#( let me know if you need me to change anything about this and i will ! :D )

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Perhaps Toji should've listened to his wife about using sunscreen, but the man never listens.

Warnings: Minors do not interact! Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Public Sex, Creampie, Toji calls you 'princess'

*You might not get sunburnt but you still need sunscreen! Baddies protect themselves against skin cancer❤️

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

There’s a drawn out whistle behind you from none other than your husband. He watches as you slowly take off your dress and reveal the bikini that you chose to wear for your beach trip. You feel your face get warm, still not used to all the love and attention that he gives you whenever he sees your body. 

“Well, aren’t you going to get undressed?” You ask, a risky question considering how Toji is. You bite your tongue the moment the words leave your lips, knowing exactly how Toji is going to respond. You’re about to add more to it, but Toji beats you to it.

“You want to do it here? I’m not opposed to having an audience.” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he responds, making you roll your eyes. He lets out a chuckle at your reaction before taking off his shirt. “It’s still a little crowded, princess. Wait till everyone leaves.”

“I’m not having sex with you at the beach.” You reply, taking your eyes off him as he shows off his well-toned body. If you could whistle, you’d have the same reaction as him. You add, “Wait till we get back to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that? We have a bed back at home.” He tells you, earning a light hearted slap on his shoulder. He loves to tease you out in public, saying just about anything to get a reaction out of you.

“Come here, let me put sunscreen on you.” You change the topic, wanting to talk about something more lighthearted for the scene.

“I don’t need sunscreen.” He answers, making you frown. He’ll ruin your trip by refusing sunscreen– By the end of the day his skin will be all red and burnt. If he goes wandering around with no sunscreen on then the trip is practically over.

“Toji, if you don’t come here–” You begin but he walks away before you can finish your sentence. Of course. Then he’ll come whining to you later about how his skin burns.

He talks about Megumi’s stubbornness, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“Here.” Toji leans down and hands you a popsicle. You lift your eyes up from your book and notice his rosy cheeks. A couple of hours have passed, and granted, you were right. That’s why he comes to you with a peace offering. He’ll do anything but tell you that you were right.

“What’s this for?” You ask as you prompt yourself up from the comfortable lounge chair. Toji sits on the edge, and you notice how his shoulders and chest are red. You lick the top of the popsicle, tongue circling around it which draws Toji��s attention.

“Just saw the ice cream truck and thought you’d want one, nothing else.” He shrugs. “You know I swam all the way to– Ah, what are you doing?”

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” You tease him with the popsicle, tracing the cold treat on his collar bone. It does. It feels so nice but he wouldn’t say that to you, at least not now. He won’t prove you right.

“It feels weird.” He tries to push your hand away but it doesn’t work. Instead, your hand moves down and the popsicle goes down his chest. It’s just what he needs, but he won’t admit it. He definitely won’t do it when you’re acting so smug.

“Does it? You look relieved.” You point out with a smirk on your face. He absolutely won’t give you satisfaction now.

“Shut up and eat your popsicle before I take you behind that rock and show you what relief looks like.” His hand wraps around your wrist, and he guides it back to your lips but your lips form into a straight line. You turn your head, and the tip hits your cheek.

“I’m taking the popsicle as an admission that I was right!” You ask him, and he takes the treat back. He brings it up to his lips and takes a bite of it.

“Can’t your husband just be nice? Damn.” He’s irritated, but you’re right. The sunburns are too fresh, he won’t admit that he should’ve put on sunscreen before going swimming. 

“I know you.” You snatch the wooden stick from his hand once again, putting the popsicle on his shoulder. “Just admit that it feels nice. I know I’m right either way.”

“Fine. You’re right.” He says, his gaze going elsewhere because he knows there’s a smug smile on your face. He feels your warm, soft lips press a kiss on his shoulder, and he sighs. Maybe it isn’t all bad.

“Tastes like cherry.” You comment, making a low laugh leave his lips. He looks back at you, and presses a kiss on the top of your head.

“You know, the beach is almost empty if you–”

“I’m not having sex with you out here.” You cut him off, reading his mind. He clicks his tongue as he reaches into your beach bag. You notice that he grabs the sunscreen, making you comment, “It’s a little too late for that now.”

“It’s not for me, princess.” He responds, opening the bottle and squirting some of the cream on his hands. Before you can even question it, his hands go to your cleavage, “Isn’t it time to reapply?”

“Toji–” You begin, but he brings you to his lap, unable to escape from his grasp. “You’re a sly little fox.”

“Huh? I’m just making sure my wife is taken care of.” He says as he continues to massage your breasts under the pretext that he’s reapplying sunscreen. His fingers sneakily go under your bikini top, getting too close to your nipples.

“Toji, you’re playing it dangerously.” You warn him before you shove the rest of the popsicle in his mouth. He takes it out and tosses it aside.

“I like danger.” He tells you before his lips land on yours. You lick up the sweet cherry that remains on his lips before quickly pulling away. 

You look over Toji again. The way the water drips from his hair down to his body. The water streams down his rosy chest, all the way down to his V-line. He’ll make a sinner out of anyone, that’s for damn sure. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you… The beach is practically empty, who cares?

“I’m going to the water.” You respond, a look of mischief in your eyes. You get up from his lap and begin to walk to the water, a sight that makes Toji sigh. A beautiful sight, dare he say. A sight that makes his dick hard.

“Wait for me!” He yells, standing up and going after you. You’re not too far ahead, making it easy for him to catch up with you. He’s just planning on accompanying you, until he notices that you’re going to the giant rock that he mentioned earlier. Of course you are. “And you’re saying I’m sly?”

“What? I’m literally just going into the water.” You try to play all innocent, an act that he certainly won’t fall for. Maybe in the beginning he would’ve, but Toji knows you too well to know that you’re up to no good. “You have a dirty mind, Toji.”

“Right, I’m the one in the wrong here.” He scoffs. He wants to make a comment about how you’re not even in the water as you hide behind the rock, but he won’t play with his luck today.

“Are we out of everyone’s view here?” You ask, and Toji chuckles. So much for not having sex at the beach. His hands cup your face, lips going down to meet your own. Your hands go to the back of his head, pulling him closer as your back makes contact with the rock.

“You just had to play hard to get?” He pulls away for a second before his lips kiss yours again. One hand trails down your body, going to the bottom of your swimsuit. His fingers run through your folds, and it takes everything in him to not comment just how wet you already are for him. 

Toji loves to tease you, but he’ll play it safe considering the situation. He wouldn’t want you to back down now. Maybe when he’s got you all worked up and on the edge he’ll have his way with you.

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself, princess.” He warns you as he pulls away. He likes the risk, but he certainly doesn’t want to get caught. “You got that? Can you do it?”

“Yeah.” You nod, followed by a breathy moan that he tears from you by slowly pushing in two fingers. He smirks. Yeah, you were absolutely right about the sunscreen but he was right about where you’d end up today.

“Good girl.” He praises you, taking his fingers out just as quickly as he put them in. He pushes your swimsuit to the side, grabbing one of your legs and resting it on his hip. He’s all the balance you need right now. “Gonna make this quick, okay? Don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and steal your book and shit.”

“Wait, my book–” You comment, that part completely forgotten from your mind. Though before the sentence is finished, you feel his tip run through your folds. “It can wait.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles before slowly pushing himself inside you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Toji stretches you out. The man doesn’t waste a second before moving, giving slow thrusts so your body isn’t overwhelmed.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He comments, keeping his voice low. Toji wouldn’t want to draw any attention to himself at this moment. He can’t come up with any possible excuse.

You’re biting down your lip, not trusting yourself to not be too loud. You want him to hear how good he’s making you feel. He always feels so good inside of you, hitting every right spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. But you’ll hold back.

He’s groaning. He’s succumbing to the pleasure your pussy is giving him. So tight and warm. So fucking perfect. His thrusts slowly pick up speed, the sound of skin smacking slowly getting louder

“Fuck, Toji–” You moan, your brain slowly working less and less. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, seeking more friction to reach your high. You can’t be gone for too long. The longer you’re here, the higher the risk of someone coming around.

“You want my cum, princess?” His lips go to your ear, and you nod in response. Every thrust just hits every right spot, making it hard for you to contain yourself. Your pussy is squeezing around him, your free hand gripping onto his shoulder. Your breath gets caught up in your chest, and you fully rely on him for balance. 

You moan loudly as you reach your orgasm, finishing around his cock. Toji bites your neck, a sort of punishment. Since he can’t make noise, he’ll suppress whatever noise with your body, and this time your neck is the poor victim.

“I need your cum, Toji.” You finally tell him as he slowly loses control. Maybe the excitement of being at the beach has caught up to him. The risk of getting caught certainly makes it more fun.

It doesn’t take too long for Toji to finish inside of you, making a complete mess out of you. A mess that he’ll wipe his hands from since he won’t have to walk around full of cum. 

His forehead presses against yours, delivering soft kisses to every part of your face before he finally pulls out of your cunt. He fixes the bottom of your swimsuit, and allows you to regain complete balance before letting you go.

“You ready for the walk of shame?” He finally gets to tease you, and you roll your eyes.

“Worry about yourself, shrimp.”

[venusveil]

Random astrology observations.

(My personal observations what I think)

✎ Taurus Moons be like Comfort > everything else.

✎ A Gemini Has 25 group chats but can’t reply to a single text you sent two weeks ago.

✎ Venus in Sagittarius Can love you from afar but don’t suffocate them or they’re gone.

✎ one think I noticed that Scorpio Sun with Sagittarius Venus is like they'll cling to you when they're feeling spicy but when that's over "who are you?"

✎ Never met a Pisces who doesn't have a issue with sleep. Either sleeps all day and night or no sleep at night. wakes up at 2 or 3 pm.

✎ Moon in Scorpio craves deep emotional (and physical) intimacy. Casual flings leave them feeling empty but they’ll never admit it.

✎You think you had the worse break up. Until your ex and you have 8th house synastry. And if you survived that? My strong babe you can do anything in life.

✎ by the way 8th house synastry reminds me of bad romance - lady gaga.

✎ My 8th house is in Taurus and I realized I can't be friends with a Taurus male. It's either we're a love/hate couple or nothing. No in between.

✎ Leo Needs constant admiration but pretens they hate being the center of attention (yeah right).

✎ I never wanna pick a fight with a Gemini Mars. I'll end up crying screaming vomiting. They'll hit you with words. will make you lose your sleep doubting your own intelligence.

✎ Sagittarius Mercury be like "let me teach you something" while offending you. "Why are you so stupid?" Probably gives (unwanted, nobody asked for) advice like It's a love language.

✎ 12th house Venus / Mars may attract people by accident then blame them for falling for them.

✎ One time I tried telling a Pisces Mars they're wrong. And he straight up was like "yeah I know I'm a bad person" ok? Thanks for knowing that.

✎ Aries Venus wants the hottest person in the room, the one looks hard to attract but when they do, They'll get bored before the 2nd date.

✎ Does Capricorn moon even cry? Once a year?

✎ Arguing with a Taurus Mercury in the 3rd house is like screaming at a brick wall. You'll be tired by the time they change their mind.

✎ Sun in Pisces/6th house is like you think working 9-10 is death. Also cries if there's no routine.

✎ I love people with Jupiter in Gemini or 9th house Jupiter. They knows a little about everything won't shut up.

✎ Sagittarius Mercury as a child I was a chatterbox talking non stop. And I've my big cousin sister (she's a Capricorn) telling me to stfu.

✎ Pluto in the 1st house : you walk into a room triggering at least 5 people's childhood trauma.

✎ Neptune in the 7th house attracts emotionally unavailable people.

✎ Jupiter in Scorpio people talks like a sexy cult leader. Can convince you to ruin your life in seconds.

✎ Neptune in the 4th house thinks their childhood was either a fairy tail or a horror movie - no in between.

✎ Mars in Scorpio knows exactly how to ruin you emotionally also sexually. And they will.

✎ Mars in the 4th house fights in the kitchen brings up childhood trauma mid-argument.

✎ You're not dating a Scorpio Venus you made a deal with the devil. Good luck moving on. Probably casting a spell to make you obsessed.

✎ Chiron in Scorpio heals people but breaks them first.

✎ Pluto in the 12th house knows the vibe is off 3 weeks ago

✎ Pluto in the 3rd house can destroy someone’s sense of self in a paragraph… and then say “I was just being honest.”

[fics-lovebot]

enhypen fic recs pt.5

main masterlist - pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs, so pls reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

kiss me, he´s watching - ( @enhaflixer ) smut, fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—this is diffferentttt, i loved reading it sm, felt like a movie

cherry trees - ( @enhaflixer ) smut, angst, fluff, second chandce rom, arranged husband!Jungwon x trophy wife!reader - WHEWWWW this was intenssee, I LOVE WHEN MEN FUCK UP AND THEN GO INSANE :p. also, the whole plot felt real, like hard work was being put in to fix everything. deff one of my jungwon favs out there

change your ticket - ( @demusewriter ) so much fluff, Idol!Jungwon x Non-idol!reader. yESSSss, loved the yearning

the grinch that stole my… pants? - ( @mandukkul ) fluff, crack. bf!ni-ki x fIreader, established relationship. nahh this is so cute, reader is valid af

quacked up - ( @veilstqr ) downbad!ni-ki, fluff and crack x ni-ki being whipped and the members not letting him breathe. jungwon is so wrong for that lmao, poor niki

rich boy enha - ( @blairbliss ) fluff, rich!ot7, this is like my dream come true. rICH PRETTY MEN IN LOVE, THAT´S WHAT IM ABOUT

faces and sounds they make - ( @enhaflixer ) smut, ot7. YESSSSSSSSSSSSS, i have no words. this had me grinning like a gremling. yall know that one freaky sonic gif? yeah.

between the shelves - ( @liuhsng ) fluff, strangers to lover, soulmate au, alpha!jake, omega!reader, alpha!enha. I LOVEDDD THISSSSSSS, jake´s so dreamy cool and collected, got me giggling and kicking my feet

perv!sunghoon - ( @urlovebot ) smut. MY JAW IS ON THE FLOOR. this is crrraazzzzyyyyyyyyyyyyy

the price of perfection - ( @woniedarlin ) angst, fluff, academic rival!jake, academic pressure. now now, i know i said i hate those academy rivals, work rivals, enemies to lovers tropes, and i do!, BUUTTT this one´s differente. They aren´t really rivals, she´s just jealouse and jake´s just vibing lmao, but they end up being what each other´s need

king of tears - ( @enhaflixer ) ANGST, fluff, smut. Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon, slow burn, second chance rom. WHAT COMES AFTER 7???? this is honestly amazing, i´ve never read a kdrama inspired fic like this one, so so good. and as the Angsty Fic Ambassador, i aprove tf out of this skdjfkjf, also SUNOO AND NIKI HAD ME CACKLING. After you´re done, read this one too

heavy little love - ( @hazelira ) fluff :´(. dad!heeseung, this is so wholesome, so beautiful. i also believe he´s such a boy dad idk idk.

i´ll never let that happen again - ( @semisasseater ) fluff, angst, protective bf!niki. this one´s for my delulu riki stans, ik you´ll like it :p

take me back! - ( @heeseung64 ) text au, suggestive. desperate ex!hee, bad bitch!reader as she should. sdfkjskj this ones funny af, i do like them a lil crazy anyway

the dollmaker - ( @faeyun ) smut, fluff lowk, husband!sunghoon, dark gothic heavy themes (read warnings). YUUUPPPP, this is an art piece right here. wowwww, author i love ur brain, i´ve never read anything like this!

wrong contact - ( @heeseung64 ) text au, best friend!enha. love love accidental confessiones sjdskjf had me giggling and kicking my feet like the delulu ass bitch i am

off the ice - ( @luvsicktyun ) angst, smut, fluff. hockey player!jake, pregnant!reader, college au, accidental pregnancy trope. this is gewddd, i love how this is written. reader feelings are so so valid and real, getting pregg after a ons by a man who´s future doesn´t seem to include being a father whatsoever is scary af, luckily this is sim jake we´re talking about

beneath the blue - ( @enjakey ) fluff, smut, the plot is EVERYTHING. marine engineer!Jake x marine biologist!Fem!Reade. HOW DOESNT THIS HAVE LIKE +30K NOTES??????? THIS IS A WHOLE MOVIE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????? people really don´t appreciate lengthy, detailed, beautifully written fics with a thick-interesting-innovating plot anymore and that´s fucking sad. author, this is a MASTERPIECE

caught in my web - ( @fatalhoon ) fluff, crack. spiderman!jake, loser!jake, bsf!reader, school au. this is so cuuteeee and jake aint sleek at all lmao

just married - ( @bywons ) FLUFF, down bad!sunghoon (YOU ALREADY KNOW IM EATING TS UPPP), drunk!sunghoon, not him wanting to elope and get married after breakdancing at a friend´s wedding, i love this sm

hoodie thief - ( @tobiosbbyghorl ) smut, fluff, roomamate!sunghoon, he´s a total boobs guy (canon) so him losing it over them isn´t strange lmao, loved this

richman´s world - ( @okwonyo ) text au, fluff, ceo!jay. ahaha i´m gonna crash tf oUT bc wdym HE´S RICH AF AND GETS TURNED ON BY YOU SPENDING HIS MONEYYYDSLFLSKJFHSKJH and he´s dOWN BAD TOO????? you´re done.

let´s play - ( @fgumi ) crack, fluff. not heeseung getting humbled by his own gf on LOL lmao

loser in a hot man´s body - ( @fgumi ) fluff, school/college au, loser bf!hee (LETSFUCKINGGOOOO) x hot popular!gf. i LOVEEEEEEEEE a hot man with a quirky personality who´s down bad for his gf, i eat it up EVERY TIME

my kind of girl - ( @okwonyo ) scenarios of bf!enha getting on their knees for you. wait why ni-ki kinda,,, afhalksfjhlajfhlah, i love this

[ohtobeleah]

Chameleon // Jack Abbot

Summary: When Jack Abbot sees the love of his life has changed her hair colour…it doesn’t go as well as he, or the rest of the ER, would have hoped.

Warnings: Separated Reader x Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot x F!reader. OBGYN Reader. Marriage problems. Mental health issues. Mentioning of divorce. Age gap relationship. Younger female x older male.

Word Count: 2k

Author Note: I’ve used this scene before in a series. But for this one-shot, it was perfect inspiration. I had to revamp and create this little one-shot for my Friday afternoon serotonin boost.

“You know, soon enough you’ll have to sit down and have a genuine discussion about the state of your marriage, brother,” Robby walked with Jack down the bustling ED corridor. The two were getting ready for handover, as they did every morning and night, like yin and yang. “Personally, I think the two of you can work through whatever this is, together. I don’t think a divorce is necessary.” 

There it was…that goddamn word that carried the weight of the world. ‘Divorce’, Jack Abbot hated that word. He always had. But he’d never hated it more than when it became relevant to his own marriage. 

“Besides, I hardly recognise you, all you do is work and go home and listen to that scanner. Then, come back as soon as the sun goes down.” Robby wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest bit. But Jack still didn't appreciate it. 

“Who said anything about a divorce?” Jack growled as he caught the back of someone by the nurse’s station he couldn’t recognise. “Look, it’s complicated,” Jack paused his steps. Robby mimicked his friend's stance as the two continued to talk, all the while Jack never let the blonde in pink scrubs out of his sight. “I love Y/n, and I know she still loves me, because if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess trying to fix what I broke.” 

It’s an inevitable part of depression. The part where you tend to push people away. The part where self-isolation becomes a form of therapy. Jack knew the solace of being alone far too well. He knew it so well that he forgot that he was married…

And that broke your heart. Enough that the love you had for Jack couldn’t outweigh the pain of his behaviour and lack of affection. Attention. Understanding and empathy. He forgot you even existed. So…You left him. But not before you gave him everything you could. And not without explaining in great detail, why you were leaving. 

Jack needed time and space to better himself. You wanted him to come back to you when he was ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved. You wanted him to realise what he’d done to drive you away. PTSD, untreated depression. It all became too much. 

“You need help, Jack!” He can still hear your words echoing in his mind. “You save people all day and yet you can’t seem to understand that you’re slowly killing yourself with this fucking bullshit!” He knew you were right, you had been from the start. But at the time? Jack wasn't ready to listen. So he watched you walk out of his life instead. “I can’t keep waiting for you to jump off a building because you don't give a shit who you hurt as long as your pain ends, I can't watch you die because you won't let me help you.” 

It's a haunting reminder of his biggest mistake. Letting you go. But a reminder Jack won't ever forget. 

“Who’s the blonde from OB?” Jack followed up his statement with a question that hung heavy in the air. “There’s no blondes in OB? Did we get a new resident?” 

Robby doesn’t answer right away. He simply studies the way Jack's eyes examine every inch of the woman standing over by the nurse’s station. He has to know, right? It’s the woman Robby had only just seen in the elevator ten minutes ago. The woman who had just been sobbing on his shoulder about how much guilt she felt for separating from Jack. 

He needed it, though. Even Robby agreed that Jack had been teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode. Your separation was the best thing for him. He needed to realise that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered most if he didn’t get a grip on reality. 

“Uhh—“ Robby knew it was you, the blonde that was. You’d told him about your crash-out. The one that ended with a bottle of hair bleach and some not-so-professional measurements. You’d explained how you’d been missing Jack like crazy, but maybe it was time to think about divorce. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change. To help himself get back to a point where he could love you just as much as you loved him. It killed you every day that passed, but you knew if you went back now, Jack would only revert to his old ways. 

And he’d slowly, but surely, been making progress. Robby had mentioned to you that Jack had been seeing a therapist. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he had mentioned it. That gave you a little hope, and eventually stopped the tears from flowing before you had to get out of the elevator. 

“I’m not sure, but let’s—“ Before Robby could think of any excuse to remove himself, and Jack from your trajectory…the normally brooding attending was excusing himself with a smirk only reserved for mischief. 

“Excuse me.” Jack looked at his best friend with the intent to cause trouble before he walked off in the direction where you stood. Not knowing it was you. 

“Oh, well, now I recognise you,” Robby chuckled as he watched Jack saunter off. “This isn’t going to end well—” He groaned through mumbles as he looked anywhere but at the car crash about to happen right in front of him. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets with fear. 

“Hey—!” Jack started as he approached the nurse’s station. “Are you down here for a consultation? I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m-“ It was worse than a car crash… it was like a double homicide. But not a soul could take their eyes off the scene before them. 

Emergency Room attending physician. Dr. Jack Abbot verves obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Y/n Abbot. Separated spouses, who can barely work in the same hospital right now, let alone have a conversation face-to-face. 

As you turned around, Jack swore his heart fell out of his stomach. His heart raced inside his chest. You were stunning. He’d never seen you like this before. In all your years, you’d never been blonde. It looked…you looked beautiful. 

“Ahh!” Jack stepped back a little, fear was evident in the lines on his face. Holy shit, what was he supposed to do now? “What did you do to your hair?” Nope…That wasn’t what he should have said. But it was a question with many layers. 

Much like Jack Abbot himself. 

“I—I-I changed it.” You stumbled over your words as your husband, uh, ex? Husband? Separated spouse? asked with a tone you couldn’t tell was good or bad. Self-doubt immediately bubbled to the surface. “I uh, I coloured it.” You reach up and ran your hand through your blonde hair, not usually the standard issue colour. “I just—“ Then, as you stopped your mind from running off with the idea of shaving your head entirely, you caught onto what was happening... 

“Wait, you thought I was someone else?” Your heart sank. Jack didn’t even know it was you, yet here he was.

Jack immediately turned to look back at where he’d left Robby. Much to Jack's dismay…Robby had vanished into thin air. Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. He’d really put his foot in it this time. 

“You didn’t know it was me? And you were hitting on me!?” There was a tone in your voice that had everyone around you on edge. It made the blood in Jack’s head rush south…he liked you a lot when you were being mean to him. 

Langdon, who was only just getting situated with his patient pool for the morning, looked over at Jack with wide eyes and a shocked expression plastered across his smug face. He was so thankful it wasn’t him in Jack’s shoes right now. 

“No! No—“ Jack tried to explain himself. “No, I just thought you were, you know, some blonde.” But he had nothing to explain as he lowered his head and pressed his lips together. 

God help him. 

“Jesus, Abbot—“ You sighed. It was hard enough to love him enough as it was. Now, the idea of him running rampant around the Emergency Department, flirting with anything that moved, was going to ruin the small ounce of strength you had left. “You’re pathetic, and hypocritical—and slutty!” You whispered, shouted through gritted teeth. 

“And you are no blonde!” Jack retaliated, sending the Emergency Department into a buzzing gossip column. It was rare to ever see the two of you together anymore, let alone arguing like a married couple. 

“What did you just say to me?” It was a loaded question, like you were just daring Jack to continue. You stepped closer to where he stood, matching his intense gaze like you knew the way passed and into his heart. He fucking loved you. Being this close made his heart yearn for you. He just wanted you to be his again. 

You can’t pull that off, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slipped off his tongue like it was something Jack said every day. It was…But he wasn’t supposed to be calling you that anymore. Much like he wasn't supposed to be wearing his wedding band. 

It made your heart race. He still noticed you. He still wanted you and only you. He still cared. But not enough for you to trust he had your best interests at heart. 

“Blondes are either badass, or fun, and you’re—“ Jack paused, he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t inadvertently hurt your feelings. He was flirting, after all. “You’re a brunette.” 

“Fuck you, old grumpy bastard!” That was all you said as you collected your things and turned away with quick haste. You needed to leave. You were needed for a consultation, and that's what you were here to do. You weren't here to argue with your ex. 

“Damn—“ You heard it as you walked by. Langdon was looking at you like he’d just witnessed a public execution. “If you want my opinion, I think the blonde looks rad.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up!” You hissed with enough conviction that it had him thinking you might actually be venomous. 

“That didn’t end well, did it, Romeo?” Robby reappeared as Jack stood idly, watching you walk away. His heart ached, like he had a school-yard crush on the popular girl at school. 

