#also hope you’re feeling good!!! fuck that flu

[its-hyperfixation]

You've known someone for a long time But you never really know who they are

for one of the smartest people i know, in honour of finishing your last college exam. @bellamyblakru im so so proud of u.

[bumblinv]

Hi! Are your requests open? If they are I'm just gonna leave this here, Neteyam, Ao'nung, Lo'ak (sperate) x OmaticayaGnReader who is sick, like flu for the na'vi or something like that, they have a fever and the chills and everything could it also be fluffy and absolutely adorable

--- personal doctors ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

neteyam, ao'nung, rotxo (seperated) x gn!metkayina!reader

you catch a cold, its time for your lover to take care of you

a/n ; im not good at writing lo’ak, so i bring you rotxo instead! i hope you dont mind<3

: ̗̀➛ neteyam

realizes your sickness even before you did

when you first sneeze or cough, his mind goes straight to the day before, recalling any peculiar food you've had

neteyam would notices too, when you pause between chores to massage your forehead

he will take over cleaning. making sure every corner is clean so you won't sneeze from the dust. he also makes sure you stay hydrated and even whips you up nutritious meals until your condition got better. usually, the fever never got up to you

but when it does, he goes in full momma mode

this man grows with 3 younger siblings, caring for someone is natural for him. he would stay by your side, whispering your name every few hours to wake you up, so he could feed and help you drink

neteyam might not be the best healer, like her sister, but he can make certain herb drinks

makes you ginger tea regularly to warm up your shivering body

you tend to get all sort of nightmares from your sickness, but dont worry, you’re waking up to neteyam since he’s cuddling you all night long. he will run his slender fingers through your hair, whispering comforting words to your ear

“everything’s okay, dear. i’m here” 

we all need neteyam in our lives:(

_

: ̗̀➛ ao'ung

acts like he doesn’t care, but the moment your temperature starts to rise, he brings his mother straight to you

the tsahik would probably do nothing. she tell him to go ask kiri for some herb tea, and to make sure you drink and eat well, since fevers could heal by itself

but mans stressed

would refuse to let you lift a single muscle. he will be the one helping you change, wipe your face to keep you fresh, feeding you

since he’s not the best cook, he would ask tsireya to make you soups, wich she happily does. she makes great food, but your tongue tastes sour and your appetite is no where to be found

so ao'nung scolds you

“quit acting like a baby and please, just eat” 

you know ao’nung. none of his scolding are anger, he’s just extremely worried.

watching you go to sleep after being scolded makes him feel like a villain. he would join you in bed and whispers an apology. gently bringing you closer to his chest as the both of you fall asleep

remember he's a worrier? it makes him act too much like a mom. he will insist on taking care of you, even when you're feeling better. will only stop until he's sure you're 100% healthy

ao'nung is a big softie

_

: ̗̀➛ rotxo 

most clueless compared to the other 2

pls dont be mad, its not his fault

something tells me he’s an only child, a one that rarely got sick too, so he doesn’t know anything about caring for ill people

rotxo might be confused, but he’s not an idiot

the moment he touches your forehead and realizes you're scorching hot, rotxo instinctively wraps a fluffy blanket around you. the man will make you drink a lot of water, and went off running to the sullys

“what the fuck?” 

“sorry lo'ak! its an emergency!”

he got home with omaticayan food wraps in hand. you’re too sick to say anything, so when he lifts your head to feed you, you don’t protest

the one thing that scares you the most is that his jokes completely disappears

all his stupid jokes, gone.

not in a bad way, this man is just so dedicated on you that he stops joking around. he cannot stand that you're feeling all sick and uncomfortable and wants you back to your healthy self

this man is so serious, even when he tried feeding you raw cloves of garlic

one time, he heard kiri saying that garlics are ‘good for boosting the immune system’ 

he’s not wrong😭😭😭

but kiri hits him on the head once she founds out

instead of feeding you raw garlic, she gives you a mix of aged garlic and honey as medicine such an asian mom move

he feels bad afterwards, would kiss your entire face despite your protest

the next day, you wake up feeling fresh. but your lover boys voice got so hoarse from sore throat and complains about his sore limbs

yes, he got your fever and yes, he never regret kissing you, even when you're sick

[rodolfoparras]

Smh Alec you can't do that to me and say you're gonna be only Slavic man by Price's side when I exist too 😔 I'm willing to compromise and let you have him most of the time since Simon is my main husband though.

Also since I adore jealousy and possessiveness and whatnot in writing (and I'm in mood for angst) let me expand on what you wrote if I may.

Price and Nik used to date and while it was never too serious for Price, Nik still has feelings for him. And John doesn't really are it because to him Nik is just a good friend, his oldest friend and someone he (platonically) loves and trusts. But you know.

It almost becomes competition of sorts between you and Nik. Sure John loves you far more than he ever loved Nik but Nik knows him better and he isn't afraid to show it.

He knows about this one band John loves that you never even heard of and he buys John their record. He knows about that one niche type of tea John drinks, but only when he has a cold. He knows exactly how to fuck John so well that he blacks out for a few moments. And what hurts the most, he was John's first and he knows John in a way you feel like you will never be able to.

John is devoted to you but first love leaves a mark and by the time you met John, he was already older and mature and he knew exactly who he was as a person. Nik got to experience John in his truest and rawest, John before bitterness of war and while it shouldn't matter and it shouldn't hurt, it does.

And you know John would never cheat on you but sometimes a thought can't help but to creep in...does he miss Nikolai? Does he want him back? ...does he see Nikolai in me?

(Naturally the answer is no, he loves you because you're love of his life and he doesn't want anyone else but you don't know that since you just can't bring yourself to bring up the topic)

-🔮

🔮 anon I’m losing my fucking mind here

Thinking about you being the troublesome soldier that Price has taken under his wing.

However you’re doing everything to resit the help he’s trying to give, telling him that you’re not a charity case when he takes you in his squad, telling him that you’re not a charity case when he wants to patch you up after you got into a fight, telling him you’re not a charity case when he decides to keep you on his squad even when you mess up during a mission.

It’s inevitable to develop feelings, no matter how much you try to prevent yourself from doing it.

However you’re more than sure that he doesn’t feel the same. Who would want a kid who’s been kicked out of every squad he’s been in? Besides Price’s got a man by his side that remembers the tea he likes to drink when he’s sick, the band he likes to listen to and buys their records for him and even knows how to fuck him so good he momentarily forgets about everything that’s plaguing him.

But what you don’t see is that Price reciprocates your feelings. The tea Nik buys for him, Price makes for you when you can’t sleep at night or when you’re down with the flu. The cd Nik buys for him, Price mentions when it’s just the two of you hoping you’ll want to listen to them with him and all of a sudden Price finds himself visiting Nik less and less because all he can think about is you fucking him into the mattress.

Tension are high when you walk into the mess hall and see Nik and Price talking to each other. Price’s eyes immediately fall on you, a small smile tugging at his lips but all you can see is the way Nik’s got an arm around him, the way he’s saying something to Price that has him laughing and before you know it jealously’s brewing in the pit of your stomach

As you walk past them, Price feels the smile drop from his face, quickly noticing the nasty scratch on your face and without even thinking he pulls you towards his table.

“What happened?” He says with a hand on your cheek and you have to awkwardly balance your tray of food so you don’t drop it.

“Nothing” you grunt out, avoiding his gaze but feeling heat creep up your face, all while Nik watches with interest.

“Doesn’t look like nothing” Price snaps back, thumb pressing down onto your cheek and watching the way you wince.

“Why do you care?” You snap at the older man, wincing yourself as you hear the words leave your mouth.

However the older man easily avoids the daggers in the shape of words, already used to them.

“Was is it sergeant phillips again?” Price says “why didn’t you come to me instead”

“You were busy” you say, finally glancing at the Russian next to him.

“Nikolai” the man says, hand stretching out towards you with a smile on his face.

You grunt out something along the lines of your name before you pull your face away from the older man’s hand, muttering some excuse that you have something to do, not wanting to sit here and hear Price gush about the man he’s in love with, while the man in question is here.

“Make sure to get that patched up you hear me?” Price shouts out behind you, “or I’ll see you in my office” his words catching the attention of the other soldiers in the mess hall.

“You’re making it too obvious you know?” Nikolai says while trying to suppress his chuckle

“Shut up Nik” “ Price snaps back feeling heat creep up his face while watching you walk away.

Spitball w/ me?

[chrisevansonly]

Sick Baby Duck (Little Duck AU🐥💛)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wife Reader (Momma E) x Arlie Mae

Summary: After waiting it out for the day to see if Arlie would get better, but when she doesn’t it’s time for a trip to the hospital so your little duck

Warnings: a bit of angst, mentions of hospitals and sickness, sad Arlie, worried momma and Chris

a/n: happy Monday everyone, I hope to get to fics out today since it’s my one day off from classes, so stay tuned for that! Things are very weird for me right now and I kind of feel like ass but it’s fine! I also feel like this sucks and my writing it bad again LOL 

Word Count: 1,416

 Arlie’s been sick a handful of times so you and Chris are no stranger to the common cold or flu that would spread throughout your household, but this was something you had yet to experience as parents. Arlie had been coughing all day but as time went on it turned into something very nasty and unmanageable, she was running a high fever, and if she wasn’t sleeping, she was in the worst discomfort and pain you’d ever seen her in. She was down for a nap once again after taking some more medicine, both you and Chris sat in the living room trying to figure out your next plan and what to do with your little sick baby

“I think we should go to the hospital, she’s not getting better and it’s really worrying me”

You nodded

“I think that’s smart, I’ll pack a bag with a few things, and we can go”

“No, you’re not coming”

The urge to smack Chris was strong when he decided to say that, but you crossed your arms and sent a glare his way

“Excuse me?”

“You’re pregnant, heavily might I add, and going into a building with lot of sick people is not a good idea”

You shook your head 

“I love you Chris, but I am not staying here while you leave and take our daughter to the emergency room. Not a fucking chance. So, I’m gonna go pack the bag, and bring a few masks with me, and that’s final.” 

Getting up from the couch you heard the sigh he let out, knowing he wouldn’t argue with you too much, you decided to pack a few things and change into a comfier outfit than what you had on. Chris was only looking out for you, and you knew that, but there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home and wait around while Arlie was headed to the emergency room.

-

Despite getting to go to the hospital, Chris made you wait in the car which caused another argument but in the end you decided to give up and wait for them there, he was supposed to call you when they were being seen by a doctor so you could come in, but he sent you photos of him and Arlie cuddled up in the waiting room with a fuzzy blanket over the two of them. Arlie’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. It was only about 45 minutes until Chris called you, putting two masks on you quickly exited the car and found your way through the waiting room and over to the nurse standing with Chris and Arlie

“m-momma hold pwease”

You frowned at the sadness in her voice before reaching out to take her into your arms 

“I’ve got you baby, we’ll get you feeling better”

The sounds of her coughs and the stuffiness in her nose made your heart break, little whimpers escaping her ever few minutes. You were so thankful it didn’t take long to get in to see a doctor, and it ended up being Arlie’s regular paediatrician Dr.Charlie

“Well, this is a surprise, hi guys, what’s going on?”

Chris looked at you before sitting up straighter in his chair 

“Arlie’s been getting sick the past few days, and today it’s gotten worse, she has a pretty nasty sounding cough, and I’ve noticed her struggling to breathe sometimes, that with a fever that will not go away, the only time I feel like she isn’t uncomfortable is when she’s asleep”

Dr. Charlie frowned nodding her head as she looked at Arlie who was resting against your shoulder, making a few notes before grabbing her stethoscope 

“Alright, well that does worry be so what I am going to do is listen to her chest and her lungs to see if I can figure out the reason behind what’s got her feeling so icky”

You nodded and sat Arlie up which she wasn’t too happy about, a pout on her face 

“Hi Arlie, can I listen to your chest sweet girl?”

She nodded and Dr. Charlie began to take a listen, getting Arlie to take deep breaths if she could, listening intently before going through a routine check-up, a few coughing fits had her doctor frowning 

“Alright, well her fever is certainly high but luckily enough I can administer some medication to bring that down a bit, I’d recommend giving her a lukewarm bath when you get home, I know it’s late, but it will help.”

You nodded, Chris placing his hand on your knee, squeezing it for some comfort

“I think she has an upper respiratory infection mixed with a sinus infection, so I am going to send you home with some pretty heavy medication for her because I don’t want this to get any worse, it’s pretty severe as it is now, but I also don’t think we need to keep her here overnight”

“Okay, thank you do much Dr. Charlie, we really appreciate it”

She sent you a small smile 

“Of course, now I will say with you being far along with your pregnancy, and your due date coming up soon, you shouldn’t be as involved when she’s this sick, we just can’t risk anything with the baby”

Even though you knew she was going to suggest that it still broke your heart, and you couldn’t help the tears that lined the bottom of your eyes 

“I understand...”

Dr. Charlie sent you a sad smile before Chris got up to take Arlie from you, pulling his mask down for a moment to press a quick kiss to your forehead. You collected the medication from Arlie’s doctor before taking a few more notes from her and leaving the hospital, it wasn’t the most amazing news in the world, but you were more than happy to have a solution to get your baby feeling better. 

-

Chris could tell you were in a bad mood once he put Arlie down to bed after her bath and a few doses of her new medicine, you were all pouty in bed rubbing some oil on your very large belly, a nightly routine that Chris often loved to watch you complete 

“Baby?”

You looked up at him 

“Hmm?” 

“I know you’re upset with the news from the doctor, but I hope you know it’s only to keep you safe and keep the little man healthy…I hate seeing you so down”

You shrugged moving to get your cream, but Chris beat you to it before applying it to your legs, massaging the tensions out of your calves and then down to your feet, even if you were frustrated you couldn’t help the happy sighs that left your lips as his knuckles pushed into your heel 

“I just feel helpless, I know she’ll be okay because she has you to take care of her, but I have never sat out like this…”

He hummed in response 

“I know, but my mom and your mom are coming over in the morning to help out and you can still be around her baby, you just need to wear a mask to keep you and the monkey safe, okay?” 

“Okay”

Chris leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, a goofy smile on his face when you both pulled back 

“How about you lay on your side, and I’ll give you a back massage to make you feel better honey?”

You pretended to think about it for a second 

“I mean I can’t say no to that…”

His laugh filled the room for a few seconds before you got comfy, and he started to work on all the sore spots that littered your upper and lower back. The news from tonight wasn’t the news any parents would love to receive but you knew Arlie had the best dad in the world and Chris would be the best nurse for her, not to mention the loving support of both your mother-in-law and your own mother. You couldn’t help but feel a little helpless at the fact that you were told to stay away from your baby girl so you wouldn’t get sick, but you knew deep down with the due date of your baby boy coming up, you and Chris didn’t want to risk a thing. So, if you had to settle for watching Arlie get better at a bit of a distance, you’d do just that, no matter how hard it would be. 

[cosmal]

DAISY — james dating a hufflepuff ‘cloud girl’ reader!! (congrats on 1k ily <3)

okay so james potter was one of the first boys you’ve ever dated

also he’s one of the only people that makes you feel okay about being quiet sometimes

when you first met, it was at a mutual friend's small party, and you’d ended up sitting up next to each other.

he’d noticed you were quiet so didn’t really push for you to say much, which was really calming for you. just to have someone with you who wasn’t trying to force you to interact.

but then he’s cracking the stupidest jokes ever

something like, “bird flu? i sure hope it does.”

and he’s got you giggling like a schoolgirl

from then on, james was always trying his hardest to get you to laugh. he thought it was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard.

once you do get together, he never forced you to go to things with him.

you like going to his sports matches and things. always his number-one supporter!

but it takes you a moment to warm up to his friends.

especially sirius.

“just let me know if you want to go home, okay?”

“yeah, jamie.”

the whole night, he’s stuck to your side.

introduces you to everyone as his girl.

you beam.

eventually, you tell him to go have fun. go hang out with his friends. because you’ve actually made good friends with alice.

“okay, just tell me if sirius annoys you.”

“fuck off, i would never!” sirius shouts

because he really wouldn't. you find out he’s just as nice and before you know it, you’re friends with everyone.

though james is very good at telling when your social battery has run out.

he’ll let you lean into his side while he’s talking to remus or frank.

throw his arm over your shoulder and just talk over your head because he knows you’re just as content being by his side.

he sometimes thinks you’ve fallen asleep against his chest but you’re still fiddling with his hands in your lap.

he’d never force you to be there longer than you want to so he’s asking you for the better half of the night if you’re tired or if you just wanna go home.

at first, you just tell him a white lie.

“james, i’m okay. look, remus is waving at you, go!”

“okay, i’ll be back.”

by the third time he asks, you tell him that you do kinda wanna go to bed.

“okay, im tired, so we’re gonna go home.” he’d say to everyone.

when it’s just the two of you out, you’re always holding his hand.

you’ll be grocery shopping or something and he’ll go to grab something across the aisle, but as soon as he puts in the basket, he’ll grab your hand again where it’s flexing at your side before you have the chance to grab his.

holding his hand when out for dinner, waiting on food.

holding his hand during breakfast at the table.

holding his hand during sex.

holding his hand while sleeping.

one time you held his hand while he brushed his teeth.

though he’s still clingier than you

he’ll never admit it though.

[rindouheart]

reo taking care you while sick!! i know you wouldn't be able to lift a finger while he's helping you 💗

-🎀

REO MIKAGE taking care of his sick!s/o

content. mention of illness and a mention of death (just as a joke), reo being reo (i love him so fucking much) + gn pronouns used.

author’s note. hi love! tysm for requesting. i love caring reo, so i decided to write a short drabble, hope it’s okay! much love <3 also, sorry for the pretty long waiting :(

“how are you feeling?” asks reo, sitting on the edge of your bed. “like shit” you murmur, rolling under the covers.

you’ve texted reo earlier this morning a simple “i’m sick, won’t be at school today” and then your boyfriend knocked at your door.

“do you need anything? an extra blanket? a plushie? food? another pillow?” you smile while he looks at you.

reo has always been caring towards you, but you’ve never seen him this concerned about your health: it seems like you’re almost dying. just to be clear, yesterday you went outside under the rain without an umbrella, and you got a common flu.

“reo, i know you’re worried about my health, but trust me, i’m kind of fine, i just need some rest and I’ll be good in like two days” you mutter, while hugging the blankets.

“you know that i won’t leave you alone until you recover, right?” he slightly laughs. “it might sound stupid, but i don’t want you to get tired over stuff that i can do for you”.

you cover your face with your hands. he’s too damn sweet.

“would you like to eat something in particular for lunch? i can cook for you, you know?” he asks “in order to help you decide, my cooking skills are pretty good” he chuckles after that.

“i’d love to eat some miso soup” you say as low as possible, not to worsen your sore throat.

“as you wish, my love” reo jumps up and goes to your kitchen “don’t move a finger, i’ll be back with your special miso soup”

you laugh faintly. he’s adorable when he acts like your personal nurse. also if he might seem one of those bitchy rich teenagers, he’s actually the opposite. he deeply cares about his friends and about you, especially when you’re in trouble or you’re not feeling at your best.

after around twenty minutes, reo comes back to your room holding the miso soup bowl and a glass of water just to find you sleeping under the blankets.

he smiles sweetly, puts the food on your desk and goes near you, careful in order not to disturb you.

he watches you sleeping and caresses your cheek. “i love you” he murmurs.

@rindouheart ‘s drabbles — 01292023

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 5

Synopsis: After a good long talk with an old friend, the Doctor catches Reader out on her lie. And figures some things out.

A/n: I feel so indebted to you all. The praise and likes and reblogs feels good, my guys. Also, this weekend, I'll have maybe not as much output but you know...gotta work on big issues instead of work and vibin. But ahhhh. Hope you like it.

(Y/N) called out of class. Maybe she really was sick. Humans leaked a lot. Especially when sick.

Rose once had a common flu and she cried until her temperature came back down to normal. It was hard to hold her, his body being so cool in comparison to hers, he felt like, in that time and body and place, it would relieve her nearly 39 degree fever. The tender grasp he held her body in made her cry and sweat even harder. Mickey apparently never held her like this when she was sick. It overwhelmed her shocked system even more…

Suddenly the thought of him, in this body, holding (y/n) to cool her down invaded his mind.

