which is ridiculous, you tell yourself to get it together. 

“One day without a few extra options of bakes won't hurt.” 

“Ah, but even Joonie won't get his pretzel.” - You awkwardly chuckle, so attached to your work that it feels awfully wrong to even consider letting go of some of your duties for the day; it has you shifting and looking down at your trembling hands. Maybe they wont do much good in this state after all…

“Then he won’t get one; he can live. Go home, get a good rest, nest, you need it.” - Jin is clearly passionate about it; he also seems to be at least somewhat versed in omega biology. You shift but take a deep breath because your instincts are clawing at you to agree, to do exactly as he says because he's so clearly trying to help; his voice might be firm, but it's dripping with concern, and the small frown on his lips is genuine. 

“Okay…” - His approval is worth having a few less cakes for tomorrow. he wants to reach out and ruffle your messy hair, but instead, he smiles, nodding and then he replying without thinking and immediately regrets it

“Good Omega” - The way your eyes widen and cheeks flare is something almost animated, holding back a purr, although a singular syllable indicating it leaves your mouth before you slap a hand over it, mortified at your reaction, and you and Jin just stare at each other in pure shock before you have to break the contact because omg did he really just say that?!- just call you that- your hearts beating out loud at this point and omg why do you feel soft and a little dazey- 

“Im sorry i dont know what happened that just slipped out-” - Jin is staring at you absolutely mortified with himself-—how that just happened is out of his knowledge; hes blushing furiously, but within him he's holding back a rumble from your reaction, an approving growl trying to vibrate out of his throat, and he has no idea what you are doing to them, but this is becoming a regular sort of occurrence- you giving them all this feeling.

“Its okay!-” - You blurt out, a bit too hasty, laughing shyly and handing over Jin’s drink, your fingers grazing his own as he takes it and it sends sparks through your hand and arm, only getting more flushed and your pupils dilating a little more- wow you really need to shake yourself out of it

“...nest.” - Jin hesitates to say it again, but he meets your eyes, his embarrassment still evident, pushed aside to make sure you will, and you nod firmly, a small ‘mhm’ falling from your lips before he turns to leave. Its safe to say you scream to yourself in silence behind the counter afterwards and try to slow your heart and suppress your purrs from his words.

You do as he says though, reluctantly abandoning the few extra bakes to go home, have a shower, and jump straight into your nest in some fresh pyjamas, now openly purring and rolling around, pupils heavily dilated and cheeks flushed intensely as you can't get those two words out of your head- what are they doing to you?!

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Your Saturday is cut short at work to go and attend the soonest appointment you could get with Dr. Kim, the lady is a beta, mid-50s, looks amazing for her age, and is so motherly it warms your heart. Despite being a beta, a lot of her family are omegas and have medical care histories dating back decades, always sharing her home remedies and advice with you. 

You're called in from the sterile, quiet waiting room to her slightly warmer room; it's equally as sterile, of course, but has attention to small details to make it just a bit more welcoming. There are beanbags in the corner, all the other chairs are loaded with extra pillows, and there is a pile of blankets of all sizes, textures, and materials in the corner, and the walls are painted a very light, pastel yellow rather than white. 

“My Y/n!, how have you been, dear?” - She's as enthusiastic as ever, ushering you to sit down and instantly handing you a fruit candy, as she has done since you came to her for the very first time when you were 13, so nervous you were trembling. She fussed and draped a blanket over your shoulder and handed you a candy, ensuring there was nothing to be worried about, and it just stuck. 

“Yeah, I’ve been good mostly!” - You smile back and shrug because, well, you wouldn't be here if you were just incredible.

“The cafe?” - Discussing possible stress factors - jobs especially when it comes to omegas - is a vital part of your checkups so Dr. Kim is up to date with everything about your cafe, from long before it became reality “Amazing, a dream come true” - You can’t help but gush, sighing out happily as you think about it, and she listens intently, no note-taking yet, no checking over random details on anything because she knows and remembers you; as close as you hold her to your heart, she holds you to hers. 

“Oh, im so proud, truly.” “Now, we aren't due another check-up for a few more weeks; why now?” - She doesn’t try to hide the mild concern in her voice because you never have had to book extra appointments really; your cycle and behaviour have been regular and expected despite your lifestyle. 

“I’ve been having random flushes of my scent sweetening and strengthening, just bursts or it randomly and i need to nest a lot more intensely and nothing ever quite seems right recently” - Dr.Kim hums, intrigued and now noting down your symptoms and carrying out the rest of her questions regarding it

“Well, you aren't due for your heat yet; are you still using scent blocker patches?” - She’s more so questioning whether you’ve been trying a new alternative rather than anything else

“Yes, most days.”

“Okay, so they shouldn't affect anything since they aren't hormonal. Have you been stressed?” - Avoiding her stare that just says ‘give it to me straight’ is incredibly hard, has your voice rising a pitch as you answer

“I don't think so, not in like a new stress-factor sort of way?”

“And what about the things we discussed before: the shaking, muscle pain, and rashes?” - She asks because your scent and instincts tie in to these so tightly; it's a relevant connection, and she knows you push yourself, no matter how much anyone protests. It’s partially the reason she feels so strongly about you, sharing more than just typical medical advice and all of the things she’s learnt from her family to help you in any way you let her. 

“Mm, well, yeah, it's still there.” - You look down to avoid her eyes, and you can actually feel the expression she gives you, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“More?” 

“Maybe…”

“Okay, can you just remove your sweatshirt? I’ll have a look at these rashes,” you sigh out and stand, removing it like she says and knowing you’re going to be in for her fussing and scolding in just a few moments. It’s not like they look awful—far from it; they are just there though, and admittedly they are larger than they were when they began to appear.

“Okay, so the maybe is definitely a yes. Are they painful?” - She hovers her fingers over the one leading a little line from your neck to your shoulder blade, another just around the right side of your hip. 

“Only a little sometimes; they come and go though; none are permanent,” - You say as if that's any better, and maybe it is; at least they go. Dr.Kim sighs out and tells you that you can put your sweatshirt back on

“I'm going to prescribe you some ointment for them; you really do need to do a few less hours though; it's taking a toll on you.” 

“I know…” - You look away, rubbing your arm as you can feel her frown and concern for you; easier said than done. You are the only baker for the cafe, and you set yourself high expectations. While you don't have to work every day as you do realistically, you could hire new employees; that's not exactly straightforward. Your co-workers are some of your best friends; they do insist they can do more days and hours, but it feels almost like pity from them, and you don't want that.

“This could be the reason for your scent and nesting changes, but…maybe”

“Maybe?” “Have you happened to… meet… anyone recently or engage in activity with anyone?”

“No!” - You blurt it out, blushing in embarrassment because, as normal as it is, Dr.Kim is like a second mother to you, and speaking to her about that, as natural as it is, always does make you embarrassed.

“Okay, so you aren't sexually active with anyone right now, but have you been in any kind of romance with anyone? Maybe someone new?” - You don't know why, but you consider telling her about the seven alphas you met, but that would simply be ridiculous because you have no sort of romantic relations with them. Yeah, they make you blush occasionally, but that's nothing, right? Surely not. Definitely not, so you brush it off; it's just you overthinking and going through absolutely anyone you’ve met. 

Your inner turmoil is enough of an answer for Dr. Kim and although she knows you probably wont admit it, she’ll give a reply anyway

“Alright, so I think there are two possibilities: these could just be added symptoms of your body reacting to you overworking yourself, as I've said before, or… if you possibly have met someone, your body could either be trying to react to them and the change in dynamic, or your omega wants to induce your heat earlier in response.”

“What do I do?”

“We still have our 3-month checkup in a few weeks. If nothing changes, the nesting might settle down a little, or your scent occasionally fluctuates but not at an increased rate. I think it will be okay as long as you have no other symptoms, and we will just go ahead then. However, if you get any more symptoms of your heat, if the feelings intensify, call me; we can do some blood work, look further into it, and discuss more. How does that sound?” - She finishes typing and refocuses on you, truly asking for your opinion, and you know if you were to request blood work and further details right now, that she’d oblige, but you trust her; you trust that you can just be overthinking and this can be a mild flare. 

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good…” “You can always call me Y/N, you know that; as soon as you're concerned, just call, alright?”

“If it comes to your heat approaching too soon, we can look into temporary suppressants to set it back to put it on track. It should be preventable, okay? Dont stress Y/n” - She can see the tension in your body as you consider the possibilities, and it's really not doing you any favours; at this rate you'll only induce more symptoms and worry yourself further, but Dr. Kim's reassurance that you'll be able to get it back on track is enough for you to let out a sigh and nod.

She asks you a few basic and casual questions to finish up with, easing your mind and allowing you to relax. Believe me, she doesn't let you leave without an earful about how you need to slow down and that if there is someone, you should let them embrace and help you. She's practically chasing you out with the words, still mumbling as you're walking down the corridor to leave the clinic, and the receptionist gives you a knowing smile, Dr.Kim turning back into her office with a shake of her head. 

—-----------------------------------------------------

Back at the Bangtan's shared penthouse, Yoongi and Hoseok are hosting a v-live to connect with army a bit more, not having done so very often recently due to their schedules. They are enjoying a meal and casually talking whilst Hoseok occasionally leans over to read over the comments.

“I hope you eat well. We will; you should too army” - Hoseok takes a big spoonful of rice to affirm his words and then Yoongi finds it to be a relevant point of discussion

“You know, I think I’ve gained weight recently” - Yoongi would put it down to them having a bit of a break before getting more intense for performances again, but that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is he's grown a strong liking to your bakes and is dipping in some days more than once to grab something; he's noticed just a little extra layer of softness around his abdomen, and the rest of his body is definitely thicker - like his arms and chest. Not that he minds; he will work it off once they start up again anyway. 

The comments flood with things such as disagreement that he has and saying he looks great and praise for him eating well

“Wah, you know, I think I have too” - Hoseok is obviously dancing whenever he's got a second to enjoy and spare, which leads his body to be lean and subtly muscular, but he's also put on a little bit of weight, converted into muscle, making his arms a bit thicker and his face just a tad less bony, and the fans say he looks good, that it suits him. 

“You know I heard Namjoon saying the same a few days ago.” 

“Hmm, yeah, he mentioned it in the studio; it's healthy.”

“Ah yeah, thighs.” “Arms.”

Both of them look at each other and laugh, knowing Namjoon is probably thoroughly embarrassed at the comments flooding in from their comments

“I’ve had a random sweet tooth recently,” - Yoongi carries on, mentioning it without really thinking too much about it. “So have I; it is not like me.” - Hoseok agrees, shaking his head and not deeping it much either 

“I think we all have; maybe it's because we eat a lot of savoury, just having a sort of sugar craze.” - Yoongi gets a hum in reply before they fall into a short silence whilst Hoseok reads the rest of the comments

“Spoiler? Noo.”

About an hour later, Yoongi gets a call from Jimin and excuses himself momentarily, coming back and ending the live because he needs to be picked up, something about not being allowed to walk back home ‘especially not in this weather’.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Running into Jungkook and Jimin at the convenience store has become a semi-regular sort of thing; sometimes it's both, sometimes just one of them. Each and every time they insist on walking you home, even if you reassure them you’ll be fine at first, after a month it just sort of stuck; you’d leave the store and just walk; they know the way at this point. 