“When did she dye her hair?” He asked softly, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. 

“Two weeks ago,” Robby replied. He knew Jack would take that as an answer he was hoping not to get. An answer to the question he secretly asked. The question was about your hair, but in reality, Jack had asked how long it had been before he noticed you. 

And the fact you’d been walking around like a totally smoke show for two weeks and Jack hadn’t noticed…made his stomach churn with guilt. 

“She’s too good for me,” Jack sighed. He knew he screwed it up. He knew he stuffed up your marriage. He just wanted to get back to you. “But holy shit, she looks good.”

“I think that’s what she was going for,” Robby smiled as he tapped his friend on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we got hand over to get through Mr. Casanova.” Teasing, Robby coaxed Jack to follow him. 

Meanwhile, you watched on from where you’d run off to, secretly pining for your husband to flirt like that with you again any time. He was coming back to you. 

Slowly. But surely. Jack Abbot was coming back to life.

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What they would do to your naked body that they will be afraid to admit ? (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~4 )

No, you are NOT dreaming ... SHE'S BACKKKK !

Pile 1 

Hey  girl/boy  hey ! How are you doing ? Miss y’all so much ! Anyways don't look at me like that … in what kind of mess did you put yourself into ? Imma move on but we definitely circling back to this next time. Now we are all about the way your next partner would dream about treating your naked body but will be too afraid to admit it. 

First thing first, y’all know I am not the one to sell y’all dreams, right ? No coming back did not change that side of me but babe you are the turning point in your next lover's life. I mean there's a clear before and after effect. Now I’m hearing the lyrics of Brokey: When a real one hold you down, bae, you supposed to drown

You ain't never fuck with no boss bitch, I turned you out (turned you out). There's a difference; the second part of the verse does not apply to you. Like you did not do anything to make that person change. You did not want that person to change. They saw what you were about and decided to change their way. You might never know how much of a trash lover they were until they decide to be honest with you. In my vision, I see a guy dressed like a bad guy in the 50s looking at the pretty preppy girl in pink from a mile away and instead of wanting to do bad to her he want to show her how good love can get.She's the only one worth his good side. I aint saying y’all fit that narrative is just an analogy. 

In their mind, there's no crazy possessive act or even passion. If we stick to my vision, they want you in their pretty car, caressing your leg, keep losing themself in your pretty brown eyes (some of y’all have green eyes and enjoying deep conversion. They don't even want to take you out at night because they want to make sure you know they are serious and this is not some kind of trap. Now sometimes, late at night in their room, they may catch a boner because they mind is almost ``forcing`` them to think of you in a more sexual manner. They will think of kissing your neck (not leaving hickeys because the mere fact that you let them this close to your delicate energy is a privilege). Most of y’all in this pile have the bra game crack and under control (I am jealous tell me all your secrets, NOW !), your tits always look the fuck good. They would love to stare at them and you letting them do so not thinking he's a creep or not risking his chance with you. Caressing your inner thigh and also maybe playing a bit with your panties does cross their mind. They never go further than that because they need to focus on the bigger picture which is a long term commitment with you.  At the end of the day, their passiveness depends on your energy. If you ever give them hint of wanting more (fuck me eyes, playing with your tits, nasty texting …), they will jump on the occasion. 

They also enjoy how strict you are and love it when you remind them that you are not the one to play with. The fact that you can drop them that easily is a turn on for them. They also imagine you, squirting all over them. Overstimulating you with their munch abilities and flipping you around on their dicks at night they cant their mind out the gutter. 

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PILE  2

Hey to my lesbian girlypop. How is your cherry doing ? I hope you had all the fun you wanted while I was gone, if not good news the fun is coming. 

Your next partner's sexual thoughts about you, that they would be afraid to admit is that they want you. I think this person presents themself as straight until they meet you and you set fire to their POV. You may actually never know this person is thinking about you that way and if you miss the clue, you are going to miss out on a beautiful opportunity for some good sex because they are pretty lowkey. I ain't going to lie no matter what, this is not going to transform into a full blown relationship. You may have a habit of falling in love with a good box so guard yourself. Don't worry, this person is a gentle soul. I see y’all being FWB. Everytime they are going to think about it in a sexual manner is going to shook them because that's not who they are. They never wanted and thought of playing in the rainbow before you. They will take extra time reminiscing about your tits and your natural curvy body. Most of y’all reading this have an hourglass body or pear body no matter slim or thick. Y’all going to have good sex after having an honest discussion regarding y’all desires and the way y’all want to deal with it. 

Her love language is physical touch. She might get extra affectionate with you because she loves the feel of your bust on her. Another hint, you may need to catch. Funny enough, she also has a habit of falling in love which is quicker than you. Idk the relationship may be chaotic not the toxic kind and the sex bomb. Maybe because it comes with forbidden feelings. Anyways the ball is in your court, you decide if you want to mess with that or keep going in your dry spell era. 

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PILE 3 

How are you doing queen ? It has been a whole month since I left and you are still bedrotting ? What happens with all your goals set in Jan 2025… huh ? No, don't go away, I'm not stepping on your neck (this time at least). I am not here for that TODAY. Today is all about love and good vibes and you deserve all that. Even when you think you don't …

Let's dive into it ! To begin with, your next partner is going to think you are porn star beautiful. Don't worry I was mad for you when I got that message. Me (yesterday) : WTF DO U MEAN PORNSTAR BEAUTY ! Are u sex addicts because I swear my babes deserve better than that … Until my spiritual team told me to calm my butt down. Your next partner is no sex addict and he dont think your makeup is cakey. What he tries to make me understand is you have every attribute to make any man fall on their knees yet you are too insecure. In his sexual dream regarding you, you are more confident. Your dominant planet may be Venus and you may have a stellium in Taurus because everything you do is so sexy and sensual. Some of y’all have a rising sign in Scorpio with all that I have mentioned, damm another day wishing I could see y’all gorgeous face. Your voice is sweet like honey but very sexually inviting. Like you can be reciting a grocery list and you would make these men have blue balls. He could be on facetime masturbating to you just doing your laundry. You have a natural pretty face, your mannerism is enchanting and your voice oulalala dont worry they will not. If in your future you are down for that, you don't have to ask them twice. Calling you is their bad habit. They love receiving voice memos from you. Also they think you are hiding some kind of sexual talent. Maybe you know how to ride it well or you give good head. They know you are uncomfortable when it comes to sex. Most of you, your ex took your spark away when it comes to being sexy (funny this is single since birth …). Or maybe somebody you thought you were in a relationship with the whole time he was cheating with you which took your confidence away and left you with nothing but guilt.They want to feel like a boss, they would probably daydream about taking charge in the bedroom. Not full blown dominatrix but telling them where you want them to put their hands. Where you want them to kiss. Holding their head down while their munching. Would love for you to express how good you make them feel and how it is only them making you feel that way. They LIVE for your validation and YOUR validation ONLY. For some it is someone from your past not the bad ex/situationship is actually somebody you have good moments with but you naturally drift away and you are going to reconnect again. Fucking them would be full of longing and euphoria. Is almost like fucking on the clouds, so dreamy and soft. They can sense a growth in you when they see again, that you may take for granted. When they left you were more of a people pleaser and when they are coming back you have an ease in displaying your boundaries which they are going to be so proud of you for changing. I keep hearing : babygirl & ‘’ I am so proud of you’’. Throughout all your relationship they are always going to celebrate your wins whether they are small or huge. 

This man is definitely a white one. There's a high chance he has blue eyes and blond hair. Also he walks around with a sex playlist … lol. 

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PILE 4

Hey my wild rides. I missed your chaos. Don't tell the other you are secretly my fav energy (y’all : I could have swear a couple post ago, you said gentle & delicate soul were your fav… me: No need to fight ladies, Shesca has enough love for all of you (no me entering my douchebag era)). Anyways what kind of mess did you create and left like it was not your fault while I was gone. Is ok, you right … How could it ever be your fault? 

That being said, let's go back to the business that pays me (shameless promo, go get a private reading !). Talking about shamelessness, you like big dicks. Don't try to hide the cards rat you out a long time ago. Since it is supposed to be for my single since birth, y’all may have a size kinks. Which shows me that your type may be tall muscles guys. You may have something for big biceps. You don't want them gym rat way but more nerds type way that still go to the gym and send you pictures after they are done. I know your pussy just did that crazy twirl, let's calm down lady. The next person you are going to deal with is going to be your dreams come true. They are going to want you to be hooked on them and to only have eyes for them. Honestly they may be quite stoic from the outside in even their sense of style is quite minimal ( just wanted to add that they smell extra good) but inside they are fucking golden retrivers. They would do anything for you to compliment them. They will put that work in the bedroom girl ! Just for you, the pillow princess to say it was good. Is like a reward for them. You guys will need to find a middle ground. That is what they think about because compared to them you are tiny. They can easily break, they are actually scared of hurting you. Or embarrassing you with a run at the emergency room because he decided to go to deep inside. He will have an Aries mars … shit. Big dig, size kink and Aries mars … don't worry I am already calling the police on your behalf. In their daydream regarding your naked body, they are not actually picturing you naked. They are pictureing y’all kissing, caressing each other's body and you asking for more and them telling you, he can't because he is scared of hurting you.  

That person is an amazing cuddler and loves cuddling. Do not joke around about cuddling time, it may be one of your couple's traditions. Maybe before bed is mandatory y’all cuddle. Y’all may also have a tradition of always showering together.  He is also very vocal in the bedroom, talks dirty, moans, grunts and may even beg …

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[iamthatonefangirl]

bucky w insecure reader where they get all insecure during sex and he praises the shittt out of them please and thank youu

also can i be 🕷️ anon please? ☺️

(i love ur fics btw)

insecure - nsfw bucky barnes

oh I love this bc I am a soft insecure sap. also this is longer than I anticipated.

~~~

he laid you down so gently, keeping an arm around your waist and a hand behind your head as though afraid he might break you. he held you close, your bodies pressed softly together.

he hovered above you, carefully watching your facial expressions, acting intentionally with every movement he made. he thought about every little thing: how much weight to put on you without crushing you, how tight to hold you without hurting you, and most of all, how badly he wanted to worship you like the goddess you were.

you smiled at him, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful as you brought your hands from his shoulders to the back of his head. you gently tugged at his hair, feeling how soft it was under your fingers, just like you'd always imagined it would be.

he slowly leaned in to kiss you once more, still holding a hand behind your head even while you were now laid against the pillow. perhaps it was just a protective instinct, his need to keep you within his grasp and not let you go.

you nodded, and he pressed his lips to yours once more. it was so different than anything else, the feeling of you below him, all splayed out and vulnerable for him.

he kissed you softly, slowly, the way he imagined he would once he got you into his bed. he planned to pull out all the stops, treat you with nothing but the utmost care and respect that he had for you. he wanted to take you apart one piece at a time and watch the look on your face as he did.

he took his time, sensing the tension in your body slowly ease, feeling every time you would pull him a little closer. he wanted you good and ready for him, eager for him.

you couldn't help the little noises bubbling up in your throat, letting them out with your mouths still pressed together. it made his heart beat faster, his hands hold you a little bit tighter.

he took it as a sign to keep going, moving his hand from around your back to rest at your side, slowly thumbing at the hem of your shirt.

you tensed and pulled back, avoiding eye contact, looking over to the lamp.

"can we turn that off?" you asked, indicating to the light on the nightstand.

he watched your face again, frowning at the thought of it. he was ecstatic to finally have you, have the chance to pleasure you, and he wanted to see every part of you while he did.

"why, baby?" he whispered, trying to understand.

you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. you didn't know what to say.

when you don't respond, he takes it upon himself to continue.

"can I see you? please?"

you shake your head immediately.

"you don't want to see me, Buck," you respond, chuckling anxiously, all while still avoiding eye contact.

he sees your hesitance, and his heart breaks. he opens his mouth, trying to find the words, but none come. it takes him a few beats before he continues,

"nothing will change the way I feel about you. how much I want you," he reassures, and you finally meet his eyeline once more. he looks into your eyes for a minute before requesting for the second time, "can I see you?"

you fight back your reluctance and nod your head.

if he hates what he sees, your heart will break. but at least you're prepared for it.

he takes his hand from under your head and brings it down to your side, both hands gripping the hem of your shirt. as he begins to pull it over your head, you bite your tongue and hold your breath.

but you refuse to close your eyes. you have to see his reaction, you have to be able to see the look on his face. you have to.

you take a hesitant breath once he tosses your shirt off the side of the bed, noticing the way he looks you up and down. you wait for his face to fall.

it doesn't.

"fuck," he growls, "let me touch you. please, baby, I might die if you say no," he admits, and he's never sounded so...

"please," he repeats, voice hoarse, looking up into your eyes. all you see in him is pure desperation and want.

"yes," you whisper, and his hands are on you, touching your skin, holding your waist. he brings his mouth to your chest, running his tongue over your collarbone, and he's fucking whimpering.

it's the hottest he's ever looked.

his fingers roam over the plush of your stomach, attempting to touch every part of you as his lips come to where your breasts are exposed above your bra. you gasp sharply when he nips at you, and your legs press together unconsciously.

"I didn't think I could want you any more than I already do," he tells you, barely pulling his face away from your skin. you feel his nose on your flesh, the movement of his lips against you as he continues, "you're so perfect. so perfect, doll. goddamn," he curses, and he feels his entire body jittering from his need for you.

"let me take off your bra, baby, please. I'll do anything, just let me see you," he asks, looking up at you, resting his cheek against you.

you look at his face, the puppy dog eyes he's flashing you, and you nod your head 'yes.'

he leans back to carefully draw the straps down your arms before bringing his mouth to your neck. he begins to suck a mark into your skin while his hands reach underneath you to undo the clasp.

you let out a cry when you feel his lips wrap around your nipple.

god, he feels like heaven.

he moves away to look at you, and your automatic instinct is to cross your arms over your chest.

"baby, no," he whines, putting his hands on your arms and gently moving them away so he can see you. "I think you know you're so pretty and that's why you're trying to hide from me," he teases you.

"no, Buck, I'm really not," you try, but he's not having it.

"you are the prettiest, you hear me? can't even believe you're letting me see you like this, touch you like this. it's a fucking honor," he says, bringing his mouth back to your skin, making you moan out into the quiet room.

you bite your lip and try to muffle your noises, but he goads you on. "come on, my pretty girl, you can do it. can you make those little noises for me, yeah? yeah. I know you can, cause you're such a good girl," he coos, planting his lips on you again.

his words make heat pool in your stomach, your thighs clenching tighter, punctuated by a broken whine from high in your throat.

this time, he feels the movement.

"you feeling like you need something, pretty girl?" he asks, now thumbing at the hem of your pants. "I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me what you want."

you pause. you want so badly to feel his fingers, his mouth, whatever he wants to give you. but you're still apprehensive.

"I want you to be comfortable with me. I want you to trust me," he tells you firmly, looking into your eyes. "if you don't want this, I want to know that, too."

"I do," you murmur, but the knot in your stomach hasn't gone away.

you wish it would. you wish you could be carefree, and sexy, the kind of girl he should be with. the kind of girl that's in his league.

your breathing starts to quicken as you start to get in your head again.

this is a bad idea. you need to put your clothes on and leave. this is a bad fucking idea.

"baby, what's wrong? talk to me," he encourages, bringing a hand to your cheek to direct your gaze back to him.

"Buck, I-"

"I want you more than anything. but if you don't want this, just tell me," he pleads.

"of course I want you," you tell him honestly, the knot moving to your throat, your eyes getting warmer. "but-"

"there is no ‘but’. you're what I want. what you want is what I want," he admits, "so let me give you what you want."

the knot tightens, but regardless, the words come out before you can stop them.

"I want you to think I'm pretty," you whisper.

he smiles at you and looks at you in awe. you are the most perfect, most gorgeous thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"I have never found anyone as beautiful as I find you. please, let me show you."

you see the sincerity in his eyes, hear the authenticity in his tone.

you crack a broken smile. you believe him.

"I want you so badly," you whisper.

he nods fervently and pulls you in, kissing you so softly you have no choice but to believe every word he’s saying to you.

you let him lay you back down, and this time, you don't hesitate when he moves to take off your pants.

"my girl. you gonna let me make you my girl? let me prove how badly I want you?" he asks, hands trailing up and down your thighs.

"yes, Buck," you respond, telling yourself to shake your nerves and let yourself have this with him.

"spread your legs for me," he whispers. you will your muscles to make the adjustment, and he doesn't give you the chance to get in your head about it. he moves quickly, pressing his tongue over the fabric of your underwear, already soaked through. you react loudly, your moans filling his ears, encouraging him.

he doesn't wait another second before yanking the damn things off. he wraps his hands around your thighs and closes them around his head, pressed up against his ears, and mouths at you with determination.

all your thoughts finally pause, the knot in your throat dissipating as you feel the urgency with which he nudges at your clit, dipping his tongue inside you to finally taste you.

he's imagined this moment forever. being able to put his mouth on you, to make you feel so blissful. that's all he wants to do for the rest of his life.

you feel so uninhibited when you thread your fingers in his hair and grind your hips up against him. you whine and whine because you just can't help it, and he knows he's harder than he's ever been, straining against his pants and rutting against the bed. he wants you to do as you please, to feel comfortable letting go and giving into your desires.

your whines get higher out of nowhere, and he doubles down on running his tongue over your clit, and fuck you're *so* done for.

you're coming before you can stop it, all over his face.

was that good for him? was I too fast?

when you look down at him, he doesn't look at you. his face is soaked, and he's leaning back, unwrapping your legs from around him.

he finally looks up at your face, his cheeks pinked up.

"that was..." terrible? horrible? "...absolutely amazing, I, uh..."

he leans back some more, bringing a hand to palm at himself, and you see it.

and you fucking celebrate.

he came in his pants, untouched.

"fuck, I'm sorry," he chuckles, embarrassed, crawling over you again. "you're just so goddamn sexy, you know that?"

every thought is out the window. you grab him and yank him down to kiss you, hurriedly grabbing at his clothes.

"that's so hot," you say between kisses, "take your fucking clothes off, please-"

he does as you ask pretty quickly, his clothes gone in an instant. the thought of you being so excited to see him naked gets him worked up again quickly.

"yeah? you like that?" he asks you. "you like knowing what you do to me?" he smiles.

you smile back at him. "oh yeah, I do."

"you're perfect. stunning. so good for me," he says, spreading your thighs for him once more. "already so hard for you, again."

"I'm ready, Buck, please," you tell him.

"when I take you for the first time, I want you to say my name. my real name," he says quietly.

"James," you all but purr, and his eyes roll back in his head.

"just like that, you sound so good, my girl," he murmurs. "you ready?"

you nod.

and then he's pressing inside you, and it's everything.

"you're so tight," he groans. "you feel so fucking good, baby. you're taking me so well."

his voice sounds so broken, like it's gone up an octave.

"you're my pretty girl, you know that?" he says, giving an experimental thrust, and you reach for his ass, trying to pull him in again. it makes him groan, and he does, pushing even deeper in this time.

"my good girl. you look so perfect under me. I want to be the only one who gets to see you like this."

you nod. of course he is.

"I trust you, James, fuck, I think I love you," you blurt out, shocking yourself.

he lets out a noise like no other.

"I love you, baby, fuck. I love you too," he tells you. "you're perfect, you know that? and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know how much I love every goddamn piece of you."

~~~

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[icupblog]

Where did the party go? Last part!!! part 1 part 2

Bruce didn't notice you weren't staying with them at first, it came to him slowly. The realisation that you, his child was elsewhere, away from your home, away from him. The hallways felt colder, the house emptier. Then when at a family dinner he realised, "where's name?" he was met with "why would I know?" "probably up in their room" "father can we focus on more important matters?" none of them were definitive. Where were you, you were only 17, right?

The heels you were wearing click against the cold marble floor of the office. Even though you were an intern and mostly went on coffee runs it still felt rewarding. "hey name, your back" shouts kitty the secretary "did you get mine" she says with a pout "maybeee, you'll have to say the magic word..." "PLEASE give me my coffee I'll love you forever and ever" "here ya go" she squeals as you place her extremely complicated order in front of her. "and in return" she hands you a file "wait seriously" "yup the boss wants you to look over" you give her your brightest smile before snatching the file out of her hands and running to your makeshift office.

When you finally return to your shared apartment you slump against the door before dramatically flopping onto the floor. "Gwen? did you get ice cream?" "It's in the freezer" your room mate shouts in reply. You sigh contently as you grab the bowl before sagging into the couch. "We're going to a party tomorrow" "who's we?" "me and my room mate name" "I've got wooork" "no you don't, day off tomorrow" "Oh so I'm just meant to follow you around on MY day off?" she thinks for a second "yeah, pretty much"

Dick loved his family, to him it was the thing that kept him anchored. He loved hanging out with Damian, annoying Jason and coddling Tim when he was in his obssessive state. He adored cass and steph as he always wanted sisters. You however, were distant? he can't really remember the last time you two had hung out. Were you avoiding him? Surely he hadn't done anything wrong, right? He barely remembers the last time you had shared a meal together let alone seen each other. He had to make it up to you! he searched his contacts for your number only to find he didn't have it? did you change your number or delete it off his phone or something? Why would you do that? do you really hate this family so much? he had to find you and get the answers he needed then after, you could come back home.

You sigh as you look in a floor length mirror, this dress was far too tight and blue. you preferred to stay away from the colours of your siblings. Too many bad memories, besides why would you want to represent some of the worst people in your life. "are you ready name?" Gwen shouts "yeah" you scurry over to the kitchen of your flat where you see your best friends doing- "pre-drinks!" Gwen shouts shoving a shot glass in your hands "c'mon loosen up!" william says from behind her. God they were monsters, they had far too much alcohol tolerance. They duo quickly shove you into the back of an uber before finally reaching a club they both agreed on.

The bright lights constantly flashed in your eyes. You were meant to be out there wasted, however whenever you were drunk you felt helpless, like you needed someone your family so you just took small sips of whatever the bartender gave you, keeping an eye on your friends. You shiver slightly in the chilly air before turning back around to the bar, hoping to get some more of whatever you were having.

Before you could realise anything was happening a leather jacket gets placed around your shoulders. "sorry saw you looking cold" a man says, you were about to shrug it off before you saw his face. You swear you remembered him from somewhere, you just can't put your finger on it. "so what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" "drinking" you say with a smirk, did you used to date him? work with him? were do you know him from? "well last I checked the Waynes normally drink something a lot more expensive than" he gestured towards your drink "this" "how the fuck do you know me?" "woah, I'm Tim's friend, his well- I don't mean to brag but his best friend." "yeah, well me and Tim aren't really running around in the same circles anymore, please leave" you say shoving his jacket into his chest. Honestly of all the people to see here it just had to be someone who knew your brother, or well not just your brother (can you even call him that?) but them. You speed walk over to where William is talking to his boyfriend rick. "Who's bar guy" "freak from my past" "oooh, spicy" you give William a look before turning your back on, Tim's best friend, ew, even thinking about him gave you the creeps. "well the freak is freakly good looking-" "so what" "he's giving you puppy dog eyes-" he's trying to distract me from the fact that I hate my family and anything to do with them" "He's your BROTHER?" "NO, keep your voice down! brother's best friend" "Well if you hate your brother then maybe getting with hotshot over there will make you feel better" "can you leave it?"

"maybee, just maybeee-" "What?" "you need to get laid" you look at him with disgust, "I don't need a man to make myself feel better thanks." "not what I was trying to say" he puts his hands on your shoulder so your staring directly at him "you deserve to be happy, the more you wallow about your past the more upset you'll become, talk to the cute guy. Have fun. loosen up, those are your orders soldier!"

"Remember" he says as he makes you face the raven haired man " let loose, have more than one drink please!" he then pushes you in the direction of the bar and vanishes into the crowd, dragging Rick with him.

You mutter under your breath as you walk back. Tim's best friend gives you an amused look as you settle into the seat he's standing next to "change your mind?" "I was forced to." "Might as well make it worth your while" he says holding out a drink to you. You stare at his face for a second memorizing the way he's looking at you, like your normal, like he's normal, like he's not using you. You could... maybe get used to him. "what was your name aga-" "Conner, can I call you mine?" you shoot him a deadpanned look. "no-"

Jason knew he had done bad things, especially to his family, to Tim to name, to Bruce and Steph and Alfred and-

but that's beside the point, the point is he is trying, to make up for lost time with Dick and Bruce and trying to seek forgiveness with name and Tim. Like for example the other day he had hung out with Tim, it was awkward at first but he managed. They actually had a really good time together. See, he's changed, he's a better man, and now him and his family are thriving. "where's name?" Bruce never fails to have the deepest voice imaginable. "probably up in their room" he answers. Even though you two had had bad times, like when he slightly kidnapped you. You had forgiven him, when you first saw him in the manor you were so scared, you actually looked hilarious, he tried not to laugh. He wasn't going to do anything to you, just wanted to apologise. And he did!

It took you a while to warm up to him, but eventually you were pining for his attention. Not that he really noticed at the moment. Now that he thinks about it, he can't really remember the last time you had annoyed him about something, like what books he liked or whatever small talk you could come up with. Wait where were you?

You could barely open your eyes, it felt like your eyelids weighed a million pounds, god you were so hungover. maybe you could see if Gwen was awake, surely she would be almost as bad as you, right? You should check o- "hey sleepyhead" you squeal quickly and lift yourself up as a presence makes itself known. "thought you would be asleep the whole day," you look beside you as Conner hands you a glass of water "rough night huh?" he jokes. You stare at him in shock, what the hell? "got you something to eat as well there's a nice pastry shop down the road, and I got Gwen to let me back in after I got us something" still in shellshock you grab the water slowly and take small sips. "um, can I ask you a question Conner?" "thought you were calling me Kon?" "sorry?" "nevermind, shoot"

"did we sleep together?" a silence takes hold of your room Conner stares at the ground for a second before looking at you again.