Ideas of different ways and reasons to hold her left his mind awry. He imagined how it would feel, her skin against his. Her lips against his. The feeling of him looking in those nervous, doe-scared eyes as he thrust de- he stopped himself before he could finish the fantasy.

Her empty seat later that day haunted him.

Another mystery woman from the universe. Hell-bent on driving him to madness.

It was always the women, the one’s that seemed so mundane, yet glimmered in a way that their essence caught his eye. Drove him wild. Even when he wasn’t initially attracted to them. Sooner or later he’d become so.

A fatal flaw.

The class ended.

He visited Missy in her Vault.

If anyone could understand madness, it’d be her. Despite the cost it’d bring him.

“Ignore the blindingly obvious irony. But you need to help me.” He half-pleaded, half-ordered.

“Oh? Wee Ickle Me? The great Doctor needs my help?” Missy cackled an awful grin. “Whatever bothers you, my sweet?” She purred. “What can I do that you don’t, besides serve.” She straightened herself up and gave a snap of her fingers above her head and put herself in almost a ballet dancer’s poise.

“A girl I teach in my class. Why do I keep thinking of her. I have all these primal, base instincts when I see her. Frankly way beneath a member of our species…” He confessed to his oldest friend and greatest foe. And ex-lover. “She is ruining me and my focus.”

Missy fell over laughing and pointing. Her petticoat flashing wildly through the air.

“It’s always the Earth girls!” She exclaimed.

“Though, I did marry that poor Lucy girl.” She had a moment of lucidity.

“These Earth girls are going to kill us. And hey- why not just let them! Get me a perky little thing to ruin me too! Let’s commit suicide and genocide in one fell swoop!” She cackled even harder, her booming voices echoing throughout the Vault.

“No, you shouldn’t.” She seemingly sobered up.

“Assuming that you don’t kill her, as you usually do with these little flings.” She made a hand and body gesture that resembled herself being flung. It hearkened back for the Doctor how physically emotive (y/n) was…

“You’re her teacher. And in position of power! If things get wonky in a marriage bed sense…well doctor, can you handle the storm? Con your way out? You’ll be the one holding the dirty diaper. Not her.”

“And wherever will you put me… I’ll have no good place for your prison to be?” she became sing-song and gave a sarcastic pout.

The Doctor put his hands on his face and rubbed hard. This was both too much help, and not enough.

Missy was right.

And seemingly taking a moral stance, an action previously unheard of for many a millennia.

He decided that he’d go and take this all with a grain of salt.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

“Oh.” She seemed shocked into silence.

Giggling ceased.

They stood in silence.

“You might be fucked.” She said after minute.

He crouched deeper into his despair. The weight of his grief and Missy’s well-balanced advice echoed in his skull.

“Oh, off you go Teacher! Go get yourself a new Pet!” She seemingly understood and definitely read his mind.

He found himself at odds.

He left her and vanished further into the day fading into the dark of the night. Refusing to leave the planet and irk Nardole’s ire.

He chose to walk the streets of Bristol.

The cold air whipped around him. It was a blustery day. The air had a bit of winter’s last ice in it. Dying season for a dying ethos. The freshly birthed night was adding a layer of chill.

He could feel the turn on the planet under his feet as he turned a corner.

What was this?

He swore he saw (y/n) turn the adjacent corner into a street ahead of him. He took a few quick steps and curved into an alley. It was definitely her.

Go into a large detached building with a sizeable car park. She had her big, over stuffed tote bag with her. She looked in perfect health.

Whatever happened to her sickness?

A lie? Or did she feel his encroaching gazes and seclude herself from him.

He wouldn’t blame her…

It didn’t appear to be flats or even a room-share or sublet situation. Maybe it was her elusive job?

But what was it, in this seemingly askance residential building? With the car park that seemed a bit too big, even for the size of the house.

He stood on the corner of the street and gazed at it. He was clever enough to find out what she did now. Obviously.

But did he want to break her trust? Even in this little way? She was obviously quite guarded about her source of income.

Was it shame? Was she something that was shameful?

That narrowed it down, what jobs held stigma?

Down to a few.

What job would necessitate a huge bag such as that?

Seldom more.

He came to two or three careers.

Now which would be held in this suburb?

Two left.

What one would be in a place with a large car park and- he noticed all the windows were blacked out. As if coated in the same tint a car would have on its..

One.

He couldn’t honestly be shocked. It could prove lucrative. And it was flexible for her schedule. Not a common choice, but one trillions across the universe and time had made…

He crooked his head.

“Ah, bingo!” He felt himself saying aloud.

No wonder he felt sexually charged and drawn to her, he rationalized. She was changed by this career. Even in her normal, day-to-day, her mind was probably racing on ways to keep this concealed. The psychic cues probably just meddled with his mind.

She was probably scared shitless that a peer or a professor, or someone on administration would see her here. The stigma around this would damage her chances at a civilian career once she graduated.

Or even worse, request her to service them…

Though, yet he couldn’t fault her for the risk…

He’d taken billions.

Especially when the economy was fascistic.

All these humans had to make do to tread water.

And this was her attempt…

He felt liberated over this. Just psychic cues and her own internal warfare! Not him!

Or was it?

How easily was it for him to accept these fantasies, despite how much he tried against them?

Was it so simple? Or was it deeper? He enjoyed the brief time they had shared. She was intuitive. Empathetic and, if the last class they shared, valued everything from humans to microbes at the same level…

He decided it was a combination of all of the above.

She’d definitely make an interesting companion, of not a romantic partner.

Why not?

Precious little to lose, except her…

He said he’d email her about meeting on Monday. He whipped our his phone, and shot her a nice, professional sounding email requesting her presence at the same time.

Let the seduction of (y/n) begin…He thought as he made his way back home.

He had to prepare.

[sequinsmile-x]

I'll Always Look After You

Emily has the flu and Aaron looks after her.

-x-

A little thing for @sneetchestoo and anyone else who is currently unwell. I hope this helps even just a tiny little bit <3

Also, this was meant to be a Christmas fic, but it kind of just ended up just being set at Christmas? So it's like the Die Hard of the Hotchniss universe haha

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of sickness etc but nothing explicit, a tiny bit of angst in the middle. Because it's me.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“I think I’m dying.” 

Aaron has to suppress his smile before he looks over at his wife, the sight of her bundled up on the couch, wrapped up in blankets with a trash can full of disposed tissues next to her enough to make him reconsider going anywhere. 

“You aren’t dying sweetheart,” he says, zipping up his winter coat before he walks over and sits next to her, “You just have the flu.” 

She leans into him, her head against his shoulder as she sniffs against her blocked nose, “You wouldn’t be saying just if you’d been the one to catch it.” 

“There’s still time,” he replies, turning his head to kiss her forehead and wincing at the temperature of her skin, “We really can rearrange if you want, I know how much you wanted to go with the boys.” 

She shakes her head fiercely, grimacing at the sensation, how it made her head pound even more. 

“No, it’s ok,” she rasps out, “We’ve been promising them for weeks, and we’ve already had to rearrange twice.” 

“Mason will miss you, it’s the first year he’ll probably understand what's going on,” he says, pulling back to look at her, to see if the thought of it upset her but she simply smiles at him.

“He always misses me, Aaron,” she replies, thinking of their four-year-old son, “You’ve said yourself - he’d crawl back up inside of me if he could.” 

It was why she’d been the one to come down with the flu out of the two of them. Jack came home with it first having caught it at school, and quickly passed it on to his little brother. Both boys were all about Emily when they were sick, seeking out the love and affection she always gave them so freely, pressed up against her as they slept off their fevers. It had been over a week since Jack had first come home sick, and now both boys were better and back to sleeping in their own beds Emily had caught it herself. Something that was inevitable, but still frustrating to her nonetheless. 

She’d never been good at being sick, always insisting she was fine even when it was clear she wasn’t. It extended through to wanting to be alone, feeling coddled if someone even offered to get meds for her so she didn’t have to, but that had never been the case with Aaron. She always wanted him near and found herself enjoying being looked after as long as he was the one doing it. 

“I feel bad leaving you sweetheart,” he says, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this sick.” 

She smiles at him, “You’re going to the Christmas Markets with a four-year-old and a 12-year-old, honey. You’ll be lucky if you keep them interested enough to be gone for a couple of hours. My plan is to take my next round of meds and sleep.” 

His hand shifts to her forehead, the back of his hand against her skin, and he frowns, “You do feel warm again.” 

“That's because-” her sarcastic response is cut off by her aching cough, her ribs and chest aching with it after over a day of her flu being at its worst. Aaron soothes her, his hand running circles on her back until the coughing fit fades. He passes her the glass of water that she’d been keeping close to hand and she takes a sip before putting it down, “Fucking hell,” she grumbles, her voice somehow more raw than it had been before, “Next time they’re sick, you can be the one to snuggle with them.” 

He smiles at her and leans in to kiss her flushed cheek, “Sure Em, like you don’t love every second of being the one they want.” 

She playfully narrows her eyes at him, but any response is stopped by the sound of Mason and Jack running into the room, already in their coats and snow boots. 

“Ready Dad?” Jack asks, smiling over at them both, and Aaron nods, turning to his wife to give her another kiss on her cheek before he stands up. 

“Ready buddy.” 

“We’ll get you a gift, Emily to make you feel better,” Jack says with enthusiasm as if the cure to her ailment would be for sale on one of the stalls at the market. 

“Thanks, Jack,” she replies, wiping her nose as she looks over at him, “That’s very sweet.” 

Mason frowns, looking more adorable than ever in his many layers, tilting his head as he looks over at his mother on the couch. 

“Momma not coming?” He asks, and Aaron smiles at his youngest, scooping him up into his arms. 

“No, Mase, Momma is sick, remember? So she has to stay here.” He says, walking over to her and leaning down, “Now, give Mommy a kiss, and we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Mason wraps his arms around Emily’s neck and she kisses his cheek and forehead, and not for the first time Aaron thinks this is the kind of story he will be able to tell the boy when he’s a teenager and no longer thinks his parents are cool. 

“Love you Momma.” 

“Love you too, sweet boy,” she says, smiling at her son as Aaron stands up straight before she turns her attention to her husband, “Make sure you get plenty of photos of them in front of the big tree, ok?” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, leaning down briefly to kiss the top of her head, “Remember to take your meds, you’re due them in about 30 minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, a small smile on her face as he rolls his eyes at her. 

“Right, come on boys,” Aaron says, deciding to carry Mason out, and having his eldest walk ahead of him to the front door, “Let's give Mom some peace.” 

She listens to them chatting among themselves until the door closes, the house falling into silence she would have once found comforting.

___

Aaron wakes up suddenly, a kick to the shin pulling him out of his slumber. For a moment he’s disorientated, but then he hears Emily mutter something under her breath next to him and everything snaps into place. He sits up and turns on the lamp on his nightstand. 

It wasn’t unusual for one of them to wake up the other in the throes of a nightmare, which is what he thinks is happening at first. It sadly wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, to see her tangled up in the sheets, her face twisted in fear as her memories mixed with her subconscious. 

She found herself on the floor of that warehouse in Boston just as often as he found himself in the house he had once shared with Haley, the many who had killed her just out of reach. 

He reaches out for her, his hand almost at her shoulder, when she shifts away, muttering under her breath again, and she frowns. 

“Em, sweetheart,” he starts, but she shakes her head fiercely, twisting further into the sheets, trapping her legs even further, “It’s just me.” 

“Ian. No,” she breathes out, two words he can pick up from the almost constant stream of murmurings coming from her. It’s then that he realises her eyes are open, shifting wilding around their bedroom as if she was looking for an escape. 

She wasn’t having a nightmare, she was awake. 

He’s able to get his hand to her forehead, his chest aching when she tries to twist away from him, and he winces at the temperature of her skin. Her fever had clearly spiked again in the night, and he would put money on it being a little too high, and it had led to this. A delirium she wouldn’t break free from until he got her body temperature down to something a little closer to normal. 

Aaron pulls the sheet over her, freeing her legs, and he has to catch one of her feet to stop himself from getting kicked. 

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for her face and holding her head in place, making their eyes meet, “It’s me, it’s Aaron.” 

She swallows thickly, something that burns against her throat, “Aaron?” 

He smiles, relief making some of the tension in his chest loosen, “Yes, baby. It’s me, I’m here.” 

Familiar fear seizes her, something she can’t shake off, “Ian?” 

“You won sweetheart, he’s dead remember,” Aaron says, pressing his forehead into hers, her skin burning him, “We’re here, in our home. The boys are asleep in their rooms” 

She whimpers, a sound he hates, something he’d never heard from her before, and he knows he has to do something. He knows she wouldn’t thank him for taking her to the hospital, something he knew wasn’t justified quite yet, but he needed to help her. He gathers her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, her body shaking despite how warm she was, and he stands. 

It hurts his back, something he knows he’ll likely feel for a few days, but it’s the last thing on his mind as he carries her towards the ensuite, using his elbow to force the light on. He apologises when she winces against the light flooding the room, his lips against her forehead. He walks into their shower and turns on the water, waiting until it was lukewarm before he steps under the stream. He slides down the wall, making sure he keeps hold of her, and she tucks her forehead against his neck, protecting her face from the steady stream of water. 

“Aaron.” 

“I’m here,” he says softly, his hand rubbing circles up and down her back, “I’m here.”

He sits there with her until her temperature goes down, holding her close until she falls back to sleep.

___

Emily wakes up slowly. The first thing she notices is the pounding in her head from the last few days is slightly better, the first sign that she was starting to get over the flu that had seemingly invaded their home. 

She groans as she sits up, Aaron's arm falling from her waist to her lap as she does so. Her smile slips slightly as she takes in the sight of the pyjama shirt he’s wearing, and the colour of the sheets across them - both of them different to when she’d fallen asleep the night before. She looks down at her shirt and gets even more confused when she sees that’s changed too. 

“What?” 

“Your fever spiked in the night,” Aaron says, his voice making her jump because she was sure he was still asleep, “I had to get you in the shower to bring it down,” he adds as he sits up with her, “I had to change both of us and the sheets.” 

“I…don’t remember that,” she says, wracking her brain to try and find a memory of it, but the last thing she remembers is the boys excitedly giving her a decoration for the tree that they bought at the markets before they all headed to bed. 

“You were pretty out of it,” he replies, tugging her to lean against him, pleased that her skin felt somewhere close to normal for the first time in a few days, “I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” 

Even in her exhausted state, Emily doesn’t miss how he holds her a little tighter than usual, something desperate in his embrace. She shifts so she can look up at him. His jaw is clenched, as if he’s worried about something, about her, and she reaches up to cup his face, forcing him to look at her. 

“What happened?” She asks softly, and he sighs, closing his eyes as he turns his head to kiss her palm.

“Em-”

“Please tell me,” she says, cutting over what she knows will be an attempt to tell her he’s fine, “I’d rather know.” 

He stares at her for a moment before nodding. Honesty had always been a cornerstone of their relationship. They didn’t keep things from each other. 

“You were delirious,” he says, clearing his throat, swallowing down the lump that had formed there, “You thought you were in Boston.” 

He doesn’t have to say anything else, doesn’t have to explain any further, and she sighs sadly. She leans forward, her forehead against his shoulder as she holds his arm to her chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey. That can’t have been easy,” she says, imaigning how she would have felt if it was the other way around, deeply aware she wouldn’t have been able to carry him to the shower, or help him like he had helped her. 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, “Nothing at all. I’m just glad I was able to help.” 

“You always help,” she says, and he immediately puts his hand on her forehead and she bats him away, “What are you doing?”

“Checking you’re not feverish again, you’re usually not this corny.” 

She scoffs, a curse word on the tip of her tongue when their door flies open, Mason across the room and on the bed in seconds. 

“Morning Momma,” he says, crawling across to settle in her lap, his dark wide eyes looking up at her, “You better?” 

“I am feeling a bit better, sweet boy, thank you,” she replies, holding him close. 

“What, am I invisible?” Aaron asks jokingly, tickling at his son’s ribs. Mason laughs, curling further into Emily’s embrace. 

“Hi Daddy.” 

Aaron smiles at his wife and son, matching grins on their faces that make his stomach flip and he shakes his head. 

“Is your brother awake?” He asks, ruffling Mason’s already messy hair, and the toddler shakes his head. 

“Jack still asleep.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes at his eldest son, the teenage years that he’d dreaded for some time now just around the corner. 

“Why don’t I go organise breakfast and you two stay here?” He offers, and they both nod enthusiastically. He leans in and kisses Emily quickly, “I’ll bring up some meds for you too.” 

“Thanks, honey,” she replies, smiling at him as he leaves before she shifts her attention back to her little boy. She goes to speak but she coughs, her chest aching with it, and when she recovers she’s met with her son’s concerned face. His brows knitting together in a way that makes him look so much like Aaron it makes her smile, “You ok, Mase?” 

“Momma still sick?” He asks, and she nods gently.

“Still a little bit, baby, but I’m better than yesterday.” She watches as his frown briefly deepens before he shifts, kneeling in her lap so they are face to face before he kisses her forehead in the same way she did for him when he was sick. She feels like her heart could burst, the love she felt for him somehow constantly increasing, something she wouldn’t have thought was possible the first time she saw him, tiny and crying as he was placed on her chest. 

“Better?”  He pulls back, his fingers tangled a little tight in her hair, and she reaches to untangle them, 

“Much better, thank you.” Emily smiles an nods at him.He beams at her and she lays down, tugging him with her so he’s laying against her chest. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“Love you too.” He replies, snuggling further into her. 

Emily smiles as she hears Aaron moving about in the kitchen, and the first signs of life from Jack’s room, the sound of their house slowly waking up surrounding her as she drifts back to sleep. 

-x-

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[hypmicdaydreams]

you’re down sick w/ buster bros

-pairings: ichiro yamada x gn!reader, jiro yamada x gn!reader, saburo yamada x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-overall word count: 1.65k

-a/n: i came down with the flu and have been utterly sick the past few days 😷 i wrote this amidst all my delirium and pain with my fav boys lol, and you can def tell that i was ranting a bit lmao. word count ended up uneven between the three of them buttt hope you guys don’t mind 😓 anywayy hope you guys enjoy, and remember to stay safe, esp during cold and flu season 💕

ichiro (432 words)

“here, take this.”

“but ichiro-”

your boyfriend shoves a spoonful of disgusting medicine down your throat the moment you open your mouth and give him the chance. it tastes like shit, despite the overwhelming artificial strawberry (cherry? whatever it was red) flavor. it was so bitter, so gross. it should’ve at least been bubblegum.

and it’s the third or fourth spoonful you’ve taken that day, and also the third or fourth time you were close to gagging. ‘it’ll be good for you’ ichiro yearns, with a cute smile and gentle pat on the head. but he’s not the one who’s sick and definitely not the one who has to deal with shit-tasting medicine.

ah fuck, you really miss not being sick.

“that wasn’t bad now,” ichiro chuckles when you give him a disgruntled look and cute pout. he’s enjoying himself a little, perhaps, happy to nurse you back to health. he’s done this many times; ichiro is practically a pro by now, a licensed nurse or whatever. he definitely carries himself as so, with the demands and spoon feeding you medicine, like a child. but he’s a cute nurse, at the very least. or you think so, looking from your lashes as he takes your temperature with his hand. his smile is cute, after all, when he finds you to be just fine.

“how’s your throat by the way?” you can’t speak that loud, as much as you try, because you’re in pain and your throat is irritating the everliving fuck out of you. you just want to rest it but also take all the disgusting cough drops in the world to numb the sensation.

he laughs again at your defeated look, having succumbed to this no good, rotten flu. but at least you feel the tiniest bit better when he rubs his thumb across your hand, the comfort and warmth putting you at ease. “i’ll go prepare some soup for you, alright?” you nod, content as can be (while sick that is) as he ruffles your hair. you were somewhat sick of soup, but ichiro had told you that the sensei told him fluids were the best, and it definitely did soothe your throat (and burn your tongue but that was neither here nor there), so you had no room to complain really.