It’s ten minutes where you have meaningless conversations usually, just talking about this and that, interests, random stories—you get it. Even then, there are some topics you three kind of just silently avoid: packs, relationships, things like that. Of course there are opportunities where you all joke and push and tease each other over things related to them, but it never goes further than that.

You look forward to it; it's not like it's scheduled, or that you go at the exact same time every night down to the minute; you leave it down to chance, so do they. Just like tonight, already browsing the ramen as if you’ll choose something different from usual - you won’t; you never do. A smile settles on your face at the citrussy and floral scent that floods your nose; it's always cut with this underlying sort of woody musk. To put it into a singular word? Romantic. It's uniquely unisex really; the floral aspect is typically seen as feminine, but the citrus and musk add an addicting kind of masculinity to it all. If you breathe it in hard enough, there's even a little bit of vanilla underneath. Jimin. 

Just on cue, your earphone is gently removed from one ear, and spinning around, the culprit is right there with his hoodie over his head and a big smile, and he’s ready to make a half-sarcastic comment like ‘Fancy seeing you here’ as if this isn’t half expected on most of your visits now. 

“Fancy catching you here on this fine evening, sugar” - Jimin giggles out, just as expected, having stepped back to give you distance rather than be right in your face, and the gentle shove you give him at the nickname only makes him laugh a little harder. Like I said, the nickname stuck. 

“Jimin” - You practically sigh out, not the annoyed kind, the warm sort of sigh. He’s a joy to be around; if you could compare how it feels to be with him on these nights, it’s like the warm breeze on a summer’s night, even if it’s just entering spring and the nights are still particularly cold. Jungkook’s company on these nights would be something a little colder, equally as comforting. It's what you imagine riding a motorcycle or a convertible car would feel like in the spring: wind cold but the exhilarating rush you’d get from it enough to keep you feeling just a little warmer. 

“The usual?” - Jimin questions, raising his eyebrows at you and standing beside you, looking at the selection; he likes a range of different ramens, rotating between them and trying something new every time. Sometimes he comments on them the next time you see each other, saying they were or weren't worth it, a silent suggestion, but in the few weeks he’s gotten to know you, he’s picked up that you don't really change your pick; you like what you like, and that's perfectly okay. 

“Hm, I don't know; I might try something different.” - But just like I said, you don't. Contemplate for just a few more moments and pick up that same ramen, Jimin already nodding and smiling knowingly as he picks out his own. You have said it before: the outcome is always the same. Maybe you say it more so for yourself; try to convince yourself you will differ from routine, but in the end you won't. 

After the usual chat you have with Mrs. Han, you both head outside and immediately begin to walk, talking about the last few days.

“Did you feel that?” - Jimin asks, wiping his head where a singular drop of water hit him, You're about 7 minutes in, just a few minutes from your apartment, a turn away from the road, and you frown in confusion before you feel it too, a few drops.

Within a moment, a mere few drops of rain turn into what you could consider a heavy spring shower. You're both in hoodies, no coat because whilst it's cold, it's not that cold. You look at each other in surprise for a moment, and your brain is moving 100 mph; you're hardly a 45-second sprint away from your apartment, versus Jimin, who would have to go a substantial distance to get back to the shop, let alone his home. It’s cold; he’s not wearing any rain clothing. You’ve come to a stop, and at this rate, the paths could get slippery fast; even if he did try to get home fast, you can guarantee he’d either catch a cold or slip, maybe both. You can’t let that happen—especially not when the whole reason he’s so far in the other direction is because he’s walking you home. 

You’ve come to a stop, and without a second more, your hoodie already beginning to soak through, you reach out, grabbing his wet hand and dashing in the direction of your apartment building, dragging him along. He lets out a surprised noise at being pulled so quickly and at the contact, but you’ve got one thing set in your mind, and that’s to get you both - more specifically him - out of the rain, and you do just that. 

You’re hardly sprinting, more so just doing a light jog and you kind of realise what you’ve instinctively done after you’ve already began 

“Come on!” - Maybe you can’t help the smile that settles on your lips, water splashing all around you both, and to the side of you, Jimin’s laugh rings through the air, amused; this is fun. 

He’s at your side now, more going at your pace than his own; you’re lightly jogging, he’s fast walking, and there’s not really a reason to keep holding his hand anymore. Despite that, he manoeuvres your hand, and you nearly pull it clean away in horror of yourself, but that's not what Jimin was going for; instead, he intertwines your fingers and picks up his pace a little, you following. 

Jimin’s laugh is contagious, yours following and cutting through the heavy downpour is both of you splashing with your running, holding hands and barely avoiding slipping, rain and laughter. 

Jimin’s hand is warm despite the cold air and rain, bigger than yours, and it envelopes you whole, and it’s nice, more than nice, having you giggling for a whole other reason besides the childlike situation you’re both stuck in. It seems more like you're both just playing in the spring shower rather than trying to get to shelter, entire outfits soaked through, but there isn't anything but bright smiles on your faces. 

When your building comes into view, you pull him a little faster up the steps, and without letting go of his hand, you punch in the code, ripping the door open and surprising him by pulling him into the hallway. 

You’re panting; he’s not. He’s used to physical activity, but he’s breathing a little heavier, your laughs hardly dying out in the silent hall. Rain’s hitting the clear door rapidly, blurring your view of the outside, and it’s only when you both calm a little that you realise just what you’ve done. 

“It doesn’t look like it’s stopping just yet.” - You say, a little purse of your lips as you stare out, Jimin would of just booked it home; you wouldn’t have that

“Yeah, came out of nowhere.” - You look at him and contemplate; its surely inappropriate to suggest, but- you can’t just let him stay in soaked clothes, go back out and all of that 

“You’re going to catch a cold” - Your voice is laced with concern, not hesitation. 

“Ah, I’ll be fine” - Jimin brushes it off although he can feel his body start to shiver a little; you can feel it from his hand where you’re both still connected. He watches you stay silent for a moment, looking at the lift and then back at him, expression begging him not to take this the wrong way. 

“You can’t go back out there yet, and you need dry clothes” - You gently tug his hand towards the lifts, what you’re suggesting clear despite not directly saying it, but your pull is just enough to allow him to protest should he want to; your grip says different, holding on a little tighter like you really don’t want him to go back out there. Internally, you couldn’t suppress your instincts screaming at you to push him upstairs, order him into clean and warm clothes, and dry his hair; tell him to stay put until you’re certain it’s not going to rain any more tonight, but you can’t voice that, of course not. 

Jimin catches on and is shocked, to say the least. He makes a little noise but blindly follows your pull, not knowing just what to say yet until you're in the elevator and you're punching in your floor number. Thats when a stilling realisation settles in and Jimin turns to you in hesitation and a little bit of fear

“Wait- Y/n your pack- i cant come in to your pack den, what about-” - You still for a moment realising- oh right- he doesn't know; of course not. You can’t blame him for assuming; it’s certainly very rare, and you appreciate his thoughtfulness.

“It’s okay; it’s just me” - You nod and still give him the chance to protest again, but his face morphs into one of shock again, mouth agape for a little moment, and his mind spirals back to that first day, the rap line commenting and saying they didn’t think you had one but you were comfortable with that, and now it’s confirmed. Schooling his face back into one of only a little hesitation.

There are a few moments of silence between you before you grow a small blush on your face at how you've acted the last few minutes-—instinctual.

“Sorry for dragging you here like this” - You murmur out, not meeting Jimin’s eyes, but he doesn’t think you have a single thing to apologise for. Deep within him, his alpha is singing praises about you and you so clearly showing your need to take care of him; hes pushing all the little comments and thoughts about it right down to answer coherently 

“You dont have to apologise-—and, you dont have to do this, you know; it’s okay.” - Because he doesn’t want you to feel obliged to invite him in to a space so sacred, simply because the weather took a turn, doesnt want you to go against what you really want to do if this isn’t that

“Are you okay with it?” - You throw right back, bracing yourself for him to blatantly reject you, press the button to go right back down to the ground floor and leave, but that's not what happens. Instead, Jimin squeezes your hand in his-—oh, you hadnt realised you were still holding it- it causes you to look up at him and he gives you a sweet smile, the reassuring kind and firmly nods

“Only if you are” - And you are- you haven't known him all that long, really, so it's weird how you aren't at all against him being in your home-—where your nest is. You return his smile and nod.

Right on cue, the elevator dings, and you walk down the hall slowly, towards your apartment and then notice, opposite, there’s a package sitting outside Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s door, an elderly couple that maybe didn’t hear someone deliver it, and before going towards your own door, you walk to theirs. You know that Mr.Lee will still be awake at this time, so you tug Jimin with you and knock on their door. He just watches, curious, especially when the door opens after a few moments, revealing a man with grey hair, his face morphing into one that can only be described as joy and parental love when he finds it’s you. 

“Y/n! How are you, dear?” - He moves closer to embrace you only to notice you standing with someone he’s never seen before, an alpha, and raises his brows before breaking into a knowing smile.

“Finally found a nice boy, huh?” - You burn bright. Embarrassed and realising what it looks like, Jimin also smiles and giggles a little. Ah, he seems nice, Mr.Lee thinks, always open to giving his opinion without being asked; he's got good intuition.

“Oh! It’s not like that Mr.Lee-” - You scramble to answer and shake your head, eyes practically closed with your embarrassment, but Mr.Lee ignores your denial and visibly assesses Jimin. To break to the point, you reach down and hand him the package.

“This was outside the door” - You gently hand it over, and he merely gives you a smile before refocusing on Jimin. Jimin’s never felt more scrutinised in his life, wanting to shrink back a little but standing tall and confident, calm, and Mr.Lee nods at him approvingly.

“Thank you, dear- You better look after her; she's sweet, this one. Don’t even think about so much as putting even a small frown on her face.” He stands stern and points accusingly at Jimin; you scramble to shake your free hand and rattle the bag as you do so, mortified at his assumption and your quick to try and end this interaction

“Theres no need for that Mr.Lee-”

“I won’t” - Jimin replies to him despite your scrambling, and Mr.Lee is stone-faced for a second before nodding, believing him, and you are absolutely writhing with embarrassment.

“Have a nice night Mr.Lee, ill bring you both some cakes tomorrow morning.” - You mumble out, cheeks redder than they’ve ever been, and you turn as soon as you can, walking towards your own door as you hear Mr.Lee return his thanks and close his door.

“Im so sorry-”

“Stop apologising for things, Y/n, its okay” - Jimin lets out a little laugh, genuine; he really doesn’t mind. He guesses Mr. Lee holds you dear to his heart; that's good. You seem like a beacon of light no matter where you are and who you're with. 

“Aish…” - You mumble, entering the code to your own home and opening the door, shoulders visibly dropping once the comforting scent of your home fills your nose, and Jimin can barely get two steps in the door without freezing and inhaling deeply. Its you, everywhere, obviously but its so full of you- Your scent sweet, heavy, borderline suffocating but not in a bad way-

Your apartment is similar to your cafe in the vibe you create; appearance-wise, it’s similar but in a different palette, much more filled with pastels. Trinkets and sentimental items are doted around everywhere, pillows and blankets in every corner and its so cozy Jimin forgets he's standing there shivering until you tug him a little harder to close the door and then reluctantly drop his hand.