"yes"

You spit out the water in your mouth, "oh my gosh I'm so sorry I just didn- "Oh not like that, we slept in the same bed" you let out a sigh of relief, "we did make out like a lot though" You immediately look down in shame, this was Tim's friend not your's. You can't let yourself think that this guy should be close to you. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that" "Making outs a two way street, you know that right, especially for the type we did, I mea-" "Not just that, your Tim's friend, this was a breach of trust," "thought you didn't like him that much" "i don't but-" "so if you don't like him why do you care what he thinks?" you look up at him as he's sitting on your bed, so out of place in your quaint room.

"well firstly, I have morals" he snickers at you "didn't seem that way to me last night-" you slap him gently on the arm "stop making it seem worse than it was." you look at him for a moment, and in that moment you imagine the possibility of being with him. "my family are complicated people, they- they care about each other. and they don't really care about me as much," Kon looks at you sadly "don't say whatever sappy thing that's in your head. I-I've tried to connect with them, I've tried to be a part of that family but unless they try as well I can't. I know what I am to them and I've made my piece with it. I'm happy here, in Metropolis with my friends, I don't need them anymore but sometimes, I just with I had a family you know." he looks at you for a moment then smiles softly. "I'm sorry about how they treated you," "Nothing for you to be sorry about" you say as you grab his hand. He looks at you, like really looks at you with your 'just got out of bed look' and your soft smile as you cradle your hand in his. He leans in, hoping beyond hope that you'll realise how much he cares about what happened between you two. How he noticed you, even in the manor, through dark hallways you were his guiding light. How when Tim was busy he would peek into your room just to find you sitting there studying, or chatting with a friend, or doing something so mundane he couldn't believe you lived in the same household as the others. You were special and you could be his. If you just leaned in too.

A sudden knock hits the door to the apartment, knocking you and Kon out a daze. You stare at each other for a second before you hear it "I need to see her, sorry" "Who are you?" noisy footsteps reach your door as you stand up to answer whoever visits someone at 8 in the morning. You swing open the door to find- Dick?

"hi" he says sheepishly, as if you'll scream at him for being in your presence, maybe a year ago, maybe a couple of months ago, but now you stare at him silently. "Is something wrong?" "yes and no, you kinda have to have the full story, anywa-" "is someone hurt?" "no-god no, I just came to say hi" you smile, confused at the older brother you've looked up to your whole life stumble over his words " you just did that" "well, by hi I mean like catch up with you. We haven't hung out in forever" "we never hung out in the first place," he looks at you as if you just spoke gibberish "well we can fix that!" he says with a determined look on his face "get changed, we're going!" "now?" "now!" you're laughing now, maybe because your hungover maybe because of how absurd this situation is but nonetheless it gets Dick's attention "What's what" "bro, I'm hungover and got a whole man in my room, the only way we're hanging out is if you calm down to realise that I look like I've been dragged through a hedge, here" you grab a piece of paper and a pen from inside your room being careful not to let Dick look inside, with his newfound attitude you doubt he'll like the fact that Tim's friend is on your bed trying to signal whether or not he should jump out of the window.

You write down your phone number and hand it to him. "I'm free friday, around 2pm" call me if you have to reschedule. "the-there's a man in there?" "no, your hallucinating this is all a dream, go home," You and Gwen succeeded in pushing Dick's catatonic state towards the door. "See you" you say before softly closing the door on his face.

You and Gwen share a look before Kon slowly exits your room. "Is he going to kill me?" "he'll have to go through me first" you say in mock seriousness you turn round to face him, "you got us breakfast?"

Yay it's finally done! Sorry it took so long, I had an english exam, then I overdosed in the hospital. But I'm okay now!!!!!

I'm leaning towards making the reader try and reconcile with the family, as someone who has had mental health problems I just wanna see my pookie happy </3. This might be the last chapter for now, just because I want to look into writing about other things, Still DC though don't worry. I might come back to this series but right now I'm happy with it.

[popcornpoppypop]

Broken Smile

Summary: You are one of PTMC's best ER residents, but it's your day off. You head to Pittfest. Robby and Abbot have to pick up the pieces. Reader x platonic!Abbot and Robby

Warnings: Blood, Death, injury, vomit, trauma, Gore

A/N: This was a request from an anon, I hope this is what you were looking for. Please let me know if I missed any warnings.

“How in the hell did you manage to get a half-shift?” Samira asked you in disbelief.

“I know how to flatter the right people. It’s a gift.” You smiled, nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders.

“You better get me something or I’ll never forgive you for leaving me.” Samira scoffed as she typed at her computer.

“I’ll think about it.” You chuckled as you started to gather your things.

“Y/N will you do me a favor?” Robby waltzed up to the desk. “Just keep an eye out for Jake while you're there.” He asked, his shoulders tense.

“Yeah, of course. We were meeting up for one of the bands anyway.” You nodded, slinging your backpack on your shoulder. “I’m out of here, don’t call me if you need me.” You smiled and pranced out the door.

Pittfest was in full swing when you arrived. Everyone of age was mostly drunk or high as you made your way through the crowd. You had stopped at home to change, a pair of jean shorts and a black tank top. The sun was already blistering your skin, but it felt nice even if you knew it would hurt tomorrow. It was a rare good day, you thought to yourself.

“Jake!” You ran up to the teen, his arm hung around his girlfriend.

“Y/N! Hey! Leah, this is one of Robby’s coworkers. She’s one of the cool ones.” He laughed.

“I think you mean the coolest.” You corrected.

“Nice to meet you! Jake, we should call him and thank him.” Leah suggested. She seemed sweet, it was probably because you were there. She looked like she could cause mischief, you liked her.

Jake pulled out his phone, facetiming Robby. The music was blasting, you knew there was no way that old man heard a thing they were saying.

“Y/N made it too!” Jake moved the phone to put you in shot.

“Don’t worry boss, I’m making sure they keep room for Jesus!” you winked at Jake who started to blush.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite resident.” Robby chuckled.

The day went on easy. You had a beer, enjoyed the music, ate terrible fried food and watched Jake fall completely in love. It was sweet. They looked good together, you thought. You were glad he had a nice girl for his first love. Even if the odds of it lasting past college were slim to none.

You were at one of the food trucks fueling up on beer and fries for the rest of the evening when there were a few pops. They sounded like fireworks from where you were, until they were accompanied by screams.  A chill ran up your spine, palms sweating as you moved to investigate. More shots. Someone screamed that there was a shooter.

“Oh shit.” You felt yourself start to shake. Your first thought was get to Jake.

You ran through the crowd, trying to see where he was. You tried calling, he wasn’t answering. You stopped to help up a few people who had fallen, when you saw the blood-soaked grass. Something in your brain clicked, your training taking over. Fear mostly forgotten, something you knew was part of your brain trying to get you to survive.

You took off toward the first aid tent. You needed supplies, they wouldn’t have enough, but it was a place to start.

“I’m Dr. L/N, I need gloves and anything you can spare!” You shouted as you ran behind the table, gathering everything you could into a spare bag. You ran back out into the crowd, shots echoed overhead.

You worked to stabilize everyone you encountered, instructing other concertgoers to take them to safety as you ran from person to person.

“Hey! Here, I brought out all the food trucks first aid kits! Not much but it’s something!” You recognized one of the cooks as he came running up to you.

“Thank you so much, now get the hell out of here.” You barked.

“Oh hell yeah.” He smiled. He smiled at you. Then he wasn’t. His smile, replaced by a gaping wound. You felt warmth dripping down your face. You were confused for a moment. Something on your forehead stung. You raised your hand to the spot, pulling away to see blood. A bullet fragment grazed your forehead you thought. A fragment from the one that went through that kind man’s smile. The realization crashed down on you as you watched him crumple to the ground, lifeless. The air was knocked from your lungs, you couldn’t move. You wanted to run, vomit, scream, but none of it happened. You just stood there. Frozen.

“Help! Please!” The screams echoed, bouncing around your skull. You had to move. You had to help. You finally felt you could move your legs and ran to help the next person, wiping the blood and brain matter from your face.  Another shot echoed and you felt something burning your thigh, you fell to the ground.

A bullet was lodged in your left thigh. You felt the panic fill your throat. You tried to push it down, you had to asses and treat. The bullet hadn’t hit the femoral, it wasn’t in too deep. You’d be in pain but you’d survive. You gathered yourself to your feet and limped your way to the next patient.

This went on for hours. Scrambling to get to each patient, never having enough time to help everyone. People were screaming for you, grabbing at your body to get you to help them or someone they loved. You couldn’t move fast enough. You weren’t fast enough.

“Y/N!” You heard Jake’s voice, something in your chest broke. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks but ignored them.

“You got shot!” You yelled looking over his leg.

“I’m fine! Leah, you gotta help Leah!” He cried. You looked at the girl, her face pale and the wound on her chest oozing blood from between Jake’s fingers where he was holding pressure.

“Okay, okay. I’ll try.” You said, your voice shaking. You took his hands away. She wasn’t going to make it. You knew she wouldn’t, but did your best to get her stable enough to make it to a truck.

“You need help getting out of here!?” A small group of men ran up to you.

“Get these two to PTMC as soon as you can, do not stop for anything!” You yelled as they gathered Leah up into their arms.

“Jake, keep pressure on her wound! Don’t stop!” You yelled as they took him away.

You ran around the fairgrounds, blood soaking through your jeans, the bullet was grinding into you thigh more and more. You sat down and dug through your bag of supplies, finding a pair of forceps. You had no medications, no lidocaine cream, just hand sanitizer to clean them. You took a deep breath and dug them into your thigh. White hot pain surged through your body, you screamed out as you dug the bullet from your thigh. Your hands were shaking as you lifted it to your eye level. It looked intact, no fragments. You put it in your pocket and did your best to wrap your leg.

You were out of gloves. Your hands were stained red. You kept going. You didn’t know how you kept going, but you did. The ground was soft and wet, each step forcing blood to puddle up from the grass. You pronounced too many people dead. You worked on teenagers and elderly, holding hands with them as they took their last breath. You tried to do cpr for every one of them. Even the ones you knew were a lost cause.

“Dr. L/N?” You heard a voice that was vaguely familiar from behind you. You were stood in the middle of the fairground, bodies surrounding you.

“Doc, they’re gone. There isn’t anyone else to save.” The voice said. You turned and saw one of the medics that frequented PTMC.

“Huh?” You mumbled.

“Doc, let’s get you checked out.”  They walked up to you slowly, as if you were a stray dog.

“I tried…” You mumbled.

“You’re okay. Let’s get you out of here.” They said, wrapping an arm around you. You didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. You didn’t remember the medics trying to clean your wounds only for you to flinch and push them away. You didn’t remember them asking if you wanted help out of the truck. You saw the ambulance bay doors and walked in like you did everyday.

The chaos was dying down; the ER was in the process of cleaning up from the mass casualties. There were still signs of what happened: gloves thrown on the floor, blood smeared across the tiles. You wandered in, your feet dragging as you looked around confused.

“Oh my god!” You heard Dana’s voice as she took in the sight of you. You looked like you’d walked through hell. Your clothes were covered in blood and dirt, your once white shoes now a dark burgundy. Even your hair was sticky with blood.

“Y/N!?” Dr. Abbot came running over to you, putting his hands on your face, examining your forehead.

“Get a gurney, now!” Robby barked. You stood still. Your whole body was shaking as the adrenaline started to leave.

“I tried to help…” Your voice was small. You looked around and saw the ER had come to a standstill at the sight of you. Everyone looking at you in horrified sympathy.

“You did, kid. You helped a hell of a lot of people.” Dr. Abbot said as he guided you onto the gurney. They wheeled you into a trauma bay, which you thought was too much.

“Where’s all the blood coming from?” You heard one of the nurses ask.

“It’s not mine. It’s not…they kept grabbing me to help.” You said, the tears starting to fall.

“Bullet graze to the forehead, looks like a bullet wound to the left anterior thigh.” Abbot rattled off.

“I took it out.” You mumbled.

“What?” Robby and Abbot looked up, shocked. You pulled the bullet from your pocket.

“I couldn’t keep going with it in, I took it out.” You said, dropping the bullet onto the tray next to you.

“Jesus Christ.” Robby gasped.

“Okay, let’s get her in line for head CT. Get her a fluid bolus to help with shock and get me a closure kit.” Abbot ordered.

“Is Jake okay?” You mumbled, grabbing onto Robby.

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll be okay.” You saw something break in him. “Said you helped him. Said you helped everyone.” He held your hand.

“Did Leah make it?” Your breath hitching in your chest, knowing the answer.

“We’re giving you some morphine for the pain, Kid. You might fall asleep, let yourself.” Abbot interrupted, shooting Robby a look.

“I should have gone with her. It would have been better, she would have made it.” The sobs took over your body.

“No, it wouldn’t have. You did everything you could for her. We did everything we could. There was no more anyone could have done.” Abbot’s voice was firm but gentle.

“I wasn’t fast enough! I couldn’t move fast enough! I should have saved them! I couldn’t Save them!” Your voice cracking, breaking everyone in the rooms heart. Robby turned away to hide the tears. Abbot clenched his fists and shook his head.

“Let’s get propofol on board. Kid, I’m going to sedate you for this. You need it.” Abbot said, clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t good enough! I failed! I failed them, I failed all of them!” You were in hysterics. Abbot held you down by the shoulders as Princess came in and administered the propofol with red, glassy eyes.

“Don’t fight it, Kid! Don’t fight it.” Abbot pleaded. Robby’s hand never left yours. You sobbed yourself into sedation. Finally, able to rest.

“What are we going to do with her?” Robby sighed.

“We take care of her. We make sure she’s safe from herself.” Abbot said as he worked to close the wound.

“She’ll need to be put on leave. There’s no way she can treat patients after this.” Robby shook his head.

“We’ll figure it out. I’m not letting this break her. She’s too good for that, she deserves better.” Abbot clenched his jaw.

Your head was pounding as you started to regain consciousness. The lights were too bright, sending shock waves through your skull as you tried to open your eyes. Your leg was throbbing in time with your heartbeat, it was irritating. All of your muscles were sore; you felt like you’d been steamrolled. Then the memories came flooding back. The blood, the mud, the screams.

“Easy, you’re okay.” You heard Robby’s voice. “You’re safe, you’re in the hospital.” He said, a hand on your shoulder.

“too bright.” You mumbled. Robby got up and turned the lights down.

“You have a concussion, but nothing serious.” He said sitting next to you.

“What time is it?” You robbed at your eyes.

“It’s a little after midnight.” Robby looked at his watch.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You said, your throat dry and spit thick in your mouth.

“We’re taking shifts. Abbot will be here in a bit, I’ll go sleep. You don’t need to worry about it.” He told her, leaning on the guard rails.

“When can I go home?”

“In a few hours. With a follow-up appointment with psych tomorrow.” He told her.

“I don’t want-”

“Not negotiable. You’re getting evaluated, it’s protocol after what you’ve been through. You’re also on medical leave for the next three weeks.” He said, knowing you were going to fight him.

“That’s a bit excessive. I can still do desk work with my leg.” You argued, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You need to heal more than that leg. We all do. But you saw things, did things, none of us had to. It’s going to stick to you for a while. We need to make sure that you’re okay before bringing you back in.” He offered you a tissue. You pushed it away.

“Sitting at home, with my thoughts isn’t going to heal anything.” You snapped.

“Neither is putting your head down and pushing yourself beyond your limits.”

“I just want to go home.” You said, bottom lip trembling.

“I know.” Robby sighed, squeezing shut his eyes in frustration. “You’re going to stay with Abbot for a week.” He knew you’d hate the idea.

“What? No! I can go home!” You shouted, tears streaming down your face. The door opened and in walked Abbot.

“You told her then.” He said as he sat across from you.

“I don’t need a babysitter! I’m fine!” you yelled.

“You aren’t. You aren’t fine. It’s okay to be not okay. But we aren’t letting you fall through the cracks. You will let us take care of you, it’s not a choice. You saw things, Kid, that you won’t be able to forget. The human brain is not equipped for the things you had to do today. It’s going to take time to figure out how to deal with all of this. If anyone here is qualified to tell you that it’s me.” Abbot said, putting a hand on your arm.

“I don’t want to be this…pathetic thing, everyone is going to look at me different.” You tried to stop the crying but failed.

“You aren’t pathetic. No one thinks that. If anything, everyone here looks at you and sees the strength that they don’t have.” Robby said.

“Kid, you’ll get through this. It’ll be a bitch, but you will. We aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’m not that bad to live with.” Abbot shrugged.

“It’s asking too much.” You shook your head.

“Well, we weren’t asking so no, it’s not.” Abbot smirked.

“You deserve a chance to get better. That’s all we’re doing, giving you that chance.” Robby said.

You wanted to fight it. Something in you not able to accept such kindness after what you had just witnessed. But you didn’t. You kept quiet as they told you their plans and nodded along when they asked if you understood. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be okay, but at least you knew they’d be looking out for you. They’d catch you if you fell.   

[piastriprincess]

caught  up  in  circles ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  time  loop  ,  f1  med  staff!reader  ,  strangers  to  lovers  ,  slow  burn  . tw  one  crash  ,  z*k  br*wn  and  chr*stian  h*rner  mentions  lol word  count  9.9k author’s  note  this  one  is  for  my  piastri  princesses  !  aka  it’s  all  about  oscar  and  entirely  self - indulgent  but  i  hope  you  all  like  it  too  !  inspired  by  palm  springs  -  one  of  my  favorite  movies  which  for  some  reason  made  me  think  of  osc  the  last  time  i  was  watching  it  <3  this  is  lowkey  long  as  hell  but  in  my  opinion  it’s  worth  it  .  as  always  let  me  know  what  you  think  ,  and  my  inbox  is  open  for  requests  !  i’m  hoping  to  have  an  event  up  in  the  next  couple  of  days  too  .  love  you  all  MWAH  !  title  is  from  time  after  time  by  cyndi  lauper  .

Oscar always wakes up before his alarm goes off.

He doesn’t bother checking the date anymore. Sunday, May 25, 2025 — the 82nd annual Monaco Grand Prix. It’s sunny outside, a cloudless blue sky stretching endlessly over the glittering harbor. It seems like the perfect day for racing, though it will grow overcast around the 32nd lap and rain will cover the Fairmont Hairpin by lap 41. Lance Stroll always hits the turn going too fast on his inters and skids into the barriers. Oscar knows everything about the day, down to his bones. After all, today will be the 57th time he’s lived it. 

By now, his morning routine doesn’t run on instinct so much as muscle memory. He brushes his teeth, calls his mum and tells her he loves her, listens to her tell him you’ve got this, Osc (which is entirely ironic to him now, because he affirmatively does not “got this.” In fact, he thinks this might be the first time he’s ever done anything 56 times without improving at it even an ounce). He shaves, not because he needs to, but because he knows his stubble will start itching by the time he gets to the media pen. He puts on the team kit that’s always neatly folded on his chair when he wakes, even when he leaves it crumpled on his bedroom floor the night before. At least reliving the same day over and over means he never has to do his laundry.

Here’s what he knows so far (a list, meticulously kept in one of his McLaren notebooks). He’s tentatively titled it Oscar Piastri’s Guide to the Time Loop. 

Number one: the loop resets every day when he falls asleep. 

It doesn’t matter if he makes it past midnight; doesn’t matter if he drinks an absurd and frankly dangerous amount of Red Bulls and drives from Monaco to Woking in one caffeine-crazed night; doesn’t matter if he flies home to Australia after the race, pinching himself to stay awake for the entire twenty-hour flight. The second his eyes close, he wakes up back in Monte Carlo, the sunlight streaming through his curtains. 

Number two: he can alter the day. 

There are some things that are always the same, of course. The team polo on his chair. The rain on the hairpin. The offhand crack Lando makes about him having no social life — a joke that was funny the first time, but gets increasingly cruel every time it repeats. But things can change, too. He can walk a different way through the paddock. He can have different conversations, though nobody remembers them when the day resets. He can drive the race differently, drive it better. Although, even in 55 races (his gearbox crapped out before the start of the race on Day 16), he hasn’t won yet. 

Number three: he can’t die. 

Can’t even get injured, really. He’d gotten a couple bruises and scrapes that seemed to heal overnight, but he’d actually confirmed the theory just a couple loops ago. He made a desperate push to pass Charles on the Nouvelle Chicane, and the back end of the car just… slid out from underneath him. There was a moment, brief and terrifying and calm all at once, that he thought that might be it. The only way out. Then he slammed into the barrier, and the carbon fiber crumpled like paper around him. It’s all bits and pieces, what he can remember after that — fire licking up the back wing, the frantic radio messages in his ears, the flashing lights of the safety car, the med staff swarming the track. Someone he’d never seen before pulling him out of the car, speaking to him in a slightly panicked voice. Blinking up at their face through the haze of pain before he lost consciousness. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his bed on Sunday morning, not a scratch on him. 

The analytical conclusion Oscar has come to, after 56 days of testing, note-taking, and driving in circles both literal and existential, is that he’s trapped. Inexplicably, inescapably trapped in a day that never really changes, and he can’t for the life of him figure his way out. 

When he gets to the paddock on Day 57, everything is the same. He takes pictures with a few fans as he walks in, jogs slightly to catch up with Lando up ahead, who throws an arm around him like it’s second nature and claps him on the back. They qualified P2-P3, a solid result for the team. (In the first grand prix, on what Oscar’s now calling Day 1, Lando surprised him, pipping him to second place after an absolutely vicious overtake at the first corner. Oscar hasn’t let him pull that move again for 56 days.)

Today, he just chats idly to Lando as they walk about the upcoming race, about team strategy, about the stupid TikTok that marketing is forcing them to do later in the day. Then they round the corner towards the team hub, and Oscar nearly trips over thin air, because someone is standing there. 

No one is supposed to be standing there. Oscar’s learned to control variables, gotten used to experimenting and predicting what’s coming next, because nothing ever changes until he changes it. And never, not once in the fifty-six Sundays that came before this one, has a stranger been standing in front of his driver’s room, spinning their lanyard around their fingers with their eyes fixed on him like they’ve been waiting for him. 

“Hey, Piastri,” the stranger says, voice tight but polite in the way that his own gets when he’s trying not to freak out in public. He walks closer, and panic slices cleanly through him. Because you’re not a stranger. He knows your voice, your face. You’re the person who pulled him out of the car after the crash. The last thing he saw before the loop reset. 

“Can I ask you a weird question?” you continue, voice pitching higher, teetering on the razor’s edge of fear.

He thinks he might forget how to breathe. “Shoot.”

“You crashed two days ago,” you say, and his pulse spikes under his skin. “Pretty spectacularly, actually. I pulled you out of the car, but you were already going under. I was—I was sure you were dead.” You pause, running a hand through your hair. “Cried about it twice. It was, like, the worst day at work ever. And now…” You trail off, like you’re afraid to say it, like you think Oscar is going to laugh and call you ridiculous. “I think I’m going insane, or else I’m having the worst recorded case of deja vu in human history, because this is the third day in a row I’ve woken up on Monaco race day, and no one remembers anything that happened the day before.”

“That’s not a question,” Oscar says, dumbly, heart hammering beneath his ribs.

You look up at him, eyes wide like he holds the keys to the universe. “Yeah. My question is: what the hell did you do to me? And how do I make it stop?”

For once, Oscar’s got no answer. Just a cold, creeping realization settling into his chest. 

Number four: He can pull people into the loop?

DAY 58

Oscar’s rational. He’s reasonable. He doesn’t believe in magical thinking: he believes in statistics, logic, in systems that can be measured and tested and solved. Oscar works hard for what he achieves. He doesn’t ever let himself hope, doesn’t think there’s a need for it when you have skill and diligence on your side. 

But when he wakes up the next morning before his alarm, staring up at the ceiling like he has every day for the past 58 days, he really hopes you’ll be at the paddock. 

Which, statistically speaking, is not likely. The rest of your conversation yesterday had… not gone well, to say the least. He’d tried to ease you into it quietly, carefully, like a doctor delivering bad news to a patient. He’d pulled the small McLaren notebook from his back pocket, frayed at the corners now, dog-eared from overuse. He’d held it out to you, as if it might bridge the gap. “Here. I started this on Day 3. It explains everything.”

You hadn’t taken it. You’d just stared at him like he’d sprouted three heads. 

“It’s not just you,” Oscar had said, as gently as he could. “It’s the same Sunday for me, too. This is the 57th time I’ve lived it.”

You’d let out a laugh, shaky and high-pitched. “That’s—that’s not possible. You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I’m very much not,” he’d said dryly. “The first time I ever saw you was Day 55, after the crash. And this morning, you’re here. That’s never happened before.”

You’d blinked, color draining from your cheeks, fingers tightening around your badge like you were about to bolt. “So you think it’s my fault?”

“No,” he’d assured you, instantly. “No. I don’t know why it’s happening. We’re just both… stuck. That’s all.”

“You sound like you’ve made peace with that,” you’d said, crossing your arms over your fireproof scrubs, and something in Oscar’s chest had ached at the way your voice trembled around the words. 

“Not made peace with it,” he’d shrugged, pasting on a smile that didn’t quite fit on his face. “Just ran out of ideas.” Just haven’t won yet. Haven’t proven myself yet. 

“This can’t be happening,” you’d muttered, knuckles going white where you clutched at your medical badge. “This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. Or we’re both concussed, or something.”

“I get it. I freaked out at first too,” Oscar had replied. 

“No, you don’t get it!” you’d snapped, eyes all wildfire. “We’re trapped in time, and you’re acting like it’s another day at the office?”

He’d had to bite back his smile. “Well, it sort of is another day at the office. For both of us.”

“I’m going to fix this,” you’d said, ignoring him. “I’m going to get myself out of this.”

“I’ve tried everything. Tested everything,” Oscar had started to explain, but his voice died in his throat when you looked at him. Really looked — bottom lip stuck out slightly, color high in your cheeks, gaze shaky but defiant. The sight of you made his brain go still. 