“alright babe. you’ll get better in no time.” your boyfriend/nurse is so cute, you think, happy to know that you had such a loving guy to look over you. a bit of luck in these trying times, you contentedly sigh.

but you’d still rather not be sick.

jiro (611 words)

“trust me babe. i do this all the time and i get better right away!!”

you had no energy to argue with jiro, nor the capacity to given your strained throat. how pitiful a state you were in, throat sore and sinuses inflamed (or so it felt). but the last thing you needed was some bullshit homeopathic medicine that your boyfriend had just made up on that very spot, if only to give you a slimmer of false hope.

“you said that the last three times jiro,” you groan out quietly, and all three hadn’t worked, not one bit. you were sick and tired of taking different medications, of which neither you nor jiro knew what the fuck they even did. and honestly, you were a tiny bit worried that the concoctions within you would somehow kill you on the spot. they had allergies, headaches, or sinuses on the label and jiro just gave you them, whether they’re intended to be mixed or abused or not. bless his dumb little soul.

“but this time for sure.” yeah sure, whatever; you roll your eyes, and jiro sighs, running a hand through his hair. “listen babe, listen! when i have the flu like you, i always take this and it works like a charm!!”

he puts out some weird juice, the likes of which you haven’t seen much before. well, not entirely true; you did see jiro take it once a while back when he himself was sick, except that he gagged and threw up his entire guts after, which wasn’t entirely helpful nor comforting i presume. “this got rid of my flu in like a half hour or so!”

doubt. or maybe his immune system is just that strong. he was an athlete, right? maybe you should’ve practiced soccer with jiro much more, now that you think back on it.

but you can’t say no to him, not when he gives you that pleasing look that makes him look like a cute (yet troublesome) puppy. he just wants to take care of you, to be that strong boyfriend you can rely on. it’s cute, you have to admit, even as strangely excited as he was to take care of you when you texted him that you were down with the bothersome flu. he had shown up at your door in five minutes flat (despite living ten minutes away what the fuck-) with a whole bunch of medicines and shit.

but you’re just glad you have a caretaker i guess, aside from your mom. you have to let your boyfriend have this, to let him know that he’s doing a good job (as terrible of a job as it probably was, but he was good in morale and kisses, sick and delirious kisses). so you take the drink, cursing your heart for doing a flip when he gives you that puppy beam.

and it tastes like shit. complete and utter garbage, so bitter and disgusting.

“ack, fuck! jiro what-!”

“just drink it,” he shoves the drink towards you, as awful tasting as it is, and you take another awful sip. gosh how you just want to gag. “yeah yeah, it tastes like shit, but it works! i promise!”

and as much as you love your boyfriend, jiro is also such a big fat liar, or so you feel that way at the moment, glaring at him. you just feel and look worse afterwards.

“um, on second thought,” he rubs the nape of his neck, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. “i’ll just make ichi-nii’s special soup for your throat.”

yeah, that sounded much better. ah well, at least he was cute.

saburo (606 words)

“saburoo, this tastes gross.”

your boyfriend just seems to roll his eyes at your whining and complaining, perhaps finding your strained voice and quiet groans a bit amusing. you want to slap him for that — you’re the one going through hell and back after all, not that he’d understand — but you can’t; he’s the one nursing you back to health, despite his complaints. and you’re definitely not going to let go of your own personal nurse, especially when it’s your boyfriend.

you have the urge to gag up the bitter medicine he just shoved in your mouth, even more so when you swallow it out of force. ugh why did it taste like that?! it was (supposedly) supposed to help with your cough and congestion, but all the medicines and pills you took and that was simply untrue.

you were uncurable, much to your dismay and pain.

“you need to take it,” saburo scolds, emphasizing the ‘need’ as if you were a child not understanding. “why did you even go to school today if you felt so bad?”

“my mom forced me too.” well, it’s more like she forced you to take some disgusting medicine, the worst you’ve ever tasted, and then sent you off to school when you didn’t seem to have a fever. there was no way you were missing a day of school, not on her watch. just wear a mask and take some cough drops or whatever, she advised, handing you a bunch of gross honey-lemon ones (they weren’t even your favorite! the absolute worst of the bunch) then throwing you out.

at least saburo could tell that you looked of death. and bless his soul for forcing you to leave early, dragging you to the office despite your protests as you were too tired to fight back, especially against his monolith.

“can i get headache medicinee,” you whine in your raspy voice, again. ibuprofen was your savior, especially against your pounding headache and eyeache. it didn’t help that whenever your nose wasn’t congested, your sinuses were on fire as well.

“no.” you pout at his firm stance. it was the fourth time you’ve asked, and fourth time he’s said no. how cruel..did he like seeing you in pain? “you just took one a few hours ago,” he sighs, not even immune to your puppy eyes.

and he had a point, as much as you didn’t care. sure you’d probably be actively destroying your liver and body by taking so many — and i really mean so many — concoctions, but at the moment, you’d take that chance. you just wanna feel better man.

well, it’s cute how worried saburo was for your health i suppose, even as he insisted that it’s because he knows you can’t take care of yourself whatsoever. and we can’t have you dying on him, can we? as i said, it’s cute that he cares.

“can i at least get soup?” you give him the puppy eyes again. at least soup made you feel a bit better, especially good at soothing your throat for a few.

and he obviously can’t say no to that request, as much as he seems to reluctantly agree.

“alright,” saburo sighs, “but don’t take anymore medicine when i’m gone.” typical saburo, doesn’t trust you not to destroy yourself.

but you don’t entirely mind right now, at least. you know your boyfriend well, and you know he’s going to make your favorite soup, “accidentally” of course.

sigh, saburo simply being there sure did make you feel a tiny bit better. you relished in his affection, and perhaps you should appear sick more often (not).

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

hello. it is sick anon. 2 things (1) i hope you know that as much as i enjoy your posting you’re not obligated to it and ofc when you’re busier (or if you’re just not feeling like posting as much) that’s totally okay, i’ll still be just as happy to come visit your blog whenever you do post. (2) i am quite pathetic when im sick in terms of wanting someone to take care of me (which sucks when it’s covid and you have to isolate) and so i was distracting myself by thinking about percy and obviously he’s been through things much worse than being sick but i actually think as a rich kid he would have Quite a hard time being sick. like i was thinking of a whole thing about how he was never really particularly cuddley with his family, except for when he was sick and he’d get joanna to sing to him and then cue him being sick in greyskull keep and this is his first time being sick when he’s not on the run from the briarwoods so he CAN be a little pathetic and just hide in bed all day but he’s also Percy so he’s full of self hate about it and he’s EMBARASSED (like come on, get out of bed!) and obviously you don’t have to, but if you’d be willing to add onto this and write a little something of who would like bring him food or do something to comfort him a little? (in my mind this feels like a percahalia moment or a Keyleth/percy friendship moment but I’ve already just dropped a shit ton of unasked for headcanon on you so please take this in whatever direction you want, or ignore it entirely, no worries whatever you decide)

Aw anon you're so sweet <3 and unasked for headcanons are my specialty!

Okay to begin, I can see Percy as like a grumpy teenager getting the flu from one of his little siblings and just being so pathetic about it because he wants to be taken care of but he's an Adult, he doesn't need it, but Johanna just sits down on his bed with him and he puts his head in her lap and she runs her fingers through his hair as she hums. That's a moment Percy thinks about a lot afterwards, how even though he was such an annoying teenager, his mother still loved him and still took such good care of him.

And when I get sick, I get emotional and cry a lot sooooo, Percy definitely cries about that memory, curled into a ball on his bed because he just wants his mom or his dad or his siblings but he can't have them and he's so alone and he doesn't feel good. And that only make him feel worse because now he thinks he's acting so pathetic about a fucking cold.

It's Pike that notices that he hasn't come down for breakfast. So she goes up to his room and doesn't even bother knocking. She finds her friend pale(er) and clammy with red rimmed eyes and just looking like hell. She just sighs, this was bound to happen eventually because humans are so fragile like that. She gives him a little healing, despite how much he protests against it, but she smiles a little when he leans into her hand.

And she decides that she can't leave him after that, he's clearly not doing well and she knows that it's probably been a while since he's been taken care of like that. So over her earring, she asks Vex and Vax to make some soup and bring it up and for Scanlan and Grog to run up the street and get some medicine for him. And as they do that, she just sits with him, not touching because she doesn't know if that's what he needs. But it is. After a little while, he works up the courage to ask for her to run her fingers through his hair. And she does, having to stop herself from getting emotional at how much he instantly relaxes against her with a soft sigh.

[livingwithlosingyou]

Living with Losing You - 11/28/2022

I have the Flu. Flu A. 

I know what you (the reader) are thinking, I really can’t catch a break. And the answer to your statement is yes, you’re correct. Since Jake died, I have been through it. As if that in itself wasn't already horrific enough. 

I barely slept last night, and spent most of it either shivering or sweating profusely. I took my temperature a few times, but unfortunately I realized that my thermometer was broken. It wasn’t until I picked up a new one (when I went to go get DayQuil and NyQuil) that I realized I had a 100.5 then a 102 eventually. I knew that Tylenol wasn’t working, and I knew I felt like complete shit. It was recommended that I go and get tested just in case. Well, it was a good thing I did since I do in fact have it. 

Today was also the day that OE was supposed to end for my company, but with everything going on, we decided to extend it luckily. I was working today while trying to get some answers at urgent care. It took me about 4 hours total. Lots of people. They said that this flu is going around right now. Also - you know you are a dedicated worker when you join a meeting from the urgent care room. The amount of times I have done that. And if you (the reader) are curious, yes, I opted for the highest FSA amount possible because I am such a health case. 

I am glad that the DayQuil somewhat worked. I am really hoping that this slowly starts to feel better. I have the NYC trip on Friday, and I can’t miss this trip. The doctor said she thinks I will be fine, but we will see what happens. I am canceling everything to try and rest / get better. Ugh, this sucks. 

James, I get a little frustrated. Amongst the promises that you made me, one of them was that you'd always be here to take care of me when I got sick. It’s really been fucked up how sick I have been since you’ve died. It also sucks that I do not just have you to help tell me what to take, etc. I miss that so much. We would always make jokes that you were my personal doctor and I was your “medical anomaly”. Which, is not incorrect. I get a little scared that I won’t find someone who has the patience that you did with all of my random illnesses and ailments. I’m sure I will, I guess I am just being Sadison. 

It was funny though cause they made me wait in the car instead of the lobby, so I went and got pho since I had a couple of hours. Yes, I sanitized and masked / ate it in my car. It kind of made the time go by faster. Working also helped make the time go by. Pros and cons to it. It was stressing me out though. 

I went home right after urgent care since I was gone for so long so I could take Sadie out / take my next dose of DayQuil. Then, I went to go grab my meds. I guess I was out of the window for the Tamiflu, so they gave me a cough suppressant instead. I think I may start with the NyQuil only, and then see how I feel. Once I got back to the house I ordered Chick-Fil-A DoorDash and ate like half of the fries and half of the sando. I really don’t have much of an apatite. I ordered some bland crackers on Amazon trough Whole Foods, it’s all supposed to be delivered tomorrow. That was my first time ever utilizing the grocery delivery service, so we will see how it goes. 

I spent the rest of the evening watching “Nailed it”, and now I am in bed typing this blog. 

I ordered your parents each a Christmas memorial lantern to honor you, and to remind them that you are with us this holiday season. I have been really struggling with that myself. I hate that you’re not here. I hate it. I miss you a lot James. 

I am going to drink my tea, take my NyQuil, and try to get some sleep. Fingers crossed I can, because I am WIPED from today. 

I could use a little strength. I love you. 

Rest in Peace, James Burton Nichols

10/1/1993 - 7/16/2022

PS - Here is your boy in his Chrimahhh collar, and then me hating my life lol

[hollyhomburg]

Before I leave You (Part 2)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: On the worst days, Yoongi is judge, jury, and executioner. But he judges you and finds you worthy of protecting (and loving too).

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Dead bodies, blood, murder/crime themes, guilt, childhood trauma, drugs (cocaine, heroine), domestic abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, controlling behavior, implications of omega mistreatment/discrimination, anorexia, blood, graphic depictions of violence, manipulation, morally gray Yoongi, graphic (dreamed) death scenes

W/c: 16.0k

A/n: ahhhh somehow this part gave me a lot of trouble and i just feel like i can’t get it the way i want it T-T it’s so long holy fuck, it’s hard to believe that before editing this was only 4k words. i hope you like this chapter! im upset with myself for how long this is

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 2: The Don

Maybe this is the better time to tell you how Yoongi found you- and why he left in the first place. Like with most good tragedies, this story starts with a death and a secret.

While betas are valued mostly for their level heads- they’re also more valued as secret keepers. Yoongi is probably the best secret keeper in the whole state- maybe the whole country even. Most of the time- he keeps his family's secret so well that he doesn’t even let himself think about them.

Yes, his blood family. Not his found family. I get that it’s confusing, but ‘blood family’ couldn’t be more accurate when it came to talking about the people that Yoongi was actually related to. They're the ones that painted Yoongi’s hands with blood like they were painting the mona lisa, when he was barely old enough to drive a car, let alone learn how to be a murderer and get away with it. You're one of us now- no escaping it. Down to the marrow in your bones Min Yoongi- You are one of us.

Being a beta born into a mafia family is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand- Yoongi was expected to have little hand in most of the violence. Tradition said that the betas shouldn’t sully their hands with blood and gunpowder on the daily, doing the dirty work only when the situation called for it. A special touch- a unique ruthlessness. 

On the worst days, Yoongi is judge, jury, and executioner.

He’d grown up outside of the normal hierarchy that was inflicted on the rest of his siblings and cousins, immune from the constant warring families and jostling for power, Left to his own devices through childhood and most of his adulthood. It didn’t matter which family was really his- because Yoongi would serve the greater interests of the pack.

That didn't mean he hadn't seen everything; the peoples whose lives they'd ruined with drugs. Rich socialites, and college kids alike turned to wraiths in months by his family's heroine. The prostitutes that looked at Yoongi’s father like he was their next meal ticket.

Yoongi was 13 when he first touched a dead body, and he remembers the vile of it. He’d thrown up afterwards pushed by the realization that one day- he’d be still and rotting like that.  

The other mobsters had laughed at his squeamishness as if he’d made some sort of childish joke. His father petting down his hair like he was just some little kid who had the flu. "It’s okay, he'll get used to it in time" if anything, this was something to laugh about- look at the kid and his squeamishness, he'll get a handle it on it soon- you know how you were at that age.

It was then that Yoongi realized that he wasn’t like them. He’d never get used to this and never find it something to revel in. He'd either find a way to bring it all down, or he'd leave, and never come back as soon as he was able. Foolish dreams, you can't wish the bad blood out of your veins and off of your hands no matter how hard you try. 

Blood is blood, no matter who it’s in or what it’s on. 

Having him on a job was considered both an honor and a threat. Because if the beta was checking that your operation was up to board then only the mafia Don had put him to the task. Even though Yoongi’s position has been decided for him- that doesn’t mean he’s exactly immune from the more political aspects of his birthright. 

Favors and kind words are a currency he traffics in, more than drugs or money or ghost guns. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to drop the shipment off, I’m sure you’re sympathetic, our baby beta- you’re growing up so well your mother must be so proud. She knows how stressful it is- having so many pups at once. Make sure you take a gram for yourself.” and that’s how Yoongi would end up trekking kilos of cocaine across the city as a teenager.

Yoongi’s sub-gender was a tremendous advantage on the more difficult jobs. How many times had he been the getaway driver during a murder? Death sitting in the backseat of his car and yoongi in the driver's seat, a body in the trunk, stopped by the police. The officers always straighten up when they see Yoongi, his scent hitting them and making them flinch. “I’m sorry officers, but I’m really in a hurry, you don’t really need my license and registration do you?”

And of course they’d always replied with “We’re sorry to bother you, have a nice night sir.” He’d been sir since the first second he’d started to lose his baby face.

 You just didn’t interfere with the business of a beta, even if that business was murder, racketeering, prostitution, drugs, and illegal firearms among a dozen other institutions that the mafia was involved in. 

What had once been more than a dozen different organized crime families with decades of war between them had joined nearly three generations ago as one united front. They’re unstoppable and more organized than the local government to be perfectly honest. There is no larger organization on this side of the country. Only Yoongi’s crime family, all others that begin to sprout like weeds get firmly squashed under their heal once they reach a certain size.

Now that he lives away, Yoongi’s only job is to settle internal disputes. Like which out of two twins would inherit a father’s title, spats between the families, and slights dealt that required mending for the good of the organization. He’s far enough away that he rarely has to actually commit a crime. He’s gotten used to the calls at all hours of the day, encrypted conversations that he can’t avoid.

Leaving has been a source of contention ever since he left, after his parent's death when he just couldn't handle being surrounded by death anymore. They’d died suddenly, and Yoongi doesn't even really remember the last time he saw them. It had been a regular morning that had passed as thousands of others had, unremarkable except for the fact that it was last time he would see them alive. 

Yoongi’s always had a sensitive heart, and rest of the family just thought he was dealing with the grief of losing his parents when he ran away. They thought it was that- and not a dedication of his soul and a rejection of what they wanted to make of him. Yoongi wouldn’t let himself become a monster. 

There are maybe two dozen Min’s left. And as the holder of the successive beta, they’re awarded more power than the other families, that and the fact that the don was also the child of a min, gave them a near controlling interest in the business of the pack. 

Without his parents, Yoongi’s older brother had been put in charge, 23 and ready to prove himself just as much of a ruthless leader as Yoongi’s father had been. His older brother might have flourished under the new title of head of house, but Yoongi felt like he was drowning without his parents. Without his mother to remind him of what it was like to live and not just survive- Yoongi felt like he was dying. 

His upbringing had made Yoongi leader, and had made Geumjae, his older brother, a killer. 

While Yoongi had grown up with the safety of his sub-gender to shield him from the worst parts of mafia life, Geumjae had not had the same luxury. Pulled into backroom deals and showed the finer points of torture at an age young enough to be proper and polite about it (And to not alert the federal government or the police.)

One of Yoongi’s cousins had tried to go to the FBI after being grounded before- a foolish reaction to not being allowed to go out with his friends. A stupid child- but the family hadn’t seen that- no- the family had left barely a thimbleful of him left for his parents who had barely even cried for their son. There is no room for moles or dissent in their family. You’re either with them and alive or against them and dead. 

Geumjae had found the bloodshed something to reveal it- something to love just as much as Yoongi had found love in those 6 souls across the country. Geumjae had only blood and money to pad the inside of his heart.

It feels weird to think that he doesn’t know his own brother. But they haven’t even seen each other in the nearly ten years since their parents died and Geumjae took his father's spot as the head of household. 

It had been easy to leave him behind, they’d never been close and Geumjae hadn’t tried to stop him when Yoongi had put what little money they had in the house in a bag and run. He’d made it 4 months with no contact; foolishly, he'd assumed that they just didn't know where he was until one of his uncles had turned up at his shitty apartment. A cell phone held out to him and his grandfather- the Don- On the other end of the line. Who’d lost his patience with the youth at last. 

It helped that he wasn’t the only beta in the pack and the only one to bear the brunt of the decision-making. The other beta kept themselves firmly in the pocket of the Don, rarely every more than a few feet away from him. That was Yoongi’s fate, shackled to whoever had the position next. Though their partnership has more to do with love than any sort of business agreement. 

Yoongi’s grandfather was a sweet man despite his title and the thousands of deaths he’d build his empire upon. Yoongi’s proximity to what was dubbed as the royal pair, was a lucky thing- they’d mentored him for years to prepare him for his eventual job. All of this, the murder and the secrets- was all an internship essentially. He needed to know how every faction of the family worked in order to make sure it ran smoothly in the future. Connections he built now would serve him years down the line. 

They’d both been soft on him, With no children on their own, Yoongi bore the brunt of what parental urges they had. If he’d been anyone else, they would have sent an assassin to drag him back in a body bag, but they hadn’t. “As long as you come back Yoongi- none of us care, I know you’re a good kid. You know what’s expected of you.”