“You can-—uh, you can sit down if you’d like I’ll get some clothes for you” - You are barely a few seconds of being inside before you are dashing off down a small hallway, towards your room he guesses, mumbling something about the clothes your sure you have somewhere-

You didn’t rush off without gently pushing a hand flat on Jimin’s chest towards the couch, urging him to sit, but he gets a bit distracted by the contact, placing a hand where you had just pushed as if savouring your touch. He takes a second, looking at the couch and opting out of sitting on it because he's in wet clothes; he's not ruining your pretty and soft setup by getting it damp. He instead opts for one of the stools around your kitchen island—less mess. 

With the few minutes you disappear, Jimin takes in what's happening, what happened, where he is, and what this is. He finds himself slumping the more and more he breathes in your air; it's dizzying, unfiltered, unrestrained versus how you have always got a scent blocker on. 

Inside him, his alpha is growling in praise and delight, telling him he should absolutely do anything you want him to do before you even get a chance to request it—instincts pawing at him unrestrained—and he's so deeply embedded in his own mind that he only snaps out of it when you come back in mumbling about something before locating him, freezing in the hallway entrance at his scent flooding you again. 

Your push towards the couch was the start of your doting; you rushed off into your room-—your nest—and instantly pulled out a drawer in which you knew you kept a particular pair of fluffy pyjama pants, too long for you so you always had to roll them up a few times, but on Jimin, they could be just right. 

You’re petting over them, pursing your lips and your omegas checking the softness of the fabric. is it soft enough for an alpha in your home- You have to stop yourself in mortification as your next instinct is to scent the trousers-—rub it all over your cheek, your neck, your wrist, fluff your scent around you so its positively stuck onto it and presenting them on a platter to Jimin-—sweet, sweet alpha, so kind and polite and so perfect-

You refrain, barely. Refocusing to get another piece of clothing, one of your many oversized hoodies, one that you would wear to bed in the colder seasons and only that, long enough to cover you to your mid/lower thighs but maybe a better fit on Jimin. You’re once again fretting over the softness and whether it’ll be the right size; it’s thick enough to keep him warm, but your apartment is also on the warmer side anyway; you prefer it that way, sates your omega needs. 

Once again, you resist scenting them heavily even though they definitely smell like you already; being so close to your nest and all- you hardly look at it. Different from usual because when you get home, the first thing you seek out is your nest. A thought-—an image-—passes through your mind: You leading Jimin towards your nest and fluffing everything around him, making it all just right and looking at him for approval. Then you snap out of your omega haze and shake your head in disapproval of yourself, folding the two pieces of clothing and setting out back towards your main space in the apartment. 

Your living room and kitchen are open plan; you like it like that; the smell of your baking easily floods through the rest of the home that way. You’re expecting to see Jimin on the couch, where you’d urged him and when you dont find him there, but on a kitchen stool, your mind runs wild. A mixture of disapproval for him not being somewhere more comfortable but also approval for him being considerate of being in wet clothes - even though you wouldnt of minded having to put some blankets in the dryer after. 

Jimin himself is sitting silently there, not even looking around and his scent is flitting around you in small bursts, enough to stop you in your tracks and have to gulp - you don’t have people here often, your space is entirely filled with you but this, having him here is- okay? Nice even.

Enough of that, enough of your silly thoughts. You always do tend to overly get instinctual when your home- of course, its the only place you allow yourself to fully give in to it all so you cant be blamed for your thoughts. 

Jimin snaps out of it and looks at you with a soft smile, eyeing the clothes in your hands and he could protest- he could insist you really dont need to do this but he can see the instincts swimming in your eyes, has felt it since you grabbed his hand and started to pull him through the rain and something tells him to just oblige, let you dote on him and care because you need this.

“I have some clothes for you” - You look to the side, across the room where he notices another door, ignored in his dwelling of his thoughts and you silently command him to follow you towards it, which he does.

You open it, another bathroom; you have one connected to your room, and this one is rarely used-—bigger than yours but less convenient. It's stocked up with your products anyway: shampoo, conditioner, body washes, skincare, and fresh warm towels on the radiator. 

Jimin steps in slowly; this room doesn't smell as much like you, and it clears his head a little. He watches you gently place the pile of clothes on the counter by the sink and turn to him, never failing to shock him as you reach out for his hand, feel all over it, run the back of your own hand over it again, and frown. You’re assessing his temperature and come to a conclusion; it might be a little pushy.

“You can change in here but- you should really shower; your still cold. you need to warm up or your going to get a cold. theres products in the shower, towels just there and skincare in the cabinet- you dont have too, of course but- just-” - You go from talking calmly and slowly to panicking at the end, mentally scolding yourself for feeling like you're overstepping so many boundaries and Jimin won't have any of that; instead, he holds your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. He’s affectionate; he’s always been one of the touchiest in the group, and as much as he would love to wrap you in a hug, this is all he feels is right as of now.

“Thank you Y/n” - Its not dismissive; he's not forcing you away; he is simply appreciating your words and your fretting. You nod, turning away and speaking before you leave and close the door.

“Ill just be in my bathroom in my room- if you need anything, just shout” - He nods, and that’s enough to calm your instincts a little, even more so when you close the door and hear him turn on the shower. 

Now to shower yourself.

Jimin’s quick to undress, stripping away all of the wet clothes and running his hands through his wet hair, turning on the shower and setting it to just the right temperature, glad that it’s easy to work. He has to change it from what it was on - what he would consider to be scalding - down to something less hot; he can't imagine that's the temperature you shower with - it is. Inside is everything he needs: you have copies of your own products, the marshmallow shampoo and conditioner you use, and a mildly scented body wash because you have sensitive skin. There's an unscented face wash as well, from a brand he's familiar with. 

The heat of the water running down him is welcomed; he takes a second to just let it rush over him, warm his body before he reaches for the shampoo. He can't stop himself from taking a few deep inhales of the scent; it's sweet, sugary, a little creamy, and so aligned with you it's dizzying. Odd to think he's also going to be using it; he’ll end up smelling like you a little, and that's a thought he has to halt instantly because if he keeps thinking like that the rumbling in his chest is only going to increase. 

After finishing up, he wraps his waist in a towel, shaking off his hair in the shower so he doesn’t flick water everywhere, kind of like Jungkook does, like a dog, except Jungkook likes to do it just about anywhere and doesn’t really care when the droplets hit the people around him. There's a smaller towel that he uses to roughly dry his hair and when he's done, he considers what to do with his pile of wet clothes, pushing them to the side momentarily and picking up the clothes you set out for him, dry, warm and fluffy with your scent. 

Good lord, it's going to be hard to hold back the urge to bury his face in them before he can even get them on and then even harder to stop the purr-like sound falling from his throat. Alphas don’t typically purr; they do, however, get a similar kind of sound when they are satisfied; it’s more of a rumble and a sweetened growl, though. It would be embarrassing to do it- especially front of you—but it's harder and harder to contain when he gets the clothes on. Theres still a singular roll in the bottom of the trousers that he has to undo to fall over the length of his legs and they sit low on his hips, fluffy and comforting, hes sure hes actually seen you wear these before on one of your run-ins. The hoodie is thick and soft, fits just right, perfectly oversized on him versus the extra extra oversized fit on you. 

He picks up his towels, folding them alongside folding his wet clothes and taking a split moment before leaving, just as you also leave your own room. 

You smell calmer, less frantic and certainly more like yourself, what does make him nearly trip though is you’ve taken off your scent blocker patches, the scent hitting him full force and he curses low under his breath, taking a moment to feign composition. 

You walk towards the large window and look out, frowning at the still heavy downpour, it doesnt seem to be letting up just yet. You can be forgiven for not noticing Jimin was out just yet, he smells a little bit too much like you to notice until your heavy scent fluffs a burst of his own and you spin on your heel.

“Do they fit okay?” - You rush over, grabbing his hand once again, feeling his temperature as best you can and nodding in approval that hes a lot warmer, you miss the shaky breathing hes suffering with because of your scent in this kind of proximity. Like him, you have wet, towel dried hair and fresh clothes on.

“Yeah they fit, thank you” - Jimin barely gets out, biting the inside of his lip because after he tried to breath through his mouth rather than his nose it just got more intense its like he could taste your scent. Hes a bit breathless, you put it down to the temperatures you leave the shower on but he assures he worked it out just fine. Then you notice the pile in his hands and reach out, giving him the option to pass them over

“I can go put your clothes in the dryer if youd like?” - Once again, Jimin’s noticing your own instincts playing up, even him touching the wet clothes seems to mildly unsettle you, shifting as you wait for his answer. He hands them over, gently placing them on your hands as if they are heavy and you are fragile, they arent and you aren’t but he will still treat you as if you are. He watches you run off for a moment to go to the utility room, putting them in the dryer and ona  quick dry, they only smell lightly of him due to the rain but its enough to remind you of his addictive scent and you nearly stumble on your way there, quickly saved.

Jimin can finally breathe with you a little bit further away although he kind of does want to suffocate in your scent- who said that?!

“It’s not finished yet” - Is the first thing you say with a frown and your arms crossed over your hoodie clad chest, referring to the rain as you both look out and Jimin worries that hes overstaying his welcome before you turn to him and begin to talk again.

“I’ll have a look on the weather app” - Then as you are about to grab your phone, you look up and notice his wet hair, frowning and he follows your eyes, reaching up and wiping it out of his face, offering a confused smile at your obvious disapproval.

“Dry your hair, you’ll get a cold- ill get my hairdryer” - Jimin barely has a chance to retort and say that you also have wet hair right now- and a lot more of it than him before your spinning off again and returning with a hairdryer, plugging it in near your couch, he goes to protest.

“Its really fine sugar, i wont catch a cold” - You’re hardly phased by the nickname when you stare at him in horror as if hes actually just said something highly illegal- Two seconds later hes yelping in surprise when you push him with a hand on his chest to sit on the couch behind him and he can’t deny that he does sink into the cloud-like mountain of pillow and blankets awfully fast. 

“Nonsense, stay” - You point and it’s suspiciously similar to how you’d tell a dog to sit and he does look puppylike in the way he does exactly what you say, staying sat and wondering what your about to do until you round him, lifting the dryer and then hesitating. 

“Can i dry your hair?” - You hover, not touching his hair at all for a moment but something in Jimin’s heart is warm, beating loud and in his ears. His chest is starting to rumble again and he really cannot wait until you get that hair dryer on to hopefully cover the sounds threatening to erupt from his chest. Something distant in his mind, heavily praising you and saying things like ‘sweet omega, taking care’ 

“Sure, sugar” - He dips his head for you to reach easier and you gently reach out, touching the strands and nearly purring from how soft they are, hes got his natural hair right now, they’d decided on it for the comeback, everyone natural although he is missing his blonde hair, he knows its a lot softer and healthier this way. Its just been cut, the sides shorter and a little prickly-soft you’ll find. The top’s in those curtains that perfectly frame his face, before styling its always a little bit in his eyes. 

After getting a feel for how soft it is, you cant resist dipping your hands in, gently detangling it with your fingers from his scalp to the ends, you have to clear your throat to cover up your purr. Jimin’s struggling too, hes putty in your hands, holding a pillow between his fingers to resist holding you a little closer because hes always loved having his hair played with, it tingles a little when you come across a few knots, mumbling an apology and oh so carefully untangling them one by one. He doesn’t mind the gentle tugging, hes leaning into your hands more and more by the second until hes practically crouched over himself. 