“No way can you test your way out of this. You might have started this, but I’m going to finish it,” you’d said, and stormed off without waiting for another word. 

So. The chances don’t seem great that he’ll see you today. But when he gets to the paddock, he still walks past the medical centre to see if he can catch a glimpse of you, scans every face, just in case — the team members, the med staff, the engineers, every person in the paddock holding a camera or a clipboard or a latte. He even searches the grandstands, is almost late for the driver’s parade. He’s halfway through making up some stupid excuse to Lando before he realizes it doesn’t matter, he won’t remember it anyway. 

You’re not here. 

It’s to be expected, really. Oscar tried to break out of the loop by force when he first figured it out, too — stayed up for a full 24 hours after the race, drove as far as he could out of Monaco, wrote down every little detail he could remember about Day 1 and tweaked it as much as he possibly could over the next few days. None of it works, but you don’t know that yet. He gets it. It’s fine. 

Except there’s something about your absence that makes his chest ache. 

The lack of you unsettles him in a way he’s not used to. It’s an odd reaction, Oscar can admit to himself. He doesn’t actually know you. But he’d gotten used to being the only one stuck, found a way to exist in the repetition. Until yesterday, for the first time in nearly two months, when the world suddenly cracked open just enough to let someone else in, to remind Oscar what it was like to be seen. And now, just as suddenly, you’re gone again, and the loneliness feels so much worse than it did before. 

He races like shit, somehow gets passed by drivers who have no business overtaking him on a circuit that makes it nearly impossible to drop places. Not that any of it matters. 

Not without the only other person who might remember it.

DAY 60

“Osc, where are you going?” Lando asks when he turns right toward the team hub and Oscar starts walking to the left. They’re leaving the morning strategy briefing, which has quickly become Oscar’s least favorite unskippable part of the day (and he’s tried — the team always tracks him down, explaining that it’s crucial he attends. He doesn’t know how to tell them strategy is somewhat pointless when you’ve done the actual race every single day for two months.)

“Med centre,” he answers without thinking. It’s become part of his routine over the past few days. Brush teeth, call mum, shave, drive to the paddock, look for you. But of course, no one else knows that.

“Med centre? Oscar? Are you okay?” Zak’s voice rises about an octave, behind them, and Oscar has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

“He’s fine, he’s just aura farming,” Lando giggles, and Oscar’s mouth twists into a grin instead. In a day that loops over and over again, he has to find moments that aren’t completely monotonous. He’s taken to setting up jokes for Lando, letting him hit the punchline. Oscar always laughs, even though he knows exactly what his teammate is going to say half the time. Seeing the pleased smile on Lando’s face is good enough for him to keep doing it. 

“Thinks if he walks around the paddock locked in, it’ll add to the whole vibe,” Lando continues, egged on by the grin on Oscar’s face. “Mate, you know the only reason people think you’re mysterious is because you never actually go anywhere.”

The smile fades. Well. It’s nice to know that even when Oscar’s acting weirder than normal, the joke about how he’s the most boring guy in Monaco sticks around. 

“Whatever, man. See you later, yeah?” Oscar mutters, hopefully sounding good-natured enough as he goes. He’s got more important shit to do anyway — namely, tracking you down.

He walks by the med centre exactly six times, nearly trips over himself when he sees someone swinging their paddock pass around their fingers. But it’s still not you. He’s starting to worry you’re not coming back. Or maybe, he thinks as he walks dejectedly back across the paddock, you figured out how to get out. And now he’s stuck and alone. By the time he opens the door to his driver’s room, shutting it behind him and leaving himself in the darkness, the surroundings are the perfect fit for his blackened mood. 

“So, that didn’t work,” you say from somewhere inside, and Oscar nearly jumps out of his own skin. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, flipping the lights on to see you sitting cross-legged on the small bed he uses for mid-practice naps, eating Tim Tams. The absolute audacity you have to invade his space, sit on his bed, eat his snacks — he should be annoyed. But for some reason, the sight of you makes just relief spread through his body. “You came back,” he says breathlessly, immediately regretting how stupidly eager the words sound coming out of his mouth.

“I’m back,” you confirm, grinning up at him unfazed as you pop another biscuit in your mouth. “And I think I owe you an apology for how I spoke to you last time. I may have overreacted a little.”

“S’alright,” he says affably. “I did the same thing at the beginning.”

“You drove a moped off the cliff at Pointe-Saint-Martin to see if you could hit the water hard enough to shake yourself out of the loop?” you ask.

Oscar just stares. “You did that?”

“Kind of a mix of Groundhog Day and Palm Springs,” you shrug. “Thought if it worked for them, it might work for me, but I just ended up half-flooding a boat and seriously pissing off a fisherman.”

“Probably needed to drive faster then,” he replies. You roll your eyes in response, but you’re smiling. He can’t quite tell how to read you. It leaves him feeling off-kilter, like when the car snaps around a corner in a way he’s not expecting.

“Clearly taking lessons from time-travel movies didn’t work. But you’re still stuck here too, and I don’t think either of us can do this alone. Time to compare notes, Piastri.” You waggle your fingers in the space between you. “Hand over the book.”

He pulls the notebook out of his pocket automatically, passes it to you. Watches quietly from the doorway as your eyes scan over the pages. He doesn’t mean to stare, he really doesn’t. But your hair keeps falling in your face, and you keep tucking it behind your ear impatiently, and something about the sight makes Oscar’s heart stutter in his chest a little bit.

You look up suddenly, and Oscar goes pink to the tips of his ears, shaking his head slightly as if to clear the thought from his brain. “You weren’t kidding,” you say. “This is extensive. Borderline obsessive.”

“Borderline?” he deadpans, and you laugh. It’s a light sound, almost musical. Oscar can’t remember the last time he made someone laugh without planning for it in advance.

“Okay, completely obsessive,” you agree cheerfully. “But also kind of impressive.” He doesn’t quite know what to say to that; he settles for sitting carefully next to you on the bed as you flip through a few more pages. “You really think winning is the way out?”

Oscar shrugs. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. The only goal I haven’t managed yet. Once I get it perfect, it’ll have to end.”

You grin. “That’s such a driver answer.”

“I do happen to be a driver,” he replies dryly, and you bump your shoulder against his. 

“Yeah, but not everything’s about the checkered flag, Piastri,” you say, handing the notebook back to him. He clutches it in his lap, hands curling around it like a lifeline. “What if it’s about… changing? Growing? Something that matters more than racing, at least.”

Nothing matters more than racing, Oscar wants to say. But you’re looking at him like you’re trying to figure him out, running over what you know of him in your mind like he’s a puzzle you’re desperate to solve, and he wants to say something that will make you realize you’ve been looking at the pieces all wrong. To unbalance you the way you do to him. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” you say, leaning forward, elbows on your knees, and Oscar realizes he’s been silent far too long. “You keep trying to win the race, and I’ll help however I can. But only if you agree to try things my way too. Half careful, half chaos. Deal?”

Oscar hesitates, and you raise your eyebrows like you’re daring him to say no. “Okay,” he says, pretending it’s a reluctant confession. “Deal.”

You grin, and Oscar has the distinct feeling he’s lost ground that he didn’t know was up for grabs until you extend your hand out to meet his. “Shake on it.” 

When he takes your hand, your fingers are warm against his, and something shifts in the air. Nothing big. Probably no one else would feel it.

If Oscar believed in things like that, he’d almost say the loop was taking notice. 

DAY 63

Oscar walks away as quickly as he can. Behind him, Lewis Hamilton is yelling, because someone has dyed Roscoe a shocking papaya orange. Non-toxic, pet-safe, temporary fur dye, of course — the bulldog will be completely back to normal in a few days, no worse for the wear. 

Not that Oscar has anything to do with it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he picks up his pace, and he pulls it out to see a notification from you: well done agent 081. come to the pit wall to receive your reward :)

The two of you text, now. You’d scrawled your number on a fresh page of his notebook in a glitter gel pen before you left his driver’s room the other day. The messy cursive, the careless heart drawn next to it, stood out against Oscar’s cramped, boyish handwriting. “So we can talk strategy,” you’d said, easy as pie. “Scientific purposes only, of course.”

He’d traced his fingers over the numbers later, at home after the race (P4, nothing to write home about. His lines were perfect, but his front right tyre got stuck on the car during his pit stop, and it all unraveled from there). Spent a little bit too long trying to think of something to say, ended up just sending Hi, this is Oscar Piastri. 

You’d responded immediately: i figured lol. u dont need to be so formal oscar!!! 

Then another, before he could overthink again: meet me tomorrow at medtent before the race. time for chaosssss >:)

When you said chaos, you meant it. That first day, you’d convinced him to hang signs reading CAUTION: VENOMOUS SNAKES all over the Red Bull garage. (“It’s a metaphor, Oscar,” you’d insisted. He had to admit, seeing Christian Horner scream into his phone until he turned purple was kind of worth it.) The next day, it was reprogramming the Alpine coffee machine so it only dispensed hot water. Oscar had told you it was stupid, but watching Pierre get increasingly frustrated, his accent getting thicker and thicker as he tried to explain the problem to any mechanic who would listen, he’d laughed so hard he’d doubled over, tears pricking mercilessly at his eyes. 

You’d leaned against him, wheezing like you couldn’t catch your breath from how hard you were giggling, and that was the moment, Oscar thinks. The moment he knew you were friends.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s made a friend. 

When he gets to the McLaren pit wall, you’re sitting on the base of it, head tipped back, soaking in the Monaco sun. You place a hand on your brow, squinting slightly like you’re trying to make him out, and then you wave him over.

“So. Now that we’ve done my idea, what’s your plan today?” you say, pulling two sandwiches wrapped in Ferrari-red napkins out of your bag and tossing the larger one to him. You’ve started sneaking into the different hospitality suites before lunch, figuring out which garage has the best to offer and forcing Oscar to rank them with you. “It’s caprese, by the way,” you add as he catches it. “Scuderia knows what’s up.”

“It’s gonna be a clean start. Pit stop at lap 39 to switch to wets. Overtake Leclerc late,” he repeats automatically as he unwraps the sandwich, taking a bite. It’s good — fresh mozzarella, a perfectly ripe slice of tomato. Miles better than the chicken salad bites McLaren insists on. 

You hum around a mouthful of your own. “You tried that already,” you point out as you swallow. “Like, four times now.”

“Five,” he corrects, and you shake your head fondly. Something about the gesture makes his breath catch in his chest. “But, uh, I’ll tweak the timing a bit. Try an overtake in the tunnel, or something.”

“You know it’s okay if you don’t figure it out right away, right?” you say, taking a sip from your water bottle.

Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem. We have all the time in the world.”

You scoot closer to him, knee settling against his. “Well then… play the long game. Maybe don’t drive yourself crazy over the race before you even start, okay?” Oscar huffs a laugh under his breath. But he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t pull away from you, either. 

“Well, well, what’s this?” someone drawls very poshly from above. Oscar looks up, and there’s George Russell towering over them both. He’s wearing that stupid Mercedes cooling jacket, a deeply self-satisfied smirk on his face. Oscar knows George thinks he looks sick in the jacket. Oscar thinks he looks like an oversized alien. “Don’t tell me you’re making friends with the med staff, now.”

You smile sweetly up at George, despite the fact that he’s essentially just referred to you as the help. “Russell, right? Nice to meet you. What time does the mothership leave?”

Oscar snorts, nearly choking on his water. 

George, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat. “Toto usually beams me up around midnight,” he replies, deadpan. 

You laugh at that, bright and unguarded, and something twists uncomfortably in Oscar’s chest. It’s not jealousy. He’s not jealous. It’s just that he’s supposed to be the one who makes you laugh. Not George Russell, with his perfect hair and dimples and ridiculously plummy accent. 

George notices Oscar’s scowl, and the smile on his face stretches even wider, if that’s possible. “Not friends, then,” he sings teasingly. Oscar goes red up to his ears, staring into the middle distance and taking another aggressive bite of his sandwich. “See you at the driver’s parade, Piastri.” 

As George saunters off, you turn your head to watch him go. “He’s kind of funny,” you muse. “In a weird, wax-figure-come-to-life sort of way.”

“Debatable,” Oscar mutters. 

“Relax, Osc,” you grin, leaning back on your elbows and letting the sun stream down on your face. You nudge your knee against his, and he feels it everywhere. “You’re still my favorite.”

The pit stop goes off without a hitch, but even with the perfect weather strategy he can’t seem to get past Charles in the back half of the race. He’s P2, again. After the race, you text him a YouTube compilation of all of Charles’ angsty radio messages from seasons past set to sad violin music.

Somehow, the loss doesn’t sting as bad as it usually does. 

DAY 71

Someone is pounding at his door when Oscar’s eyes open. It’s so different that for a minute he thinks he broke out of the loop, somehow. But when he checks his phone, it’s still May 25, just about an hour and a half earlier than normal. He drags himself out of bed to the door, pulls it open, and there you are standing on the other side, sunglasses pushed to holding a white paper bag filled with pastries and two cups of coffee. You’re not dressed in your usual race gear, switching it for a filmy black sleeveless top and denim cutoff shorts that expose miles of your bare skin. 

Oscar is suddenly, painfully aware that he’s only wearing boxers. You seem to be realizing that fact, too, if the way your eyes drag torturously down his bare chest is anything to go by.

“Hey,” he croaks, cheeks flushed as he takes you in. “What are you doing here?”

You clear your throat, looking back up at him. Your eyes meet, and for a moment the air sparks between you, electric. Then you just smile mysteriously before you push your way inside, handing him one of the coffee cups as you go. “New pre-race hypothesis. Get dressed and come with me.”

Ten minutes later, Oscar’s sitting in the passenger seat of your tiny, beat-up car, watching the sun rise through the windshield. You’re an unexpectedly cautious driver, too slow around the corners, hands planted firmly at 10 and 2, eyes fixed on the road. It’s nice to know that even after weeks of spending May 25 together, you can still surprise him. (Even if his hands are itching to take the wheel from you, see just how hard he can push the Mini Cooper down these famous streets). 

You pull to a stop near the harbor, the car’s brakes squealing at the effort. Oscar makes a mental note that when you both get out of the loop, he needs to take you to a mechanic. Or maybe a dealership.

“C’mon,” you say, getting out of the car and walking towards the dock. You’re moving in that sort of effortless way you do when you have a really ridiculous idea, the kind of way that makes Oscar follow you against his better judgment because he just wants to see what you’ll do next. He’s jogging slightly to catch up, sipping at his coffee, when you slow ahead of him, touching your pockets like you’re looking for something.

“Hold this for me?” you ask as he catches up to you, passing him your cup. At the moment he takes it with his free hand, almost reflexively, you pluck his phone out of his hoodie pocket and toss it over the railing. 

“What the fuck,” Oscar says flatly, watching it land with a soft plop! in the azure water. 

You toss your own phone in after his. Oscar grabs the railing, watches the twin black mirrors swirl around each other, sinking deep into the harbor. “So I might’ve lied a little,” you say sheepishly. “This isn’t a pre-race hypothesis. This is an instead-of-race hypothesis.”

“You’re not serious,” he says, and you just grin, wild and unapologetic. 

“Oscar Piastri’s first-ever DNS,” you sing, turning and walking down the dock towards a frankly massive boat, waving off the dockhand like you own the fucking thing and starting to untie the knots holding it to the dock. “You coming or not?”

Unleash The Lion, the stern reads in script as big as his head. 

You’re going to commandeer Max Verstappen’s fucking yacht. 

“Max will kill us, you know,” he says as you step onto the back of the boat, pulling yourself up to the deck.

“Max won’t remember this tomorrow,” you reply over your shoulder as you rifle through the boat’s glove compartment. 

“He could,” Oscar protests, mostly just to argue, because he likes the way your eyes flash when he challenges you. “Who knows? This could be the day the loop resets. Then I’ll get fired, and we’ll both go to jail.”

You grin down at him, wicked light gleaming in your gaze as you dangle the keys over the side of the boat. “Monaco prison is probably pretty nice. D’you think they’ll let us be cell mates?”

He sighs, looking up at you. The morning light kisses off your cheekbones, your skin glowing golden and sun-warmed. How is he meant to say no to you, looking at him like that? “I hate how persuasive you are,” he grumbles halfheartedly, taking your hand and climbing up the back until he lands ungracefully on the deck. 

“No, you don’t,” you reply cheerfully, turning the key in the ignition. The yacht roars to life, and you pilot it out of the harbor with confidence that feels somewhat unearned, given you’ve basically stolen the thing. 

That’s the problem, Oscar thinks. He really, really doesn’t. 

An hour or so later, you’ve lowered the anchor, far enough out that no one will catch you for the day. Monaco is a distant speck behind you, though if Oscar squints he swears he can still see the paddock. You’ve pulled him to the bow of the boat, laying next to each other on deck chairs with a pilfered bottle of champagne between you. Your sunglasses are sliding down your nose, the boat rocking gently in the waves. It might be the bubbles talking, might be the fact that his edges have been softened by sun and champagne and you, but Oscar can’t remember a better day in a long time. 

“Not bad for our first grand theft yacht,” you say, and Oscar laughs in spite of himself. “Although next time, we should probably bring sunscreen.” You look over at him with such fondness that it makes his heart squeeze in his chest, and touch your finger to the tip of his nose, gently. “You’re gonna be scorched.”

He’s warm, but it’s definitely not from the sun. “I’ll be fine,” he says, aiming for a light tone. You touched his nose, and he’s melting down like a complete weirdo. Get it together, Piastri, he tells himself. You’re a Formula One driver, for god’s sake. 

You don’t seem to notice. You just hum, unconvinced, then go quiet for a beat. Too quiet. The kind of quiet Oscar’s learned to recognize as very dangerous when it’s coming from you. 

“I’m bored,” you say, finally. “New plan.”

Oscar sits up so fast he nearly knocks over the champagne bottle. “This isn’t enough for today?”

You just smile mischievously at him. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“We don’t have bathing suits,” he says, dumbly. But you’re already peeling your shirt over your head, stripping to your underwear, and racing barefoot on the hot wood, your laugh trailing in the air like the kind of song he wants to learn every word to. 

Oscar’s brain short-circuits somewhere around seeing your bare shoulders. He has to stare at the sky and think about Zak Brown for a minute before he can strip off his joggers and follow you. 

When he climbs the ladder to the top, you’re already at the edge, toes curled over the lip of the roof, the sea breeze teasing at the ends of your hair. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes dancing, and then you leap. 

It’s not graceful by any means, but you look glorious — arms thrown wide, a yell of pure exhilaration tearing out of your lungs as you plunge feet-first into the sparkling ocean below. Oscar scrambles to the side, watching for you to come up. For a second, there’s silence. Then, you resurface with a whoop that seems to echo to the horizon, and you’re smiling so wide it makes his chest ache. 

“Come on!” you yell, treading water fifty feet beneath him. “Don’t make me swim all the way back to push you off.”

“You’re insane,” he calls back, but there’s no heat in it. Just that strange, subtle warmth still blooming in his chest. He steps to the edge, glances over his shoulder once at Monaco sparkling like a jewel on the coastline, at the tiny smudge that might be the paddock, that might be his real life. 

And then he jumps. 

For one perfect moment, he’s airborne — weightless, untethered. Free. The wind rushes by him, salt air biting at his sunburnt skin, and then the sea swallows him whole. The water is cool, soothing around him, and when he surfaces, gasping for air, you’re already swimming towards him with a smile on your face. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you say breathlessly. 

“More to me than meets the eye, I guess,” he replies, steadying his eyes on you, and your cheeks flush under his gaze.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of warmth and motion. The two of you let your skin dry in the sun, pass another bottle of champagne back and forth until there’s nothing left, talk about everything and nothing. He tells you about his first karting race, how he was older than all the other kids when he started and cried because he still didn’t think he was ready. You tell him about a trip you took to Japan when you were younger, how you took pictures of the temples on your digital camera and still dream of the scent of the cherry blossoms in the air. 

Later, as the sun starts to sink over the horizon, blue bleeding into soft pinks and golds, you sit together on the bow, your legs dangling over the edge, shoulders touching. Oscar’s tongue feels looser than usual, whether it’s the champagne or whether it’s you to blame, so he doesn’t think, just asks the question that’s been playing on his mind all day. “Why do you think you’re in the loop?”

You turn to look at him, like it’s the last thing you expected him to say. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I have to win the race,” he says, and you roll your eyes fondly. “But — what do you have to do? Why are you here?”

You’re quiet for a moment. “I suppose there’s something I have to learn, too.”

“Like what?” Oscar asks, pressing his shoulder against yours. 

You sigh, staring out at the horizon. You don’t look at him when you speak. Oscar wonders if you won’t, or you can’t. “I’ve always been good at a lot of things,” you say. “But I never committed to anything. I just kept bouncing from place to place, from project to project. Now, I love working here, but it just feels like I figured it out too late, and now I’m stuck. To get a permanent job with the team, I’d have to go to med school, and…” you pause, teeth sinking into your lip. “What if I try and fail? What if I’m average?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but no words come. Instead, he watches the way the fading light reflects in your eyes, golden catching on the edge of something tender and raw. He wants to tell you you’re not average, you’re brilliant. That the past few weeks with you in the loop has been the most alive he’s felt in months, maybe ever.

But he doesn’t.

“Today is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this,” he says, the words falling ungracefully off his tongue. “Taken a risk like this. Everything in my life has been planned out. I made it to Formula One off of being consistent, composed, controlled. I’m perfect because everyone expects it. But — racing used to be fun. I used to love it.”

You tilt your head toward him slightly, enough that he can see the pout of your bottom lip. “You don’t love it anymore?” you ask softly, like he’s a scared animal you’re trying not to spook. 

Oscar shrugs, chest tightening. “Feels like I’ve been trying to win for so long that I forgot why I wanted to in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what the loop’s for,” you say, leaning back on the cushions. “Not to win. To find the joy again.”

There’s a long pause where neither of you speak. The silence feels suspended, like the whole world is holding its breath along with you both. Oscar lies back next to you, his heart thudding a little too hard in his chest for such a quiet moment. 

You both lay there for a while as the stars slowly reveal themselves one by one, scattered like glitter across the indigo sky. You start pointing out constellations, making up ridiculous stories that make him laugh lowly, helplessly. He’s lying close enough to you that your arms are pressed together, breath syncing in the quiet. 

When he turns to look at you, you’re already looking at him, eyes half-lidded, and you’re so beautiful in the moonlight that it almost makes him lean in to kiss you. But something holds him back. Fear, maybe, or uncertainty — not knowing if you feel it too, or if it’s the champagne, or the loop, living another borrowed day that doesn’t quite feel like his own. 

He looks back at the sky. You sigh next to him, shifting closer so that your head rests on his shoulder, and his heart stutters in his chest.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches the pale moon reflect off the waves until he drifts off into the blackness.

When he opens his eyes next, he’s in his apartment, sunlight streaming through his curtains. Oscar swears under his breath, picks up the phone that should be sitting at the bottom of the harbor. Sunday, May 25. Just like always. 

He flops back onto his bed, pressing a pillow over his face. His skin is still sticky from the salt water. It’s not even the fact that he didn’t break the loop that hurts today. 

It’s waking up without you.

DAY 80

Oscar’s nervous, which is completely irrational. He’s lived this day eighty times now. Done press completely hungover, slipped past Charles Leclerc on his home track, crashed full-speed into a barrier and nearly died. But none of that made his palms sweat the way they’re sweating now. 

You’re in his apartment. You’re having dinner in his apartment. 

The race had gone fairly spectacularly for him, all things considered. He’d made a few mistakes, taken the chicane a little too wide, and still Charles barely beat him. Oscar’s about to figure it out, the perfect race so close he can almost taste it.

You, on the other hand, had quite the busy day. Stroll’s crash started it, but in lap 60 there’d been a major pileup at the back of the race — one of the rookies hitting the brakes just a little too late, slamming into another driver. By the time he found you after the race, you looked exhausted, muttered something about how you wished this particular loop was over already, couldn’t fathom the idea of driving home, cooking dinner for yourself, going to sleep alone. 

Oscar invited you over before he could think too hard about it. 

He drove you back to his place, cooked dinner while you showered — some pasta dish his mum had taught him ages ago, surely worried that he’d try to survive in Monaco solely off of frozen dinners and takeout. He’s dug up some candles from a dusty box in the closet, uncorked a bottle of wine he thinks Charles gave him for Secret Santa last year, and is just putting the plates on the table when you emerge from his room, fresh-faced and hair damp. You’re wearing one of his McLaren hoodies and a pair of bike shorts, and for a moment Oscar forgets how to form sentences. 

“Smells amazing,” you say, sitting on the floor across from him. “Thanks.”

You chat idly for a while, but Oscar can’t shake the feeling that the air between you feels different tonight. It’s in the way your laugh sticks in his brain longer than usual, the way he can feel his gaze searching your face like he’s trying to memorize it. It’s almost simmering, like there’s some invisible boundary you’re about to break through. Things have been different since the day on Max’s boat — the glances between the two of you weightier, the touches softer, gentler. But there’s something about tonight that feels inevitable, like the weeks of being together are all pinpointing into a logical, tidy conclusion. 

“You’ve barely touched your pasta,” you point out, nudging your knee against his under the table. 

Oscar just shrugs, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Not hungry.” He is actually, the feeling turning to a pleasant ache in his stomach. If he’s honest with himself, he’s just too busy looking at you to bother with the food. 

You raise your eyebrow, slurping up a noodle. It leaves a small smudge of sauce on the edge of your mouth. “You okay?” 

“Hold on,” he says, leaning over the table. “You’ve got —”

You flush, hand flying to your cheek, but Oscar’s already there, leaning over the table and brushing his thumb against your lip carefully. You blink up at him, breath catching slightly, and then, unmistakably, your eyes flick to his lips. The moment stretches, fragile and loaded like the night Oscar stargazed with you, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to make the same mistake twice. 

And then — because he’s been thinking about it for hours, days, weeks — he kisses you.