The same uncle had helped set up a secure phone line at the coffee shop, and a few months later a statuesque omega had started working there and that was that. Yoongi's distance from the family was conditional at best but tense at worse. And Essencial once Seokjin worked his way into Yoongi’s life, like a delicately cultivated flower.

He missed a call once, and the gang sent someone to make sure he was alright. Yoongi had narrowly avoided leading them straight back to his and Jin’s apartment. They probably know who Seokjin is. It would be stupid of them not too keep tabs on their beta and whom he was shacking up with.

But that didn’t mean Yoongi could explain why an alpha with as many tattoos as scars was knocking on their door at three in the afternoon. It had taken a few hours to convince one of the mobster that he was alright. Hours in which Seokjin had called, his texts getting increasingly more worried. Yoongi had put his phone on silent. 

They can’t know- no one can know where most of Yoongi’s money comes from. He was fine living just paycheck-to-paycheck before Seokjin. But once the pack started growing, Yoongi took on more and more responsibilities as a moderator just to provide for them.

His goals has changed over the years; tearing down the gang was a stupid childish dream, as impossible as it was suicidal. He knows they'd kill him in a second if he so much as walked into a police station. It’s Better to operate from within and try to lessen their damage. If Yoongi can save a few lives, that’s better than losing his own life and letting the system continue unchecked over his dead body.

It makes him feel better about taking money from his family (Though that money was only given to him with expectations attached to it). He gets a monthly stipend that fluctuates, his cut of their profits. Sometimes it’s a little more than a few hundred and other times thousands more than they could use. The blood money gets hidden away in a bank account that only he can access, that he uses here and there whenever they really needed it. 

Like when Seokjin’s car broke down and they needed to buy a new one. Or when Taehyung had needed to get a new computer for work, or Jungkook's endless medical expenses. It’s a good cushion- the only safety net that they have beyond each other.

He’d never use enough to make the others suspicious- because as much as he trusts them, years of witnessing life in a gang has taught him one thing; that it’s better not to know than it is to know what’s going on. Ignorance is bliss and plausible deniability can save your life. He does not doubt that the rest of the family is well aware of who their prized beta is hanging out with, that they keep close tabs on the seven of them and how much they might know. Yoongi often hides behind the power awarded to him because of his status to keep his real family safe.

Simultaneously he has all of the power and none of it. No responsibility to actually carry out any of the bloodshed- but every major decision of succession would go through him. and that alone was enough to put a target on his back. 

The only reason why the organization can survive is because of Yoongi. Without him, they’d tear themselves apart. All of the others might be the killers, but Yoongi is the enabler. The one who walks hand in hand with death and gets to decide when to sick his beast on the world.

Should we eliminate our rivals Yoongi? Should we clear that little apartment block just to pad our pockets with a high-rise? How about this pack that saw too much? Do you think the pack alpha deserves to live? Live or die Yoongi, what's your choice?

The leash goes both ways, He came when called. To help the elder beta and the don talk through his decision on who would inherit the title of the next Don when it became clear that neither of them would be alive much longer. 

He didn’t expect them to die while he was in transit. The beta had passed first, and then the Don a few hours later.  It’s strange for many of them to think of a beta loving someone so much that they’d stay in one place for a year- let alone the 40 that the last Don’s partner had stayed.

But Yoongi knows exactly what it feels like to love someone enough that society’s expectations are only a backdrop. Yoongi knew the beta woman well even though they weren’t blood-related. And that weekend- he mourns her just as much as he mourns his full-blooded grandfather.

Many in the family think them dying so close to each other is a little bit too fortuitous to be entirely accidental or age. The shadow of an unseen threat hangs in the balance. Murdered or dead, what does it matter? The effect is the same.

There is no Don right now, there is only Yoongi. And the decision of who will inherit the empire lies solely on his shoulders. 

The rules of secession are simple and laid out in terms that the families do not argue with; to be eligible a contender must have direct lineage from one of the founding families. No adopted members or outsiders, older than 25 but younger than 55 because the fewer changes of power the better.  If they kept merely picking the eldest, the don would die and change once or twice every decade. And last- no omegas or betas, the Don can only be an alpha. 

Yoongi will choose the successor by himself. And If by chance he dies before choosing one, it would come down to a vote between the 12 heads of house. 

Coming back feels like walking into a nightmare.

Yoongi’s always been able to put a subtle swagger on, he can walk like one of them and talk like one of them. And he feels his persona drape over him like a shroud. He knows how his eyes look when he tilts his face downwards, when he lifts his lip in a soundless snarl and stares at them like they’re all beneath him. He lets his angry ocean scent roll off of him in waves- a warning before he appears. They expect it from him- the disconcerted beta. 

He hasn’t thrown up because of a dead body in years, but the matching caskets almost do it to him. 

He gets more than a few tearful hugs and reunions when he walks into the cathedral. The guards at the front do not stop and ask him who he is, Anyone who's anyone knows who Yoongi is. Arguably- he’s the most important (alive) person at the funeral. 

He wades through the crowd. The hundreds of people packed tight to pay their respects. All members of the family have pinned roses to their lapels as a sign of respect, white for the omegas, and red for the alphas. The omega youth who hands them out at the front desk eyes Yoongi upset, unsure which to give him, hand shaking as he flutters between white and red. 

“It's fine really- I’ll just take a white one-”

“I’ve got you” a woman steps up from the crowd gathered. She’s already got a red rose pinned to the lapel of her smooth suit, and she plucks a pink rose from a nearby bouquet and tucks it into his breast pocket. “We didn’t think you’d be coming.” 

She’s got short cropped brown hair, an alpha from the scent fluffing around him, peppermint- it almost has a numbing effect on his nostrils. an artificial edge that cuts the sweetness and makes it more alpha. Yoongi doesn’t recognize her until but knows they must be related. It takes him second of searching her face before he recognizes the tuck of her chin. 

“Moon Byulyi”

She smiles tensely, “it’s been a while Yoongi” Moonbyul he remembers well- from childhood's spent running around in too tight tiny stuffy suit jackets at formal occasions like easter and christmas. Playing underneath tables, one of the few pups that was brave enough to talk to him. 

Even as a pup, he’d been infamous. In the cathedral, people whisper, pointing him out in the crowd to their companions. 

Many families choose to send their children away from the mafia life before presentation. If you’re not a beta, those formative years can be a little bit dicey, with your scent and hormones changing every few days often provoking fights and spats with others your age. An improper and dangerous volatility in a family like theirs. Scents changing too quick until they solidify during a first heat and rut cycle. 

Not like Yoongi- who’s smelled like chocolate and seasalt since the second he was born. The marker of a beta is the immediately presenting scent, usually before the first year- unlike the other subgenders who smell uniform at birth. The soft pup smell that's ingrained into people's brains- to protect and provide and nourish. They’d known who he was and who he’d set out to become the second he was born.

There are boarding schools and private little Colonies of the mafia where unpresented pups can have a more dedicated education away from the families eyes. Yoongi hasn’t seen Moonbyul since just after she turned 13. And though the year’s stretch between them but she’s still the same, the mischievous lilt to her words more diffused here, she looks as tired and as anxious as they all feel. 

There is only one person in the room that Yoongi’s even a little bit afraid of. “Have you seen my brother?” she makes a noise, sending a glance behind him. Yoongi knows to turn before Geumjae can get too close, but it’s still too late. 

There are crows feet beginning to pull at the corners of his eyes, Geumjae must be nearly 33 now. His brother looks exactly like he did the last time Yoongi saw him, not taller than yoongi, but broader, his shoulders saying ‘alpha’ before his scent does. 

He pulls Yoongi close with a hard hand at his neck digging into his scent gland and Yoongi almost lets out a strangled growl. Geumjae forces them to embrace, the picture of brotherly affection and comfort as he presses Yoongi’s face into his shoulder, mouth pressed to his ear hidden in yoongi’s hairline so that no one can hear what he has to say to his younger brother.  

Yoongi wants to recoil from the closeness- the sensitivity of having anyone near his scent gland but his pack mates has his body screaming to react. But can’t pull away or else risk making a scene. 

There are no hello’s, no farce, just straight to business. 

“I hope you’re not planning to change anything Yoonie.” Geumjae says the childish nickname with a sickly sweet lilt to it. “It’s been so long since we’ve all seen you that you’re practically an outsider. There’s a lot you don’t understand. You should let your older brother teach you how things work again.” 

Yoongi can’t push Geumjae away- can’t- no matter how much his burning wood scent is sticking in his nose and making him want to cough. Geumjae’s expensive suit reeks of cologne at odds with his scent. Geumjae smells and acts like wildfires and burning houses- destructive and unpredictable.

The funeral is a time they all should be mourning their elder not making plans over his deathbed. But Geumjae seems to have a different idea of what is proper. He’s eligible for the next don position, and having his brother decide who gets to wear the crown is as good as having won the title already. 

Geumjae knows of Yoongi’s only weak spot. 

“All this talk has me thinking- if you died I guess we’d have to invite your pack huh little brother? And none of us would want that. I wonder why you didn’t bring them. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were afraid of us getting our hands on them.” he pulls back, smiling- though it’s not friendly- more of a bearing of teeth. Geumjae must have had implants put in because his canines seem sharper than should be normal. “But I know we’ll never have to find out.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold- he knows enough to read between the lines. They’re not even thinly veiled; these are real threats. Yoongi does his best to school his face into a somber frown. If Geumjae was threatening to bring his pack here with Yoongi’s death- he could only assume his life and theirs would be forfeit If he didn’t choose his older brother as the next leader. 

Even though there were others that would have done a better job. Even if Yoongi didn’t want him to have it. Geumjae is an eligible alpha it’s only natural that he’d want the power and money awarded to him the the Don position. 

He has to act carefully- deliberate. Maybe call Namjoon and tell him he’d be gone for a few more weeks than he thought, Though even that might be a risk. 

But still, Geumjae has more cards he needs to play to secure his title. And the next Don won’t be chosen for the next 120 days as is tradition. Until then Yoongi’s the one who will govern the affairs of the family who will be the voice of reason.

There will be no death and no punishments, A time for everyone to gather and mourn and talk about what needs to be done each voice heard in equal measure. It’s his job as the only beta left to make sure the family doesn’t fall prey to infighting while the next leader is being chosen.

As for the matter of succession, His older brother was the clear favorite among the families. Though the 20 or so other eligible family members who could take the role of the next Don would probably accuse Yoongi of being nepotistic. the rest of the families expected Yoongi to choose wisely.

He wasn’t the only alpha or the oldest male alpha by far and In Yoongi’s opinion, Geumjae was probably the worst alpha for the job. In Geumjae the others saw a gangster more bloodthirsty and crazy than half of them, and in their minds that was a good thing.

Yoongi doesn’t meet you at the funeral, but at the next family meal the following Saturday.

Though the Don’s house will sit vacant until the next one is chosen, they still have family dinners there. Not many of them are in possession of large enough tables to fit more than thirty people though Yoongi’s sure half of them are preparing their mansions otherwise. To have these meetings on their own turf might give them an advantage. 

The Don’s compounded mansion is neutral ground and yet, a reminder with its sprawling decadent expanse of what they all stand to gain if they convince Yoongi to choose their sons or daughters.

The heads of family are sat at the table done up in their finest suits and gowns, all black- it will be a little while before anyone feels comfortable wearing any color. Some family dinners are cooked by the grannies and the omegas- but this one is catered by a small staff. 

Your red lipstick is the one splotch of color at the table, and Yoongi spies more than one of the elders eyeing you with distaste. He doubts anyones explained to you the rule of ‘no color for the first 13 days after a death’. 

You’re at Geumjae's side, carefully poised, not a hair out of place as you smile and answer the questions asked to you politely- never instigating a conversation with another soul at the table. You’re his brother’s new omega wife (the fact that Yoongi never attended the wedding is something he’s teased about- but no one really minds. It's chalked up to his flightiness as a beta).

 You might be married to Geumjae, but that doesn’t mean you’re a head of house like the other wives. You’re an outsider, and as such- are always treated with a little bit of reluctance. You’re not related to any of them by blood, and that makes you dangerous, a risk. 

The wolves at the table eye you like you could be easy prey. 

At first, you’re unremarkable- if not for the gentle sweet scent that flicks across Yoongi’s nose, something refreshing that Yoongi can’t place. It’s something that makes him instantly miss his omegas back home. The yearning for them lighting little sparks of heat on his cheeks.Yoongi tells himself that’s the only reason why he finds his eyes hovering on you. 

Throughout the whole evening, you stick close to your husband’s side as a good omega should. One of the grannies praises you for it, for knowing your place, Yoongi rolls his eyes internally at that. You only find old sentiments like that here- gender roles are more strictly enforced within older packs. 

Not all couples wear mating marks and neither do either of you yet. Getting marked is more binding than a marriage pact- it’s as much as agreeing to share your soul with someone. Mating marks are a dangerous thing; If one part of the mated pair dies then the other has a strong chance of doing so too. It's one of the reasons why it’s not done so much anymore. 

Which is probably one of the reasons why most people in the family choose to have mating marks- especially if they commit to bringing in an outsider. You can’t snitch on someone who can smell when you’re lying; you can’t kill someone who dies if you do. One of Yoongi’s female cousins asks you about it you that admit- sounding a little too relieved to escape notice- that you’ve decided to wait until your next heat to solidify the mating.

Yoongi doesn’t miss the way that Geumjae’s fingers dig into your neck- a little too hard when you say it. Or the way that he can see faint bruises on your wrists when your sleeve falls down. Hidden partially by a set of thick silver bangles. A gift from Geumjae you say when Yoongi compliments them. Though Yoongi doesn’t say that they look more like shackles than like bracelets. You meet his eyes over the table and your gaze quickly flickers away. Your attention as fickle as a butterfly in a garden full of thorned roses. 

Yoongi has his suspicions already- and he’s only had one meal with you.

“Maybe you could show me where to find something like them” he comments idly, talking to omegas about trinkets isn't suspicious. The other omegas sat at the table are dressed like a bunch of haughty crows, bespeckled with enough diamonds to put a jewelry store out of business. “I think my omegas might like them something like that.” 

It’s a lie- both Jungkook and Seokjin hate heavy jewelry. Yoongi just wants to ask about the bruises he’s seen and get a read on you. You’re his sister in law for Christ’s sake- he should get to know you a little especially since you’re a part of the family now. Yoongi knows from experience how daunting they can be.

He’s the one person that you cannot refuse a request from, and neither can Geumjae. Though Yoongi can tell he wants to stop you and Yoongi from having a day to talk away from him when Yoongi insists that you go alone. More than one head of house nods encouragingly at Yoongi. They still see him as the youth who had a hard time handling bloodshed. All of them probably think he's going to check up on you and make sure the outsider isn't a threat.

He picks you up in a taxi the next day, and Yoongi treats you to coffee and shaved ice that you pick at. He can’t help but notice that the shirt you’ve worn is tighter today too- no possibility of the bruises on your wrist being spotted. As you talk about the wedding he missed, about the family, about anything but your husband.

You rarely meet eye contact but you’re both good at steering the conversation into safe territory. You like a lot of the same music, and you’re a fan of the same drama that Tae and Seokjin like to watch. That’s the first time Yoongi sees your face light up. Yoongi wonders what you have to escape if you’re this invested in a story that is not your own.

Yoongi doesn’t think he’s liked someone this quick, not since Namjoon or maybe the three Maknaes. Though that was less slow burning. Yoongi has barely spent 6 uninterrupted hours in your company and yet, he finds his hand hovering by yours, ready to pull you back when you almost step out into the street when a car speeds by. 

You lean into his space a little, blinking at the sudden loud noise, the car speeding past and honking at you to get out of the way. His hand still a vice around your upper arm pulled you in closer than should be proper. Whispering a small thank you with wide eyes that look up at him, Like you’re surprised that he thought to make sure you weren’t in harm's way. Yoongi doesn't know how you almost walked out into traffic, how you didn’t see the car coming. 

You remind Yoongi of a clumsy baby kitten or maybe like an alley cat that hasn’t committed, like you want to trust him but can’t yet. You look at Yoongi like you're half scared of him and half hopeful. He remembers feeling that way, so desperate for something to hold onto but so conscious of the fact that to hope means to invite in disappointment. 

He understands it, Yoongi is a patient man. He thinks of trying to make up for the bloodshed he’s caused- life by life that he can save to cancel out the guilt in his heart. You might be a good place to start. 

on your day out Yoongi actually does manage to find a small gift for Seokjin. Delicate gold rings that should fit the omegas hands. “You know his ring size?” you tease, Yoongi nods. Blushing, somewhere in his things back home, there is a wedding ring that he’d never given Seokjin. But Yoongi has known seokjin’s ring size since the second month he knew him. 

“Must be one lucky omega then.” Yoongi blushes and you smile. It feels good against the cold. Your scent is cold and sweet, a little fresh and he struggles to place it. Fall is starting to end, and soon winter will take hold. While you walk to another shop Yoongi decides that he’ll call his pack later this week and tell them he needs to spend a little more time with his family- they’ll understand, they always do.

He’s been worried about breaking the news to them, doesn’t know how he’s going to tell them that he has to stay for the next few months. Maybe he’ll be able to slip away for a weekend. But seeing them again might just complicate things. There’s no telling what the family will think if he leaves them at a vulnerable time like this.

There's no way he can avoid staying the customary 120 days, it's only 3 months, they can survive without him. But then there is the matter of what happens after. Will the family let him escape back to his old life? or is that part of Yoongi’s life done? will he be shackled to Geumjae for the rest of his life as the last beta left? it's not written into their laws that the beta has to stay- but it might as well be.

But Yoongi wouldn't be the only person shackled to Geumjae's side if Yoongi doesn't find a way around naming him Don. No- you would be shackled to his side too.

You’re both lost in thought when the rain starts up, a sudden downpour, the kind of rain that will soak you in only a few second. Yoongi doesn’t care about getting the gift wet- he’ll just re-wrap it before he sends it to Seokjin, probably with a few other gifts as an apology for not being able to come home. But You use your body to shield the present you’ve gotten for your husband, a pair of silver cufflinks, Rather than let it get wet.

But then you tilt your face up, letting the cold hit your skin, the raindrops like little kisses from the clouds that hit your cheek. And Yoongi is bewitched for a moment- as he finally places your scent; you smell like the rain, the sweet scent of petrichor. Being in a rainstorm is like being surrounded by you. It’s an unusually clean scent for a omega and nothing he could place just by smelling it once.

In the rainstorm, Yoongi feels like he’s surrounded by you. 

He’s just watching the raindrops dance on your skin, doesn’t even really realize it when he lifts his hand to touch your lips- and wipes away the water- unknowingly smudging the concealer and revealing the bruises on your cheek. your puffy lower lip- swollen from whatever hit it and not just full like he’d first thought. The scarf around your neck sags with the heavy rain- and Yoongi sees the marks of fingertips there too, bruises left from hands around your neck.

You recoil like you've been shocked. Just by the touch, you don't realize what the touch has revealed until you notice the way Yoongi's eyes are locked on your neck and your jaw. The marks that Geumjae left when he got rough with you last night

Your scared look is something that he’ll never forgive himself for. Especially when you clamp your hands over your chin and your cheek. Now that Yoongi knows what’s there he can see all of it. The mottled bruises are covered with just slightly off-color concealer, yellow toned to offset the purple. 

Yoongi wonders how long you’ve had to hide them and If the abuse started before or after your marriage. Knowing Geumjae- he probably waited to show you his true colors after you were already married, when you knew about the family and didn’t have a hope of leaving without losing your life. The family doesn’t allow divorces. 

You don’t say anything to each other until after a second. And it pisses him off When you immediately try to do damage control. Yoongi doesn't even have to ask where you got them before you're defending your husband. “He’s not- he’s not that bad.” Yoongi can barely hear you over the roar of the rain. He knows he probably smells like the ocean right now. 

You smell like rain and yoongi smells like the ocean. Together you are a typhoon. 

“Don’t,” Yoongi says with a raised hand, realizing what he’s done wrong seconds later. His words of ‘don’t defend him’ dying in his throat when he sees you prepare to be hit. Like you’ve learned how to handle hurt and compartmentalize it. If you’re getting abused by your husband it stands to reason that his brother will do the same.