You keep going until you’re able to run your hands through it over and over, pushing it out of his face and back, over and over- a few times more than necessary. You catch a glimpse of Jimin’s face everytime you do it, hes got his eyes closed, gulping harshly every few seconds and otherwise, his lips barely part, breathing a little shaky and you take his flurry of scent fluffing around you as a reward, a token of approval.

Noises of approval fall from your lips, letting out a little purr by accident and watching as he twitches, looking up at you from under his hair and the look in your eyes has you spinning- metaphorically and physically as you turn your back to him searching for the hairdryer and simultaneously trying to even your breathing because WHO could possibly not stop breathing and blushing if jimin looked at you like THAT?!

The hairdryer acts as a good mask for your purrs and Jimin’s approving growls, even if maybe you can both hear them underneath. You keep running your fingers through his hair as you dry it, a medium sort of heat just in case rather than the high setting you always use on your own hair. You know how he likes his hair by now, making sure to run your fingers through it over and over in the front to swoop it out of his face and form the pretty bangs. Its so soothing that Jimin nearly falls straight into you, having to jolt himself up a few times because- why is he sleepy? Why is he quite literally about to doze off right them under your hands and the flittering heat of the hairdryer- 

You don’t mind when he jolts up, simply carrying on at a new angle each time until you turn the hairdryer off, Jimin’s hair a fluffy, soft sort of pillow on his head- you could definitely nest with something this soft- maybe you should just drag Jimin himself to the nest- Okay thats enough. 

Jimin slowly sits up when he realises your done and have ran your fingers through it just a few more times, it sits nicely out of his eyes, fluffed up just the right amount and he’s looking at your own hair before you can unplug the hairdryer and shaking off his happy haze to stop you. 

“My turn now sugar” - You turn around in confusion when he’s looking at you like your the softest thing in the world, angelic in his eyes and this is all so strange- you have barely known eachother over a month- what even is this?! You go to protest but he shushes you, gestures for you to take his spot and you do, getting a bit shy because you never have people do things like this for you and as he’s about to reach out and reciprocate, you reach for his wrist and stop him, words muddled on your tongue; maybe its just a try for you to brace yourself, maybe not

“It’s- it’s probably a lot more tangly than yours.” - Jimin looks at you pursing your lips and eyebrows furrowing, so clearly hesitating and he melts all over again. he retracts his hand and gives you a moment, voice so soft as if your a wounded animal

“Its okay; i dont have too if you’d rather i dont.” - And maybe thats all you needed to hear because it gives you the confidence to nod, dropping your head and Jimin pushes away the very small voice of his alpha singing your praises for dropping your head like that to him like omega’s do when showing their trust, saying you’re not doing it in that way

“I’d like you too” - Since your words are merely a murmur, Jimin doesn’t push you to talk any further. Gently separating your hair down the middle and into two sides, you ran some leave-in conditioner through it, but it might still be tangled. The first touch of Jimin’s fingers to your scalp almost makes you preen, resting your mouth on your hand, disguised as just slumping and comfortable, but it’s really to try and mask any reaction you have. 

Jimin purposefully is as gentle as possible, scratching over your scalp gently and repeating what you did for him, running his fingers through your hair until there's not a single knot; it's a lot longer, a lot lot longer than his, but that only makes him more careful. You are toe-to-toe; he can feel you wiggling them in happiness against his own, and it’s more than enough reassurance to carry on. You had already brushed it earlier, so it only takes a few passes to just get the few. 

Getting the hairdryer started and beginning has you in a very similar state to Jimin just a minute ago, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep; you haven’t had something like this since you were a child, always preaching your independence. That's why your purrs, louder than the hairdryer can be, are excused easily; you can hear Jimin giggling in joy and cooing over the softness of your hair, but it’s almost distant, barely feeling too conscious when he finishes. Minutes of drying had felt like a mere few moments, and you slowly blink back to reality. 

Jimin still keeps his finger detangling your hair after; it's only been 10 minutes start to finish from your hair to his, but it feels like it's been hours- friendly intimacy you tell yourself, right?

Busying yourself when he finishes is easier than confronting your currently hazy state, thanking him for doing it, and he recirprocates with a half-flirty comment about loving you playing with his hair that you know is only light-hearted. 

“You must be hungry- you’d be home by now” - Your voice sounds distant to your own ears. The worry shown by the little crease between your brows makes a similar expression settle on his own face. He wants to wipe it right off

Then, without him getting a chance to respond, you remember you’d obviously both gone to get food, and there are two plastic carrier bags on the kitchen island containing ramen and gimbap. It’s still pouring; he can’t possibly get back yet, and after you’d checked the weather, it was meant to calm down in around half an hour to forty five minutes, you had told him, and he’d nodded, not rushing to leave and you can hardly have him going hungry-—what kind of hospitality would that be? What kind of omega would you be?

“Would you like me to cook your ramen for you? I mean, I'm definitely not as good with cooking as baking, but I make a mean instant ramen” - You laugh out, trying to cover the fact that this feels awfully domestic and so intimate you could just melt. Jimin returns your laugh and wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, with a brief comment of ‘I bet you can,’ not at all a flirty kind of response, but he just makes it one with his tone.

He nods, thanks you, and although he feels he should at least help and not make you do it all, you have somehow accumulated a habit of pushing his chest and stunning him momentarily, enough to push him to sit and let you do it.

You aren't lying; you do make a mean instant ramen. Soft boil a few eggs to go with it, just right so that they pop when cut in half but aren't too gooey. Plating it up in the cups just because, and in 10 minutes you’re back and smiling to yourself at how Jimin’s sunk into the couch, sleepily blinking, your omega clawing within you in self-praise, happy you’ve aided him to get to this kind of state. Warm, dry, comfortable, and about to have a full belly.

Jimin practically moans when he tastes his ramen, claiming you make it better than he ever has, both of you munching away on ramen and gimbap. You both chose spicy versions; it plumps Jimin’s lip an almost anime-like red plush, and he sniffles at one moment-—you freeze.

You take his sniffling as him already developing a cold even though your rational brain knows you're also sniffling and it's only from the ramen. You try to keep eating, but you seem cautious, something to say or do lingering in your movements, and when Jimin picks up on it, you don't know how, but he just knows.

“I don’t have a cold; it’s just spicy- here, try” - It does well to distract you along with calming you, but you do look at him like he’s just done something absolutely obscene when he holds out a bite of his ramen on his chopsticks for you, hand under to stop them from getting on your couch or you; he laughs at your expression, but you open your mouth and lean in either way, trying them. They are sweet, savory and- spicy, so spicy that your eyes pop out and you look at him in terror- He’s in a fit of giggles that are music to your ears, throwing his head back and you’d hardly taken notice of the gesture of him feeding you and you sharing chopsticks-

“How do you even eat that! That’s going to burn my tastebuds off! Try mine its nothing like that-” - You get out between taking deep breaths to try and cool your mouth and eating a bite of gimbap, gathering a good bite on your ramen, repeating the gesture and Jimin leans in instantly, humming in approval at the taste but still half-giggling at your reaction

“They’re good! You sound like Taehyung” - He gets out after swallowing, nearly finishing his ramen now, same with you.

“Well, Taehyung is right because that is spice from the burning pits of hell, and I like spice!” - You near shout at him, still shocked and appalled, just as you finish and he’s once again giggling. Jimin reaches out and wipes your lip, a little bit of the ramen sauce still on it, feeling over your lip and bringing it back and into his mouth as if it's nothing. You’re frozen; he’s nonchalant about it, carrying on and laughing at your expression, and then you shove another bite into your mouth, blaming your flaming cheeks on his ridiculously spicy choice. Did he really just do that? Wipe off sauce from your lip and then lick his finger off after?! He’d darted his tongue out to do it past his puffy red lips and then just acted like nothing!

He’s driving you a little crazy, and it forces your sweetened scent out in a flutter so strong Jimin nearly choked, the kind of scent that you’d talked to Dr.Kim about. Then you’re embarrassed and mortified at yourself and don’t say a single word about it, neither does Jimin, maybe taking a lot deeper inhales of your scent than he’ll admit, feeling ravenous despite having just eaten an entire meal. It’ll replay in both of your minds, a whole lot more than you are both willing to admit.

The weather app lied. It always does. That half an hour to forty-five minutes? Lies. An hour rolls around, and both of you are stuffed full of food, warm, comfortable, and positively about to doze off when you murmur out.

“It doesn’t look like it’s stopping.”

Jimin agrees; the idea of leaving is kind of painful. he hasnt been this comfortable in days but he knows he cant overstay his welcome; cant intrude when your eyes are droopy and he knows your nest is just a door away and that you're probably begging to get in and have some alone time - if only he knew your omega has been nagging at you to invite him in since he got here. That makes him pause because he hadn’t really clocked that oh- oh. Your nest is just in the other room, so close, and you’ve been okay with him staying here so far? In fact, with a quick glance, he realises the door isn't pushed shut to your room; there's a slight crack open, and he can briefly see piles and piles of blankets and pillows when he squints before relocating his sight as if he were burnt. 

He is not letting his alpha fall down that rabbit hole of thoughts- although it already began, still singing praises about you and your instinct, about how well you took care of him, about how amazing of an omega you would be to the pack- He shuts his brain off quick at that one. 

“I’ll call Yoongi and see if he can pick me up so I am out of your hair.” - It’s light-hearted how it comes out, but he has to clear his throat, and there’s this little tone of disappointment that makes you internally whine, or more specifically, your omega whines and begs for you to make him stay, but you know you can’t. Instead, you offer a little comment to try and soften that disappointment.

“You’re not a burden, Jimin, I mean it.” - Jimin’s eyes flick to you so fast you’re sure he should get some sort of pain from the motion; he deflates, a breath falling out that he didn’t know he was containing, but he isn’t deflating from being upset; much the opposite, what you say soothes him, wraps around him, and its words that he doesn’t often hear but always worries about. You don’t know it, but he really wants to scoop you up and hold you so tight you can barely breathe.

Your smile is genuine and telling, he returns it right back, still picking up his phone to call Yoongi but with far less haste. You give him a moment, going to the utility room and opening your dryer, gently folding Jimin’s clothes; they smell briefly of your laundry from the dryer sheet you put in, and you’re glad they don’t smell like rain at all. Now that they are dry, you can appreciate the fabrics he chooses, running your fingers over them, internally cooing and externally nodding from the softness. Your omega’s dancing around, saying something similar to praise about it being soft enough for his skin and thick enough to keep him warm, but you try to ignore it. 

So strange, your omega's been nagging and giving far more comments and pushes to your actions than ever; maybe it's just because you're at home. 

Jimin calls Yoongi in the other room, telling him he got stuck in the rain and needs to be picked up. Yoongi panics, asking where he is and how long hes been stuck, saying he needs to get to some sort of shelter, but Jimin cuts him off. Tells him he's okay, he's at yours, he's dry and safe, but he just doesn't want to stay too long when he knows you should rest. Yoongi is… shocked to say the least, jealous? Bamboozled? Filled with questions. He’ll hold off to ask though; he asks him to drop a pin on his location and says he will leave now.

He doesn’t go without leaving a comment about how he needs to thank you and keep well away from your nest, and- he goes on and on, but Jimin hangs up when he hears you leaving the utility room. 

You walk over, a timid sort of smile on your face, and you don’t even notice how you’re still lightly running your fingers over the fabrics over and over, but Jimin does. It fills him with a sort of sense of pride, of reassurance that he has surely picked out well, and his recent attention to his clothes and fabrics is appreciated by someone else. By an omega. By you.