Your lips are soft, warm against his, and you taste like vanilla lip balm and red wine. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you let out the tiniest sigh against his mouth before kissing him back. It’s slow, soft at first, then deeper, like the buildup of all the days circling each other has finally burned down to this single point of gravity, rooting you both to the spot. Your hand tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck, like you’re trying to pull him closer to you. 

It’s perfect. And then you break away, foreheads pressed together, and Oscar opens his mouth. 

“Well, that’s a new variable,” he breathes, dazed, and you flinch away from him like you’ve been slapped. 

“Oscar,” you say, voice sharp, and for someone with world-class reflexes and awareness he’s definitely caught the shift in your tone too late. “You just kissed me, and your first thought was fucking data?”

“No, I —” he stops, runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to reset his brain. “That’s not what I meant.”

You breathe out disbelievingly, the sound shaky as it leaves your lungs. “Yes, it was,” you say flatly, standing up, and Oscar scrambles to his feet after you. 

“No,” he pleads, but you’re already heading towards his bedroom, throwing your things back in your bag. “I just thought, if the loop’s trigger is emotional…”

“Don’t,” you spit, words like venom. “Don’t reduce this to numbers and logic. Don’t treat it like it’s another page in your stupid fucking notebook.”

He opens his mouth to try to fix things, but nothing comes out. Even from across the room, he can see the tears slipping down your cheek, and he knows the damage is already done. 

“I thought it was real,” you whisper. “I thought we were real. And the first time you actually let yourself feel something, you turn around and treat it like evidence to be catalogued.”

“It was real,” he blurts desperately, and you scoff. “Please,” he begs. “I’m trying, I’m just — I don’t know how to do this. It’s — it’s never mattered like this.”

Your lips press together, jaw tight, and Oscar can still taste the red wine against his mouth. “Well, maybe don’t kiss me again until you figure it out.”

You don’t wait for him to reply. You turn on your heel, slamming the door behind you and storming down the hall like you’re leading an army of one to battle against his stupid, broken heart. 

Oscar doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at the door, the silence ringing in his ears, before he blows out the candles. He leaves the dishes on the table, crawls into his bed and stares at the ceiling. The notebook sits on his dresser, taunting him, but he doesn’t reach for it. 

Nothing about this day is worth remembering anymore.

DAY 81

Oscar doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to sunlight through the curtains and silence and the distinct feeling that his chest has been scraped hollow. 

He’s never felt more stupid in his life. He had you, in his apartment, lips pressed to his, the thing he’s been dreaming about doing for weeks, and he completely fucking bottled it. 

But if there’s anything to learn from being in a time loop, it’s that he’s got a chance to fix things. To learn from his own mistakes, and do something better. He sits up in bed, watching the boats in the harbor for a long moment. Then he gets up, gets dressed. Leaves the notebook sitting on his dresser, untouched. And goes to find you.

Except, clearly, you don’t want to be found. He searches the entire paddock, but you’re like a ghost. Your station at the med centre is empty, half-cleared out like you came to work before deciding seeing Oscar would hurt too much. You’re not in his driver’s room, stealing his snacks, or by the pit wall watching the team principals flit around with a scary kind of efficiency. He even tries going to the med centre HR to ask for your address, but the woman behind the desk is very particular about her employees’ privacy, won’t give him your contact information no matter how many times he drops that he’s a driver, just hands him a pamphlet about respecting workplace boundaries. 

The day wears on, sun arcing high in the sky, and Oscar has to accept he’s not going to see you before the race. Maybe he’ll crash on the first lap, he thinks. Knock himself unconscious, reset the loop. He doesn’t care what it takes. He just has to find you.

Like a vision, or some sort of twisted prophecy, he turns the corner to the garage, and you’re standing there. Always standing where you’re not supposed to be, he thinks for a moment, mind racing wildly. The thought feels hysterical in his head. You’re wearing your fireproof scrubs, eyes red-rimmed, arms crossed over your chest, and you look like fate. Or his future. He’s not sure which. Oscar doesn’t waste another second before he runs to you. 

“It was real,” he blurts, before you can open your mouth to speak. “I think it’s been real for me since the minute you pulled me out of that car. I’m shit at feelings, and I’m sorry, because I’m about to be even worse at—” he gestures between the two of you, the confession he’s word-vomiting into the space between you. “—this, but... I’ve spent my whole life being cool, calm, collected, trying to perfect things, trying to keep everything under control, but I can’t control love, and you fucking — you turn me in circles, and I don’t want to live another day, of the loop or anything else, without you around.”

You just stare at him, and he runs a hand over his face. Out of all the ways he’d been thinking up to profess his love while he was looking for you, this had to be one of his worst. Did he even say it? He thinks back, unsure. 

“I love you,” he adds, sighing. “In case that wasn’t clear. I’m really fucking in love with you.”

“You’re an idiot,” you say to him in response, voice trembling. 

“I know,” he says, helplessly. “But I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

You shake your head, but there’s a ghost of a smile on your face. “Of course I’ll have you,” you say, eyes bright with tears. “I’m really fucking in love with you too.”

Oscar files the sound of your voice saying those words somewhere deep in his chest. Closes the distance between you and smashes his lips to yours. It’s not sweet, not soft — it’s raw, wanting, hot with need. You squeak against his mouth, your hands flying up to cup his face, and when your tongue slides against his, his knees actually buckle.

You’re both giggling when you come up for air, dazed and giddy. “Wow,” you say, fingers resting against your lips, like you can’t believe it’s real. “Glad I came back in time for that.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes. “What took you so long?”

You look up at him, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “Well, I wasn’t gonna show up because I was still pissed at you,” you crack, and he laughs. “But then I decided I couldn’t let you drive alone. And I was late,” you say slowly, “because I just applied to med school.” 

His heart skips a beat in his chest. “You did what?”

“You were right,” you say simply. “I’m not stuck. And maybe I’ll fail spectacularly, but I’ll never know if I don’t try.” 

“I’m so proud of you,” Oscar says, and you just smile. Someone from inside the garage is calling for him. He’s running out of time.

“It’ll be a colossal waste of time if we don’t break out, though,” you huff out a laugh. “So now it’s on you.” You pause for a moment, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You got this,” you say, and for once Oscar believes it. “Go have fun out there.”

Ten minutes later, he sits P2 on the grid, heart beating hard in his chest. For the past 80 days, he’s been in this exact same position, obsessing over the perfect line, how to time the pit stop, where he can shave a tenth of a second off his time. 

Today, when the lights go out, Oscar’s thinking about you. 

He lets Lando pass him on the first lap again, for the first time in eighty days. Drives like a maniac to pass him back three laps later, waving to him as he goes. It’s a risky move; Tom is half-screaming, half-laughing at him through the radio, and Oscar’s cheeks hurt from smiling underneath his helmet. He nearly takes it on two wheels around the Tabac corner, back skidding out from underneath him. The car is responsive as he pushes to the limit; the drive feels messy, imperfect, alive. He’s never had so much fun in a Formula One car.

When the last lap starts, he’s leading the race. The sun’s starting to come back out again, the rain drying on the track. Oscar’s cruising. 

By the time he gets to the hairpin, Charles Leclerc is in his mirrors. 

It’s an all-out battle to the finish, red car and orange dueling side by side. Oscar presses his foot to the pedal as hard as he can, thinks if this race is the one that breaks the loop, it’ll probably go down in history as the most exciting Monaco GP of all time. 

They get to the Nouvelle Chicane, and Charles slices around it with the elegance of a ballerina, the power of a heavyweight fighter. Oscar’s in his dust before he even knows what’s happened. 

He finishes behind the Ferrari by a half second, and he’s never been so happy to lose.

He pulls into parc ferme, rips off his helmet, searches the crowd wildly. The paddock is bustling. It takes him a minute to spot you running towards him, your scrubs unzipped to your waist, smiling and crying all at once. 

This time, Oscar doesn’t wait. He jumps off the car, reaches you in three strides, and kisses you like he’ll never get the chance again. It’s all adrenaline and aching sweetness, teeth knocking, the taste of tears on both your lips like you’re both tumbling toward something you can’t name.

You break away first, pressing your forehead against his, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You were amazing,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry you lost.”

“I don’t care,” Oscar laughs wetly, because it’s true, and because eighty Sundays ago he would have died before he said something like that. “That was the best drive I’ve ever had.”

“You found the joy,” you say, a giggle bubbling out of you. 

The sound nearly coaxes a laugh out of him too, but he shakes his head instead, smiling at you softly. “I found that a long time ago. Standing outside my driver’s room spinning their med badge like a weapon.”

You make a noise at that, somewhere in between a sigh and a sob, and he pulls you into his chest, holding you like you’re the first-place trophy. “I love you, you know,” he says into your hair, and he can hear you mumbling the exact same thing into his race suit. 

You walk back to Oscar’s apartment together, a silent agreement that he’ll skip the post-race interviews, just this once. You sit on the balcony he never uses, watch the sunset over the harbor. He doesn’t let go of your hand for a single moment, like he needs to feel your touch under his fingertips to remind himself he’s still here.

“D’you think we did it?” you mumble later when you’ve both found your way to his bed, voice slurring around the edges from exhaustion. “Broke the loop, I mean.”

“Dunno,” Oscar says, his fingers brushing through your hair slowly. “I’ve thought we did, before, and obviously we hadn’t.”

“Me too,” you say, but there’s something hanging in the air between you. An unspoken confession, like you’re both afraid to jinx it. This time feels different. 

You yawn gently, burrow tighter into his side, and his heart feels like it might crack open in his chest. “M’getting pretty tired,” you say. “So I think whatever the answer is, we’ll know pretty soon.”

There’s silence, for a moment. What do you say when your entire universe hangs in the balance?

“If this was the last day, if we really figured it out,” Oscar says finally, breath catching in his throat as he stares at the ceiling, “I really liked spending forever with you.”

DAY 82 DAY 1

Oscar wakes up to the beep of his alarm and the sound of rain on his roof. 

You’re there, too. Curled against his body, still asleep. Oscar watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, listens to the soft sounds of your breathing. You smell like that jasmine perfume you started wearing around Day 68 and you’re snuggled in one of his old McLaren hoodies and you’re so real that he thinks he might die of happiness. 

It is Monday, May 26, 2025, and Oscar Piastri is so in love with you that he’s stooped to watching you sleep like a total weirdo and using ridiculous hyperbole to describe his feelings instead of waking you up to tell you the news. He nudges you gently, and you stir. 

“Osc?” you mumble disbelievingly as your eyes flutter open, like you’re not sure if you’re still dreaming or not.

“We did it,” he whispers back to you, and the smile on his face is starting to hurt his cheeks. “We’re out.”

You don’t even respond — well, with words, anyway. You just drag his face to yours, kiss him like you’re making up for 81 days of lost time. You still taste like vanilla, and your mouth, your tongue work against his in a way that makes it hard to think of anything else. 

“We’re out,” you repeat as you pull away from each other. You’re looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and Oscar can’t resist kissing you again. Small pecks this time, scattered from your lips to your cheekbones, each one like a drop of water for a man dying of thirst. He thinks absentmindedly that kissing you might be his new favorite thing.

“God, I can’t believe this is real,” you giggle as his lips brush down your collarbones, and Oscar laughs, because he was just thinking the same thing about you.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you sigh it back sweetly, your pulse thrumming beneath his lips. 

Forever isn’t an easy concept to swallow for a man who’s just been stuck in a time loop. But Oscar thinks if you’re by his side, he could definitely get used to it. 

[siri-ike]

@lbjeff it's been forever since you showed up on my dash!

It all fit. The way he makes sure people are looking whenever he smiles. The way his dialect and mannerisms seem to change based on who he's talking to. Even the channels he watches. Everyone knows Damian loves animals, but Danny hasn't expressed any particular affection for them. Only facts. Emotionless facts.

Nightwing couldn't just let information like that go. The fact that Talia was most likely the one who spoke to him, left a bad taste in Dicks mouth. The taste of moistureizer and lies. That's his little brother. So, as one does, he snooped. He snooped hard.

The fentons are a pair of scientists, Jack and Maddy, and their daughter Jasmine. As expected, the public records also mentioned a deceiced son. One that apparently "died" during a camping trip 4 days before the two of them showed up.

Dick dropped a lot of prying questions, such as, "Do you know what you would act like if you didn't mask?", "Did you make friends there?", "Did you enjoy living with the Fentons?". The last one seemed to push him over. His tone flattened completely, and he stopped using any body language.

"When mother dropped me off with them, she said she might not bother to pick me up again." There was a stiff pause. "I wanted it to be true."

Dick has seen 10 year olds cry before (he couldn't handle it), but seeing a 10 year old remain perfectly stoic when he knows he needs to cry, hurt in a new way.

Dick crouched down to meet Danny at eye level. "Do you know what burnout is?"

"The reduction of a fuel or substance to nothing through use or combustion." Danny said off handedly as he rushed out the nearest door, obviously wanting to avoid the conversation.

Afterward, Danny disappeared into his room and refused to even acknowledge anyone's existence. Yet another clue that he wasn't over it.

He'd have to wait until Damian got home to learn more.

The Zoo was great! Even if he was forced to leave his Katana in the car and only got to keep his small knife on him. The argument of "I expect my sons to be capable of defending themselves even when they are unarmed" was certainly a trick to convince him to leave it behind. But Damian enjoyed it regardless.

He got to see sea-lions, the indoor rainforest where a bird threw a stick at him. He probably spent 3 full minutes giggling about that. Unfortunately, he missed all the feeding times. He spent far too much time admiring the elephants... and then the rhinos... and then the hippos... and then their 4 hour bonding trip turned into 6. They did have to leave at closing.

He almost forgot to ridicule Father throughout. He got in maybe two or three good insults. Mostly, he just spouted endless animal facts. He couldn't sit still the whole ride home. He wanted to tell Danny everything. Then maybe he would tell Richard. Perhaps Timothy could hear some of it. Pennyworth will ofcorse hear all of it many times over. Damian predicts this will be his main topic of conversation for the foreseeable future.

Damian dashed out of the car, in the front door, and made a beeline for the TV room. His exited smile faded when he saw Danny wasn't there. Did something happen? The other two were there, and Danny never wanted to be alone if he could help it. Or maybe he just acted like he enjoyed people's company. It's hard to tell with him. "Where is Danny?"

"He went to his room." Dick sounded concerned yet eager. How dare he take any joy in the anguish/moment of piece/literally anything that Damians brother might be feeling. It's so hard to tell. "Dami, do you know anything about the Fentons? They were the last family Dan-"

"I know who the Fentons are." Damian cut him off. They're the people who took Danny away from him for six months. "He will not be returning, Danny belongs with me. You can't get rid of him."

Show no weakness.

Demon Twins AU where Danny came to Wayne Manor with Damian

Dick threw himself on the couch next to Danyal. Damian was out of the house with Bruce for the next 2-4 hours after Danyal implied Damian would love to go with the zoo with his "dad".

The family of Bats couldn't help but notice their newest pair of members acted different when apart from each other.

He nudged Danyal, ignoring the feeling of a concealed weapon in his baggy pants.

Danyal looked over, raising his eyebrows, "Huh?"

"I've been curious, Danny why are you so..."

"Normal--- While Damian is a brat?" Danyal flipped through a couple channels as he spoke, still unable to make a choice on a show.

"I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah."

"er... so as the second heir, Mother decided to focus my education on, like, blending in to any environment for infiltration purposes. She even sent me to live with a few foster families so I would get an idea of how American families think an act." He stopped channel surfing so he could list them off on his fingers, "It was two weeks with the Burns, like, a day with the Mortons, and six months with the Fentons."

"Six months?" Dick questioned, alarmed. That was a long time for an infiltration mission for someone his age. How was he not attached?

Tim, who had taken up residency out of stabbing range for this conversation, set up with his lap top and a case file spoke up, "So, you're just masking all the time?"

"Affirmative." Danyal answered in the exact same way Damian did.

"Then why is Damian so..." Tim followed up, referencing his and Damian's contemptuous relationship.

"He's throwing fits to prove to me Father won't throw us out." Danyal shrugged. He ended up settling on an Animal documentary Damian would like.

[hollyhomburg]

Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)

(Pack alpha Hoseok focus, Background ot7 x reader, Omegaverse, Forced Caretaking, Omega scarcity au)

୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: When a performance keeps pack alpha Hoseok from tending to his sick omega, he struggles to contain his rage (and looks back on all the reasons he has to control his anger).

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 16.6k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sicfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Background ot7 x reader, eventual Brat! m/c, Implied chronic health issues, themes of trauma, Hoseok has PTSD from enlistment, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, brief smut, Brief allusions to omega obedience training, Brief Dom! Hoseok, Breif Sub! m/c + Jk, referenced Dom Jimin + spanking, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: This was inspired after i got /dreadfully/ ill after seeing HOTS in march. i've been writing it for a good long while i guess! i'm open to adding more to the story if i'm inspired but as of right now it will only be 5 parts. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! this story also does go non-chronolgocially, if we organize it by chronology this is actually the middle. basically it goes 3 < 4 < 5 < 1 < 2, but i think you'll enjoy the flashbacks of how they got togeather!

The sound of the audience and the rumble of screams and shouts are still ringing in Hoseok's ears as he exits the stage. The roar of the lyrics are a hum filling his veins. Adrenaline pumps through his system better than any drug or instinct. More addictive and more natural to him than breathing.

He’s sweat tacky in places he’d rather not name and yet despite this night- a show, the dance of performer and performance, the validation that comes from the screams of many waiting fans- despite all of that- Hoseok's still not calm. Hoseok's still not satisfied.

He yanks his in ears out, nearly tearing at the wiring the second he's clear from view. Not even bothering to put his microphone in its correct case as he moves, breathless and hurried in the direction of the dressing room.

A stagehand tries to help him, but after clocking the rage and aggression rolling off of him they think better of it and lower their gaze as he passes, practically curling in on themselves.

He's on alert, aggression a hairpin trigger just waiting to be pulled below his skin. Almost hoping for an outlet. The still lingering roaring cheers of Alphas, a good number of betas, and a sparse select few omegas ferry him as he cuts through the sea of staff.

By all metrics the show had gone well. He's not angry because he stumbled or because someone messed up the queue for the cube again. This performance had gone perfectly. It has nothing to do with why he's about to snap and punch someone. Maybe bite them. Maybe tear them limb from limb- yeah his alpha likes the sound of that. But none of this, none of this is what makes his blood hot in his veins.

That honor belongs to his omega.

You’re not just his, of course, you belong to the others too. But he’s pack alpha, so they all belong to him to some degree. The pups more so, his peers, Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi- less. Being a part of a pack is more like belonging to matching a set and less ownership.

But not anymore. You're Hoseok's. In every way that matters. You're his.

It's hard to believe, but Hoseok was not always so possessive and exacting as a pack alpha. He never had to deal with any of this- the instincts and the near-feral need that comes with them before the pack became fractured. Broken in a way that can’t be fixed by words and promises. Leaving Hoseok's alpha to pace back and forth the inside of his mind like a monster caged and understimulated.

Hoseok wishes he knew what he was giving up when he enlisted.

Not that knowing would have changed anything. But at least then he'd have been prepared.

Hoseok has seven pups and seven packmates registered to his pack. four alpha's, two beta's, and one precious omega. He's never been without his pack for so long and before 22 months ago they'd never been apart for more than a few weeks. Enlisting posed new challenges, some that Hoseok thought he'd be better at handling by now.

But adjustment takes time. Healing takes time. It doesn't matter how many times he repeats that to himself. Nothing ever gets easier (You might disagree).

The military wasn't easy. They didn't go easy on Hoseok.

He'd never been one alpha among the many, never had his rage cultivated and honed as a weapon to be used and wielded by his superiors. Hoseok learned he was good at being angry- good at melding his body and his alpha together as one- it's only now that Hoseok's out that he's struggling to detangle his sense of self from his alpha.

He'd never been without some sort of pack structure. At least not in so many years. He'd presented with Namjoon and Yoongi- had dealt with their instincts and learned how to settle his own alongside them. A good thing too because a few years after when Jungkook and Taehyung had come along. Young and wide-eyed and entirely unprepared for anything like presenting- they'd needed a pack alpha to help settle them. Someone to guard and mind their instincts, to take care of them, to push when they needed pushing and get them to bend when otherwise they might break.

But war is different. Rage- Hoseok is learning, Is a particular monster that doesn't go down easy.

Of course they'd never been completely broken as a pack. Even now Yoongi is home in the pack house still doing his daily service and coming home at the end of the day. The last time Hoseok had been home (nearly 5 weeks ago before the start of the tour). Yoongi was still struggling; Hoseok saw signs of it everywhere.

His camo jacket wasn't in the house even, it's in the garage where he leaves his boots. Takes them off before he even sets foot inside. separate lives and separate alpha's. There are pack house slippers set up by the door. 16 slippers, 8 sets, color coordinated. Kept meticulously clean like the rest of the house. Namjoon's coffee mug left by the coffee maker, Tae's scarf laid over the chair. A still life painting. hints of the pack left undisturbed. As if they'd just popped out for a moment and where coming back later.

Maybe Hoseok should have realized it when Seokjin was discharged, how you and Yoongi had gone radio silent for 6 hours. How much more communicative Seokjin was after and how every day after he told Hobi how much he couldn't wait for the pack alpha to come home. A new edge to his tone. Hoseok should have suspected something was wrong.

Now that Hoseok's home, he knows. Jin had it easier. Jin's a beta Jin doesn't have a monster in the back of his mind constantly out for blood.

He knows that Yoongi's still not used to buying less than 8 people's worth of food at a time after so many years of cooking and shopping for 8. That he struggles to fall asleep at night- too used to the press of warm bodies around him. Now Hoseok knows that Sometimes when Yoongi wakes in the morning, his hands shake. Instincts and body unsettled.

Hoseok knows, for the first 6 months of his service, his hands shook in the morning too. Call it psychological dependence or physical addiction- Hoseok doesn't quite know what it is. Although Hoseok expects that had more to do with you.

Alpha's can grow dependent on omega's after all. It's no more addictive than a cup of coffee, and yet,

And yet…

In his worst moments, Hoseok wonders what the pack would do if they didn't have you.

If you hadn't have asked, Hoseok wouldn't have let you come on this tour, would have never dragged you across the globe from city to city and would never have taken you from Yoongi. But the fact of the matter is that Hoseok is...it's not that he's not handling this well exactly but...but...

But you'd pouted, and Hoseok (notoriously weak for your every whim and desire) had predictably melted. (He'd been a little oblivious to the thankful looks shot at you over his head, he'd missed the way that Yoongi had cornered you just before the start of tour, how he'd folded himself across you.

"I'll get him back, you know I can be persistent."

"I know, I'm just worried, he's so...unhappy." Yoongi finally settled on. Even if you're both aware that that's not quite it. "You know how I hate it when you push yourself.")

But trauma changes people, it affects everyone differently. Hoseok had changed.

Now Hoseok regrets letting you come even more. When he checks his phone he doesn't have a single text from you. Not a 'good luck on the show.' Or an 'I'll be watching alpha' or anything. Which is not like you. Hoseok shouldn't be so surprised. You're probably sleeping. You're probably just resting like you should be. He'd ordered you to rest last night.

Exiting the stage, Hoseok does try and settle himself. Pausing in the darkness listening the the shouting of the crowd, slowly becoming a murmur and rumble. 60 thousand footsteps trudging towards the exit.

He spends a few moments standing there, staff around him waiting on bated breath, waiting for him to move. He's at least practicing his breathing exercises even if his body still feels like a weapon poised to attack.

When Hoseok closes his eyes, he sees each member of his pack as a pinprick of light against the map. Five dots clustered across the ocean back in Korea, one here close by, and one on the other side of the world.  7 dots and 7 breaths.

Seokjin is in France for an event that left him looking glittery and bejeweled. But he's existed as little more than sinful pictures and soft check-ins on Hoseok’s phone. His phone buzzes, but Hoseok keeps his eyes closed and breathes before he looks at it.

Those check-ins are the only way Hoseok stays sane these days. The updates from Jimin and Jungkook- shots of the dinner they make for the thousands of other recruits. 30 gallon pots of honey potatoes. Recordings of Namjoon's military band. The few promos that Taehyung is allowed to shoot- although he out of all of them is radio silent most weeks. Hoseok knows it's just because he's military police and has a higher clearance than them- even though Hoseok's technically a sergeant- but still-

Taehyung is a shifting wolf, he has different expectations than the rest of the pack.

Hoseok isn't in the military anymore. He's just Jung Hoseok. Only Hoseok could never be just Jung Hoseok- no matter what universe you put him in.

As long he knows exactly where and what his pack is doing the instincts are a little bit easier to bear. As long as he knows when Yoongi's going to come home, when Seokjin will be done with his photoshoot or recording session or this or that and is ready there waiting at the front door for a scenting or a brief nibble at their throat. Hoseok's instincts stay mostly in check.

Mostly. It's easier if Hoseok gives in, just a little bit, to what his alpha wants.

Hoseok's alpha wants more than Hoseok can give him right now, Hoseok's alpha wants blood, wants to tear this stadium apart and hunt across the city, tearing through anyone that steps in his way until he gets to you.

They haven’t all been together in so long his body is almost used to it. His body has adjusted. It’s been months now but there is still aggression that lurks under his skin, alpha constantly roiling to get out out out out. To get back to his pack, to drag them back by the scruff of their necks to the pack house and place them gently in your nest where they belong. Damning laws and discharge dates and all associated consequences.

The truth is that Hoseok's alpha doesn't know what to do when they're not together. Will keep him awake, will keep him from eating or resting. He'd heard that enlistment time could be dangerous for pack alphas, that many don't survive their 18 months without going feral at least once. Hoseok had skimmed by the skin of his teeth.

In many ways, the fight between man and alpha is like a dance, Hoseok’s alpha asks for obedience and Hoseok gives him his body but not his mind when he can help it. He runs and moves, and puts every ounce of discipline and dominance into his dance. His moves are always mastered, never shaky.