His touch on your chin is gentle but you still flinch from it. Yoongi’s bags- gifts for the omegas that deserve this man in front of you (who is as beautiful as he is kind, The kind of man that you don’t deserve) fall to the ground in favor of grabbing you gently before you can bolt. 

You're beginning to realize that Yoongi is nothing like his brother. You’ve seen the way he acts around the others in the family; always ready to offer an encouraging touch to the young pups and a helpful hand to the old grannies. As intense of a man as he is dangerously kind. And after today you think that out of all of them, he’s the only member of the mafia that you could ever learn to like.

Not love, because love isn’t something you’d ever get. 

An omega like you didn’t deserve love, you were barely worth the shirt on your back. Though maybe that was because it was an expensive shirt- your husband likes when you’re dressed to impress, in burberry and balenciaga. It sends a pointed message to the other families,Even if it makes you feel like an accessory. Feeling like an accessory is better than feeling like a nuisance, like the dirt under his shoes- so you take what you can get.

You’re only valuable when you open your legs for your husband in the evenings and provide him the other slight comforts, like the food you meticulously make for him the house you make into a perfect home. You’re as much for decoration as the fancy designer couch or the crystal chandelier. 

You don’t know how long it's been since you’ve started to believe the horse shit that Geumjae shoved down your throat. That you should let him hurt you when he felt like it because he was the one with the money and the power. That you were lucky he didn’t treat you worse. You don’t know when you started to believe that his job was stressful enough to make the abuse justified. You don’t know when you started to believe that you deserve it. 

But now- Yoongi in front of you feels like a tease- the person you might have had if you’d chosen the right brother. You’re not worth his kindness or his gentleness when he cradles your face in his hand, thumb on your bruised chin. So light it doesn’t hurt.

His promise tastes rotten in your mouth. “I will never hurt you, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” You stare at him, stepping back out of his grasp- keenly aware that no matter the empty rain-filled streets are there could always be someone watching. Someone who could tell Geumjae that Yoongi had put his hands on you. However gently, it doesn’t matter when it comes to your husband.

Your skin belongs to him; your body belongs to him. You’re everything his domain. When you find time to feel something other than fear- you hate it. And hate the man that you once said you loved. No matter what your family and friends had told you about your boyfriend, then fiancé, and now your demon.

They didn’t come around anymore; you haven’t spoken to them in years. Whenever they call, Geumjae gets a notification on his phone. You know he has it tracked as well to keep an eye on you. And it's easier to just not pick up than have him question you and demand you turn over your phone. Even if nothing is telling in your text messages he’ll find something to be mad about.

Your husband is as possessive of you as he is violent. The last time another man had touched you- just a hand on the small of your back- Geumjae had carved his initials into the place he touched and cut off the other man's hand. the scars would have stuck if you hadn’t used scar cream, and really- it wasn’t that deep or that bad, you hadn’t even needed stitches. If he’d been truly angry- he would have cut you deeper. 

Even in your own mind, you make it out as less bad then it is. 

As much for your safety as for Yoongi’s- He can’t get close to you or else risk Geumjae’s wrath. You eye his offending hand and it curls to a loose fist by his side. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Yoongi.”

Yoongi brings up the abuse to Geumjae (which is probably questionable- but what else can Yoongi do to help you?). Predictably- he dismisses Yoongi . “She’s just an omega- you know how they are- they need a firm hand to keep them in their place.” Yoongi scoffs thinking of his omegas. Anyone who even dared to think that Seokjin and Jungkook did not wear the pants in their pack had another thing coming to them. 

He watches Geumjae cut another line of cocaine. The amount of drugs in this Geumjae’s study cost enough to feed a small family for a year. But Yoongi knows better than to partake. He pretends to take a Bump and taps it off when Geumjae tips back a shot."Omegas aren't even fucking worth it if you ask me, brother, you're supposed to give half of yourself away, and for fucking what? A glorified bed warmer?"

Yoongi boils and stays silent, letting Geumjae get himself wasted on drugs and alcohol. He can't tell what distresses him more; that Geumjae has such little regard for life that he can't recognize that omegas are fucking people- or that he's so freely sharing this with yoongi. 

He knows he’s toeing the line. More pushing might hurt you more, if he provoked aggression from his brother- it would no doubt come back to bite you. Yoongi can’t imagine wanting to hurt someone he loves or speaking with the same callousness that Geumjae speaks. “Don’t you love her?”

Geumjae laughs at Yoongi’s childish question “Oh little brother, don’t you know that love makes you stupid?”

Those threats from the funeral linger. And it's not only your life and Yoongi’s at stake here but the rest of his pack. He has to fool Geumjae into thinking he is on his side. 

“Work with me here- what will the other omegas in the pack think of you if they find out what kind of shit you pull? And they’ll take their concerns straight to their alphas and say you’re unfit to lead. You know I have to listen to the bulk of them regardless of what you want.”

If he can’t appeal to Geumjae’s humanity- he can appeal to Geumjae’s better interest and common sense. His image in the family is arguably the most important thing in geumjae’s mind, and Yoongi can tell by the way that Geumjae stiffens when he says the words that it’s stuck.

Geumjae might have been trained in torture, but Yoongi was trained in manipulation. And he take the bait- hook, line, and sinker. 

After that, he has the good sense to act softer with you in front of the rest of the family. But he fears he might have done more bad than good when he sees the way you stiffen and fail to meet his eyes more consistently as the days go on. You’re sensitive about eye contact, Yoongi gets it; You don’t have as much control over your facial expression as the rest of these robotic mobsters.  

Group dinners are routine, and while Yoongi could find an excuse to see you during the day, he’s also often pulled in 50 different directions by the expectations of his family.

He finds himself reading for dinner in a hurry most nights, eager or maybe a little panicked to check in with you. You never request his presence, you never text (though he made sure you have his number just in case). the family dinners are tense between the two of you. You maintain none of the easy friendship you’d started that day in the rain or that closeness. You avoid him like the plague at dinner, and It’s like that day in the rain never happened. 

Geumjae sticks to your side like glue too. A hand that probably looks protective to anyone else but looks possessive to Yoongi slung around your waist. Yoongi sees the harshness and pain in your body when Geumjae’s hand tightens digging into the swell of your hip. You’re soft in the way that most omegas are a little soft- and it’s as expected as it is distracting.

He manages to corner you during one of the dinners, here in a forgotten side room you both hover. You can hear the omegas and the grannies gossiping in the kitchen and outside, the alphas have disappeared to smoke cuban cigars and appreciate a new rolls royce that one of the uncles bought. 

You both occupy the space, and Yoongi watches you out of the corner of his eye while you both look out at the garden, speckled with lights sipping on your champagne. 

The corset portion of your dress makes your chest soft looking, plump and inviting if Yoongi was the kind of man to get distracted by something like that. As it is- all he notices is how it’s making your chest heave. Breath uneven, he thinks he can hear the boning in the dress creek. It’s a designer thing, but it looks too tight on you. He can tell how uncomfortable you are. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, though it's clear you’re not, you don’t reply, looking down and away worried. Hand hovering over your stomach in an anxious way, “I won’t get mad whatever it is.”

You bite your lower lip. Hand catching yourself on a side table before you teater over, dizzy. Yoongi grabs your forearm to steady you startled. “He did my corset too tight, it’s hurting my ribs. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” Yoongi quickly looks around, but there is no one around in the part of the house right now, you’re alone. 

Yoongi turns you around quickly, setting his champagne to the side and grabbing yours out of your hand before you can spill it. He undoes the top knot of the dress and you inhale gratefully, gasping as he tugs at the strings looser, fingers touching your bare skin. “Is that better?” he has to be quick. This isn’t exactly scandalous- but its not quite proper. 

Especially when Yoongi’s hands hover on the bare skin of your back. You have freckles here, he wonders if you know. His finger hides a beauty mark. 

You inhale deep and grateful. “So much better, thank you.” you barely have a second to both straighten up, Yoongi's fingers pulling the bow back together. grabbing your champagne and sipping at it a careful distance away from each other. The picture of propriety as Geumjae and a few other alphas return from smoking cigars out front in a puff of rich smoke. 

“Don’t mention it.” Yoongi says it softly so that only you can hear it.

More than once. Geumjae catches him staring at you during the dinner. You look so much more comfortable now that it’s been loosened. Your hand hovering in front of your dress to conceal your cleavage under the guise of fiddling with your necklace. During those moments, Geumjae rewards Yoongi’s wandering gaze with bold touches. A hand sliding from waist to hip and your sudden straightening in pain. 

Geumjae’s harsh fingers digging into a bad bruise on your hip. You’re so trained, you barely flinch when he does it. And still- Yoongi’s hands tighten in his slacks. Gritting his teeth and biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making a scene and reaching across the table to stop Geumjae from hurting you.

Many of the other members of the family notice Geumjae’s sudden dogmatic approach to your presence in his life. Confirming what Yoongi suspects. That he’d never given you too much attention at these family meals before Yoongi came with his wandering eyes. He should do better be better not to put you in harm's way.

Yoongi keeps his eyes firmly trained on his plate full of spiced soft-shelled crab as one of the grannies comments on how sweet the two of you seem. Yoongi wants to gag. “You know how new love is. I feel like we’ll be in the honeymoon phase forever. I want her all to myself so bad I think she’s worried I’ll chain her to my bed” he says- feigning drunkenness. You laugh too- trying to play it off but Yoongi can see your barely concealed fear.

He’s not the only one who notices how uncomfortable you are either; his cousin’s mate, a curly-haired omega also looks at you more than she should. Measuring your wellbeing with every long searching look. Yoongi see’s Geumjae smile at her. It’s not a kind of happy gesture, showing his teeth an inch away from snapping at her.

Byulyi, The omega’s mate notices. Coolly leveling Geumjae with a challenging look. She doesn’t instigate a fight at the obvious show of aggression and while others might see that as weak Yoongi sees it as a sign of grace. No need to engage with here.

There is a place that the family keeps only for the betas when they come into town, not an apartment but more of a safe house. The small yellow cottage that’s been owned by them for almost longer than the city was a city. It’s shoved between two apartment buildings and a 7/11. In a hidden ally way that’s barely wide enough for a car; most people wouldn’t even know it was a driveway with all of the shrubbery. 

From the bedroom. Yoongi can just see the neon lights from the street, the glowing seven just over the trees. It’s an interesting mix of quaint old world and blinding toxic neon.

At night, the street has a large amount of foot traffic, perfect to disappear into if you needed it, so much so that it was nearly impossible to be followed to the place or tailed out of it. It feels like the cottage barely exists on the same plane as the rest of the city. 

It's considered as good as hallowed ground in the gang world. No blood can be spilled there or else an instant hit will be ordered on the person who has. It’s law, people need a safe place to come and seek council. The betas need to be preserved. It belongs to him now, no one else has the bloodright to this place. after the first two weeks when Yoongi got tired and a little nervous about staying in a hotel. He moves in.

Most of the last betas stuff has been moved out, put in storage for however long it takes for someone to be tasked to go through it and burn anything that might be telling. There isn’t anyone to inherit their things nor much value to them. Their beta wasn’t a fan of designer clothes or fanciful trinkets that were paid for with blood money. 

The cottage is physical representations of that. It has drafts under the windows and bad heating, the green velvet couch in the livingroom sags from the weight of years of use, but at least the mattress is new. Honestly- Yoongi would stay somewhere else if dealing with another hotel or a short-term rental wasn’t going to wreak havoc on his bank account and be more trouble than it was worth.

Yoongi fingers the rotten edge of a window and daydreams about maybe getting a house of his own one day. He even contemplates fixing it for his short stay here.

He thinks that the rest of Namjoon’s pack would like it. They wouldn’t even have to get a new house because Yoongi would love to learn how to fix it up himself. He’s always been the handyman of their pack. 

And he’d never say it- but the affectionate looks he gets from Seokjin and Namjoon when he fixes the leaky faucet for the third time that month and the short pets to his hair are something that reminded him of early happy times when their shitty apartments maintenance men couldn’t be trusted.

If he owned this house and wanted to stay in this city- he’d put a second story, maybe a writing room and library for Tae. And more windows to look out on the garden because Jimin’s always complaining about the lack of natural light in their apartment. He could add sunrooms and skylights and re-do the squeaky floorboards. He thinks the wood is pine, Namjoon would know. He contemplates calling his alpha, his heart giving a pang of grief before he thinks better of it.

Grief consumes him for a moment as he flops on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he closes his eyes he can almost smell the members of his pack. His hands tighten in the sheets and he daydreams that they’re there with him. curled up close in this queen bed, too small for the seven of them. They’d have to press close to fit. 

Most of this visit has been too stressful for him to even think of them. But now he aches and aches and aches, like grief is a plant that's taken rest in his chest, prying open his ribs with its greedy roots. 

How many days had he taken their easy affection for granted? Yoongi’s body burns with the need for his mates. Burns a little as he blinks back a stinging in his eyes that has nothing to do with the dusty interior of the cottage. He sighs out a heavy breath, thinking of a future, them, pups maybe, in a house somewhere that Yoongi could build with his own two hands. 

Then the next second, he finds himself laughing at the ceiling because that’s a pipe dream. It echoes in the empty house, dark with no one to wonder after it. getting his pack back again, owning his own house, and having the money to re-do it is something that’s completely out of reach. As is surviving this unscathed. 

Yoongi puts his odds at being able to leave this at 50%, maybe 60% if he’s lucky. Maybe he’ll get a cool scar out of it. But that only brings up bad ideas in his head, because there is one person whose odds of getting out of this unharmed are next to zero at best; And that’s you. You’re both fucked.

He wonders what you’re doing right now, the only person in the gang whose as trapped as he is. Maybe you’re looking up at the ceiling of your bedroom like he is. He wonders if you’re wishing that you were anywhere else right now too.

Geumjae inherited their families’ wealth when their parents died as well as the property they both grew up in. He wonders what Geumjae has done to the house in his absence. The house that you’re no doubt trapped in just like Yoongi was growing up. 

As much as Yoongi would love to help you and steal you away from this place- it would be stupid. Even then, he wants to try.

The idea of a beta wanting a house and a place to stay is a ridiculous dream, and yet- Yoongi dreams it anyway. He dreams of navy blue rooms and floor-to-ceiling windows and skylights that he could watch the snowfall through. And he dreams that the ones he loves are stretched out with him below a skylight, on top of a plush red blanket that shields them from the cold.  

He blinks and the person curled up next to him changes with every flicker of his eyelids. One moment Jimin is lying next to him, his hair splayed out all pretty, and the next Hoseok is pulling him in for sweet kisses, and then jungkook looking at him like he does when the youngest gets all scent drunk and hazy and so on and so forth.

The last time he opens his eyes before he truly wakes, he sees you, your eyes staring unblinking at him, so still. The red blanket below him is wet, it’s not a blanket at all, but a pool of blood. Someone's shot you between the eyes, and Yoongi feels the gun in his hands and tastes the powder on his teeth before he wakes from the nightmare with a start. 

He blinks back the wetness in his eyes and rubs furiously at them. Yoongi can see his breath in the air and when he walks to the windows and finds the cottage and the garden dusted with a thin coating of ice. He turns the heat on as high as he can make it.

It’s no surprise that the last beta and the late don turned the beta safe house into something of a love nest. There’s still an “I love you” sticky note stuck to the yellow fridge. And it makes a discomfort rise in his chest so thick. It makes Yoongi sick to his stomach that the late Don and his beta had to hide their love away here. He takes the note off the fridge and puts it in a small side drawer full of rubber bands and junk so that he doesn’t have to look at it.

It's one of the few things that makes him pick up his phone and text- not anyone from his pack (that’s too risky)- But you. Maybe you’re doomed, but that doesn’t mean that Yoongi can’t try and make it a little bit better. He thinks of the dream. Thinks of your blood and the gun in his hands and types the message furiously. Hitting send before he can consider his own instincts of self-preservation. 

“Let me know if you want to go out again somewhere, you probably know the city better than me at this point, and I’d love to see it again.” Maybe it’s a flimsy excuse. But Yoongi hopes that removing you from your husband’s presence for just a few hours will make a positive difference. Maybe he can show you that life doesn’t have to be painful.

You remind Yoongi of himself just before he left. So uncomfortable and alone- and Yoongi thinks that if there’s one thing that having a broken family teaches you- it’s that softness and vulnerability aren’t things that you should seek to squash. You have to struggle and fight to remain soft, That there is a certain strength in knowing when things are wrong. 

Yoongi doesn’t know when his plan turned into “make sure we both get out of here alive. And break up their marriage in a way that results in her survival.” versus “get back to the pack.” but he can’t say he hates the idea of you two no longer being together.  

The first snow of the season makes the city fall to almost a standstill and he’s glad to spend the morning uncalled on at the cottage. Busies himself with cleaning up and making little changes around the house. Happy to have something for his hands to do and ease his mind. Like fixing a squeaky door and righting one of the cabinets that have sagged, making it flush with all the others.

His text remains unanswered, but thats okay. He didn’t expect you to get back to him right away. 

He tries to stop himself from hoping when his phone lights up just after dinner, but it’s just one of his family members who’s in his part of town and wants to go out for drinks. It’s not one of the cousin’s whose in line for the throne so Yoongi’s not worried about being pitched so late in the evening. 

In all likelihood it's probably just them come to bitch at Yoongi about one thing or another. There aren’t many safe confidants. And Yoongi gets paid because he’s sort of the mafias therapist.

He wishes he could ask Jin for some tips when a few hours later he’s got an omega crying into his shoulder, drunk off his ass. It’s good to reconnect with them and the rest of his family. Makes him feel more certain in his resolve of preventing Geumjae from disrupting this peace. 

He doesn’t get drunk- not even close. He’s not stupid. It’s not until he’s nearly home that he recognizes the empty weight in his pockets. That’s funny- his wallets still there- but his phone isn’t. Not usual for a pickpocket. Maybe he just left it back at the cottage.

None of the locks in his apartment sabotaged though he’d been careful to lock them all on his way out. It would be completely normal and unassuming; his phone sitting on the bedspread where maybe he left it. 

Yoongi would chalk it up to his own forgetfulness if there weren’t a bullet hole clean through the top corner.

Yoongi fingers the hole. The phone is as good as a paperweight now. There is a sticky note on the front. It only says a few words but they make Yoongi’s blood go cold regardless.

“Someone named Namjoon called and he wants you home. We want you to leave too” there’s a little bit of blood on the corner of the note. And when he lifts it to his nose- he smells your fresh rain scent, colder than ever with something that Yoongi might recognize as fear. Not even a hint of sweetness. 

Most people have two scents- a primary scent that usually indicated happy emotions and a secondary scent that’s usually a little harsher- meant to draw in one's pack members, to communicate to others that you’re in distress without having to say it. Most people hover somewhere around the middle between the two normally but Yoongi has never smelled something from you other than the rain. 

Yoongi has always smelled like cocoa when he’s happy and sea salt when he’s angry. He wonders what you smell like when you’re happy and truly comfortable. He wonders if he’ll ever get to smell it. Are you all rainstorms and thunder, or is there something sweeter that you’re capable of? 

What are you like when you’re happy and not just afraid?

It’s been years but Yoongi still recognizes Geumjae’s handwriting. And it's then that Yoongi decides that he won’t leave- not until he can secure your safety. Maybe Yoongi can’t stop Geumjae from taking the crown, but Yoongi as sure as hell can make sure you don’t get caught up in this life.

You’ve only been married to Geumjae for a little more than a year and you don’t have his mating mark yet. There is still time for you to survive this- to get out. And Yoongi knows before he names his older brother as the next Don he’s going to have to make you disappear. 

Things get worse before they get better. Geumjae takes the fact that Yoongi didn’t leave the first second after that note as a personal treat.

Yoongi’s at his brother’s house for dinner when he backhands you after you drop a plate. Yoongi Doesn’t keep himself in his seat- can’t stop himself from standing and grabbing his brothers arm before he deals another blow. And maybe it only makes it worse for you but Yoongi’s hands shake with the way you’d looked at him from the floor- holding your cheek defiant and alive. Like you still have a fight left in you.