“They smell good” - He claims, taking a big inhale of them, still warm too.

“Is this you trying to compliment your own scent?” - You tease, knowing fully well he means the scent of the dryer sheet sticking to them “I mean- are you saying it's worth complimenting?” - He pushes right back, tilting his head in curiosity, a smirk pulling at his lips

“Don't get all sassy now” - You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, and he breaks into a big smile. Unfortunately for you, Jimin doesn’t mind being sassy. 

“Awwww you do, dont you, sugar?” - Teases and teases, standing up and over you, cooing and walking a little closer just to keep it up

“Mines better.” - You roll your eyes again; now your the one acting sassy. a small smirk as you think it’ll end there, with you winning

“I’ll agree there.” - Oh, now you're silent. Silenced. Okay Jimin won.

On cue, Yoongi sends Jimin a message saying he's outside. Jimin frowns a little, and you barely catch it before he's schooling his face into a small smile again. 

“Yoongi’s here” - You try to hide the disappointment on your own face; your omega is clawing and clawing at you. Make him stay; ask him for a few more minutes. You dont

“I’ll walk you down” - Jimin nods, going towards the door and then looking down, guilty and giving you a sheepish smile because he’s still in your clothes

“I’ll get one of the boys to return them to you if I don’t see you first” - He rubs the back of his neck and looks so sweetly awkward it’s amusing; you break into a full laugh at his confident and sassy exterior breaking. 

“Come on, don’t keep Yoongi waiting” - You get through your laughs, subconsciously reaching for Jimin’s hand and intertwining your fingers all over again, barely holding back a gasp after you realise what you’re doing, but the smile Jimin can’t contain is worth it, especially when he squeezes your hand so you can’t pull away, and you both begin your comfortable but short journey downstairs. 

You can see Yoongi’s car pulled right up to the door, looking out of his window after a moment and through the glass. He has a clear view because it's bright in the hall; it's pitch black outside. 

Jimin and you walk to the door together, hand in hand still, swinging them a little and not stopping your conversation until you come to a halt. Jimin purses his lips; it looks like he's contemplating something, and before you can pull away, he holds onto your hand a little tighter and pulls you flush against his chest. Arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and after a moment of shock, yours move up and around his neck. It's an intimate hug, a warm embrace filled with thousands of unspoken words, and you stay like that for a good 30 seconds. 

You’re certain Jimin can feel your chest vibrating with silent purrs; he’s so warm, so comforting. His breath is hitting the top of your head where he leans down a little and rests his chin onto your hair. You’ve never had a hug so perfect, he’s certain, arms tight, yours are the same, and your bodies are flush against eachother. Your breathing is a little shaky, and so is Jimin’s, his scent so heavy and thick around you that you’re sure your knees are trembling a little and everything feels a little slow; you’re melting. Thinking he can only feel the vibrations of your purrs is wrong because he can hear them; this close he can hear them, and he's reciprocating his own kind back to you. 

He doesn’t let go to speak to you, not one bit.

“Thank you…” - His voice is so soft it feels like he's singing it to you, hanging heavy and breathy over you. You somehow know he’s not just talking about your basic hospitality, that maybe this situation spoke to him like it spoke to you, although you can’t decipher what exactly that means. 

You don’t need to say anything in return; he doesn’t expect you to. You slowly let go of each other, one final shaky breath between you two before he walks and opens the door, glad that the small cover over the entrance is enough to shelter him to get into Yoongi’s car. Standing there, you watch until they slowly pull away, sharing a heavy glance with Yoongi.

Inside the car, they begin silent; Jimin’s in some kind of bliss, melting back into the seat, head tilted back a little and eyes closed.

“Tell me.” - Yoongi says, and underneath the calm exterior he tries to push, there's a sort of excitement, a jealousy, a curiosity that would have his leg bouncing had he not been driving. You’re doing something to all of them, fast, and you probably don’t even see it.

Ahhhhhh i hope you all enjoyed todays chapter. I mean, i loved it but im biased cos i wrote it...

Thank you so much for reading as always!

My asks are open of course!

Lmk if youd like to be added to the taglist x

Mwah ����

ཐི♡ཋྀ

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[arandomao3user]

. . . Scene/ part from my Joker Jr. AU W.I.P. that didn't make the cut as I plan everything out, but I wanted to write it, so, here:

Context: Tim gets locked in Arkham for two years after the whole Joker Jr. Scenario due to Bruce's questionable choices, Jason breaks him out and basically adopts him after he gets back and his entire revenge ark backfires. Tensions between the Red's and Bats are kinda always high.

—

Damian: Why are the failed Robin's here?

Jason: Failed Robin's?

Damian: It was either that or the insane ones, but I feel nobody could compare to this disgrace of a Robin.

Damian gesture to Tim, who's sitting at the dining table doodling on a piece of paper— W.E. paperwork Jason found while snooping— Jason gave him.

Tim: Huh?

Damian: FATHER!

Bruce, taking a sharp breath and sending a prayer before walking in with the most forced smile any of them might've ever seen.

Bruce: Damian, Tim and Jason were invited for dinner.

Damian: It is suspicious that they've accepted, but even more suspicious you've extended the invite of dinner to them, of all people.

Bruce: Well, Dick—

Damian: Of course, it was Grayson who thought this a good idea...

Jason: Little ray of sunshine you got there. Y'know, Tim only set one trashcan on fire on the way over. Can your spawn of evil say the same?

Bruce:

Bruce: Tim did what?—

Tim, snickering:

Damian: Why is he laughing?

Jason: He's either got a new idea for tech, or he's trying to hold himself back from stabbing you. Hard to tell.

Damian: . . . Father?

Bruce: Alfred! How's dinner coming along?

—

Dick and Jason angry-whispering between one another as they set the table.

Dick: You can't come here and just start drama, we want to reconnect and make amends, we want to fix our mistakes and every time we try it's like you and Tim make it a point to further the gap between us!

Jason: Oh, excuse us for not being over all the s$&# you f#&$%#s put us through.

Dick: Jason, we loved you, there was never a time you should've doubted that, and we've all felt enough guilt over losing you—

Jason: And what about Tim? Did ya think of 'im when you were playin' hero? Did he ever cross your mind? Did you ever bother to check in with Arkham? Or were you just happy he stayed there unlike all your other rogues, stayed there for two years without anyone or anything?

Dick silently sets down a plate, fixing a fork beside it, unable to meet Jason's eye...

Jason: Exactly, so we have a right to be petty. This? This is tame compared to what you all deserve...

Dick: I loved him, Jay. He was my baby brother, but... But you didn't see, what the Joker did— Arkham was helping, it would've been suspicious if the Wayne's visited a John Doe, we thought it w—

Jason: No, it wasn't! But I get it, I figured it out a long long time ago. The second we ain't of us no more to your bat mission? We're disposable.

Dick: Jay—

Bruce: Is... Is the table set?

Jason and Dick:

Jason: To explode.

Dick: Jason!

—

Damian, glaring at Tim:

Tim, kicking Damian from under the table:

Damian: Father, is it to late to euthanize him?

Jason: I'll euthanize all of you.

Dick: So, uh, how's the food?

Tim: Better than Arkhams! :D

Dick: o... Oh... Uh, that's—

Tim: They'd sneak stuff into our food there. Can you imagine that!?

Dick: . . . I—

Tim: Never trusting your own meal, afraid of whatever they've put in there this time...

Tim, humming happily as he cuts his steak:

Damian: Tt, should've built an intolerance to such things.

Tim: Are you intolerant to fire?

Jason: Hey, no threatening people with fire, Little Red. I don't wanna confiscate your flamethrower again.

Bruce: . . . Is it safe f—

Jason: Yes.

Tim: There was always a new fire in Arkham! Firefly did them so often that we'd just roast marshmallows sometimes! It was the only warmth I received in that prison...

Dick:

Bruce:

Damian:

Jason, looking at them as he eats off his plate:

Alfred: I see we won't be having a normal meal tonight, which is a shame, I spent all evening preparing for it in hopes you'd all be able to get along long enough to bond over your shared interests. Alas, my efforts were futile, and a meal has been wasted with pointless bickering and an unhealthy obsession on the past.

Jason: Sorry, Alfie, my dramatics might've rubbed off on the kid.

Tim: Ooo, he's better at guilt tripping than me! :D

Damian: THIS WAS SCRIPTED!?

Tim: THEY LOCKED ME ARKHAM FOR TWO YEARS!

Damian: You could have escaped!

Tim: I was being good! I was a good Robin! I wanted to be a good Robin!

Damian: Well, congratulations! You've become the least memorable with a short run of a year before falling victim to the clown the same way Todd did! Bravo, you truly were good.

Jason: Oh, like the clown wouldn't have taken a hit at you if he was here! How's it feel knowin' that? And guess what?! Bruce would've been to late to save you to!

Bruce: If we need to talk about this than we can, but Damian isn't a part of this!

Jason: He's making himself a part of this!

Bruce: He's a child, Jason.

Jason: So was Tim! How the f#&$ does that feel!? Damian is as old as Tim was when you threw him in Arkham!

Bruce: I am trying to extend an olive branch—

Jason: This is what you call trying!?

Dick: Enough! I just wanted one dinner where we could out aside the masks and weapons and try to—

Jason: What? Talk? Solve all our issues?! This ain't family therapy, and if it was the therapist would've walked out by now!

Tim: Can confirm! I've seen tooooooons, they would not stick around.

Damian: By god! We get it, Drake, you were a victim! Todd was a victim! Perhaps you'd both heal from no longer focusing on how other's have failed you.

Jason: Butt outta this, short stack!

Bruce: Do not yell at my son!

Jason:

Tim:

Damian:

Dick, face palming:

Bruce: Don't... No, that is... That is not what I meant— You are my son, you are all my sons—

Tim: You weren't my Dad. I had a Dad, and Mom. You told them I died.

Bruce: . . . It was for our identities.

Jason: Pfft, well, this has been fun!

Dick: Please, Jay, you're both hurting— we've all hurt each other, we get it, I get it, Bruce gets it. But, please, we can fix this.

Jason: Fix what exactly?

Dick: This... Everything, Jason. We can be brothers again, we can be a family again, and we can all move past all the had stuff! I know we can.

Jason: Maybe that's easy for you to say, when you aren't a kid runnin' around the world, trainin' because it hurts, and you don't know how to make the hurt stop, so you focus on plans to get the one person who promised to never let anything bad happen to you to admit he was wrong! Maybe that's easy when you're not left alone to rot in Arkham Asylum, the worst asylum, an adult mental health facility, at thirteen years old, in the same cell of your kidnapper and abuser for two years, with nobody!

Tim, picking at his cuticles:

Jason: . . . I don't give a damn about hurting any of you anymore, but I think we've made it clear we don't wanna deal with any of you. We aren't family. You're all Bats. Stephanie, Tim, and I? We aren't, and it'd serve you all well to remember that, because you've hurt each of us, and never did you once care.

Bruce: Jason, I will allow you and Tim both to feel however you need, but I... I cared for you both, I only tried to do what was right.

Jason: Right? Arkham was right? Not killing the Joker before he could hurt anyone else was right?