Hoseok's not sure he'd know it if he went feral.

When he'd been announced as pack alpha back just after their debut, there had been more than one article that questioned why the sunshine of the group, the ever-smiling and genial member, neither the largest nor the tallest was made pack alpha.

But size has nothing to do with it. Now, no one wonders. After seeing him perform solo on the stage they bought and paid for with their youth and hard work. After seeing him and what he can do no one questions him. Hoseok made discharge look effortless, no one would ever guess. No one would ever wonder.

Other times, Hoseok's alpha asks for more than Hoseok can give without showing it. Like tonight.

The only thing that made their military service at all tolerable was the fact that for those 6 months when the 6 of them had been in active service- at least Yoongi had been able to come home to you.

There’s a text from him on Hobi's phone and he's not asking about the show. Yoongi always watches the live stream and usually texts him the second he's hot off the stage. Asking about how it went even though he saw it. Namjoon might be the group leader but Yoongi has always felt a bit more like Hoseok's second in command.

Hoseok has no doubt that Yoongi saw right through him tonight, saw the furious crispness to his movements, and was able to tell how close he was to breaking. Hoseok doesn’t doubt that the other alpha checking his phone every few minutes. Anxiously waiting for Hoseok's response.

When Hoseok is certain he has enough control over his body that the text isn't going to make him trash the backstage area. He checks his phone.

Yoonie (10:32pm): How is she? Any news? Has her condition gotten any worse?

Yoonie (10:33pm): I know you're probably already considering it, but you know traveling isn't healthy for omega's long term. She needs her routine. You should consider sending her home.

Yoongi has gentler instincts and always has. But even he can't stay settled when their omega is sick. Yoongi also wasn’t taken away from you for a year and a half and taught to kill so Hoseok thinks he’s allowed to be a little on edge.

Hoseok shouldn't feel so fragile and so volatile. He should feel better. This is nothing compared to how it was right after he got back.

Yoongi's not the only one who's texted, the rest already have using their precious 30 minutes of phone time a day to check in. Most of the time, Hobi tries to time his updates to accumulate before they wake.

Jin gets it, Jin understands. Even though he's a beta. His text came through just before Hobi got on stage.

Jinnie (7:05pm): Let me know if you want me to change my flight.

They’ve been separated for a year. There was only Jin’s discharge and then his that they’ve all been together for. They all keep in regular contact and that’s not difficult. They check in and text daily and call weekly. But it's never enough.

As a pack with a registered omega they’re offered some allowances by the government. They get more days off and leeway if one of them gets sick or injured (like last month with Taehyung- Hoseok’s little alpha, bundled close in the nest, face tucked under your chin, so achingly still. His newly big body oh so carefully placed so that he wouldn’t strain his cracked rib.)

Alphas don’t have a better reason to fight than for omegas and recovery rates are always always higher if an alpha has been scented by an omega. The boost to their immune system alone is enough to make omega’s necessary for the war effort. The government even employs some omega's and compensates them greatly for their service as scenters.

The pack would never think about going to a government omega, not when they’ve got you at home.

As a bonded pack there’s no use, it wouldn’t work the same (and Hoseok would never offend you that way). But there’s less time given if more than one alpha is out. It’s one of the few reasons why Hoseok went in first so that he'd be able to help them all adjust when the time came.

He never expected to be the one to have trouble with it. To struggle to turn his instincts off now that they've been turned on.

The people around must be able to tell that Hoseok’s on edge, and the crowd too. Their cries reached a feral pitch, the same shouting that still vibrates the stage beneath his feet. Rage rolls off of him in waves as he stalks back to the dressing room. Smile and grin and smirk falling from his face.

They must be able to smell it on him underneath all the smell of the show, the gunpowder and fire from Hangsang, the roil of steam from sweet dreams, all irrelevant.

This is what they’ve all been waiting for for what feels like years, a chance to be on the stage again, a chance to perform. This is only the beginning leg of the tour and there are still kinks to work out and problems to solve. The logistical nightmare of moving staff and stage across multiple countries never ends. Hoseok is used to this. Hoseok is comfortable here.

He keeps telling himself that.

But right now, Hoseok can't think about it. He can't think about anything else but you.

Because you're sick.

~-~

Omegas are so rare that not every pack can have one.

Only those who can supply an above-average standard of life usually get one. Both prize and packmate. They're more common in celebrity and chaebol circles. Having an omega in your pack is the ultimate sign of success and wealth.

Some packs even have two, especially if the omega's have decided they're nestmates. But Hoseok can't imagine needing more than you.

A disease two generations ago wiped out nearly 90% of omega's. The sickness left only the most looked after, the most cared for unscathed. But those that were alive by the end of the nearly 10 year period scrambled to cope. To this day the omega population still hasn't recovered in any meaningful way. They make up only about 1 in every 100 individuals worldwide, less in Korea.

Most omega’s go through a very rigorous courting period if they're going to belong to a pack at all, only the richest and well-esteemed packs can covet one for for themselves. The rest of the world survives off of government-sponsored nesting and scenting services. There are even government agencies in charge of omega’s. Each omega gets an id card and a social worker. Hoseok hasn't had to talk to yours in years. Omegan Health Services or the OHS that tracks any omega that might have come into contact with the virus and quickly disseminates antivirals and vaccines.

You have to get yours every few months. Hoseok makes sure you never miss your appointments. Usually, he spends the following day confining you to the nest, immune to your restless squirming and your insistence that you're alright, just a little tired. Resistant to his insistence that he carry you where you need to go, that he fuss over you.

Luckily- the rest of the pack gangs up on you after your shots too. Namjoon puts your bandaid on the inside of your arm and Yoongi soothes your stomach with bone broth and light food to support your immune system. Each spoonful blown at, your lips dotted with reassuring kisses between bites. Jungkook and Taehyung usually wrap themselves around you like a living blanket to keep the shivers at bay. Nosing into your spine.

Only Hoseok and Yoongi usually attend your appointments. They're a little too intense for the others. Sometimes Jin comes. But he's the most likely to burst into tears and then you end up comforting him instead of the other way around.

Hoseok is usually good up until they actually put the needle into your skin. He'd broken a chair the first time he'd seen it. Gripping the wooden arm so hard as he heard your intake of pain that it had splintered under his hand.

There's a genetic component to being a pack alpha. Jungkook has the gene too. Hoseok has always been a little stronger, a little more resilient than the others.

Hoseok has only ever missed one of your appointments. Last year, the year Hoseok was enlisted for your shot. You'd spent weeks telling him he didn't have to take a day off for it (he'd been saving all of his leave for his packmate's ruts and your heat, but even then Hoseok knew he was going to have to miss one or two.) You said you'd be fine, that the shot wouldn't be too bad, you've had them before after all.

Only you hadn't been alright, you'd had to be hospitalized for it. It wasn't all that uncommon, omega's have weak immune systems and yours has always been particularly fragile.

Hoseok hardly remembers it. The static through the line, he'd hardly been able to hear Yoongi's voice over the roar of his heartbeat through his ears. An emergency call from Yoongi, something about an allergic reaction, anaphylaxis.

He'd have gone awol if his commander hadn't granted him emergency leave. His brain hadn't stopped roaring until he'd draped himself draped across your hospital bed after making an 8-hour car ride in 6 hours. Beret off, spilled and fallen onto the floor, face crumpling the second Yoongi rose from your opposite bedside.

"Namjoon will be here in an hour, she tried to stay up for you but the medication they had to give her made her drowsy."

Hoseok hadn't been able to speak, to respond to him. The sight of you in the bed. Small looking. The cannula. Supplying your body with oxygen because it's not getting enough. Everything screaming at Hoseok's instincts wrong wrong wrong. Fight protect keep safe.

Hoseok was terrified.

They'd given him a tranquilizer to stop him from pacing outside your door. Apparently its a normal occurrence in the relatively empty but well maintained omega's only wing of the hospital. Guards watch him with nervous expressions as they patrol the halls.

After that, he'd been a little more susceptible to Yoongi's gentle request that Hoseok should come sit by your bedside table. And what started as sitting turned into nuzzling into your hand turned into closing his eyes for just a moment.

You'd been rubbing your hands over his shaved head by the time he'd woken. He'd been so sure he'd been dreaming it, but Your honey voice is so soothing after hearing nothing but shouting to work harder and run faster you're so weak private Jung, can you even hit the target for weeks and weeks that it felt a bit like a lullaby to hear his own name spoken so gently, with such tenderness.

"Hobi, Oh Hobi. You didn't have to come all this way for me."

~-~

This is thankfully not that. Thankfully you're sick with just a cold and not the virus. But Hoseok doesn't take any sickness lightly. Not when it comes to you.

Modern medicine has come a long way, but still not far enough. Omegas are so rare a good portion of the population even abandons the idea of having an omega entirely. They’re not exactly a necessity for beta’s but for alphas- it’s a different story.

Hoseok can feel the hum of scent deprivation under his skin. The itch unlike any other. Hoseok cannot smell you on him, not his clothes or his skin. Nothing beyond the smell of sweat and alpha annoyance. Through any other performance, he’d at least have the scent of his pack on him. But not tonight, not until June when everyone will finally finally be together.

You’d been sleeping through the morning when he left, and he’d been reluctant to wake you on account of how you’d fallen asleep last night- or hadn’t. You’d been sniffling and coughing the whole night away. Hoseok had kept watch over you through it all.

What had started as a brief tickle in your throat around lunch yesterday (an easy meal- vegetables for Hobi and a tad bit of meat for you, fed from his own chopsticks, every brief shake of your head met with a disapproving look that you have long stopped disagreeing with. Hobi knows how much you are to eat, there's no reason why you need to worry your pretty little head about anything). Had developed into a fever and a few minutes of terror while they waited for the test to develop.

You've never gotten the sickness before but Hoseok knows how it would start; a feverishness like heat, then tiredness. And then all of a sudden you'd go to nest and wouldn't get up again without medical intervention. Might not get up at all. Might stop breathing- might-

He repeats it to himself again. That you're not sick with it. That this is just an ordinary cold. He has no reason to be so on edge.

The fans tonight could tell there was something wrong. Could spot it. Hoseok knows they're wondering if it's you. You aren’t a secret, but you are a private matter. A person that only the pack and the staff know by name. There have been pictures and speculation. They don't hide you but your last name is not public knowledge. You keep your face hidden almost constantly when you know you’re going to be spotted with them.

You are not someone to be jealous of but to be jealous for. You are not someone to be stalked or photographed. What they ordinarily tolerate out of necessity, they never do with you.

But alpha's are not always good at controlling their instincts. There have been incidents, not always because of them or their lack of control either. Jungkook had almost come to blows with an alpha who dared to sniff in your direction just before Jungkook's enlistment, a month or so after Hobi's.

~-~

The flash of the cameras are dizzying. There's a hush that falls over the room as you and Jungkook enter, before the roar redoubles- twice as loud as before.

You're mostly used to it by now, but still some things- like Jungkook close behind you, his big hand on the small of your back make it easier to tolerate. The press of people on either side of you is stifling, press and fans, guards and security. There's only a few moments of claustrophobia from the car to the showcase.

You hold your breath, and Jungkook stays close. It would be easier if your other alphas were here, but you're getting used to having them far away, to having them only on your phone or during evening phone calls. It's been enough months that Hoseok has stopped apologizing for leaving you and Namjoon has started making promises of all the things you'll do once you're home.

But still, sometimes you wake in the nest in the morning, big and empty of bodies, and feel so lonely it aches.

It will be worse when Jungkook goes. You know it will. Which is why you're tagging along today, why you've tagged along to schedules you'd normally avoid.

Sometimes you don't believe what hoseok says, the way that the world talks about omegas, they say you're more delicate, you're more breakable. Most of the time, you don't believe it.

Other times, like this, your anxiety rushes at you, and their touch becomes the only teather you have outside of the fear, the nervousness, the pounding tumble of your heart that ached for confined soft spaces, warmth and enclosed safety. A nest.

But you do away with your instincts today, in favor of staying close. A few more weeks, you only have a few more weeks until Jungkook goes and you don't want to waste a single minute.

One moment you're in front of Jungkook, walking almost instep with him as he leads you through rows and rows of security. You know what you'll look like in magazines later, wide eyes perched over a mask, hat with bunny ears flopping. Swallowed whole by a jacket, small next to your alpha. That there will be articles and breakdowns of your every movement.

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Being an omega can get a little frustrating. You're not the only one scrutinized this way, most omega's that mate with public figures are the topic of the tabloids. You'd flopped against hoseok's chest the first time it happened, "they only saw my forehead! how are they talking about skincare routine when they don't even know?" he'd just pressed his forhead against yours, nuzzling your nose playfully.

"I hate to tell you that you should get used to it but- the press are just kind of like that."

Most of them keep their distance. tipping their head as you pass. it doesn't make you weirded out or nervous, it just is this way. You take off your hat and mask the second you're clear of the doors and fans, about to turn and say something to Jungkook. You don't see the dark figure at the end of the hall leaning forward ever so slightly.

But Jungkook does.

it happens so quick you can't even blink, one moment you're stumbling, turning to say something to him, a security gaurd reaching out to steady you- The next moment you're holding Jungkook back around his waist, blood on his knuckles and a growl on the air.

More than one security guard and staff gets between you and the other alpha. He spits blood on the floor. Some of it hits your legs.

Your ears ring, and you can't hear anything as Jungkook shoves you behind him. Two other security guards have to hold him back. Hands shaking out of their hold.

They'd still been shaking, as he used a wet wipe to clean the blood off of your legs after.

You just don't sniff at an omega without permission, let alone reach to touch them. Let alone an omega with a pack.

"Jeon Jungkook! No! Bad!"

You don't like using their full names, never have, it's always pet names with you. Hoseok can already hear the gentle velvet of your voice crooning softly, "Hobi, are you okay? Do you want to come lay down in my nest for a bit? Can you come here alpha? I want to scent you."

You are the only person for whom his instincts bend. You are the only person he ever willingly takes orders from. The fight worn out of his body at your simplest request.

Hoseok takes Emergency pack alpha leave precious and dwindling by the month, just to handle the situation again. But disciplining his pack takes precedent.

A tidy settlement had kept the situation from leaking to the press, although Hoseok could hardly blame Jungkook for acting aggressively. His head had hung the entire time Hoseok been home. Jungkook doesn't like disappointing the pack alpha. Especially not now, when they don't have days and weeks of proximity and routine to get back on even ground. Not when Hoseok only has 24 hours, and has to leave in the morning.

It only takes one touch for Hoseok to bring him to his knees. A hand on the back of his neck the second they're clear of the outside. The pack house, dusty and mostly empty. Jungkook's mouth has been running wild since Hoseok first walked into the company building. Apologizing to anyone who would listen.

But Hoseok hadn't accepted the apology until they'd been in private.

"Do you know why you're sorry Jungkook?"

You're sat across Hoseok's lap for it, sniffling slightly. Soothed by the rhythmic brush of his hand down his back, your cold nose pressed against his throat. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform before this. Jungkook is on his knees between Hoseok's parted thighs. Inches from you and kept at a distance by sheer obedience. Hoseok admires Jungkook's restraint. Not every alpha could resist nuzzling into an omega's thighs, especially one so close.

Hoseok knows his weaknesses. Jungkook is also a good alpha. Hoseok's most obedient one. But even then he's not even looking at Hobi when as he kneels.

Jungkook looks at you and blinks back tears. Hoseok wants to lick at the alpha's pretty canines, wants to press your faces together and make you kiss. Make it messy just for him. He redoubles his hold on you. holding you tighter. You lap at his scent gland, trying to soothe yourself, nearly suckling at the skin of his throat.

"For offending our omega and...for putting her in danger?" Jungkook's hands slid down Hoseok's calf muscles, but Hoseok just tipped his feet wider. Giving Jungkook more room.

The ball of your foot pressed against Jungkook's shoulder, undeterred, the younger alpha only tries to nose up your leg. Hoseok nudges between his legs with his boot and Jungkook makes a noise- somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"Look at me. not at her." Hoseok keeps him still, and yet- there's only seconds before Jungkook's attention is diverted from the pack alpha's face to yours.

"And how did you do that? How did you put her in danger? Tell alpha."

"For Fighting? For hitting him?"

Hoseok is quick to reassure him with a hand on his chin, rubbing across Jungkook's cheek. "No no no, you did that perfectly. Alpha is so proud of you for defending our omega like that, try again."

"Because" Jungkook is having a hard time stringing his words together with Hoseok's boot pressed to certain places. But that's the point. Hoseok owns all of him like this, the sole of his rubber boot pressed against his knot, gently pressing it snug between Jungkook's body and the unyielding weight of his dominance. The other alpha pants openly. Hoseok can tell that it hurts. Can tell that Jungkook likes it to by the way his mouth opens in a soundless groan.

"Because I did it infront of her?"

"Yes. And why was that bad?"

"Because stress isn't good for omega's? They're too fragile for it." That Jungkook does not say shakily. He, like Hoseok, knows it in his bones that he speaks the truth.

hoseok is perilously weak not to reward him.

"That's right. Good boy. My smart boy. Pull your pants down for alpha and show me your knot." Jungkook pushes into Hoseok's hand like a puppy, letting out a shaky relieved breath at the words. You squirm a little, stilling when you feel Hoseok's hands go firm on your waist. A wordless command to keep still and stay where alpha wants you.

Jungkook rushes to comply, eager to be good. cock popping free, hitting his toned stomach with a light plop. Resting his chin on Hoseok's knee once he's finished.

He waits. You squirm. Looking at him over your shoulder and then at Hoseok. blushing furiously. unnerved by jungkook's complete obedience. Like you're struggling not to give it to.

You rub your nose up and down the column of his throat like you're trying to soothe yourself. "M' not fragile." Hoseok pulls back to peck your nose, humming and willing to play along. His hands on you are gentle, almost too gentle.

"Of course you're not. My sweet little pup. You’re so so brave, you didn’t even cry for that long and alpha is so so proud."

He adjusts his gaze to Jungkook, who has resorted to clinging to Hoseok's legs again for comfort. Pretending he's not rutting his hips in tentative circles and making a mess of Hoseok's pant leg. Eyes teary and worked up. Teeth half bared in aggression like he wants to submit completely but can't quite will himself too. his alpha bubbling up.

"It was just...Scary." You say, quiet and soft. And when you reached down to touch Jungkook's hair, Hoseok lets you.

Jungkook sags into the touch. He chases your scent gland taking deep grateful lungfuls of the scent there. lips parted against your skin. The ache between his thighs forgotten. Teeth almost pressed and bared. But he wouldn't dare nip at you, not when you're sat in Hoseok lap.

This time when apologies dribble from his lips, Hoseok feels like he means it. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry. I won't do that again in front of her- I didn't mean too-"

Hoseok presses his shoe against Jungkook's cock again, This time there's no fabric guarding the harsh dig of the leather and tred from dimpling Jungkook's skin. The alpha yelps. Thighs shaking with the effort it takes him to stay still. Body going rigid.

When Hoseok takes his shoe off, there's a bit of white wet liquid, staining the dark leather. Hoseok's smile is near feral.

"All will be forgiven, Don't you want to show hyung how good you can be? I think you owe our pup a little stress relief Kookie." Hoseok simply shifts you in his lap. Draping one leg over either knee. Fingers dipping between your legs, low. Fingers parting warmth and sweet. Jungkook's blubbering cuts off.

"All you have to do it open your mouth and apologize."

~-~

Jungkook had been sorry, for almost inadvertently pushing your capabilities. The whole world treats omega's like this- like they are inherently fragile.

You are someone that the fans would never shove or push at. It's generally considered a taboo to be rough with omegas at all and more than one idol has had to issue a public apology after tugging their omega's hand a little too roughly at the airport or through crowds of fans.

At least outside of private matters. Behind closed doors, it's more up to what the individual omega wants. At least that's what Hoseok's learning with you.

It's also considered the bare minimum to provide for your omega an extravagant life. That at least- Hoseok does not struggle with. It's easy to spoil you, instinctual almost. To protect and provide and please.

All in all Hoseok is more straightforward that you might expect, he'll give his pack everything so long as they hold nothing back in return.

Being on tour with him means you can try things you wouldn’t ordinarily eat and go places you wouldn’t normally go. To art museums and shopping districts for pretty little diamond studded collars and comfortable designer nesting supplies. Café's for famous desserts shaped like flowers and figs, and even the exclusive omega section at Fao Schwartz.

The packages for that have already been sent back to Seoul where they no doubt fill the entryway of the pack house. Probably carefully unwrapped and organized by yoongi, still in their silk bags on the border of your personal nest at home. A custom-made monstrosity that Hoseok had made for you and Yoongi designed that cost a small fortune.

But Hoseok had no qualms with him spending the pack's money on that. Not even back at the beginning of your courtship and relationship. Nothing but the best for you.

But delicate requests for room service and delivery from a restaurant you’d wanted to try with a promise for more at the next tour stop are now forgotten. Everything is forgotten now that you're sick.

He’s aware he’s been followed, his manager, a bodyguard, a makeup Noona trail behind him as he stalks in the direction of the dressing room. Where his clothes are, where he can get his things and leave. He can feel the rage polishing his canines already.

It makes his grin wider, teeth sharper in the privacy of darkness. Hoseok is snarling at the shadows, the toothy grin crazed as he finally makes it back to the dressing room. Tearing off his jacket popping the buttons and ripping the hem of it in the process.

It can be fixed before the next performance. Hoseok would rip 100 jackets to get home to you even a second quicker.

Unlike usual, no one offers him congratulations and he doesn’t offer any thanks or encouragement. His hands shake as he bends down to undo his shoes, all but yanking them off of him. His necklaces get tangled around his fingers, 7 of them- one for each packmate, and the second he starts to tear at them. Someone reaches for him- to stop him.

Hoseok turns and nearly lunges at Mr. Lee.

Hoseok imagines it perfectly, teeth sinking in, popping through skin and blood. The image is so visceral that Hoseok almost confuses it with reality. The familiar iron tang on the back of his throat what his instincts demand.

He stops himself just narrowly before he can get to his throat. He loses a growl. A sound so bone chilling that no one dare moves a muscle.

Only pure familiarity keeps him from actually biting the other man. the fact that Hoseok's alpha has sort of identified him as someone safe. But the scent of alpha aggression in the air makes everyone, even the lowliest stagehand, pause where they’re gathered. Hoseok bares his teeth and breathes. Struggling to contain himself.

Mr. Lee doesn't flinch, doesn't even raise his eyebrows at Hobi, looking at him with that same impassive expression. Not intimidated in the slightest by Hoseok snapping his teeth.

His hand smooth over the necklaces. He lets go of Hoseok gently.

Honestly, he should be more careful, they were gifts from the pack. The pack like matching their clothes, their shoes, their jewelry, and matching pack items are fairly common, especially in larger packs.

Hoseok in particular likes to have one thing from each of them on his person at most times, especially when he's traveling. Especially since he hasn't given any of them mating bites yet (none of them could stomach the idea of doing it before service). A little memento to keep them close. The biggest necklaces are from Yoongi and Namjoon and the smallest one is from you. Each of them cost no small sum, they're monetarily valuable as well as sentimental to Hoseok.

Hoseok doesn't thank Mr.Lee as he holds his breath, counts to seven, and goes back to taking them off, this time more gently without yanking at the clasps hard enough to bend the metal. even though he's breathing heavy. even though his hands are shaking. Hoseok struggles but there’s already someone behind him undoing the clasps and finally, it feels like he can breathe.

“Sorry. I’m fine I’m fine just-” Hoseok scrubs his hand across his face. Holding the necklaces in one hand. The diamonds sway. long strands handing towards the floor.

“Can I change in the car?” Hoseok is not asking, even if it’s phrased as a question.

With the way Seejin is looking at him, Hoseok knows the answer, and that he doesn’t want to say it. “Fine just- hurry.” Everyone knows why he's on edge, why he’s off.

Everyone here is well acquainted with the pack's omega.

The first few shows you'd ever attended, you'd been quite the distraction. Falling asleep in Namjoon's lap during his makeup. tugging on Jungkook's shirt while he was getting dressed, playfully feeling Jimin's hair while he was warming up and cutting off his notes. Unwilling to let any of them go on stage without being scented. a reminder as you lingered in the wings of the stage, in their peripheral vision that made even Hoseok stumble.

Occasionally you still attend their concerts to remind them of the power you hold, that as much as you give in to their impulses, they're also beholdent to yours. The leash goes both ways.

You're a little bit of a legend among the makeup noonas, managers, and bodygaurds. Because before enlistment and before any of this, before you’d been theirs, you’d been here working alongside them- a member of the support staff.

~-~

Omegas aren’t officially banned from working, not in any legal or governmental capacity.

Every few years some asshole petitions the current government to put some ban on them working and demand they remain registered to one alpha and one alpha only as is natural. But in all reality, the world could not survive without omegas at least taking some modicum of independence for themselves.

A good number of them appreciate their freedom. Just not you.

Hoseok doesn't like to consider the world where there are no working Omega's, a world where they aren't allowed to help. Now that he's seen the military, and seen what it's like when alphas are taken outside of their normal routine and pack structure and put all together. The idea is even more unsettling.

Without omega's, alphas would break out into all-out war.

Hoseok imagines The rage. The quiet of devastation of murder out of necessity. Alphas already have a hard time restraining their instincts even with an omega. Every few weeks there are stories of some alpha going feral on the news. Can you imagine going 8 weeks without being scented? That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd last 4.

Omega’s are too gentle to do most jobs that aren't specifically designed for them. Omegas are sensitive, in need of protection from just about everything. No fear is too small, not fear of thunder or fear of darkness. Anything that can lurk can be killed, and alphas will kill for omegas. It’s a culturally accepted fact.

No alpha can maintain their instincts for long and keep them under control without an omega scenting them docile at least once a week, it's biological, a necessity as much as drinking water or eating. For beta's its slightly less- they get more snapish than feral. they need it maybe once a month.