It’s a look he tries to remember as time goes on and your fighting spirit fades.

You don’t deserve any of this from Geumjae, not the backhanded compliments that have you pushing the food around your plate. The ones that make you starve yourself so bad that you collapse one day when Yoongi has come over.

Checking up on everyone in the family during mourning times and making sure they’re all right is one of his responsibilities as beta. And he can guess for certain that his presence in your house will be easy to excuse. He just wants to make sure the newest member of the family isn’t a mole. That excuse satisfies everyone, even Geumjae.

None of them suspect what he’s planning, not even Geumjae worries that his younger brother has a certain unhealthy attachment to his wife. Yoongi isn't just a good manipulator, he’s the best.

He makes a show of it, and it has the double purpose of undermining geumjae’s position in the family when they have a meeting after the first month, only the head of houses, 13 people sat around the table. Yoongi standing at the head. he infuses his words with enough venom to kill everyone at this table.

“I cannot believe you’re foolish enough to bring in someone as incompetent, and as stupid as you did brother,” Yoongi lies- they’re all lies- lies- lies- “you clearly haven’t been making decisions with the families best interest in mind, i expected better from you.”

5 out of the 11 heads (save Geumjae) nod at Yoongi’s words. It would have been safer for a head of household to pursue someone from within the family, let alone an outsider who had a clear lack of money or connections. that much is true. “This matter requires my personal involvement.” Geumjae won’t contradict Yoongi in front of the other heads of household. Merely nods at him somberly, accepting his criticism.

Yoongi is a good actor, he wonders what they think he’s doing with you, maybe interrogating, maybe torturing, whatever it is- it’s a far cry from his twice weekly visits to you. Knocking on the door before he lets himself in. You’re already pink cheeked and smiling shyly, ready to take his coat. “i’ve got it- i’ve got it” he tries to insist. But he suspects it has more to do with your trained countinance than any real want to take care of him. He lets you hang up his coat.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner- grannie was a little distraught” in truth- the old woman had cried into Yoongi’s arms for a good two hours; it had eaten up most of his morning. You never fail to smile at Yoongi when he appears in your kitchen. Practically bouncing on your heels, your house always smells sweet, vanilla and sugar and milk. Scents that make yoongi ache. You bake every day- unaware of the fact that the scents you conjure with your hobby make Yoongi think of people he loves and misses daily.

He doesn't know what his family think he’s doing with you, but having tea with you and just talking- probably isn’t it. The house that yoongi grew up in has been turned into a modern monstrocity, all black and glass steal. His brothers taste not yours. And only your kitchen doesn't feel cold and impersonal. though that has more to do with the fact that you’re in it. He spends his afternoons with you munching on the sweets you’ve created and tea and coffee, once you learn that's what Yoongi likes- you always have a pot ready when he comes knocking.

On the days where it doesn't hurt as much, you ask Yoongi about his pack, always small questions. It’s not exactly a safe topic, and you go into scary territory, tip toeing here and there around things that you really want to say, filling up on lemon tarts and custard filled pastries.

You don’t know them by name, only by scent. And Yoongi only brings them up when he feels like he can handle the pain. It helps that with every day here he makes them safer. He’s a dangerous man to love and he knows that. he knows they probably don’t see it that way, but it makes yoongi feel better about leaving them.

He’s going to have a lot to explain to them, if he ever makes it back.

“Jungkook-”

“The one who smells like honey?” you clarify, “your honey?”

Yoongi tips his head good naturedly, “yes, my honey” the sweetness coats his tongue, almost making him think the youngest omega was here. “He would love stuff like this, he’s a total muscle pig, but he only really works out so that he can eat as much food as he wants”  Yoongi says the words hushed. Like they’re a secret.

You hide your smile in the lip of a teacup. “I’ll have to make it for him one day then.” it’s a soft sentiment even if it’s another impossibility.

The next time he comes over, it’s after a particularly hard morning. regardless of the don’s position remaining unfilled- bloodshed can’t be avoided sometimes. A doc worker who didn’t want to pay the usual fee, who had thought foolishly that things would change now that their isn’t a sole person in control.

Yoongi had been called into help, and he’d had to leave the man a bloody heap, barely breathing. Yoongi had been able to leave him alive. Walking away with heavy footsteps.

He’d made sure to wash the blood off of his hands change his clothes, but he’d forgotten his shoes, walking all over your rug and tracking blood in to your house. You don’t level it or him with any distaste, No matter how much he apologizes. But he can tell you don’t really mind. He wonders how many times you’ve had to clean up blood in this house.

And how many times that blood has been your own.

“Did you kill him?” Yoongi can’t breath around the tension in his chest. You touch his hands, and somehow- you don’t expect them to be as warm as they are. warm monsters cannot survive the coldness of hell like you can.

“No. But I could have.” you trace along one of the bruised knuckles delicately, making a small noise in the back of his mouth. He’s soft like me, you think, just simply, and you’re right. Yoongi is soft- too soft for this life, you can see it in his eyes.

That day, he walks in to your kitchen and smells Jungkook all around. sweet honey cakes sitting on the smaller kitchen table not the stately dining room that you must use for more formal occasions. They’re perfect little hexagons with delicately piped bumblebees on top with butter cream. They look so pretty and they smell so good, but not better than they taste.

He doesn't say anything and you don’t expect him too as he starts eating them, a cup of black coffee in a teacup for him too. And you watch and wait, not saying anything when the soft tears start falling with every bite. Yoongi will treasure every honey tart on the plate.

Fuck- he misses them so bad. coffee like namjoon, honey like Jungkook, the buttercream on top reminds him of Seokjin and the sugar on the table to hoseok.

Rain sparks, distressed. “Yoongi-” you clink your glass on the saucer, and it makes you both flinch. “Are you Okay?” Yoongi doesn't move to wipe away his tears. he lets them fall- lets it hurt because there is no avoiding his guilt and pain at this.

“I’ll be alright.” he eats, and you let him without asking why he’s crying. you knew when you looked up the recipe that it might not be the right choice, that it might be too much for yoongi to handle. But you want to show him, in the limited way you feel allowed, that it’s okay to miss them. That he doesn't have to hide how much being away from them hurts. You’ve never known a beta before, but you get the feeling that no matter your prior expectations. Yoongi will exceed them.

The food fills the place in him where love should be (with you they might as well be the same thing). Outside the window in the stately garden sits with not a leaf or branch out of place, you’re similar, accept for a single strand of hair that escapes it’s careful confines. In another world, Yoongi might tug all of your hair free from its pins. let it hang around your face pretty and wild. In another world you would sit on the same side of the table.

You both watch golden hour fade to blue. It feels nice to sit like this, maybe it's not interesting. But it’s the companionship that you’ve both been craving.

Yoongi can’t see you as much as he’d like but Monday and wednesday afternoons are reserved solely for you. Partially because on this day Geumjae has to attend to his business of the gang and it's the only time you're both free from him. The Min’s have always been in charge of opium, heroin, and cocaine, and the shipments are regular. Usually, you have a good block of time to spend with Yoongi, so he can reassure himself you’re not hurt.

But not all hurts can be physically seen, he doesn't know how he should broach the topic of you running away with you. It's one of a dozen goals he has at this point to disrupt the movement of the family. It has to be done slowly over time of course, no one can second guess Yoongi's motives. It has to look like he's helping even if it's anything but.

Faking your death would be an easy option, Yoongi could easily say you couldn't be trusted, procure a body that looks like yours, and plant it somewhere- fire could take care of dna and dental records. No one would question it if Yoongi was at the helm of the operation.

That way- you might be able to slip away unscathed. He’s got a fair bit of money he could lend you, maybe not enough to buy you a new life but certainly enough to start. He could make sure you disappear into the hazy backdrop and carve a new life for yourself.

But somehow, the idea of you leaving leaves a strange taste in his mouth. He doesn't like the plan in its entirety. But he can’t figure out what about it sets him off- makes him feel uneasy.

The rest of the families jostlings for power gets worse as the time goes on, and they get closer and closer to the 120 day mark. He helps the ahn’s carry out a deal that almost goes south and misses two meetings with you in a row.

more and more of the families want to have Yoongi supervise, want him to see how each of their candidates behave in hopes of swaying him in their direction. But a good portion of them are either too young, too stupid, or too disinterested in actually leading- lead to the post by their parents and heads of house.  

The Ahn’s are in charge of weed and meth and prescription drugs, the Moon’s guns, the Kim faction in charge of prostitution, and the others- one in charge of shipment, another in charge of hushing the money and turning it legitimate at one of their many casinos. One murder for hires, the other for cleaning that murder.

12 families in total. A few of them have intermingled enough that there are blood relations on both sides. Yoongi’s mother was a Moon before she married his father. The blood mixing is kept track of carefully, with no need for unintended incest. there is a dating pool of eligible young omegas and alphas. Orchestrated by the grannies and omega heads of the house. The more they intermarried, the better, the less likelihood of fission they'd have down the line.

There are a few arranged marriages each year, one gets announced at a family dinner. The moon head of house and the kim head of house shake hands, the perfect picture of a business deal.

Which is probably why most of the grannies don't like you, you've squashed their plans of having their third or fourth in line omega grandchildren marry a head of house. Yoongi doesn't have to ask himself why Geumjae chose you. It's clear.

You're as beautiful as you are easy to get along with, more than one man has been tempted to possessive anger by a countenance as graceful as yours. When Yoongi comes to check on you you've always got something prepared.

You need too, because that's the only sure fire way you’ve ever found that made Geumjae’s anger immediately subside. A way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and it’s your only way to safety.

You learned after the first day you don’t have something prepared, that Yoongi doesn't mind if you don't have the food ready when he walks in. "I-I'm sorry- they're taking too long to cook- I dont know what went wrong and-" Yoongi's presence is so soothing, like a fresh breath of air as he swoops into your kitchen, opening the oven and checking it while you watch anxiously.  

"It looks like it needs a minute, do you want to teach me how to make frosting?" it's the first time anyone cooked with you in years, and Yoongi dons your apron so easily. Letting you tie it behind his back. There are little strawberries embroidered along the hem, and it contrasts with the dark silk of his button down.

He’s got nice shoulders, you realize, ones that are wider than you first thought. for a second, a vision pops into your head of you wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your front to his warm back, burying your face and rubbing your nose along his hairline. But you shake it off. When Yoongi’s not looking you press your cold hands to your cheeks to try and calm down.

Now every Wednesday and friday you've come to look forward to his visits, a few recipes set out for him to decide which one he wants to make with you. You often wait for him at the door, ready to bounce ideas off of him.

One Wednesday- you'd opened the door to find your husband. And he'd taken the cookbook and slapped you across the face with it. Yoongi and you hadn't cooked that day. No- that day he'd made soup while he made you sit at the counter with a cold cloth piled with ice to your cheek.

"I'm sorry I can't make it better." He'd said, breath uneven. But he’d made you soup- and that's more than anyones done for you in a long time.

There isn't much that soup can heal, but it makes you feel unbearable warm that Yoongi will even try. You know it could result in hurt for him and his pack. he talks about them alot. Endless little tidbits about people you will likely never meet- it's better than talking about other things; like the drugs in the study a few feet from here, or the illegal business of the family.

It seems you both crave domesticity. Both need a little sliver of gentleness in your week. And you find it in each other on stolen afternoons. Sometimes- he's the only reason why you smile that day.

Today, you're baking a cake, and your body relaxes with Yoongi's next to you. Most of the time when he comes over you’re making something for Geumjae. Yoongi has seen the way he gets when he comes home- angry and ready to take his anger out on you calmed by the sweets you proffer with shaking hands.

You stumble when he moves away, and Yoongi’s startled when he catches your shoulder. “Woh- you okay?” you feel dizzy and cushiony. “I’m fine,” you say- because that’s all you can say, Yoongi’s eyes are discerning when he ducks down to your level. His hands are still on your shoulders- and you feel so starved- maybe not for human contact but for love.

You can’t resist leaning into his hands. “Have you eaten anything today?” he asks, like he already knows what particular method of harm you’ve chosen to inflict on yourself today. Though it’s not your fault at all. Yoongi knows by the way you duck out of his eye contact that you haven’t eaten a single thing.

Yoongi makes you eat something when you confess you haven’t for several days, because Geumjae had complained you’d gained a little weight on your honeymoon, and he also sees you nearly dry heave when you see your husband in the door, come home early. Geumjae knows Yoongi is here, when he visits and when he leaves, but it still startles the both of you.  Geumjae has the forethought to Feign concern. His thumb on your tongue when you open your mouth to reply- keeping your words back forcefully.

Yoongi leaves, but shakes in his rental car outside, unable to leave you in that house where he knows you’re being hurt, where you’re dying slowly. He’s not sure if Geumjae is just honestly abusive or if he’s actually trying to kill you.

He takes you out of the house for as long as he can just to make sure you’re safe. Until Geumjae comes and finds you- and drags you back to that house that has become a prison.

But soon- you won’t even come outside when Yoongi comes knocking. gone are the days of easy baking. Now you can’t even manage that. It gives you too much anxiety. Yoongi has worried after you pushing the food around your plate enough times. And after the first time he refused your sweets if you wouldn’t eat them too you’d stopped cooking for him altogether.

Yoongi wishes he’d never said anything at all, never tried to play hardball with you. It’s not the way to get around this. He can’t convince you to eat when you won’t. When the idea of putting on another pound makes you shake in fear and anxiety.

“Come away with me, just for a day- please, please sweetheart just come outside” Yoongi is not a man who begs often, but for you he will.

Your hands stay fisted in his sleeve, eyeing the door warily “I can’t, He’ll get mad at me- you know he will Yoongi.” Yoongi swallows and then guides you to the fine sitting room. He knows just from sitting on the couches that they’ve been cleaned of blood recently. The type of cleaning solution the family uses has a peculiar nutmeg pumpkin scent.

He wonders if it was yours. And shakes. trembles with the force of his anger. quashing it in a second when your face turns up at him. Worried that he’s angry at you. He forces himself to think of happier things forces himself to smell like chocolate to soothe you. It's hard, but not impossible. And he's rewarded when you sink into the cushions, you can’t hold yourself up right now. Your body sagging into the cushions like you have nothing left.

You’ve got more bruises today, new ones, and he can tell by the way that you’re holding yourself that there are probably more unhidden. He extends a hand to touch your cheek, to get a look at the purple ones by your eye.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Namjoon’s warns Yoongi of the kind of trauma that can result in ocular damage and he’s concerned- his instincts are screaming at him too soothe you. Maybe a nip to your scent gland if he was brave or a good cuddle if he was stupid enough to think you could both get away with it. Omegas are supposed to love cuddling and nest making and Yoongi doesn't think he’s ever seen you do either of those things. Omegas only nest in places they feel safe.

He can’t do what he wants, so he goes to the kitchen and gets an icy cloth, lifting it to your cheek and this time. You let Yoongi dab at it. You shift, and all of a sudden your knee is touching the outside of his. “Come here. I’ve got to get the ones on your shoulder.”

As much as closeness is a bad idea, it also feels good. You and Yoongi don’t talk. Mostly because he knows you can’t say anything positive. Only more of what he’s come to expect. The lies you tell yourself just as much as you tell him. “it’s getting better Yoongi it really is- it’s not nearly as bad as it was before you got here- And really- I do it to myself by going outside when he’s so worried about something happening to me. he gives me clear rules and im a bad omega by not following them.”

You’re so poisoned. Your worldview so skewed. You keep thinking that as long as it doesn't get any worse. You can make it better. And all the words that Yoongi wants to say are kept at bay by how honestly and ardently you hope; “you know that’s not really why he wants to keep you here right? That keeping you protected is all a disguise for what he really wants- to control you. to own you”

Your abuse goes deeper than anything physical Yoongi realizes when you even refuse comfort saying, “I don’t deserve it” when he offers it. Even when he can get a read on your scent- how you’re practically reaching out for anything to hold onto.

Yoongi watches you disappear through his fingers, like smoke or steam. the softness you’ve shown him going away as the abuse gets worse.

You become more and more silent as the weeks go on. During The weekly family dinners, you look more and more thankful that no one asks you to speak. Even Yoongi across the table who can't tear his eyes away from you. He has to keep his seat- not make an issue out of it under the hawk-like eyes of the heads of the family.

If he extends his legs as far as he can go without slouching in his chair, he can get his ankle side by side with yours. Your skin feels cold most of the time. Most of the time that you’re not covered with bruises Geumjae forces you to wear increasingly more low-cut things. Shorter skirts. He can tell you’re uncomfortable with what you’re wearing by the way that you fidget. But Yoongi guesses that it's just another way for him to control you.

When- he sees you next- and you’re vacant. Nothing behind your eyes that looks like life. You stare blankly as the weeks go on, you barely even flinch when Geumjae hurts you. Why flinch when you’re already expecting it. If anything the times that he touches you gently surprise you more.

When Geumjae invites him in and you’re just sitting there, you don’t meet Yoongi’s gaze when he says your name- replying in a soft voice that only barely shakes when Geumjae prompts you to speak. A doll, perfectly trained. Sitting pretty and slutty in the clothes that your husband has picked out for you. “See Yoongi? I told you she only needed a firm hand- she’s as good as tamed now.”

You need help- and Yoongi can’t ignore it. He doesn’t know when he started to fall in love with you. Whether it was the time when he visited during another spring rainstorm and you strip him of his dripping clothes and clad him in softer ones- not clothes from your husband- that much he can tell.

In all reality you don’t have that much of a height difference, it’s just you curling in on yourself that adds to the illusion that you’re so much slighter than him. You are slighter. The soft swells you had when he first met you are gone now. The clothes that drown you out hanging on his frame delicately as you smooth the soft fabric over his shoulders, holding on for a second like you want him close before you let go.

Yoongi feels like he smells like you when he’s covered in the rain, imagines for a moment that you’ve pulled him close and scent marked him. He Leaves his windows cracked on the nights that it rains and doesn’t snow and closes his eyes and imagines that you’re here.

He still hasn’t figured out what you smell like when you're happy.

Does he fall in love with you because of the way you touch him when you can manage it- when no one is there to see? Maybe. He treasures the secret brush of your hand on his forearm that makes his whole body shiver. Makes him lean in close.

The day comes where you come over to the hallowed beta ground with tears in your eyes, holding a dishcloth to the gash under your jaw. It’s a deep mark, from A thrown glass and it probably needs stitches. It bleeds so much that Yoongi has to give you a change of clothes. A sweatshirt so large on you that it dusts your knees. It makes you smell like him and if the situation where any less dire it would make Yoongi purr.

Yoongi wishes he could call Namjoon- wishes it hadn’t been months since he’d seen his pack- missing them aches like Yoongi is missing something in his chest, something vital, whatever connects his head to his heart missing. Namjoon would know what to do- would know what to say and how to get you out of here. He’d soothe your pain and your aches better than Yoongi ever could.

And Seokjin and jimin would know how to comfort you when you shake so bad that Yoongi can barely do more than dab at it with a cloth. Try to make sure it’s clean of all the glass shards. Taehyung and Hoseok would know how to make you smile after this and Jungkook, Jungkook would hold around your waist. Yoongi is useless at this without them.

They must be going crazy without Yoongi there; he wishes he could reach out. Just to make sure they knew he was all right.

They’d love you, he’s sure of it.

While He picks the last of the glass fragments out of your hair he voices what he’s wanted to say for months. He’s tired of dancing around it. “You know- I could get you out of here if you wanted. If you asked, I’d make it happen.”

You recoil like Yoongi’s the one to throw a glass in your face. “I can’t- I can’t leave Yoongi- He’ll get better once you name him Don- then he just won't be so angry all the time right? And he’ll be out of the house so much it will hardly feel like we’re even married.”

You look like you’re begging Yoongi to reassure you. When you both know that nothing is going to change, some people are just rotten to the core. And Yoongi can’t be forceful with you when you look like you might run out of here just as quickly as you came. Yoongi wonders how long it will take Geumjae to find you and how badly he’ll hurt you this time.