Bruce: . . . I regret every single second that Tim was in Arkham, I regret that he had to kill the Joker—

Tim: I don't! I don't regret killing the Joker! If my opinion matters at all, but I forget, I'm just the crazy one! But, y'know, I'd do it again, for anyone who cares to ask the oh so mentally unstable one! :D

Bruce: . . . I regret a lot.

Tim: I don't.

Jason: You haven't even looked at him once, Bruce. That speaks volumes. C'mon, Little Red! Let's ride out, Steph is probably waiting for us to get back.

Tim, shoving his scented markers in his pockets: YES! STEPHANIE!!! LET'S GO SET WAYNE ENTERPRISE ON FIRE AGAIN!

Jason: That's not us, by the way. But best of luck figuring put who keeps setting your office on fire!

Bruce: . . .

Bruce: Tim.

Tim: . . . What?

Bruce: . . . You were a good Robin.

Tim: . . .

Tim: I'm sorry you weren't a good Batman.

Tim throws his arms around Jason and cackles as they walk out, Jason complimenting Tim on his improv skills as they go...

Alfred: Well, that certainly could have gone worse.

Damian: I can see now why Cain declines my dinner invitation.

Dick: B..?

Bruce: It... Was progress.

Bruce's office was set on fire again that night.

—

Why this didn't make the cut? It wasn't angsty enough, timing, also I had a better idea—

[dreamykira]

One Way or Another I IN-HO x reader

˗ˏˋREQUEST ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ Hi I hope you're doing well! Can I please request In-ho x female reader where she's a player and he becomes obsessed with her during his time as Young-il? During the rebellion, when Dae-ho fails to bring the ammo, she takes on the role and arrives on time to see In-ho's moment of betrayal. And from there, he decides to just remove her from the game and keep her with himself. It would be all the better if it was angsty with a touch of manipulative In-ho. @androgynous-lady

˗ˏˋWARNINGS ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ Betrayal, mentions of blood and killing, Dae-Ho has a panic attack. SPOILERS!!!! English is not my first language:)

˗ˏˋAUTHOR'S NOTE ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ hello again:) im kind of in my writers era or smth cos i have no clue how i've managed to post three fics in three days. i hope i can keep the streak going for longer. ALSOOOO this came out longer than i expected and im kind of inspired to write a part two of what happens when in-ho and reader meet again soooooo..... that means that i might turn this into a multi-part series. thats ofc if you guys like it and are interested in it.

word count: 1465

Pt. 2

The tension in the dormitory was suffocating. The players sat in clusters, whispering among themselves, the weight of what was to come pressing down on them like a storm cloud. Soon, the plan would be set in motion.

But for now, there was still time.

And yet, it didn’t feel like enough.

“Are you sure you have to go?” you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric of Young-il’s sleeve.

He paused, gun in hand, eyes flickering toward you. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached out and cupped your face, his thumb tracing gently over your cheek. The softness of the gesture felt at odds with the world you were trapped in.

“You know I do,” he said, voice low, steady.

You swallowed. “Then let me come with you.”

A small smile ghosted over his lips, but there was something sad about it. “No,” he said simply.

Your grip tightened. “Why not?”

His hands slid down to your shoulders, his touch warm, grounding. “Because I need you here. I need to know you’re safe.”

Safe.

The word felt meaningless in this place.

You searched his eyes, hoping—praying—for something, anything, that would make this easier. But all you saw was quiet determination.

He was going. And there was nothing you could do to stop him.

Your breath hitched as a lump formed in your throat. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost like he was amused by your doubt. “I will.”

“You don’t know that.”

At that, his expression shifted—something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips.

The world around you faded. Just for a second.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I will,” he murmured, “one way or another.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. But before you could dwell on it, he was already stepping away. Already slipping through the door.

And you were left standing there, his words echoing in your mind.

One way or another.

✧˚ · .

Gunfire echoed through the maze-like corridors of the facility as the armed players made their move, pushing forward with relentless desperation. It was chaos.

Hyun-Ju ducked behind cover as bullets whizzed past, her pulse roaring in her ears. “We’re running low on ammo!” she shouted.

“We need more!” someone yelled back. “We can’t hold out like this!”

Dae-ho clenched his jaw, gripping his rifle. “I’ll go get some,” he said.

As he ran through the corridors, the gunfire fading behind him, something dark and suffocating wrapped around his chest.

Memories clawed their way to the surface.

Blood. Screaming. The bodies of people he had once called comrades.

His breath hitched.

✧˚ · .

You had been pacing, anxiety gnawing at your stomach, when Dae-ho stumbled inside.

Something was wrong.

Dae-ho stumbled back into the dormitory, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His hands were shaking, but he forced himself to move.

He scanned the room—most of the players were huddled together, whispering anxiously, too afraid to do anything. The bodies of the dead guards still lay where they had fallen, untouched.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself forward.

His hands trembled as he knelt beside one of the guards, searching through his pockets. He grabbed everything he could find, moving quickly to the next body.

The smell of blood made his stomach churn.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend he wasn’t kneeling among corpses, rummaging through their uniforms like a scavenger.

By the time he was done, he had stuffed as much ammo as he could into a spare jacket he’d found. His fingers tightened around the fabric.

He needed to go back.

He needed to bring this to the others.

But the moment he turned toward the door, something inside him snapped.

A memory. A flash of gunfire. Screams.

His breath hitched.

He couldn’t go back out there.

His grip on the jacket loosened as his feet carried him backward, away from the door, away from the fight.

By the time he reached his bed, he collapsed onto it, curling around the stolen ammo like a child clutching a security blanket. His body shook. His mind screamed.

That was how you found him.

Your heart clenched at the sight.

Slowly, carefully, you approached.

“Dae-ho?” you whispered.

He didn’t look up.

You crouched beside him, your voice softer now. “What happened?”

His breaths were uneven. “I—I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t go back out there.”

Your chest ached.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to.”

His eyes flickered toward you, glassy with fear.

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before shifting your attention to the jacket in his grasp.

“You did good,” you said. “You got the ammo.”

He swallowed hard, nodding weakly.

You hesitated. Then, carefully, you took the jacket from him. He didn’t resist.

“I’ll take it from here.”

And before he could stop you, you turned and ran.

✧˚ · . 

The colourful walls blurred around you as you moved as fast as you could, the weight of the ammo pressing down on you.

You found Player 120, Hyun-Ju, first. She was crouched behind cover, struggling to reload.

“Here!” you gasped, shoving the ammo toward her.

Her eyes widened in relief. “Thank you—”

But you were already moving.

You had to find Young-il.

✧˚ · .

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you turned the last corner. Then, you saw him.

Young-il stood just ahead, his back turned to you, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. At his feet lay the bodies of two players—the same ones who had left with him.

Your heart lurched.

They were dead.

Your gaze snapped back to Young-il. He was gripping a gun.

“Young-il?” Your voice was shaky as you took a hesitant step forward.

He turned at the sound of your voice. His expression hardened for a fraction of a second, as if he was displeased to see you. Then, just as quickly, his face softened.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp, but beneath it, there was something else.

Relief.

Anger.

Panic.

You swallowed thickly. “We were running out of ammo… Dae-ho—he couldn’t do it. I took over.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You shouldn’t have come.”

You frowned. Something about his tone unsettled you. You glanced down at the bodies again, dread curling in your stomach. “What happened to them?”

“They didn’t make it,” he said simply.

You looked up at him again, and for the first time, you truly took him in.

There was something off about him.

The way he stood—too still.

The way he held the gun—too natural.

The way he looked at you—too calculating.

Then, his walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“Young-il?” It was Gi-hun’s voice. “What’s going on? I heard gunshots.”

Young-il lifted the device to his lips, his eyes still locked onto yours.

“It’s over,” he said. His voice was steady, but his grip on the gun tightened. “We’ve been caught.”

Your breath hitched.

Lies.

Your hands curled into fists.

Before you could speak, he changed the channel on the walkie-talkie.

“Start wrapping this up.” His voice was different now. Colder.

The words sent ice through your veins.

Your stomach twisted, dread creeping up your spine as the realisation began to sink in.

This wasn’t Young-il.

Not really.

Not the man you had trusted. Not the man you had cared for. Not the man who you fell in love with.

Your throat felt tight. “Who… who are you?”

There was a long pause. 

Then, something in him shifted. The careful mask of concern fell away, revealing something darker beneath.

Something possessive.

Something unyielding.

He took a step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “I told you I would come back to you,” he murmured.

Your breath came in shallow gasps.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Guards.

You took a step back, shaking your head.

“No,” you whispered.

Young-il—it was clear that it wasn’t his real name—reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said softly. “I’m keeping you safe.”

You flinched. “This isn’t—this isn’t right.”

His gaze darkened, but he didn’t move away. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

The guards arrived.

In-ho didn’t even have to give the order out loud. One of them grabbed your arm, and panic surged through you.

“No—wait—” You struggled, and for some odd reason hoped that Young-il would save you.

You turned to him, searching for something—some trace of the man you had thought he was.

He only tilted his head.

“Take her upstairs,” he said.

And as the guards pulled you away, your heart shattered.

to the lovely reader who sent me the request: i hope this met you expectations 💗

[violetseaslug]

Haii!! your writing is amazing :> Can you please do a Se-mi × fem!reader au wherein se-mi survives the game and comes back 3 months later to find her gf in a hospital because she hasn't been eating nor sleeping well because se-mi went missing without letting anyone know about her whereabouts. Please make it angst with comfort in the end hwehe [im bouncing off the walls iluv se-mi sm ^°^]

thankuthanku :>

fem!reader x se-mi, post squid game

tw: brief mention of fainting, basic description of a hospital, angst (with comfort),

an: my reqs r open! thank you so much for the request u super duper cool person :P i hope you like it and this is what you wanted/it's up to ur standards 💐 and as always guys i miss mei <\3 shes not answering my messages so i MIGHT jump her but its ok i love her🌹 i also did NOT know what to name this so 💔💔

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

Se-mi had no idea what she was getting into when she called the number on the back of that stupid card. At the time, it felt like the only choice—like fate had handed her an opportunity she couldn’t refuse. But now, standing in the aftermath, battered and bruised, her body in agony, she regretted it more than anything because now she was here. Alone and Fighting for her life.

Her only motivation was you.

She clung to the thought of your embrace, the way your arms had always fit so perfectly around her, as if they were made to hold her together. She longed for the sound of your laughter, the way it could brighten everyday. But most of all, she just wanted to see you again.

Each day in the games had been an agonizing battle, stretching out endlessly.

She had survived, though. Barely. Every victory came at a price—a price paid in tears and blood. At night, when the lights dimmed, she curled up, willing herself not to cry. But the tears always came.

She had won. She had survived. But at what cost?

Now, stumbling down an unfamiliar street, she barely recognized herself. Deep cuts lined her arms, her clothes were torn, and exhaustion was written all over her face. She was only half-aware of the people passing by, their eyes flickering over her before quickly looking away, as if afraid to acknowledge her.

And then—someone touched her.

A steady arm wrapped around her shoulders, another gripping her waist, keeping her upright.

"Hey, be careful," a voice said gently.

Se-mi flinched, instinctively trying to push away, but her strength failed her.

"Let me go," she rasped, her throat raw from dehydration and crying.

"I work at the nearby hospital," the woman assured her. "You need snitches. It’ll take less than two hours, and then you can be on your way."

Se-mi wanted to refuse, to keep walking, to somehow will herself straight into your arms. But her vision was already fading at the edges, her body swaying uncontrollably. She barely felt it when she collapsed into the woman’s arms, her world stopping.