Hoseok has still seen seokjin's hands shake, has still suffered through more than one sleepless night with jimin. His body and his brain fighting his instinct to stay awake.

There are modern solutions for age old problems of course. Before you the pack subsided the same way the rest of the population did. There are upscale scenting parlors on just about every street corner in the city, private institutions designed with open air booths or similar to cafes that pay out omega's handsomely for a little acess to their wrists or if they're feeling particularly brave- their throats.

Most priced too expensive for the average person to afford, let alone a couple of broke trainees drunk on foolish dreams. There are alternatives for most of the population. Synthetic omega scent (that always smelled too chemical to Hoseok) available for purchase at every convenience store. Fortified drinks with omega pheromones that sort of work that keep you awake when you need to make deadlines. Yoongi used to overindulge in them.

If you're willing to pay extra, you can even buy something that's actually been scented by an omega. They have boutiques for it.

Although very very few packs can have an omega- most idol companies at least employ one designated omega scenter. They’re becoming more and more popular. A perk, similar to a 401k or unlimited PTO. See you don't need to worry about who will scent you next. See, if you're having a bad day or need help pushing through, we have what many don't.

And still- despite their necessity. Not all societies worship omegas. In certain pockets of the world, omegas are thought of as spoiled and lazy. Some are even kept secret to keep their freedoms, their omegan instincts suppressed until later by medications.

Either consensually or non-consensually in your case. You hadn’t known, not until you were well into your teenage years and nearly a legal adult, that you were an omega. Your instincts remained mostly dormant (and what didn't stay dormant you neglected). sometimes you still struggle to understand what your omega wants.

The others just think you're a little more spirited than a regular omega. But Hoseok knows. Hoseok's alpha has always been able to sniff it out.

Hoseok's blood still boils when he thinks about what your parents did to you. They did it in the name of protecting you but still. He'll still rant if given the opportunity (as long as it doesn't set you on edge). Hoseok's ranting is usually met with understanding from the other alphas and chagrined comfort from the betas in his pack.

The alphas understand that the anger never really goes away. But Seokjin and Jimin are different. They get a little spooked when Hoseok shows how truly angry he is.

Jimin usually exits the room when the others decide to indulge hoseok when he wants to hash it out again. He and Taehyung and Yoongi and Namjoon will find themselves in Yoongi's studio with a twelve-pack or they'll hit golf balls off the roof of the company building when the restlessness of unmet anger really tares at them. Hashing it out yet again until the rage has quieted to a dulcet murmur and Hoseok feels like writing songs about it again.

But not now. Hoseok can't calm himself down right now- Not right now when you’re back in the hotel room running a fever. A fucking fever.

You can’t blame Hoseok. He’s protective of you for a reason. It’s not only the omega plague that has him concerned but…your general health.

It's been harder to resist the temptation to worry since after his military service. Without all of them here to temper his anger and calm him down, Hoseok's alpha has been running a little wild. Bubbling up under the surface. Constantly close and whispering in his ear.

You even thing you see it come out on stage sometimes. Sometimes when he commands the crowd or asks them to roar for him it feels almost like he's using alpha voice with them.

You’d noticed the shift in Hoseok the second he’d come back. The second he took off his uniform for the last time after 18 months. His instincts were closer to the surface than ever before. He was so quiet. So silent. None of his usual electric energy, none of his quiet sureness that you were so used to.

Hoseok hates to admit it and hates it when anyone brings it up, but military service had changed him (and not in a good way).

It’s a good thing he has you- if it wasn’t for you- Hoseok doesn’t know if he’d have been able to find his way back to himself.

~-~

Coming home went something like this:

His eyes were wide through the live, open and unsure, a dazed look, almost shell shocked. Trembling with the new weight of old feelings. The position is familiar but the anxiety at his every move being watched- is unmatched. Like Jamais vu. How did being in front of the camera get so scary?

Hoseok used to be so good at this- at being an idol. They used to do this all the time almost without thought before enlistment. Are his movements too jerky? Can the fans tell that he's about to burst into tears? Can they tell? do they notice?

Is Hoseok not good at this anymore?

Leaving his station had felt like walking away from a nightmare only to find himself still asleep, somewhere between a night terror and a sweet dream. Because you were there in the van. You were there. A small body that nearly collided with his with how fast you pushed yourself to grab him the second he'd opened the door, A hand on your back and Hobi's neck, Yoongi close behind.

The cameras had only gotten one picture. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a blurry profile of a face pressed into his stomach.

Now, he listens to the sound of Yoongi prattling to Jin in the kitchen. sitting on the edge of your bed in the packhouse trying to decompress. there's an invitation to shower off the scent of the barracks before dinner that remains unfulfilled. The air smells like garlic and gochujang. the tang of ssamjang too. Smoke and fire. hoseok still hasn't undressed.

But Hoseok just sits on the bed. Hoseok can't move, lead weights attached to his extremities. Frozen there. Listening to the three of you and scenting the air.

the whole house smells like you, Jin, and Yoongi. just the three of you. none of the other alpha's, not Jimin. Hoseok never thought it would smell strange to him. Never thought that it would smell even a little unfamiliar.

Yoongi is all tangerine goodness. Bright and fragrant just on the edge of ripeness. Jin is soft as a peach, sweet and gentle. But You- oh you-

You smell like warm berry jam and nighttime summer air. Something drippy sweet and dark. Like the hint of sunshine and warmth and like syrup moving slow. Those early summer evenings where you can still smell the sun on the air even though it's already set.

Hoseok breathes it in through his teeth, Gritted. On edge. Alpha close under his skin.

Jin's teasing and Yoongi's low murmur fill the air around your bird chirps and squeaks, even when he falls silent. Absorbing it all, adjusting. It's only been a few hours. Only a few. Hoseok should cut himself some slack for not immediately being chipper and lighthearted.

Yoongi sounds relieved and excited even from here. There’s expensive champagne to celebrate (Hoseok hardly tasted his glass when he downed it, trying to calm his nerves) and a home-cooked meal that Hoseok has been looking forward to for months.

He hears the murmurs too, Yoongi breathing heavy, tense. Words he thinks Hoseok can't hear. "He's so skinny hyung, I saw him take off his jacket and I could see every tendon."

"I know, I know, but he's back now, he's safe, that's all we can change now. At least it's over for him."

"But the others."

"Baby I know." A quiet whine, a chirp. "don't you worry your little head about it darling, you just sit there, would you like to try the first piece? it's almost done. You don't need to save it for alpha, he'd want you to have it." It takes everything in Hoseok not to storm into the other room and feed it to you himself.

Hoseok knows what he looks like, knows that he's skinnier than normal, that he looks underfed and somehow more muscular than before. starved for something that isn't food maybe. the military keeps alphas well fed but not satiated. feeds them enough protein and wolfsbane to make them stronger and yet more susceptible.

But in the meantime worry and anxiety have eaten away at him. His cheeks are hollow and his thin birdlike bones look like they've been wrapped with corded muscle. You'd squeezed them appreciatively earlier, the same as you had with Jin. And Yoongi's eye roll had been hassling. But even the other alpha smelled pleased.

"Yah what am I going to do, if they all come back like this it's going to be me and you against the world pup." You'd giggled, and Hobi had delighted you by letting you hang from his arm.

hoseok couldn't explain why when he looks at you he feels like crying. you're wrapped in your most comforting clothing, an old sweatshirt of his that he hasn't worn in two years and has a new hole at the hem like you've worn it every day in his absence. Giggling softly as you try and hang. Yoongi's hand twitches like he's sort of ready to catch you incase you teeter.

"You're so strong now! Bet you're stronger than Jungkookie even! you can lift me all the time not just when you wanna show off!"

"He could always lift you pup," Jin had crooned looking down at you, a head taller, stooping to drop a kiss on your forehead. His knowing smirk light and teasing. "Hobi just feels like lifting you is more for him than for you so he resists, kind of like how I feel about hugging- like this."

Jin has the longest arms but for what he can't reach Yoongi makes up for. The second he reaches around you and Hobi- Yoongi mirrors him. Both of them are in sync and Hoseok mistimed. off beat. Missing a step. Yoongi and Jin squeeze both of them pushing their chests together and trapping both you and Hobi in a Yoonjin sandwich.

Hoseok can feel how gently they do it. going slow so as to not aggravate his instincts. His alpha cocks his head, unused to the careful affection. They keep squeezing until both of you devolve into giggles and until Hoseok is laughing for real. Unbidden, face crumpling towards the end.

The pack house is part of a gated community. Insulated from the public eye by high walls and a guarded gate. It’s a mixture of modern Western architecture on the outside and traditional Korean wood tones and airy skylights on the interior.

Everyone has a bedroom although they more often than not find themselves scattered in pairs or trios. When the pack doesn't have a schedule to attend to the following day and your health allows for it- they pile into your bedroom heaped all over each other. Unworried about sleeping in uncomfortable positions or needing to wake up everyone to pee.

It's adjacent to your nest room and the kitchen on the ground floor- because you were as equally as prone to bumping into things and tripping as Namjoon. The pack couldn’t bear the idea of you having to go up and down the stairs every night.

You could call them overprotective and you would be right. Your comment about Hoseok carrying you wasn't just teasing. You're lucky your alpha's keep you on such a long (and thankfully metaphorical) leash.

Many many omegas find themselves in more controlling situations than you do. Monitored, and kept safe by personal bodyguards or packmates (often times beta's or lower ranking alphas whose sole job in the pack structure is to protect and guard the pack's omega).

The closest thing you have to that is Jungkook and Taehyung. You don't think it's that over the top. In some parts of the world omega's occasionally disappear. Snatched from street corners or stolen from nests in the dead of night. Usually just after the presentation when they haven't found a pack yet to keep them safe.

You're lucky that the pack only sometimes ask to carry you up and down the stairs. You're lucky they don't have the habit of 'omega wearing' as some more traditional all-alpha packs do. No one's kept omega's like that- as little more than pets- in generations. You don't live in a country that requires omegas to wear a collar when they're out in public.

But still, sometimes it's hard not to be protective. You're used to most of it, every time that you so much as pick up a butter knife someone's shushing you and taking it from you. When you bend down to tie your shoes someone is already on their knees before you. Your jacket is always zipped for you, mittens always on, scarf tucked. Whenever you try and put a shirt over your head someone is aiding you. You've lost track of the times that you've heard them say "let alpha do it."

Jimin doesn't even ask, he just glares and puts his hands on his hips if you struggle too much. Surprisingly stern when you feel like you want to squirm or struggle. He's one of the very few packmates whose not uncomfortable landing a swat over your behind or making you write lines.

Jimin is very very particular about the rules. there are others that apply to the rest of them like 'no staying at the studio over night' and 'pt once a week, no butts' and 'no skipping meals for practice' but there are other ones specifically for you that go a little over the top.

Rules like I will tell my packmates when I'm feeling overstimulated and I will not go places in public alone without someone there to protect me. I will not behave in a way that puts my physical wellbeing in danger even inadvertently. If I go into omegaspace I will go and get someone no matter what they're doing because I cannot be left alone unsupervised.

Other things too like- when i feel needy i will not touch myself like a greedy little pup when I have 7 healthy packmates to fuck me. When I want a knot I will not demand it but ask for it nicely and say please and thank you. I will not take out my plug after breeding until Jiminie or Hoseokie or Namjoonie has told me I can. When I want bruises during a spanking or a settling I will clear it with every alpha first starting with Hoseokie and then Yoongi and Namjoon, then Jinnie, and Jungkookie and Taehyungie, only then will Minnie take you over his lap.

And you'll say please and thank you.

You're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Jimin is a very very particular beta. You miss him so much it aches. You miss all of them so much it hurts you, manifests as a physical ache in your temples or under your ribs. A breathless furious need to burrow away where no one could see you. unsafe without your familiar cadre of packmates.

Most of the ways that they take care of you are completely innocent. A tangle in your hair is hardly there before someone asks you to come sit between their thighs, brush in hand. You rarely ever have to sit on your own, a rotating schedule of who gets to have you in their lap during meal times. You haven't picked out your own clothes in years- someone's always there to do it for you.

At least not before enlistment.

After enlistment, you'd learned to do alot for yourself again. With Yoongi home in the evenings, it wasn't quite as lonely as it could have been but still-

It's the little things, that you'd struggled to accept at first that you ended up missing the most. It's insane to you now how you used to live before. That you were used to being independent and uncared for.

Maybe the truth is you don't hate all of it. It was so much nicer than being hissed at and shunned. You don't hate it when you fall asleep in the car or the couch and Namjoon or Hoseok carries you to your bed. You don't hate it when you're in public and someone is always gripping your arm or hold your wrist and guiding over every uneven doorway or step down. holding the back of your head when they guide you to bite. You don't mind the "hold my hand pup" or "Someone's too small for that, let alpha do it."

It's strange sure, but it's a little true. even when you don't want to admit it.

It's strange when Seokjin blows on your spoon of soup before letting you take a bite. When the alphas growl at you if you linger too close to someone who's not them- But it makes you feel comfortable and cared for in a way that you weren't always used to.

Treasured. That's the word for it. You're their treasure. You don't cringe about it when you remember anymore. (The truth is that the pack has made you a bit spoiled now. You don't resist their babying nearly as much as you used too).

It had felt like something of a game at the beginning. You asked for things to see if you could and they fulfilled it, only to shrink before what they actually wanted to give. But eventually you got so used to them handling everything that even when you'd squirmed and struggled and called too much you'd trusted them enough to let them push- and you'd eventually given in.

Maybe you'd be more used to it if you were born an omega (you were born an omega, you try to remind yourself. It just feels like you weren't sometimes).

Now their bedrooms are spaces that you haunt when you miss them. when they're home there are still moments when they each need their own space to either sleep without temptation or decompress after their busy schedules. It serves no one if they always wake each other up by leaving early for filming, or practice, or meetings.

The only bedroom that’s fit with a bed big enough for all of them is your bedroom, more out of necessity than anything else since your bed is the defacto favorite. You’d tried for a normal bed when you’d first moved in but found it quickly overrun and too crowded by packmates. Giving you the largest bedroom was something Hoseok insisted upon.

His own bedroom is now across the courtyard next to Yoongi’s, hardly used. Last time Hoseok checked, Yoongi had taken to storing some of his recording equipment in there, had propped the old bed up against the wall to make room for a pseudo recording studio. Before enlistment Hoseok rarely spent a night away from you, only if you were sick again and if he had an early schedule and didn’t want to wake you- and even then- he'd just rather steal away to someone else's room rather than sleep on his own.

The packhouse is arranged in a big rectangle with an open-air courtyard at the center. The soil there is crammed close with as many plants as Namjoon can stuff there. Tended to by staff twice a week now that the alpha isn’t home regularly to look after his precious camellia and cloud-pruned spruces. The cherry tree sits stubby, blooms just tempting to burst but not here yet. by spring time a small patch of grass will sit studded with clovers and small flowers, a spot for you to lounge in the middle of the day and curl up like a cat in a puddle of sunshine.

Hoseok and Yoongi are on the other side of the courtyard adjacent to the entrance. close to it just incase anyone tried to enter. The rest of the pack is upstairs. In their various bedrooms scattered between the workout room and entertainment center a larger studio space and a tiny art room where taehyung stores his canvases.

Now, Hoseok sits in your empty bedroom. Trying to decompress. Emphasis on trying.

It's hard when every time he shuts his eyes a new memory assaults him. It's hard to stay present. Hoseok knows his breathing is getting more and more ragged the longer he spends alone. It's so quiet here in the pack house. Hoseok's alpha doesn't like it.

Hoseok closes his eyes and a gun goes off. The feeling of a gun in his hand is heavy and impersonal. Hot and sweaty beneath his fingertips.

He opens them and sees your striped red and pink robe hanging by the door, side by side with Taehyung's green and yellow one. Yours warn and his brand new but both of them purchased on the same day. Taehyung just hasn't been here to use it.

He closes them and a sergeant is yelling in his face. Prodding his shoulder with their finger until his body moves. Hoseok can feel the growl in his throat threatening to burst.

Hoseok opens his eyes and notes that you've dropped one of your heated stuffed animals on the ground, that it's rolled half under the bed, he retrieves it and sets it on the bedside table.

Hoseok blinks again and Hoseok must not be composed enough. He must lift his lip because they're yelling at him to drop and give 50. But it's better than being on night watch for a week. Better than sleepless nights spent staring into the darkness and snow, not better than your bed here, plush and soft, smelling like good summer evenings.

Hoseok undresses in the barrack bathroom shoving the second someone comes too close, body-calling threats before he's even turned to see who it is. Hot water is better than the cold that digs into Hoseok's body like it's something with teeth and claws.

On night watch near the northern border. His fear plays tricks on him, you can only look into the darkness for so long before your mind plays tricks on you. You can only hunt monsters and play at being a killer before you start to feel too real.

Hoseok takes a deep breath and counts to seven.

Tonight is supposed to be full of his favorite things. Marinated crispy beef and seafood that smells rich and buttery on the air, music playing low. Things that Hoseok hasn’t been able to indulge in in months.

Like Yoongi’s cooking and your head in his lap after. Winding down and going slow. Easy slowness warming up to it so that Hoseok can start to get used to living again. He'll go back to work tomorrow with Jinnie because he doesn't have time to waste but with this and everything else. He'll adjust.

Hoseok doesn't have to be asleep tonight by the zero hour and doesn't have to be up tomorrow morning for early drills. He can sleep as long as he wants and He's not going to be able to enjoy it at all. Not while he's so keyed up.

He tries and does his best. Breathing in and out to calm his heart rate, decompressing in the half-darkness of the bedroom. It feels a bit too much like a shrine. There in the corner is Taehyung's record player collecting dust, and there on the shelf is Jimin's cologne.

Jimin doesn't always like to hide his scent, lightly floral, something delicate like roses or lychee, fruity and divine for a beta. You like to press your face into his throat hard enough to make Jiminie giggle. Hard enough to tip him over. He's prone to exaggeration. But when it comes to others outside of the pack Jimin prefers to hide his scent with a light layer of cologne, pushing it just a little more subdued, a little more masculine.

Scents are up to everyone's preference, and a fair amount of betas wear scent blockers and Jimin prefers to keep his scent for only the pack to indulge in and enjoy.

Namjoon's bonsai tree sits in the nook by the window, clipping shears and a pair of reinforced gloves (because the pack can't even let you handle scissors without worrying a little). A piece of Jungkook's artwork hangs above the bed. something that was sort of a courting present for you, it's mostly artful splatters but when you look at it in just the right light- it almost looks like a pair of eyes. Pieces are everywhere but no pack.

All of it, all of those months of discipline and control are gone now. Done and over. Everything is in frightening detail. His civilian clothes sit folded, his jacket off in just his undershirt now.

You scented them. Hoseok can smell it even without bringing it to his nose. Everything feels a little too sensory, a little too close. Like Hoseok is too aware of his body and how different his surroundings are. He closes his eyes because he can't bear how strange his life all looks.

Hoseok knew he had to be the first alpha out, he knew that this would be difficult. That it would be hard for the others to adjust and that it would be beneficial for them all if the pack alpha came home and got settled first. Hoseok can't imagine any of his alpha pups feeling this way, can't imagine Taehyung or Namjoon or Jungkook feeling like this. So tremulous, so fragile, and yet so volatile.

There are no barked orders, there is no rigorous schedule here. Just the scrape of a wooden spoon across a pan and the quiet comfort of home (but hoseok still feels homesick). Jin's creaky laugh, and the burst of champagne. The shuffle of slippered feet across the floor too.

You’re talking to them in the kitchen, can hear Yoongi ask if you need help carrying Hoseok's champagne glass to him- a silly thing to say. but instincts are a little silly sometimes. Hoseok swallows back a lump in his throat at it.

It's not like you’re strangers again, he's had nightly phone calls and daily texts and a night or two of leave a month. It’s only been weeks since he last saw you. But keeping it together for a day before he goes back to the day-in-day-out rigor of the military is different than coming home for good.

This means more, this is different. Hoseok isn't going back. He's never going back.

He holds his breath and counts to seven, then 14, then 21, 35, 49, until he's half gasping.

Hoseok feels the need to catalog everything, the curtains pulled against the window. when did you stop sleeping with the sunlight?Your slippers by the door, new. The plates in the kitchen green instead of white. What happened to your old ones? When did you stop wearing bunny slippers and start wearing matching kitty ones with Yoongi? What more has Hoseok missed by not being here?

The scent of omega anxiety is on the air, scared and nervous. You’d been feeling all those things this morning when you’d woken. Hoseok can smell it on the bed. A nightmare? Have you been having nightmares? Is that what it is?

That’s not all Hoseok can smell, the dewy sweet scent of omega slick lingers too. Slightly stale. The spicey tang of another alpha’s arousal also tingles at Hoseok's nose. Yoongi’s and Jin’s if Hoseok breathes deep, tracing the fresh scent of tangerines and peaches, a pure scent that deepens. Soothing, a balm to his nerves and likely yours.

Whatever solution the others found for your anxiety was the intimate sort. Hoseok can tell.

Just like he can tell that someone had stripped the sheets, had taken your clothes- drenched with the scent of omega arousal, out of the basket in the corner and taken it out, probably to keep Hoseok from scenting it, probably to keep Hoseok from being on edge.

but instead of making him comforted, it just makes him feel like a failure.

Failure, failure of a pack alpha. what kind of alpha is he that he can't even handle a hint of a nightmare? He’s angry, and not at you or at Jin or Yoongi, but at the situation. At things he can't change.

Hoseok can't hear your light footsteps. Can hear them get closer and closer and closer until you're a silhouette in the doorway, lingering, unsure. Catching him like this, sat on the edge of the pack bed, legs parted, head in his hands.

Hoseok opens his eyes; a shadow cuts across the light that streams in, and he flinches before he can stop himself.

“Hobi? Are you alright?” You take a step closer to him and he tenses. You notice, stopping in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Hobi-" you make to take another step closer and he lets out a sound, neither a hiss nor a whimper, neither a warning growl nor an invitation to come closer. Threat and protector blur.

For a second Hoseok's unsure if it's safe for you to be alone in the room with him.

“Stay back for a second pup, I’m sorry I’m just-” He takes off his beret, running his hands over his spiky hair. You probably thought that Hoseok went to shower minutes ago, not that he'd just be sitting here. “This is a little overwhelming.”

"What is? Us? Should we-" Hoseok nips it before your emotions have the chance to spiral.

“No. Not you- never you. Just-" he exhales shakily, trying to tame his racing heart rate. No matter how many times he tells himself there's no reason to be so on edge, Hoseok just can't will himself to relax.

"Is it being home? Being out?” Being free. It goes unspoken but Hoseok hears it and feels it regardless. He never imagined freedom to feel so stifling. To feel so unsure about his next move that he can't even make himself get up off this bed without worrying that he's going to lose control.

“No, it’s my instincts. I feel…” he trails off, resting a hand over his heart and hissing through it. You take a step back; his closed eyes shoot open and he lets out a growl. A real one. You freeze.

The tension is so thick in the air Hoseok could cut it with a dull knife. Do not let the omega escape, sweet omega, pretty omega, omega under your thumb. Protect devour provide devour, please.  His instincts are practically howling out in his ear. Loud, drowning out your words, the concern.

There is a furrow between your eyebrows, Hoseok wants to smooth it out and then bite your cheeks, round and flushed. Why are you blushing?

It takes him a second to answer. He registers you've asked him another question but he can't even hear it over the roar of his heartbeat.

“Sorry. Feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Oh you- oh Hobi. You’re alright. It’s over. We’re gonna be okay.” He hums skeptically when you say it. Blinking rapidly. He hopes its so dark you don't see the glassiness to his eyes. He doesn't respond right away. Can't.

It’s a reminder he’ll need again. He's going to need to hear you say it about a dozen times over the next week. You'll repeat it to him whenever his instincts get like this; whenever they go a little feral. A little haywire. He's not sure if he wants to burst into tears or stalk across the room and pin you to the wall.

It takes a second for Hoseok to work up the courage to be honest. A few seconds where you wait, swaying slightly in the doorway. You're wearing a matching pj set, the top has little iridescent buttons that catch the light like the eyes of a sea creature. The object of his every frustration and all his desires. The confession lurches from his chest, feels like a knife, and feels near violent. 

“I’m worried I don’t know how to be gentle with you anymore. They made me so- I’m worried I’ve forgotten. I don’t- I can’t-”

“What do you want to do right now? Tell me what you need.” your tone leaves no room for his anxiety and Hoseok realizes that his breathing has gone jagged. Hoseok is barely contained, teeth bared, alpha going wild at your scent. This time when you step closer, his alpha lets out a growl purr. A pleased sound, a soothing one. Tempting you closer. His legs are splayed, and a few more steps and you'd be standing in between them.

Hoseok’s hands are fisted in the sheets. He doesn't know if he can hold himself back. “Pup- I don’t, I can’t- i'm going to attack you-”

“Alpha.” Your voice cuts through the bullshit. You step closer and this time he doesn’t flinch away. You set your hand on his knee. Gentle. Barely touching. “What do you need alpha? What are your instincts telling you to do right now?”

He surges forward, stopping himself at the last moment. Your back against the door, swathed in shadow, a column of light flat across his face. Nose to nose with you. He grips your cheeks instead of your throat. You don't flinch and you don't sigh. Your reaction is immediate. Pushing into his touch. Hoseok's whole body is trembling with the effort it takes to stay gentle.

Hoseok hisses through his teeth. “My instincts are telling me you don’t smell like me anymore. That I need to bend you over this bed and make you mine from the inside out. Then take you out there and do the same to Yoongi and Jin until everyone's mine again. I want to devour you until there's no question who you belong to- until the whole world knows you're mine.”

He breaks off with a contemplative hum, and you realize how much his muscles are trembling, the dark tilt of his eyes as he stares at you, the dilation to his pupils. It’s faint, but it’s there. The physical strength it takes to hold himself back- you can't imagine.

he rests his forehead against yours. and his hand tightens to a fist on the wall. He lets your face go to skim his hand down your throat, feeling your pulse. Beating out a 120 tempo against his fingers. Then to your waist. Only a fool would mistake his touch for anything but claiming.