He doesn’t even speak gentle words anymore or try to tell you that it will be the last time he hits you like he used to. Now you both know there will only be more of this- more of you trapped by his blood. Unless you trust Yoongi.

If you trust Yoongi.

Yoongi speaks- trying to figure out what will keep you here the longest, just as long as he can keep you out of harm's way. “You don’t deserve this sweetheart- you deserve to be loved” Yoongi sees from the way you recoil- he must have touched on something sensitive. A soft spot or an open wound that Geumjae had made in you.

How many times as he screamed at you that you’re worthless. You won’t show Yoongi it, but there's a scar going down your stomach. Each letter hurt when he carved them into your body. Worthless- written on you in scar tissue. There are countless other scars that he doesn’t know about. The worst are the mental ones.

“Who’s going to love me Yoongi? Not when I’m like this,” you gesture to yourself, failing to meet his eyes. Holding yourself like it’s the only thing that can give you comfort. And all Yoongi can think is that there is nothing about you that deserves the utter disgust in your voice- the low self-esteem might be something that you hadn’t meant to show him. Another side effect of the abuse. damage that goes deeper than any physical bandage or medicine can heal.

And it goes without saying- his whispered confession is true as he holds a cold cloth to your bruises and cuts- he hopes his words will soothe that spot too. Any and all damage his brother has done, Yoongi wants to heal.

“I could love you.”

You shoot up, standing so quick that the blood rushes to your head and you teeter, you can’t see Yoongi’s concern through the tears clouding your vision. Shaking your head vehemently. Your shin knocking against the coffee table hard as you back away from him. His hands go out to grab you but he thinks better of it. You don’t look like you want to be touched right now.

“You can’t Yoongi- he’ll kill you too- and I won’t be the reason why you die- I won’t.” you gasp the words, “You need to get back to your pack, they need you.”

“But you need me too.” You do, that you can’t argue with no matter how much you want to. “Don’t tell me it’s too late to save you when we both know it’s not.”

“It’s not, but I wish I was beyond saving so that you wouldn’t try.”

“You think I have a choice? That I meant to love you?” Yoongi realizes his mistake the second you flinch. Sometimes words can hurt too, can hurt worse than physical damage. When your voice goes soft rather than Forceful. Here Yoongi is, trying to make it better and only succeeding in making it worse.

You duck away from him, hair covering your face. You don’t grab your jacket when you make your way towards the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a burden, let me make it easier for you” you fold the cloth, put it on the kitchen counter and walk out the door.

By the time Yoongi runs after you, you’ve already disappeared down the garden path and into the maze of neon lights. Sinking into the crowds of drunk college kids and businessmen hoping to nurse their hurts in a bottle of liquor. You disappear like a shadow, or a wraith. like you’re already a ghost, already dead.

That night Yoongi dreams of you again. it’s the same dream as before, with the skylight and the red blanket that feels silky and cool like blood.

Only this time- you’re the one with the gun.

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

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[unholyhelbig]

Omg hear me out, Kate having a huge crush on the reader, and in one of those fancy parties the reader kisses her, but she was drunk and doesn't really remember after. And now Kate is lost because she's definitely in love and doesn't want it to be just some drunken mistake. Deliver us the feels? Your writing is just *chef's kiss*

A/N: Happy New Year Guys! I hope this is enough to hold you over for now. It's a dynamic I might expand on soon. Thank you so much for the request!

Send me more Kate x Reader prompts here

Read Part One Here

The Bishop Girl Pt.2 | Kate Bishop x Reader

You were late. You were also drunk, but that didn't mean that you couldn’t’ be on time for the dinner party. The world was pulsing around its edges, and you missed the first train, then the second one rumbled so fiercely that you got off a stop ahead of plan and threw up. It was going to be a good night, you figured as you walked towards the venue. You could get it together.

You went through the freight door of the fancy hotel, barely wading through your mind for the code that your aunt had texted you. But the door opened, and you were out of the New York Cold. The kitchen was working hard, grease popping and bubbling just as much as your stomach did. You took a moment to breathe, to swallow down the bourbon.

“Y/N oh my god, there you are”

“America! Hey buddy.” You smiled lazily at her. She was so strong, so toned, and so annoyed. You could tell by the terse look on her face. Someone was calling out orders through the headset that was in her ear. She steadied you. “Whoa, muscles.”

“Cariño, are you drunk?”

The scent of your breath could have told her that. She grimaced as you sighed, knowing the answer nearly instantaneously. You had lost track of time after failing your Chemistry final, figured that two shots would give you a slight buzz and you could make it in time for work. You were a few more shots in now and honestly, truly, probably should have called out instead of making your way here.

“Si tu tía estuviera aquí, te mataría.” She growled under her breath “You’re lucky it’s me running the floor tonight. It’s a Bishop party.”

That wasn’t good. Even in your half-drunken state, you knew that these were important, but you had scanned the schedule between finals and didn’t put much stock into it. The last time you were near any of the Bishop’s you had knocked a guy unconscious. Since then, you had gotten out of two events, one with the stomach flu and the other with traffic. Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding something or someone.

America frowned, her eyes narrowing as she pressed the headset closer to her eardrum “She’s what?”

You heard a mumbled response but couldn’t’ pin it and didn’t’ care to. Then there was the echoing sound of heels against the bone-colored floor. It vibrated all around you. There was no way to tell where it was coming from and if you glanced both ways again you would go through round two of losing your lunch.

“Oh, I am so dead.” America sighed, pulling you up to a straight position with one tug of your jacket’s lapel. “Look alive, please. And don’t say anything. Don’t even blink Cariño”

Right, you could do that. You could do that if it wasn’t Kate's mother fucking Bishop walking with so much purpose. She wore a suit this time, emerald, green in its color, and pressed with a subtle print. It reflected so vibrantly against her grey stare.

Her eyes flashed from America to you, and you didn't feel yourself slipping but your friends' tight grip on the fabric you wore assured you that you had almost gone down. You cleared your throat and tucked your hands behind you, trying to stay steady.

“Is everything alright, Miss Bishop?” America smiled tightly.

“Everything is perfect, I appreciate you guys.” She stopped in front of you both “My mother, on the other hand, wants to push dinner up by fifteen minutes. I’m not sure if that’s possible.”

“That’s possible, absolutely. I’ll just,” America hesitated and glanced at you with pleading eyes. She had to go to the kitchen, inform the head chef of the slight time change, but there was clear worry etched into her features. “Let Tommy know.”

Kate thanked her with a smile before you felt the hand move from the small of your back. You held yourself strong, throat still slightly burned from the alcohol you had swallowed strong. Kate was scrutinizing you.

“You alright, y/n?” She asked, “You’re looking a little green.”

She knew your name. Of course, she did your aunt has worked for the family for years, nearly a decade but you had never crossed her radar until recently when you had effectively insulted her by calling her a princess, and you’d be damned if it wasn’t dancing at the tip of your tongue now, but you bit it back.

“You look green,” You shot back, “I… I mean, I like your suit dress thing, it’s very nice. You look nice.”

She smiled at you. Maybe it was the liquor, but that in itself was intoxicating. You don’t remember falling forward, but you do remember the walls matching with your heartbeat and a sudden warmth as Kate steadied you.

You breathed her in deep, the mint and clove scent she brandished like a fancy broach. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You don’t smell fine.”

Her voice rumbled in through her chest and vibrated against your skin. There was a strange type of confidence that came with your intoxication. She was taller than you, dipping her chin to get a better look at the glazed overlook in your eyes. There may have been some crying later, but that was after you had closed your laptop, not now. You hoped your stare wasn’t rimmed in red.

It was another thing that you didn't think through, your thoughts a mix of molasses and honey not warmed. But you stood on your toes, connecting your lips with hers. She breathed in sharp, frozen for just a moment before she pressed into you, running a hand against the edge of your jaw, destabilizing you even more than usual. You whimpered into her throat, suddenly sobered for just a moment.

There was a rush of cold air that pulled the two of you apart. Kate’s cheeks were red, her lips slightly parted and a starry look in her stare. It quickly hardened as she steadied you, clearing her throat and looking towards the intrusion.

“Uh, dinner is pushed up, Miss Bishop,” America said, her own voice sharp.

“Perfect, I uh, thank you.” Kate swallowed “Get her some coffee please and a taxi home. It’s on me.”

A headache slammed against the side of your temple as you stirred the next morning. The blinds had been pulled back with a sharp screech, pulling you from sleep. Your whole body hummed with discomfort and the remainder of a hangover clung to your clothes. You had fallen asleep in your work uniform, rumpled now, with sleep.

You blinked a few times before focusing your attention on America. Her expression was hard, arms crossed over her favorite pajama top, a blue shirt with a neon white star on it. It had faded to yellow now, something she had owned since the two of you had first been assigned as roommates freshman year, sharing a small, cold space.

“How bad was I?” you groaned.

“A literal nightmare.” She pulled back the second curtain, you winced at the sound “The bane of my existence. Dare I say the worst I have ever seen you.”

You didn’t’ drink often, you paced yourself through two glasses of wine most nights that you were obligated to attend. But you had found the hard stuff and it was your last final. It wasn’t cause for celebration but the liquor you had bought for that purpose called your name more than your shift did.

You pulled the cool pillow over your face, words muffled “I’m so sorry Mer.”

She huffed back but lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, basking in the warm light that moved through the windowpane. You reached blindly for your phone, feeling nothing but cool wood under your fingertips.

“If you’re looking for your phone it’s not here. I think you dropped it somewhere between tipsy and blackout, but I don’t want you to worry because Kate Bishop has it.”

You sat up, fast. There was an instant lurch in your stomach as you let out a dizzying breath, the pillow falling into your lap. “She what?”

“She called the catering company this morning. You’re lucky your Tia didn’t pick up the phone. Tommy beat her to it, kids fast.” America spoke with an amused tone in her voice. “Don’t worry though, Kate said you can stop by Bishop Security anytime today and pick it up.”

Okay, alright… this was fine. You wouldn’t have to dip into your savings to replace the phone. But at this point, that seemed easier than facing the girl. There was a blurry reminder of her from last night, a memory flickering against static. There was her sweet scent, and something else, something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Shower before you go. You stink.” America crinkled her nose and left you to your own devices. You could taste regret against your lips, or was it peppermint Chapstick?

Bishop Security was in downtown Manhattan. It stretched towards the winter sky. When you attempted to look up the world spun into a hangover that you thought you had curbed with a long hot shower and some coffee. Maybe it was just your own nerves hitting every single base.

The inside was pristine and white, the floors a reflective marble, two workers in sharp grey jumpsuits were quietly taking down the Christmas trees and the string lights. The dull scent of pine told you that they were real. A receptionist with honey green eyes glanced up at you before taking your name. She narrowed her eyes before giving you a visitor badge and giving you directions to the top floor.

She went too fast, but you got into the elevator all the same. Your palms were sweaty, so you shoved them into your pockets. Kate Bishop was going to fire you. Not you, really, but your Aunt. Her whole catering business with America, and Tommy, and Billy, and Eli was going to crash and burn. You would have to move to Kansas and get real skilled at farm work.

You felt severely out of place in the hub of Bishop Security. But Kate’s office door was clear glass and her stare found yours the second you stepped off the elevator. She was talking to a man, blueprints and documents suddenly piled together and handed to him. He nodded and exited the office with stride before the girl waved you in.

She was dressed in something a little more casual than you had ever seen her in before. A t-shirt that was as pitch as her hair, pulled into an expert bun. Her arms rested against the glass desk. You tried not to let your stare linger, but it was hard, her muscles straining against her position.

“Y/N,” She said, words soft “Thanks for stopping by. You can sit if you want.”

You didn’t’ want to sit but did anyway. If not, your legs might have given out. You watched her carefully as she moved to the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out your phone. There was a small fracture against the center of the screen, and it had died during the night, but other than that, it seemed unscathed.

“Thank you, I appreciate it. This is a lifeline.” You pocketed it, the device cold against your skin.

She smiled and the expression was intoxicating. She was alluring, and totally out of an element that you had grown used to seeing her in. She sat against the edge of the desk; knee close enough to you that you could feel the heat radiating off her.

“It’s no problem.” She said, lilting her head to the side “Are you okay?”

“Am I?” You stuttered out, not expecting the question. “Yeah, I think I got it all out of my system. I swear on my own grave I won’t show up to one of your parties wasted again.”

She laughed, a sweet sound “It happens, y/n. We all have our nights.”

You stood, the tension leaving your shoulders at this point, throat tight with anxiety. She smelled like the pine trees downstairs and the soap from the bathroom. “Thank you again, Kate.”

“Are we, uh,” She swallows hard. Suddenly she looked nervous, which made you nervous. Her hands were sweating too while yours had let up the slightest bit. “I think we should talk about last night. About what happened.”

“You’re not going to give me a card for AA, are you? Because it’s not like I’m a frequent flyer for this type of thing.”

Kate stood and shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants, a little loose and printed with a plaid grey design. She was close to you, breathing in deep to the point where her shoulders tightened. “You don’t… remember?”

You scratched the back of your neck “Truthfully I stepped off the subway and the rest is fuzzy. God, please don’t tell me I called you Princess again. I am so sorry about that. I was really taken aback by you, you know.”

You made a gesture with your hand that mimicked the motion of swinging a tray through the air. She blew a puff of air from her nose and shook her head. There was heat growing against your cheeks that you simply attributed to the full-on fear that lurked just below the surface.

“Yeah, you did.” She finally conceded “Don’t worry though, I’ll let it slip this time on account of the bourbon.”

“Ugh, I’m the worst. I’ll make it up to you.” You frowned remember the total of seven cents that you had in your bank account at the moment. Certainly not enough to fix your phone screen, but maybe enough for something else. “I owe you a coffee. I would say a drink but I think I’m a little tapped out in that department right now.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Kate said.

You thanked her again, forever grateful that she didn’t fire the whole catering company, nor did she rip your throat out with her teeth because of the name slip-up. There was an odd goofy side to Kate Bishop that you didn’t’ notice as she slammed her knuckles into a guy's face.

There was one more sparing glance as you waited for the elevator. Her grey stare was focused on the floor, she had returned to her sitting position at the corner of the desk. You could have sworn you saw her fingers ghost against her own lips as if there was a memory there, something you couldn’t pull out of the memories of the night before.

[purplekiwis]

OMG YES! Damaged goods blurb! Can you do a fluff one where one of them is sick with seasonal flu and the other has to take care of them, but they're being stubborn about it because that's just what they do and how they are 🤧

Okay, okay... here she is! It's a bit meh I think, but I hope you like it! 🥰

*

Harry is sick and grumpy, and Y/N takes care of him (from the Damaged Goods AU)

Harry feels miserable.

He’s worse than miserable, really,

because he has a cold… or is it the flu?! He has never known to spot the differences between the two, but he recognized all of the early signs, of course...

As per usual, it started with nothing but a sore throat one morning when he woke up, that ended up lingering throughout the whole day, then came a headache, and the tiredness, and the chills…

It wasn’t so unbearable at first… but the symptoms only kept getting worse and worse as the hours went by, to the point of leaving him with no choice but to skip his classes in favor of staying in bed… suffering.

The worst part about it? He wasn’t even suffering at home – where his mom could be taking her lips to his forehead every so often to see if he had a fever, and bringing him bowls of soup and fruit cubes on that same familiar bedtray that had accompanied him throughout all his periods of sickness.

Mom would also be making sure he stayed hydrated and took his medicine in time... which by the way, he wasn’t taking any. Logically speaking, Harry knew he should have gone to a pharmacy by now, to get something to make him feel better, but how? When he couldn't even muster the will to get up and go downstairs to fill the empty water bottle perched on his nightstand.

He couldn’t move.

Every single inch of his body hurt.

And now he was starting to get shivery under his bedclothes... for fucks sake.

If only he had Pepper, his spaniel mutt puppy, around to snuggle and keep his body cozy and warm like a hot water bag... then perhaps Harry would've been in a better mood. Yeah, definitely. Pepper would've let him bury his snotty face into its soft fur, and not even think to complain if its owner left a puddle of guck all over said fur.

But well, Pepper isn't there.

And being sick sucks.

Especially because Harry really wants some cuddles... and it hasn't been helping his case whatsoever that in this trying day of illness, his mind has done nothing but think of Y/N.

Pondering over what outfit she must have worn that day and what she might be up to while he’s laying there on his deathbed. He also wonders if she has noticed his absence, and if so… if she’s worried about him.

He huffs once he checks his phone again and realizes there are still no messages from her. She doesn’t have to check on him. He knows that, but he can't help that he likes to be cared for sometimes… and as it turns out illness has a tendency to turn him into a big, needy baby... who really wants to have Y/N taking care of him. It would be so good. She could play with his hair the way he likes, give him forehead kisses, hold his hand…

Harry sighs out loud. Her company would be even better than Pepper's, he believes... although Harry isn't so sure Y/N would enjoy having his snot on her as much as his trusty pup would, but that’s beside the point.

It’s even more beside the point because he knows she's not coming to see him.

She’s mad at him, he recalls now. Stupidly so, if he's allowed to think that - he did nothing wrong, after all. She asked him for a “brutally honest opinion” on a design work she was doing for one of her classes, and he simply gave her what she asked for, plain as that. But of course, then she didn’t like what he had to say and got sulky. Just girls being girls, he guesses…

Harry should've known better than to think that would stop her from coming to see him, though. His girl was a little box of surprises, after all... a true master in the art of keeping him on his toes.

She showed up only half an hour after she was done with her classes... softly knocking on his door before poking her head inside with a smile, only for her jaw to drop in shock at the absolute misery that oozed from his pores.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked sickly, almost comically. Harry could have laughed at it if he wasn't so utterly lethargic. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Well, what do you think?” The girl huffed, shutting the bedroom door behind her and heading towards the end of the bed to get a good look at him, hands on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Here I was, going about my day thinking you had slept in for being a bum, only to find out through your friends that you were unwell.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his downright amusement at her worried state. Y/N was worried about him? Well then, perhaps her irritation had passed and she had forgiven him… which meant maybe he’d get to have those cuddles he wanted so bad. “I thought you were mad at me?” He poked, eyebrows arching teasingly the best they could with the little energy the muscles on his face could muster.

“Well, I was and am now even more.” She punctuated. “But I still care, obviously. How am I supposed to leave you by yourself when you look like that?” She put down the bag she was holding at the edge of the bed and kneeled next to it on the floor.

“Look like what?” He frowned again. “All snotty and gross?”

“Precisely… and an awful lot like Rudolph the reindeer as well.” Y/N added, with a soft pat to the tip of his swollen, red nose.

Harry smiled at that, right before his eyes fell on the bag over his bed. “Did you go to the store to get those creepy sheet masks you wanted?”

“Huh?” She muttured confused, before noticing where he was looking at. “Oh no, um… these are just some things I got for you. Just vitamins and those gummies for when you have a sore throat, and also uh…” Y/N's cheeks went a little hot. “I got some chicken soup from the buffet restaurant as well, you know… the one next to the drug store. I thought it might do you good…”

“You went to get all that stuff for me?” Harry asked, Y/N hummed happily in confirmation, her eyes gleaming with tenderness. “Y/N... you shouldn't have. That shit is so expensive, and I'm fine, really. It's just a cold. You dont have to worry, let alone take care of me.”

“No offence, but I think I do.” The girl challenged his statement, picking up the halfway used toilet paper roll placed on his nightstand. “For a start, you shouldn’t even be using this to blow your nose. It’ll only irritate your skin and make it more sore.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “That’s such a mum thing to say…” He grumbled in attempt to mask the fact that the secret big, needy baby in him was loving every single bit of the mom talk, and the same applies to when Y/N clicked her tongue chastisingly once he stubbornly snatched the roll off her hand and pulled out some more paper.

She took the chance that he had moved his arm to move a bit closer, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his pillow. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” She asked, lovingly running her digits through his unwashed curls. They felt a little waxy and knotty in her hands, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. She just wanted to make him feel better in any way she could. So she kept playing with his hair, scratching at the roots and combing her fingers through his strands just the way she knew he reveled in - only breaking contact once she was almost certain that he had fallen asleep on her... However, as soon as Y/N began to pull her hand away to check her phone, Harry let out a whine and bumped his forehead against her wrist, in a silent request for her to keep going. “You're such a baby sometimes…” Y/N whispered, proceeding to fulfill his wish.