Bright lights, the stiff feel of a hospital bed beneath her, the smell of sanitizer and latex gloves.

Se-mi woke up with a sudden gasp, panic settling in. Her mind was chanting "no," as she realized she couldn’t be here. She needed to leave so she could continue trying to find you.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she realized how hopeless her situation was. No money. No transport. No way of knowing where you were, or if you had moved, or if you were even still waiting for her.

The truth was suffocating. Without you, she was nothing.

A quiet knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. She barely noticed the nurses stepping inside, their eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place.

One of them lowered her face mask and spoke.

“We apologize for the intrusion, but we think we understand your predicament here.”

Se-mi let out a laugh, wiping at her tear-streaked face. “No,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m afraid you don’t.”

A smile crept onto the nurse’s face. For a split second, Se-mi felt anger rise in her chest. What kind of nurse smiled this way at someone who's so clearly vulnerable? But then she saw it.

The reason behind the smile.

Because behind the nurse, being wheeled into the room in a chair, was you.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, the world stopped.

Se-mi ignored the wobble in her legs, the way her body screamed in protest, and stumbled toward you. She cupped your face with shaking hands, her tears falling harder now, hot and relentless, pouring down as her emotions ovetook her.

“baby, I’m so sorry. please—i won’t ever leave you again, i swear. i don’t know what i was thinking, i—please, baby, forgive me. i promise—”

Her desperate words were cut off as your lips pressed against hers.

The kiss was soft, reassuring. You tasted like home.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against hers, your fingers gently brushing against her tear-stained skin.

“I’m just glad to have you back, my love,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I was so worried. I barely ate, barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined you knocking on the door, and I was terrified I wouldn’t be there to answer. I thought I lost you. These lovely nurses haven't left my side since I told them the reason I was here, they recognized you from all of the times i had described your pretty face. They said they would keep an eye out and here you are."

Se-mi let out a broken sob, her fingers curling around your shirt like you might disappear if she let go.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whimpered. “I’m here now. i promise. Nothing will hurt you.”

Your hand held the back of her head as you whispered, “Your soul is my blessing.”

And as you kissed her again, slowly, deeply, Se-mi knew she was finally home.

[montimer]

Full masked mark x reader

Gn!reader, comfort, bit smutty at the end but not the actual stuff

with that little screen time he has its hard to guess but hope i wrote him okay

Finding an universe where you're still alive, take you back to his, that was the idea. Unknown to him in here you were only best friends with Mark. And had no idea who the creep was flying outside of your window.

Backing away from the stranger that just showed up uninvited. He tries to explain, not stepping too close. His heart aches, seeing you so afraid of him.

You noticed how different he is from the other variants. He almost seemed, sad? You weren't sure, what if this is an act? He sounds like Mark but its hard to tell with the mask, this isn't the Mark from your universe, that at least is clear to you.

But hearing his voice crack, seeing how he tries to keep a safe distance for you, well you can't help but feel awful.

Finally giving in you step closer to him, trying to give some comfort. He goes quiet, listening to your sweet voice. Its a pleasant surprise for him, to hear your voice that isn't filled with fear.

"Mark?" You call out to him. Reaching your hand but not enough to touch him.

He quickly filles the distance between the two of you. Hugging you close. You recognize him right? You said his name, you still love him? Is what he wanted to say but only sobs came out.

He missed you so bad. He just couldn't let you go now, afraid that you'll slip away from his graps, never to be seen again.

One hand on your back, the other around your waist, holding you close. His head is laying on your chest.

You didn't even had time to react. Your heart beating fast. He could feel it. It made him squeeze you even closer.

Your hands slowly come up to wrap them back around him. Caressing his back. Just what could have happened to him?

Feeling you give the affection back made him sob harder but also soften his hold on you. He snuggled into your neck. Chanting "I love you" and "I missed you".

Relived, you sighted, getting a bit of space to breath. Not wanting to turn down his affection, you bring yourself to gasp out an "I love you too". Hoping to calm him down.

It was like a rock falling off his chest. He looked up at you. You could only see blue googles staring at you.

He gently put his head to yours, his forehead touching yours.

"I- im going to take you back. But i need to make sure the others won't find you, okay love?" He managed to say in a shaky voice.

"What?" You had no idea what he was talking about.

"Im going to find mom, then we can all go back and-" he looked down. Was he scaring you again? Did he sound too selfish?

You tried to push him away, and that broke his heart.

He pulled you back, too easily for your liking. He was so strong, still his grip on you didn't hurt as bad as it should.

"Please,don't-" he sounded like he was about to cry again. You let him hug you once again. This time in a way you couldn't see his face at all. Only feeling his hard breathes on the back of your neck.

Too distracted by your own confusion, you failed the notice when he pulled his mask up to his noise and planted a kiss on your neck.

You felt your cheeks become red.

"You always loved that" only then does it become clear to you. Were you lovers with him in another universe?

He slowly moved in, hoping you won't back away. And when you didn't he quickly closed in, kissing you.

You made a "mm?!" sound and he moaned into your mouth. He really missed this. He began to leave loving kisses all over your face. All of this happening made you extremely flustered.

You guessed he won't leave for a pretty long time.

[anniflamma]

Okay… I’m going to rant about a book that I read a while ago.... And I can’t deny it anymore… it was a bad book.

The Passion of Sergius and Bacchus by David Reddish. It’s a romantic retelling of the Christian saints Sergius and Bacchus.

To tell the story briefly about these saints, Sergius and Bacchus were third-century Roman soldiers and Christian martyrs. The oldest record of their martyrdom describes them as erastai (Greek for “lovers”). Scholars believe they may have been united in the rite of adelphopoiesis, a kind of early Christian same-sex union. When their Christian faith became known, after they refused to attend sacrifices to Zeus, Sergius and Bacchus were arrested and paraded through the streets in women’s clothing in an unsuccessful effort to humiliate them. The reason it failed was that the duo didn’t feel humiliated being dressed as women. After that they were both executed. Bacchus was beaten to death and Sergius was forced to walk in inward-iron-spiked metal shoes to another town and there was executed.

So, of course, when I found out there was a book retelling about them, I bought it immediately and obviously ignored the negative reviews. I read it with rose-tinted glasses on and loved it! Sure, I could see some red flags, but I ignored them, and to be honest, there are some parts of the book that is very good.

But here’s the problem with it: Reddish’s way of portraying women is… very questionable. For example, there are only two named female characters in the book. Only two. The first one is Helen, whose personality traits are that she’s pregnant and stupid. Im not kidding. Not that she actually does anything dumb, the narrative just tells us she’s stupid. She don't do anything, like she takes parts in some conversations with the other male characters but other than that, nothing. But the book itself and the maincharacters acts like she is the most dumb person there is. Later in the book, she dies, motivating another male character to make irrational decisions out of grief. Her only purpose is to serve as a plot device when she dies.....

The second named female character is Miriam (I remember right...), and she’s a homophobe. She does have a small arc where she recognizes she’s wrong, the next chapter she’s back to being homophobic again, and the narrative nor other characters doesn’t acknowledge her regression.

Trigger warning for the topic of rape.

Then there’s another female character who appears in the book. She doesn’t have a name. She’s basically just a narrative device to show that Sergius is a good person. There’s a scene where Sergius finds a group of Roman men raping a 14-year-old girl. He kills them and saves her. He doesn’t speak to her, she have no speaking lines, and then… Sergius just leaves and continues with whatever he was doing before. The plot moves on, and it’s never mentioned again....This entire scene happens in less than one page. At first, I thought it would come back to bite Sergius, you know, because he just killed four Roman men.... but nope! It was just there to show that Sergius thinks rape is bad and that he’s a skilled fighter who can take down four men at once. That’s all. Wtf?

This is why I hate stories that use rape as a tool to make a male character look good...

And then there’s the moment when Sergius and Bacchus were forced to be dressed in women’s clothing… In this retelling book, it’s portrayed as deeply shameful. Sergius has a long inner monologue about how awful he feels seeing Bacchus in women’s clothing, blah blah blah.

Like… this book shits on every single female character it has, and when it reaches the part where, in the original story, the men proudly embrace being “Brides of Christ,” it does the exact opposite. Yet Sergius is described as empathetic toward women’s suffering, that guy have inner monologues about how much he thinks that women should be treated better but at the same time he’d rather be physically tortured than wear women’s clothing.... And Sergius nor the narrative never questions why Sergius feel that way.... Talk about the irony... a modern retelling of an ancient story about two men who proudly embrace becoming "Brides of Christ" which leads to their death, yet in this version, it’s portrayed as something shameful.

How do you, as an author, take an old story from the freaking third century and potray it like this? There is no women in the legend so all these female characters are made up by the author... I can't help it but it feels like this author just simply don't like women... I really wanted to like this book... but once you see it without the redtinded glasses... it's really hard for me to recommend it... Stay away guys.

[k1mbe3rly]

the fic was so good i had to request a part two 😓😓 (SORRY IF I'M ANNOYING U WITH REQUESTS) so what if we got a part two of the se-mi angst fic where reader tries to salvage their friendship and se-mi isn't having it and gets with her “one night stand” and reader is just found at one of her parties having a breakdown bc she lost another friend but se-mi somewhat feels bad but can't do anything abt it and her girlfriend kicks reader out (I'M SORRY I LOVE ANGST SM)

ouhh yes thank you all 3 😘😘 i’ll try to make it all emo and than happy 😩 and i will try to include both of yalls story ideasss, lowkey kinda baddd sorry😢

That’s so true

warnings: angst, FEM reader, part 2 of i love you, im sorry

It has been weeks ever since that little argument you and Se-mi had at the party, she hasn’t talked to you since. You’ve tried calling texting her but no answer, you even tried to talk to her in person which was always a fail.

Once again you tried calling her as you heard your own phone ring to your ear, you waited “C’mon pick up..” you muttered, “Hey this is Se-mi please leave a voicemail.” was all you heard.

You hung up since you didn’t plan on leaving on a voice mail. You texted her once again but noticed your message was green.

Your heart dropped, did she block you?

You quickly went onto your instagram and searched up her account but only to be face with, “No results”, did she block you on there as well?

You quickly went to snapchat as well only to see a ‘X’ next to her name.

That’s when you knew she blocked you and unadded you on basically everything. you sighed and leaned back into your bed already feeling tears forming.

After an hours or two you got a message, “Hey se-mi throwing a party btw, she told me to tell you” you read confused.

Why wouldn’t Se-mi just tell me..but oh well, You decided to go, You quickly drove up to her house already seeing if packed and music pounding, you sighed as you parked and got out, nervously you walked in, Already your ears filled with loud music and your eyes seeing everything crowded, Like deja vu.

You managed to find your friend and stayed with them awkwardly, you got a drunk just a tiny bit and looked around, You found Se-mi and you quickly went to her as if you couldn’t control your body or soemthing, that’s just what alcohol does i guess.

“Se-mi!” you quickly yelled out and grabbing her shoulder softly to catch her attention.

She turned around facing you, Her eyes staring in your owns, her face tensed up a bit, “Please you have to listen to me..i’ve been trying to explain everything to you but you won’t pick up!” you explained as she grabbed your arm shoving it off her shoulder, “What is there to explain huh? I don’t like you. What more is there?” She coldly said.

Your arms fell to your side and already felt your heart heavy.

“It’s not like that..look you don’t have to like me! i just want my best friend back..” you told her, Her gaze soften a bit as she crossed her arms, “I can’t see you the same.” she said back, “What? i’m still the same person Se-mi. I’m still your best friend! you seriously can’t just throw all those years of us being practically glued to each other. I’m still the same person..” You said already feeling tears wanting to come out for some reason.

“Maybe you can’t throw it away, But i can. And i already did! so why don’t you just get over it!” she said harshly.

you stared at her tears filling your eyes but before you could speak a girl came behind her, The same exact girl you saw that day of the argument, your face dropped a bit at the sight of her, “God she’s still trying to cling on you? It’s bad enough that we hear your phone buzzing every single time we’re together..i’m so glad you blocked her for me” She said smiling.

That’s when it hit you, were they dating? either way it was confirmed that she did block you.

Tears begin falling down your cheek, “So that’s it than? your just throwing away our friendship just like that.” you said.

Se-mi nodded “Was it even a friendship to you or did you see it as a relationship.” She said as the girl behind her laughed, you scoffed as tears continued falling down and shaked your head “Why are you doing this?” you asked, “It doesn’t matter, so why don’t you just fucking leave huh?” The girl behind her spoke up again.

You looked at her and back at se-mi “All this for her?” you quickly “Fucking leave already! why’d you bother to show your face here huh?” the girl yelled out at you, you stared at her and looked back at Se-mi who said nothing but stared “It’s not what it-..” she begin to speak but before you could hear her you quickly walked away.

“looks like..” Se-mi whispered to herself as she was tempted to go after you but didn’t, the girl grabbed Se-mi shoulder, “C’mon, finally she’s gone.”

Se-mi looked at her and looked back at your figure as it was slowly fading away, Once it was out of her sight she looked back at the girl, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty for what she did.

It has been weeks since our second argument, ever single day Se-mi goes on Y/n account tempted to unblock you, eventually she did but never followed you , just staring at your account.

She cut all contact of that other girl, and stopped talking to her completely, you sulked in my bed thinking sighing heavily.

For Se-mi everything was a downfall, she started missing you and thought about you more often, she thought it was just a phase but realized it wasn’t , she wanted you back, most of all she wanted her best friend back.

But on your side, you got a boyfriend that you barely started dating, everything was great for you, yall were in a happy healthy relationship.

It was until one day you were at your job (let’s just say starbucks lmfaoo) you were getting off of work your boyfriend waiting for you at the counter smiling as he gave you a kiss on the cheek, you did a small giggle as you look forward.

Your smile quickly dropped seeing Se-mi staring into your soul basically (Like the one in the GIF), she had saw everything, your boyfriend kissing you and everything, “Uh.. can you wait for me in the car?” you told him as he nodded and just left, once he left the building you stared back at Se-mi as she just walked towards you.

“I see you uh have a boyfriend now..” She spoke softly as you nodded “Yea..he’s a nice guy” you said simply, “Well..what about me..? you just moved on like that?” she said kinda embarrassed.

“Se-mi you humiliated me. You made me look so stupid! just for what? a random girl you barely knew?” you said harshly, She stared at you for a moment, “I know and i’m sorry!” she said desperately.

“Well it’s too late for that now.” you said shoving past her walking away, she quickly turned around watching you “Y/n wait!” she yelled out but you ignored her. The truth was you weren’t entirely over her.

[chaotic-iguana]

hiiii!! i love your stories sm thank you for taking your time to write them<3 can you do one of a miguelxreader where he has been playing video games allllll dayy and the reader just wants a little attention so they "tempt him" if you know what i mean🤭 and he ends up getting just a littlee hissy about it. it can continue on however you like ;)

anywaysssss love you and i wish you all the best<3

-🪷

distracted. 

gamer! miguel x f! reader

a/n: anon. first of all, thank you and second of all im sending u a sloppy forehead kiss bc this is such a delicious fucking idea i was literally feral to write this. 

warnings: mdni. subspace, oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, cockwarming, degradation, (but they’re in love and it’s discussed, i promise), aftercare. 

“mig-gy,“ you whine tearfully, a culmination of the frustration you’ve been feeling all day. it started when you woke up with a warm, sticky feeling in between your legs; a dull ache settling in your gut and tugging at the edges of your thoughts ever since. miguel’d already been out of bed, and you’d found him in the living room in front of the tv, sitting in his pyjamas with a controller in his hand, barking orders into a headset. 

and while you didn’t want to disturb him on one of the very few days he had to himself, you couldn’t help but feel…antsy. you’d been trying (and failing) to get his attention all day, barely met with hms and grunts as it were. which was how you found yourself changing into a pink lace slip, unable to meet your own eye at the reflection before you. your poor, overworked brain made you think it would be a good idea to try and - ahem- tempt him, but when it came to actually doing it, the thought made your face warm. another slew of miguel’s curses at the game made you jolt, and before you knew it, you were walking outside to make sure he was okay. 

and he was, because of course. you, on the other hand, were standing half-naked in the living room at three pm while your boyfriend neglected to even look your way. you stood to the side, wringing your hands and waiting for him to look at you, but after a whole minute with you getting no attention whatsoever, you gave up and cleared your throat. miguel’s eyes flicked your way - victory! - for a bare second until he rolled them and turned back to the screen. which was also how you ended up here, whining from over his shoulder for him to acknowledge you. 

he doesn’t, of course, not until you’re stood next to him pouting while looking down at him with dazed doe eyes, giving you away. miguel knew exactly what you needed and within seconds a harsh order to pause was being whispered into his headset, fingers flying over the comedically-small-for-him controller as his chair finally turned your way. swallowing pitifully, you squirm under the weight of his gaze before risking a glance up at him to find his eyes twinkling with amusement, brow raised in question. 

“need you, migs.” your whispered confession only raises his brow impossibly higher, ghost of a smirk curving his lips before he’s turning away from you again. you’re frowning, half-stomping to stand between him and his screen before he wears his stupid headset again. desire winning against the shame brewing in you, you reach a hand out to his chest- 

and his wrist circles yours, stopping you in your tracks. you’re staring shamelessly at the slant of his jaw, the slope of his nose and the light caught in his hair, gauging his reaction until his voice rings out: 

“prove it.” 

and you’re confused, too lost in the reliving the feeling of the way his nose bumped against your swollen clit as he ate you out for hours last week, responding with a meek “hm?” that has him huffing. he doesn’t even clarify, just clamps a hand on your shoulder and pushes so you’re on your knees, settling you with your head at crotch-level. 

“prove that you need me.” 

and then he’s gone, eyes glued to the screen again. you blink up at him from the floor, content to watch the muscles of his forearms flex as his fingers move on the controller, the vein jumping in his neck as his jaw clenches, the tension in his wide shoulders. startling, you realise that his his eyes are back on yours and twinkling with a challenge. right. proving it. 

shuffling between his legs, you lay your head on his thigh and peer up at him. he’s looking away now, of course. you’d be happy to drool at the sight of him semi-hard through his fitted light gray sweatpants (am i projecting? i am projecting) for hours, especially when the fabric stretches just right to give you a barely-visible outline you can’t help but trace with your fingertips. which is exactly what you do without realising until his breath hitches ever so slightly, a muscle jumping in his thigh. fueled by the vindication, you start tracing patterns on him through his trousers, palming him ever so slightly until he’s bucking his hips into your hand oh-so-slightly. you’re too enchanted by the way he twitches against your fingers to realise how teasing your touch has been until you hear a half-whimper escape his lips, sending a jolt directly between your legs. pressing your thighs together in a futile effort to relieve yourself, you trail your fingers to his waistband and tug it down, reveling in the sharp intake of breath sounding from above you. 

the sight of his tip flushed red makes your mouth water and your tongue darts to catch the precum beading at his slit before you can stop yourself; the sudden warmth making him jump under you. rocking back on your heels, you fumble to pump him with both hands - he’s just so fucking big you can barely touch the tip of your thumb and forefinger with your palm around him - before ducking down to lap lightly at his balls, slick with sweat. kitten licking the underside of his cock while pumping him slowly, you hear him loose a breath slowly before you feel the weight of his hand on your head. faster than you can blink, his fingers curl into your scalp and tug your head back, gaze thunderous when his eyes find yours. his fingers tap your cheek in silent command and your lips part on instinct, and then he’s pushing your head down between your legs, jaw aching at the sudden intrusion. ignoring your choked garbling, miguel rocks his hips into your mouth until your nose is buried in his happy trail and holds you there, tears spilling over your cheeks while you struggle to adjust. the second you struggle against his grip instinctually, his tsk tsk fills the room, mic clicking off before he strokes your hair, so at odds with the fact that he was holding you down with his cock in your mouth. 

“thought you needed me, honey? where’d my good girl go?” and oh fuck, it’s the tone he’s using as if he’s amused by the sight of you all ruined for him that has something cramping between your legs, breath wet and clicking in your throat as you whine around him, your fists trembling where they rested on his thighs. ‘m right here, i’m your good girl and i need you so, so badly so please please please- 

but it’s like he heard your internal monologue, because his gaze softens in moments, thumb sweeping across your damp cheek. 

“lo sé, lo sé. mi buena niña. tómalo por mí, amor.” [i know, i know. my good girl. take it for me, my love.] and all your queasiness dissolves the second his fingers scrape over your jaw, your discomfort dissipating at the sound of his gentle murmur. 

then he’s going back to his game, leaving you kneeling at his feet and gagging around him. every choke, cough or splutter is met with a quick glance at you; at your fingers curled on either side of your head to make sure you’re okay, not tapping out. you know if your eyes had even a hint of hesitancy in them he’d stop; his supposed mean demeanor melting to give way to the cuddly teddy bear he really is. but you’ve reverted entirely to a floaty, dazed headspace, where your thoughts feel blissfully hazy and just out of reach, and you can’t comprehend the thought of not being here, keeping him warm. 

you don’t realise how much time has passed until miguel shifts forward, and the pins-and-needles in your legs make you whimper, gripping his thighs for support. miguel immediately cups your jaw, reaching his other hand to rip off his headphones and turn the game off entirely before pulling you off of him, wiping the drool off your lips and supporting your head as you splutter, his patience infinite when it came to taking care of you. 

“háblame, princesa. ¿cómo te sientes, hm?” [talk to me, princess. how are you feeling, hm?] 

still on your knees, you shift forward with tearful eyes; breath hitching at the bruises you can feel have formed already. you're barely stammering through "h-hurts, miggy" in a hoarse whisper before he's leaning down, wrapping an arm under your thigh and around your head, lifting you into his lap  instantly. you tuck your face into his neck, reveling in the safety of his embrace as you catch your breath. he presses his lips to your forehead, stroking your head over and over while cooing praises to you. it takes a while, but before long you're pulling back, kissing his chin with a soft grin. 

"there she is. there's my good girl. so perfect for me, aren’t you?" your shy nod makes him smile, fangs poking through in that endearing way that makes your heart hurt and the warmth blooming in your belly burn. 

“can i have u now, migs?” 

and oh, you sound so wrecked for him, how could he ever say no? 

and if his team lost the game, well. that’s on them, isn’t it? 

masterlist.

hello my loves, as always, thanks for reading, comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis (hey pal), @party-hearses (hey gruv), @chiogarza, @jenispunk. message me to join my taglist. divider by the amazing @cafekitsune.