“Mhm... your baby.” He sighed happily.

Y/N smiled to herself at the state of pure bliss Harry was in. So utterly distracted by the slow puffy nature of his breaths, that she almost didnt notice that his droopy eyes had opened and were now fixed on her. He cleared his throat painfully. “Y/N... can I have one of those gummies you got? My throat hurts and I really want to try one.”

Y/N let out a tiny chuckle at the pleading tone he'd used, nodding as she got up to grab the bottle from the bag. She threw it at him playfully to catch midair, knowing that his reflexes were outstanding. “Ohh these seem nice. I love lemon and honey flavored shit.” He told her whilst inspecting the label.

“Yeah?” Y/N couldn’t help but to grin, feeling quite proud of herself for picking the right flavor. But her smile quickly melted into an expression of concern once she watched Harry crack open the bottle and carelessly throw a bunch of gummies into his mouth. “Harry! What are you- that’s not candy! You can’t eat them by the handful!”

“Oi, chill out… it’s just gummies. What wrong could it do?” He asked as he blithely chewed them. Words coming out garbled since he was speaking in between a mouthful.

“Oh, I don't know, perhaps there could be anesthetics in them... but who knows? It was just a thought.” Y/N ironized.

“Really?” He made a wry face similar to hers, inspecting the label closer. “Do you think we can get high on this shit?” He smirked, still chewing as he rolled the container around to check the ingredients in the back. “Cause I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a pretty good afternoon plan to me...” He half joked, cracking the bottle open again and dropping a couple more gummies in his palm.

Y/N heaved at the suggestion. “I think it’s more likely that you get a terrible bellyache, and we end up in the ER...”

“You really think so?” Harry asked teasingly, taking another gummy to his mouth.

“Okay, that's enough. Give me that.” Y/N demanded, pushing for him to pass the container, but all he did was shake his head with a mischievous, defiant smirk. The girl rolled her eyes at him. “You know what? Fine.” She shrugged. “Eat as many as you want. Can't wait to watch you shit the bed once those anesthetics give you a loose bottom.”

He chuckled at the warning, amused. “If you’re so bothered, why don’t you come get them from me?” He questioned, but before he could prepare himself Y/N jumped on the bed to try and take the bottle away from his hands, what forced him to abruptly sit up and hold it over his head just so she couldn’t reach it from where she sat. “That was... real cute. Is that all you got, hm?”

Y/N huffed and crawled over his legs until she was practically on his lap. Seeing right through his facade once he happily handed off the gummies without putting up a fight and wrapped his arms around her middle to pull her in for a hug instead. “You must think you're so sly, don't you?” She mumbled in question, going back to petting his hair. “If you wanted a cuddle, you could’ve just said so… I don't mind your germs.”

“I was trying to behave to avoid getting you sick, actually…”

“Yeah right...” Y/N grumbled, dropping her head on his shoulder for a moment. “But I guess, since you've already passed me the germs and all... might as well just give me a kiss, no?” She proposed shyly, waiting for Harry to make the move. He did, pulling away slightly and placing his lips in hers softly. “Mm, more.” She pouted.

“Greedy.” He joshed, pecking the girl's lips again, and again... and once more for good measure. The damage was already done, after all... they might as well just keep doing it. “I feel disgusting, though. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve at least taken a shower and brushed my teeth. Can’t believe you still want to kiss me when I am like this.”

Y/N scratched at the frizzy hairs of his nape. “I promise you don't smell or look nearly as bad as you think you do… and you taste like lemon and honey so, that’s nice.” Harry distrustfully scrunched up his nose at her allegation, sniffing up some in the process before his digits rushed to grab some more toilet paper. He took it to his nose, blowing noisily. “Alright, snotty boy…” Y/N laughed, swiftly crawling off his lap. “How about I go downstairs to plate up our soup while you pick a movie for us to watch as we eat? It can be one of those “guy movies” and all, I promise I won't complain... today only, cause I'm giving you privilege for being sick.”

His eyes strayed towards you with interest, the lower half of his face still covered behind the poorly ripped toilet paper sheets. “I was actually thinking more like a musical or a pixar movie, maybe?”

“God, Harry.” Y/N gasped in awe. “I swear I've never felt more attracted to you in my life. Snot and everything.”

[monaisdark]

AHHHH! I loved your virgin shiggy post, I was wondering if you could make a part two with reader giving shigaraki a tit-fuck in an empty classroom, with degradation kink, and exhibition kink! I'm sorry if this too horny - Anon ♥♥

haha.. im back i guess. Its been a couple weeks but i have some time to start writing again :)) checking my inbox, i did NOT expect this many people wanting a pt2 to my virgin shiggy post. prolly my fault for holding it off for so long :/ so i made it longer than i planned but count this a thanks for 200+ followers!! <3 anyways i really need to catch up on my inbox but expect more from me !!

➨ paring — Virgin! (not anymore) Tomura Shigaraki x Fem! Bully! Reader

➨ warnings — Sub! Shigaraki, Dom! Reader, mommy kink, slight masturbation, humiliation, degradation, begging, exhibition, tit-fucking, hand-job, cum denial

PART 1

Shigaraki messed up. It’s been a week. A week since you cornered him in a room and took his virginity.

He still remembers what you told him when you left— “Take a shower tomorrow. Also wear a different top for god’s sake. If you do... I might let you touch me.” 

Shigaraki beat himself over for agreeing to it as soon as he got home. You were his bully. One of the people making his school experience even more unbearable than it already was.

Yet he completely was undone as soon as you placed your hands on him, and you knew it. He just didn’t know what you wanted.

Dick? No, you were pretty and popular— you could probably get some from more desirable guys. To bully him? Sure, you said mean things to him during the encounter but the bullying was always around your friends.

For a whole school week, he stayed home. Making up some bullshit to the school that he had the flu. Frankly, he was scared to go. How was he supposed to face you?

Did you tell anyone? Secretly record it? Was he currently the laughing stock of the entire school for begging to continue to fuck you?

But even away from school, you had an effect on him. He’s still a horny guy. Now, jerking off wasn’t the same anymore, not when he had some taste of pussy thanks to you.

Shigaraki would always end up thinking back to you, even with porn he couldn’t get you out of his head. His hands clamping around his cock weren’t the same as your pussy, same with the bodies of other women.

He found himself indulging into mommy kink porn, something he didn’t really get off from before you. Shigaraki pretend it was you talking to him, bouncing onto his lap and letting him touch you.

But after a bit— Shigaraki found it going no where, they weren’t you.

Cursing, he would always finish early. And not in a good way. In a way where he was left unsatisfied. Putting his painfully hard cock back into his sweats and trying to sleep his horny-ness away.

Shigaraki realized he needed you, you talking to him, you around his cock. Now, he regretted not sticking to his word. But he’ll make it up for you.

You were quite mad. Shigaraki hasn’t been to school since that day. How ungrateful, you literally let him put his dick in you and now he ghosts you in real life.

You fully expected him to be at school the next day with the way he begged you to stay, clean and ready for you. So imagine your annoyance in seeing him not show up for several days.

But today was different, the newly ex-virgin actually showed up. To your surprise, he still did more than you expected him to do despite being a week late.

Shigaraki had changed his hoodie to a whole new one, it looked recently bought. As well as his hair, looking more soft than greasy like it typically was. Though he didn’t style it, it still overhanging on his face.

Still, he definitely looked a lot better, not enough for others to notice but enough for you to smirk at your work.

Both of you didn’t interact with each other besides a few glances until lunch. You guys sat on completely different ends of the cafeteria, him sitting in a small corner table while you sat in a large one.

Shigaraki looked fidgety, meekly looking up every few minutes to watch you interact with your friends. He was waiting for school to end, planning to catch you at the same empty classroom you took his virginity in.

Though you had completely other plans.

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” You got up from your table, grabbing your bag from off the floor. “To?” One of your friends asked, not looking up from their phone.

“Some nerd, he’s gonna do my homework we got last period. Apparently, his parents found out he’s been doing our homework and now he's gotta do them during lunch. Gotta make sure they do it right.” You lied through your teeth, hoping they would just back off.

They didn’t look up, instead pulling their homework worksheet out of their binder with one hand, putting it in yours, “Get him to do mine.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the paper, “Yeah.” You walked away, crumbling the paper to throw it in the trash. You’ll just say you lost it. Not like they’ll do anything about it.

Narrowed eyes landed on Shigaraki, his eyes currently focused on his phone. You strudded your way to him, smirking to yourself.

Shigaraki almost jumped when he felt something brush against his leg. Looking up, he was met with you sitting down next to him.

“Hey.” You said, placing your bag on the table and putting your last period’s homework on the table.

“You’re good at chemistry, right?” You questioned, shifting through your bag for something to write with.

“...Well— I... um...—“ Shigaraki stuttered, unsure of what was currently going on.

“Great.” You pulled the phone out of his clammy hands, replacing it with a pencil. “...What?” He tilted his head, was this a joke? Did you completely forget about a week ago?

“Hm...? Well, get onto it.” You uttered him on, putting your chin in your hands, eyeing him. Reluctantly, he looked back to paper, beginning to work on it.

After around 5 minutes, you brushed against him even more, getting close to his side. “What does that say?” You pushed yourself further into his side, your chest touching his arms.

Shigaraki cursed himself for already becoming red, he pants tightening around his crotch as last week flashed into his head again.

“Um... m-mole is a unit of measur— Hmph!“ He held back a loud whine when your right hand traveled to his crotch.

“What— what are you doing?” He asked under his breath, holding back small whimpers as you palmed him, “Where have you been?” You questioned sternly, upset he kept you waiting.

“I’m sorry... I got sick.” He bluffed, it was too embarrassing to admit he was scared. With how he left you hanging, he expected people to be laughing at him the moment he stepped onto school grounds.

“Sick? A whole week?” You hummed, you could already tell he was lying. Still, you were proud that he even bothered to make it up to you by fixing himself up.

“With your diet of energy drinks and chips, I’m surprised you’re not dead.” You decided to let it go, he was just nervous to show up.

Yet you think he deserves a bit of punishment.

Shigaraki felt heavy as you teased the zipper of his jeans. He immediately tensed, “Wait— now..?” He saw you narrow your eyes, “Something wrong?”

“There’s people here!” He whispered yelled, flinching as he felt you unzip his jeans ever so slowly, trailing your finger along his exposed boxers.

“So? You’re just some loser in the corner, nobody will notice if you aren’t obvious.”

Shigaraki could already feel pre-cum form at his tip, staining his boxers a bit. You giggled a bit, feeling the dampness of his boxers. “Already?” Shigaraki shook his head, “I... I haven’t came since... that day.”

You laughed a bit louder than you expected to, good thing the cafeteria was already loud. “How sweet of you. Couldn’t get it on?”

Shigaraki focused his eyes on your paper, muffled moans caught at the back of his throat as you freed his cock from his boxers.

Now slowly pumping him, Shigaraki dropped the pen of the table. He wanted to do something with his hands, to touch you.

He moved his hand to your thigh, but of course, you didn’t allow him, “You’re too eager. Get back to work.” You ordered. Shigaraki was about to question you but you stopped him with stroking his cock faster.

Both of you continued this way for a bit, him answering questions with his shaky hands while you jerked him off.

Shigaraki could’ve sworn he felt eyes on him a couple of times, yet every time he looked up, nobody was even batting an eye in his direction.

He could feel his cock twitch at the excitement of being caught. How would they explain one of the most popular girls giving an outcast a hand-job under the table?

As he got to the last question— he was already drooling on the paper, mouth clenched shut to avoid moaning and panting to be let out.

You could tell he was about to cum, the writing on the paper progressively getting sloppier as time went on. “M-mommy...” Shigaraki whispered just enough for you to hear, “Hmm, you want to cum?”

He nodded furiously, he was extremely pent up and needed release. And just as he thought, you were the only one who can give it to him.

Shigaraki whimpered when you pulled away, looking up at the clock and collecting your stuff. “Then after school, room 204. Actually listen and show up when I tell you this time.”

You walked away just in time for the bell to go off, signifying that lunch was over. Leaving Shigaraki, once again, a mess.

Here he was again, feeling nostalgic as you walked into the empty classroom. Shigaraki easily grew again while anticipating this, the tent prominent in his jeans.

“Y’know, good job for showering and changing.” You gave him praise, Shigaraki turning red from your words. “This... this means I can touch you, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I actually keep promises.” He ignored the jab at him, it didn’t matter how mean you were— he was going to touch you finally.

Shigaraki awkwardly shuffled towards you, raising his hands up to look at you with wide eyes. He slowly paced a hand on your boobs, trying to see if this was just some test and you’ll get mad at him.

When he didn’t get anything back, he immediately started to dough on your clothed breast, cupping them. Then, he moved to unbutton your shirt, already seeing you thought ahead and took off your bra before coming here.

He fully took off your shirt, not wasting time on latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, both hands playing with your breasts. Shigaraki was basically humping your leg, sucking your nipples like a baby.

You giggled a bit, patting his head. He looked up at you with a clouded look, pure joy in his eyes as he finally got to touch you.

Looking back down at him, another idea popped up— you already took his virginity and gave him his first hand-job, whats another one of his firsts? “Shigaraki, do you want to feel really good?” He unlatched from your nipple, “I can be inside you?”

“No.” He frowned a bit, but perked up when you trailed your fingers on his boxers. “What if I put this,” You pointed at your boobs, “In between these?”

Shigaraki was already down, eagerly sitting on a desk while you got on your knees. He freed his cock, putting it in between your slick pushed together breasts, thanks to his sucking earlier.

You wasted no time on stroking it up and down with your breasts. He moaned feeling the softness of the valley between your chest, your breasts around his cock giving him warmth as you stimulated him.

Shigaraki was definitely feeling great, you even let him bend down and grab your breasts to control the speed of the tit-job.

Though, Shigaraki wanted more. You were giving him all these things, a hand-job, a tit-fuck. He’s been inside you once and he didn’t get to do what he wanted in the first place. To cum inside his mommy.

He feels a knot grow in his lower abdomen, but he doesn’t wanna cum yet. Instead, he pulled himself away from you, much to your confusion.

“What? You literally were about to cum and I was gonna let you!” You groaned, getting up as Shigaraki faced you.

“...Mommy, can I fuck you?”

“No, you didn’t come to school for a whole week. If you really wanted to you would have showed up.”

Shigaraki turned red, sputtering as he held onto your arm, “Please! I just want you cum inside you.” He whined, tears pricking at the chance of not getting to have sex with you after all this time.

You looked at him stoned faced as he begged, even falling to his knees dramatically to add to his desperation. “Fucking virgins, man.”

Shigaraki felt himself be pushed down, your skirt and panties on the floor. You straddled onto his length, moans filling the room quickly.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, mommy!” Shigaraki thrusted his hips into yours, feeling even more over-joyed when he was allowed to touch your chest while you were on top of him this time.

Shigaraki desperately missed this, now he remembers why his hand didn’t compare to your tight pussy after trying to jerk off. He found his own rhythm quickly, muffled ‘mommy’s due to his mouth on your breasts.

“I’m doing this because you cleaned up, if you didn’t I would’ve left you to your own sad-ass devices already.” You lied, honestly, you hated the idea what he possibly was ignoring you by not showing up to school.

Even then, you’ve grown a bit found of him. His body, his expressions, his voice, everything really. It didn’t bother you as much when you saw his still messy hair, you were just glad to see him.

Though, you’d never admit it. Instead, it showed through the way you were tightening around his cock, panting as he moaned into and out your body. Shigaraki very quickly wrapped his arms around you, both of you on the edge.

“Fuck— Shigaraki. Cum, cum for mommy, okay?” You ordered, Shigaraki more than ready to fulfill it.

“Ah, thank you! Thank you, mommy! I’m gonna cum inside you!” Both of you rided out your highs, Shigaraki filling you so much it started to drip outside your full cunt.

He fell on top of you despite you initially being on top, you wanted to scold him but honestly couldn’t bring yourself to right now.

The room quieted down, the only words being exchanged were by Shigaraki softly muttering “Thank you, mommy.” into your neck

[finalgirlsteve]

“YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!” with modern steve :))

i'm not the best at writing texting fics but i tried my best. i also switched the wording around a bit, i hope that's okay!

-

I miss you.

The text from Steve pops up on your screen and you press on the notification, smiling at the sweet message, texting back; Miss you too. You still have that meeting in a few minutes, right?

Yep. Steve texts back. But right now, the only thing I’m thinking about is you.

Your grin wides, a soft blush forming on your cheeks. Oh, are you now? you reply.

I sure am. Thinking about all the things I wanna do to you later when I get home.

Your breath hitches, feeling a wave of heat pulse through you. What do you wanna do to me?

The chat bubble pops up, signifying he’s typing, then disappears for a few moments. You blink at your screen, about to ask where he went when he replies, Shit, I’m sorry baby, my meeting starts now. We’ll continue this later, okay? Love you.

You frown at the message and type back a quick, Love you too.

Steve leaves you on read and you sigh, throwing your phone back down on the bed. Although your stomach is still fluttering from his texts, the mood is ruined. You think it's just a bit unfair that he left you in this position after riling you up, and you decide he deserves a bit of payback for it.

You make your way into the bathroom and strip from your clothes, leaving you in just your underwear. You pose in the mirror and take a few pictures, arching your back a bit. One you think you’ve taken some good ones, you peel your underwear off and take some more pictures of yourself, making sure to hit all your good angles, everything on show.

Once you’re satisfied, you put on your clothes and get back on the bed, sending all of your best pictures Steve’s way. You wait a few minutes for him to respond, checking every so often to see if he’s seen it. After about ten minutes, you check back to see that he’d finally read it.

Steve takes a bit longer to type than he usually does, but eventually he replies, Holy shit, I’m in a meeting, you do know that right? And you’re sending pictures of you naked?

You roll your eyes and type, That’s why I sent it.

He doesn’t respond after a minute and you send another picture, one that shows off your ass nicely.

You’re so fucking cruel.

You smirk at his message. You can almost picture him now, face flushed, trying to be discreet in staring down at his phone, cock tenting his pants. The mental image of it gets your lower half electric again.

Another notification pops up, and this time it’s a picture of Steve, specifically the large bulge in his pants. After the image is sent, he writes, Look at the things you do to me, sweetheart.

Your thighs slide together, creating a friction that has your head spinning. You push the duvet off of you and shimmy down your underwear again, holding the phone above your thighs and taking a picture, capturing your arousal.

You send it and eagerly wait for him to type back. The text you get back isn’t another reply, but a video, and your face goes hot when you press play.

You watch Steve, who’s now in a bathroom stall, stroke his cock slowly, the tip leaking out precum, hearing his breathy pants behind the phone. He captions the video with, were you really so deperate for this cock that you had to rile me up during my meeting?

Your thighs start to tremble and you can’t help but reach down and start to touch yourself. You hold up your phone again to take a video, rubbing at yourself, moaning softly. After you send it, you type, Fuck, I want you here.

Are you imagining that was me? Getting you off right now? He replies.

“Jesus.” You groan to yourself, the thought making your fingers work faster. Another video pops up and you immediately go to watch it. It’s another shot of him stroking himself, though this time his wrist is moving faster now, and his whimpers are more audible this time. He turns the camera around to show you his face, flushed and mouth open as he pants.

I want you here so bad, you’re driving me fucking crazy. You write, having to stop in the middle as you rub at your sensitive spot, grinding down onto your own fingers. You send another video, a closer shot of where you’re getting yourself off, whining.

You gonna cum for me baby? Just from the thought of me there? Such a slut for me, just wait until I get home. I’ll have my way with you, fuck you so hard you can’t see straight.

His words make you gasp and soon enough you’re coming on yourself, crying out as your fingers move in just the right ways. After you come down from your high, you send a picture of the mess you made, breath coming out uneven. A few moments later, he sends a video of himself coming into his own hand, groaning out your name.

You type back, I can’t wait.