If you ran, Hoseok would catch you. You kind of want to do that, to run and have him hunt you down. You wouldn’t get far probably not even to the doorway. You imagine him taking you right there right where Yoongi and Jin could see.

They'd probably just tease you both and keep cooking.

Hoseok's hands smooth up and down your sides, from your spine to your ass. You let him touch. You're his in every way that matters anyway. You don't react or at least you try not too. You jump a little, when he squeezes, hissing appreciatively. His fingers continue to touch, to devour, slipping lower, palming, between your legs from behind.

He brushes something sensitive and you jerk. He growls. "Stay still omega."

"Trying alpha it's just-"

He undoes the buttons one by one on your top, hands surprisingly steady until it falls away from your shoulders. Hoseok nuzzles. Dark hair tucked beneath your chin as he mouths at your scent gland, hot breath dusting your skin. You're not worried or shy, Hoseok has seen all of you. You stay still until you feel the press of his teeth, jerking.

He squeezes your hip, reassuring you. The tension dissipates just a little.

"I’m so tired,” he laughs, and it sounds sad even to your own ears. He pulls back away from your skin, lips glossy and he rubs his hands over his face and then his hair. Your body burns when his hands leave your skin. It looks like it takes him real effort.

He leaves you there, standing half undressed by the doorway, shucking off his own shirt as he goes, setting it on the bed. Back to you.

There are bruises on his spine, up and down his back from a heavy pack or the strap of a gun you're not sure. You stumble forward, still half winded to touche them. Hoseok's body stills when he feels you come close.

You trace over them softly. Hoseok's breathing is so measured you know each breath must take herculean effort.

There have been so many weeks of teasing that have led up to this. Picture after picture, you pouting asking for your favorite alpha home. Pictures that Hoseok dared only open in the privacy of the bathroom that left little to the imagination. A shot of Yoongi's head between your thighs, a shot of you nesting in next to nothing. Virtual bait and blood in the water to Hoseok's hungry alpha more than willing to take a bite. All to give him something else to think about during that home stretch.

You wrap your arms around him and press your bare front to his warm back.

“I'm so tired that I don’t think I can be gentle, and I want to be gentle with you. I can’t not be gentle with you. I don't think I could do it without loosing control.” His fingers are mostly gentle as they pinch your cheeks, making your lips pout out. It's a little goofy.

Your eyes already look shiny, and he almost jerks when he registers the scent of slick on the air.

“Then don’t be gentle.”

“Pup.” There's a warning in his voice and he looks visible startled when he turns around. He pulls back until you let go of him, turn around. but you're not dissuaded easily, arms loose until he grabs your wrists. no matter how hard you pull you can't get them out of his grasp. but that's sort of the point.

You let Hoseok hold you, let him keep you still, a teasing smile on the edge of your lips. He huffs after a second, palms sliding up to your elbows. "You're gonna make me get more grey hairs."

"but you love me anyway?"

Hoseok nods. "but i love you anyway."

“if you can't be- then don't. Don’t be gentle, I don't care.” You’d tilted your head to the side. “Please alpha.”

Hoseok is a weak weak man. Hoseok cannot hold himself back from you. Not today. Hoseok proceeds to do exactly that, hunting and running and all. you smile and bolt, and hoseok bends to his instincts just this once.

You don't make it farther than the doorway.

Sprawled and giggling. Somewhere along the next few minutes, the sound of Seokjin and Yoongi cooking quiets, they listen but they don't interrupt. You try to push, try to fight but it's futile. it's all a game. Giggling all the while and it's like candy and conquest.

Hoseok's mouth runs wild like this- instinctual and driven.

"Is it too big for you little pup? Poor little omega stuck on a big knot, making you feel all full. Don't worry, alpha will fuck you until you're used to it again, until you feel empty without it. Keeping me warm and snug, is it too much? Don't cry, alpha will make it better. Alpha will keep you safe."

By the end of it. You'd been dazed and boneless, little more than a puddle of whimpers and whines. He had carried you tender and knotted to him in the direction of his pack. Instincts driving him to show (Hoseok is little better than a pup bringing his packmates a stick. See? See how good I bred omega, see how good I knotted her. She smells good and I made her this way for you. If he had a tail it would be wagging behind him.)

Dinner and celebration traded for a different sort of meal. Hoseok sits with you in his lap at the kitchen island. Yoongi dries his hands slowly from the sink and curses low when Hoseok holds you under your thighs, back to his chest. Spreading you for him.

"Fuck- I forgot how it looks like when you knot her it's so-"

It will take a good hour for Hoseok's knot to go down. Until then, the pack will play with you as they see fit, completely at their mercy, just the way that Hoseok likes you.

You always get a little bit more suggestible when you're knotted. Hoseok likes to think that you don't let them do everything they want to you when you are knotted but…you sort of do. While you're more than comfortable telling them off and showing off any wandering hands normally (and there are alot of wandering hands) you're almost docile when you're knotted to Hoseok.

Being knotted to the pack alpha is a bit of an invitation. Hoseok has watched the others jerk off over your chest like this, has watched them go between your legs and lap and suck to their heart's content, seen them kiss and suck until your eyes have rolled back. He doesn't mind. It doesn't make his instincts feel threatened. It feels good.

But only if Hoseok lets them. Maybe that's why you let them do it because in these moments, your bodies are locked together- you belong solely to Hoseok.

Hoseok's nose traces over your spine, over the nape of your neck. His alpha likes it very very much. The other alpha's like it too.

Now Yoongi eyes the spot where you stretch around him, the place you go pink and dewy, licking his lip and adjusting himself in his pants. Hoseok knows there's not a thing in the world he wouldn't give up for this.

Hoseok reaches between your legs. You whine when you feel him touch you, eyes fluttering against his throat, but Hoseok tips his fingers into your dewy folds, parts your lips and shows them. "opened right up, cute little cunt. Your whole body is lax, head full of mango colored cotton. the haze of pleasure just a little too much, a little too much to sort out your desire to please from everything else.

distantly you can hear yoongi's deep chuckle. "Your knot is the same size as mine. It looks like this when you do it too."

Yoongi's dark eyes are unreadable. The room smells like smoke, the burners are turned off, but no one is plating any food. Hoseok didn't even bother to undress just pulled down his pants enough to get his knot free. But you're nude clutched against his chest. Clothes torn up in the other room. Bite marks up and down your body.

Jin coos and looks you over. Hoseok feels…satisfied when the beta purrs in approval. The sight of it going straight to his head judging from the way his peach scent ripens on the air.

"It's different, it's different when it's yours."

You jerk once Jin comes close, his long fingers skimming places Hoseok can't see, buried against the back of your neck, mouthing at your nape hungry still. "Sensitive" you shutter but your pleas remain mostly ignored. a whine escapes your pressed lips and a furious blush lights down your midline. Jin keeps touching you. Hoseok wraps his arms around your middle to stop your squirming. Keeping you still so that the beta can do what he wants with you.

"Alpha bit me there too." You mumble against Hobi's throat, shifting restlessly from whatever Jin is doing. Shifting more. "Jinnie- I'm sensitive,"

You nearly flinch, but Jin's thumb presses. "Oh here? Right here?" Hoseok's teeth dip into the nape of your neck and you go boneless. Hobi laps at the pink skin when he pulls back. you pant openly, incapable of letting out more than whines.

"Let Jinnie see what alpha did to you pup." Jin drops to his knees to look closer and hobi holds you wider.

When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Hobi before you. His smile goes a little teasing.

"This little spot right? It's a very cute little spot, I understand why Hobi bit it."

Hoseok's nose traces your ear. "Don't act like it didn't make you cum." you sniffle but nod. Hoseok's knot throbs at your simple obedience. the way that you agree. It makes Hoseok want to bite you more if it's even possible. He laps at your throat some more to ignore the temptation.

"Oh? Alpha was mean? Let Jinnie kiss it better."

~-~

You end up ordering takeout. Yoongi burnt the meat too bad to be edible.

Later there is this; you cuddled up on his chest, nearly nude, wearing someone's boxers as shorts as you often do post-breeding. You claim it helps you feel closer to your alphas and although stealing clothes is pretty typical of an omega. Jin still teases, "you're not even wearing ours; those are Jungkook's."

Yoongi had stood up, pawing for his phone. "I'm gonna send him a picture- he's gonna love-" Yoongi's fingers pause on your hem. a shocked laugh bursting from his throat. "Hobi you literally left teeth marks on her ass."

Hobi's arms go firmer around you and he's about to apologize when you beat him to the punch. "I like it. If anyone gets angry tell them not to because I liked it. Makes me feel-" You shimmy and hiss at the ache in your body. "Makes me feel like I'm yours again."

There is a lump in Hoseok's throat, and his instincts go just a little more quiet. He's so fixated on that that he hardly hears your next reply, the teasing tone of your voice.

"And besides Jungkook's boxers are so much softer than yours."

"Yah-"

"You little brat." You shake against Hoseok's chest with the force of his laughter. And jump when yoongi reaches out to pinch the bruises. yoongi hadn't cum more than once earlier, and hoseok knows that although the other alpha is the least deprived out of all of them- he's still needy, still a little wound up by seeing it earlier.

They make eye contact over your head and Hoseok feels a little satisfied when yoongi looks away first.

"Fine, be like that, I'm gonna wash all my sweatshirts then and you won't have any left for your nest."

Your expression had gone suddenly panicked, "but- but-"

Now your bellies are full from takeout because Yoongi had actually ruined dinner- granted he had good reason to be distracted. Hoseok feels properly worn down, properly settled, there's still a tiny bit of anxiety in him, and his alpha still looms awfully close. But he knows that won't really go away for a good long while. Not until the whole pack is back here and safe. The doors locked and the windows shuttered.

Yoongi gets up when you ask for water, and Jin gets up when you realize you've neglected to put on your eye cream. Both strange things. In any other world Namjoon and Jimin would have done both of those things for you.

He might just confine them all to your bedroom for their first week back. His alpha likes the idea of that. You purr softly against his chest, and Hoseok holds around you with that same gentleness that he'd been craving earlier, finally capable of it with you smelling like him and the others too. They had only done the bare minimum of cleaning themselves up with lazy swipes of a damp cloth.

With three packmates wrapped around you, Hoseok under you, cheek resting over his heartbeat to listen, Yoongi against your back, and Seokjin at your front Hoseok finally feels like it's enough. You're safe like this. Nothing could ever hurt you.

Not even himself.

A concerning number of bruises trace up your thighs that Hoseok will apologize and worry over tomorrow. Even though you've told him you don't mind them- that you even like them. Everything can wait until tomorrow, healing included. Hoseok finally gets the courage to ask.

"When I came into this room, it set me off. I can tell you were anxious this morning when you woke up. What was it? Was it me?" He has to crane his neck to catch your expression and how your face goes from stricken to polished in a second.

"It was nothing, we handled it." Seokjin tries to smooth over it. But Hoseok’s warning growl cuts him off.

You trace mindless patterns over his heart, and your purr peters off. "I had this weird dream; it was a nightmare and just weird." You pause, looking up at him. Your expression is so calm that Hoseok doesn't believe it for a second. "In the dream you hated me, or at least really didn't like me." Hoseok's hold on you goes just a little tighter like his alpha is offended by the very idea of it. "There was glass everywhere and Tae was wearing pink."

Yoongi speaks, and Hoseok knows he's taking it seriously just trying to make you feel better by being a little silly."That's not that weird, Tae wears pink all the time."

"Only when he steals Jin's clothes."

"Did you know he got ketchup on the last one? I swear these kids-"

You peak up at Hobi tentatively. And he can tell that you're still a little upset by the dream. "Don't worry- I think by the end of the dream we loved each other and anyways-" You kiss his jaw, pecking at it and a lazy growl builds in his chest, spent cock twitching below you. His appetite is insatiable even after three rounds. Once on the floor, and again on the kitchen table. And again here.

"It didn't make any sense; Yoongi was a beta in it and Jinnie was an omega like me." you trace circles over his heart. "It was a bit ridiculous."

Jin ducks low pressing a kiss to your forehead, “yeah, as much as I love you being an omega I don’t know how you handle all of us pawing at you like this. I’d get like so overstimulated. And you’ve told me how sleepy you get.”

“Yeah, it is a little annoying, needing more sleep than you guys do to like. Function.”

"And like I could ever be anything but an alpha." Yoongi looks a little fragile, a little threatened by the dream. Hoseok wonders what else was in it if the other alpha is so on edge. Because there must have been more. “I can’t imagine not having instincts at all.” Jin pinches him and Yoongi jumps.

You don't have to look to know Jin's rolling his eyes. “Yeah like not growling and not nosing after anything that smells even a little bit sweet is such a curse.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it when I was nosing at you yester-“ Yoongi is interrupted by a pillow to the face, feathers fluttering down as you giggle against Hobi's chest.

Hoseok ignores the bickering, still watching you. "What was I in your dream? Was I an alpha?"

"Yes, but you weren't mine." You scoot closer to him, wiggling like just the weight of your body isn't enough to get close enough. Hoseok has a feeling that in a few minutes, you're going to start tugging at the hem of his boxers and ask to cock warm him to sleep. Some nights your omega just doesn't like any distance between you and your pack alpha and now that you have him back you don't want to let him go even a little bit. You could use a plug- but your omega wouldn't like it now that you have the real thing.

(omega plugs are fairly standard, alot of packs make omega's wear them to sleep or when they go out. A physical reminder to the omega soft minded and a way to ensure they're docile. There are even fancy ones that log body temperature, dampness and location. Sending notifications to the alpha's phone and information like rem sleep and lengh of orgasam. The pack has never needed one of those with you.)

Now though hoseok wishes he had some sort of insight into what you're thinking as you rest your cheek on his chest and look up at him. frowning and thinking hard. hoseok's thumb rubs over the nobs of your spine, up and down.

“You kind of hated me and you were so sad. I couldn’t do anything about it. That's what made me anxious- the idea of you being sad and not being able to fix it.”

You turn to nuzzle into his shoulder. The movement is so routine, so normal it almost looks like breathing. Hoseok's heart hurts from it. Your scent smells a little disconcerted, a little worried. Like just the memory of the dream is enough to set you on edge. “Like I said it was a nightmare."

Hoseok just holds you tighter, dragging his cheek along the top of your head. His scenting is a little overkill given the circumstances. any alpha in a 3 mile radius would be able to tell it's him that's claimed you.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough and quiet. "Sounds like a nightmare to me too."

~-~ Stay tuned for the next part ~-~

Notes:

sometimes i feel like i frame certain scenes like i'm not like- writing a story so much as vissually looking at a tv and describing what i'm seeing. this is one of those fics that very much felt like that.

i feel like this story is more of a true story vs a plot. i've made no secret of the fact that what i really like about fanfiction is making a world that you can sink your teeth into- and i feel like this one- this universe with pack alpha hoseok is like- ugh so drippy. like i truly hope you leave reading it and feel frustrated that you're not there- even though not all of the things described in it are good. for that reason i think there's less plot in this. like i just want it to be something that envelops you- not necessarily something that progresses although there definitely is plot to it.

i toyed alot with the idea of having there be shifting wolves in the one. i put that little tidbit in with taehyung just incase i fell like touching on it here. but honestly i may not have enough time.

i think one of the scent fortified drinks that yoongi drank too much of in their trainee days was probably "omegabull" or "omegaster" idk i didn't put it in because it felt too goofy. my favorite redbull is cranberry flavor :) maybe i'd smell like cranberries if i was an omega?

okay so- the pack's scents in this- i know it's not mentioned all that much in the first chapter- but!!! their scents for hoseok and the m/c are what their scents would have been had they not been abused in bily- this universe is sort of a foil of the other one. but yeah- hoseok would have smelled like mangos :( i know not everyone will read bily who reads this so! i tried to make the allusions to it less on the nose than in the first draft.

tbh that little bit with the plates being new, this is a. a bily refrence because remember how yoongi breaks them when she leaves? yeah this version of yoongi also broke dishes when the pack left. BUT ALSO- i do think i wanna touch a bit more on yoongi and her's time alone togeather. i like the idea that in every universe, they have their moment where it's just the two of them.

the scene at the end is just hoseok: ready to pounce on the m/c scared of himself and the idea that he could hurt her meanwhile the m/c: thats hot.

the moment where he says "the object of his frustration and all his desires' is a nod to bridgerton because i was re-watching it and loving it.

if we're being honest i think that beta's might be intersex in this universe, do i really really wanna write jimin and her rubbing their pussies together? yeahhhhhhhh, am i actually gonna write it??? probably not.

[cosmiclily]

idk if i wanted this before or someone did but can you write about vi and reader having a baby? i really want to see it and vi's thing about babies😭

ivy - part one

★vi x f!reader

wc: 4k

notes: been getting many requests about vi and reader having kids so here it is !!! in the first part they are not having a baby baby but wait for part two !!! 😋 thank you @strawb4kdior and anons for the requests!

Vi had always dreamed of having a big family. She grew up surrounded by noise, laughter, and the constant chaos of siblings under one roof—there was always someone shouting, someone crying, someone laughing. That was home to her. That was comfort.

So, when you got married, there was a quiet—sometimes not so quiet—expectation from her side of the family about when you two would start "popping out babies," as Mylo so charmingly put it.

That first holiday season after your wedding, when you visited her family in Zaun, it felt like the pressure kicked into full gear. Vander, ever the affectionate father figure, gave the two of you a box filled with baby clothes—tiny shirts, knitted socks, and a ridiculous little hat shaped like a mushroom.

“Ay, I’m not saying you’re having children right away,” he said with a teasing grin, pointing a thick thumb toward Vi. “But I know this one. She’ll want a whole football team at home before long.”

You laughed along with him, mostly because it was easier than unpacking the tangle of emotions that followed. But later that night, the laughter faded, and your thoughts grew heavier.

Because the truth was… you weren’t like Vi.

You hadn’t grown up with siblings. There was no chaotic, loving noise. Just you, your mom, your dad, and the occasional visit from a cousin or two. Quiet dinners. Controlled spaces. Predictable routines. The idea of raising a child—let alone several—felt like stepping into a world you’d never been taught how to navigate.

It scared you.

You were afraid of losing the little sanctuary you and Vi had built together—your late-night talks, your slow mornings, your messy, peaceful life. Afraid that having a child would shift everything out of balance, and that maybe you wouldn’t know how to hold it all together.

After the Christmas dinner, once everyone had gone to bed and the house had finally quieted down, Vi turned to you. Maybe she sensed your unease, or maybe you hadn’t done as good a job hiding it as you thought.

The two of you were lying in bed, facing each other under thick quilts, her hand gently stroking your hair as your eyes began to flutter closed.

“You know we don’t have to have kids right away, right?” she said softly, voice low and warm. “Or ever, if that’s what you want.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening at the tenderness in her voice.

“I know how hesitant you are about this,” she continued. “It’s a big change. And I get that it’s not just about wanting them or not. It’s about the kind of life we’d have, the kind of people we’d need to become. And if it ever feels like too much... I’d rather just have you. No tiny feet, no bedtime stories, no chaos—just you.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion but brimming with love. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “I know how much you want it.”

Vi smiled gently, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Family doesn’t have to look one way. It can just be us. And if someday you feel ready… then we talk about it again. Together.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just nestled closer to her, your forehead pressed gently to hers, comforted by the quiet honesty in her words.

And looking back now, that moment—her patience, her reassurance—was what changed everything for you. You hated being pressured into anything, especially something as life-altering as parenthood. But knowing Vi wasn’t expecting anything from you that you didn’t want to give… it lifted a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

And from that point on, you started to look at the world through a different lens.

──────────────────────

A year and a half into your married life, everything felt like it had finally settled into place. You were thriving in your career, pouring your time and energy into several outreach programs and charities—especially those supporting children in Zaun. You’d become a familiar face in the shelters and clinics, and from time to time, Vi would show up during your shifts, bringing you lunch or tagging along to visit the homes where the children were placed.

She always lit up around the kids—laughing, joking, lifting them up onto her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But one day, everything shifted.

You met Ivy.

She was five years old when she first arrived—thin, quiet, and sharp-eyed, with wild, bright blue hair and big brown eyes that held more weight than any child should ever carry. The first time Vi saw her, something changed in her expression. You caught the way her eyes softened, how her whole body leaned forward just a little, like she was seeing something familiar—something important.

At first, Ivy was timid. She barely spoke to the other children, and when you tried to approach her, she’d only nod or shrink away. But Vi didn’t give up. She spoke to her gently, cracked jokes, made silly faces, brought her little gifts and toy trinkets. And slowly, Ivy began to open up.

It became a pattern—every time you had to stop by the shelter, Vi insisted on coming with you. “Just to say hi,” she’d claim, but you knew better.

One day, you left them alone to deal with some paperwork—endless inventory lists and requisition forms. When you came back, you stopped in the doorway and froze.

Vi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the playroom, wearing a bright pink tutu over her pants, a plastic princess crown balanced crookedly on her head, and a tiny toy teacup clutched in her hand. Across from her sat Ivy in a matching tutu, proudly holding a stuffed cow in her lap and beaming like the sun.

“Do you want more tea?” Ivy asked, her voice sweet and filled with excitement.

“Yes, please!” Vi said, holding out her cup with exaggerated elegance, pinky finger raised high in the air.

You stood there quietly, heart catching in your throat, watching as Ivy poured invisible tea into Vi’s cup. Their laughter echoed softly around the room, and in that moment, it hit you like a wave.

This wasn’t just another child. This wasn’t just another case or temporary bond.

She wasn’t just someone you were helping.

Ivy was your daughter.

──────────────────────

After you got home, the two of you sat down for dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city outside the only sounds filling the space. You pushed the food around on your plate, barely tasting it, your mind too full.

You knew it was time to talk to Vi.

“I…” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You didn’t know how to begin. Vi had formed such a natural, close bond with Ivy—it was effortless, like they’d been connected long before they’d even met. But for you, it felt different. You cared deeply, maybe even more than you could admit out loud yet, but Ivy still looked at you like you were a kind stranger passing through her life.

And you were terrified that she’d never see you as more than that.

Vi’s brow furrowed the moment you hesitated. She turned toward you, concern etched across her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I mean—yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled slowly, steadying your voice. “I wanted to tell you that I… I submitted us to be Ivy’s foster family.”

Vi’s eyes widened in surprise, her fork falling to the plate with a soft clatter. “What? When did you—?”

“Just before we left the shelter,” you interrupted, rushing the words out before you could second-guess yourself. “I know we said we’d make that kind of decision together, but I saw you with her, Vi. I saw how she looks at you, how she laughs with you, and… I don’t know, I just—something clicked. It felt right in the moment, and I thought, ‘Why not us?’ But now I’m spiraling because maybe it was too impulsive, maybe we won’t even get approved, and maybe—”

“Hey. Hey. Baby,” Vi said gently, reaching across the table to take your hands in hers. “Breathe, alright? You’re not crazy. You’re not wrong. And I’m not mad. Far from it.”

You looked up at her, eyes stinging a little.

“I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “Ivy’s special. And I see it in you too—the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You care about her more than you realize.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. If we get approved—amazing. If not, we keep visiting. We stay in her life. We try again. We don’t give up. Not on her.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed her hands.

Vi smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed your knuckles.

──────────────────────

You had to make a lot of changes to your home before you were even considered for foster parenting.

Vi’s office was the first to go. It transformed into a small, bright room with plain white walls—you’d both agreed Ivy should get to choose the color herself once she settled in. You child-proofed the entire house, securing cabinets, covering outlets, padding sharp corners. It was a whirlwind, too fast by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t slow down.

You knew it was too soon. You knew there were risks, that things could fall apart. But every time Vi’s eyes lit up at a stuffed animal, a little blanket, or a book she thought Ivy would love, it drowned out the anxious voice in your head that warned this might not work. That it might all be temporary.

Vi had even told Jinx—despite your insistence that it wasn’t an adoption yet, just fostering. Naturally, Jinx told everyone else. And soon after, Vander was at your front door with a toolbox, claiming he was there to “help Vi set up the kid’s room,” though you suspected he mostly just wanted to feel included.

──────────────────────

The letter came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon—thin, unassuming, almost like junk mail. You were about to toss it when Vi caught the official stamp in the corner and snatched it from your hand. She tore it open, fingers shaking, while you stood beside her, breath caught in your chest.

Her eyes scanned the page. Then she looked up at you, wide-eyed, breathless.

“We got her.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“We got her, baby,” she repeated, voice breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “We’re approved. Ivy’s coming home.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Vi wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your shoulder. You held each other in the quiet, rain tapping against the windows like applause from the universe itself.

The day you went to pick her up, Ivy stood at the top of the shelter’s worn stone steps, her little backpack clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her big brown eyes blinked up at you, cautious, searching—hopeful.

Vi was the first to kneel down, soft and open. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to come home?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She looked from Vi to you, her voice small and cracking the silence: “Will I get to stay this time?”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You knelt beside Vi and reached out to gently take Ivy’s hand.

“Yes, Ivy,” you said. “You get to stay. For as long as you want.”

Vi smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair. “We’ve got a room just for you. And guess what? You get to choose the wall color. We’ll put up fairy lights, and we’ve got a bookshelf waiting for all your princess stories.”

“And teacups,” you added with a wink. “Tiny ones.”

That got a smile from Ivy—shy but real—and she gave a small nod.

The car ride home was quiet. Ivy curled up in the backseat with the stuffed bunny Vi had given her weeks ago, occasionally peeking at the two of you in the front seat as if to make sure you were still there. Still real.

When you arrived, Vi scooped her up in one arm and twirled her once in the hallway, making her giggle for the first time that day.

That night, after Ivy had fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars projected onto her ceiling, you and Vi stood quietly in her doorway, arms around each other, watching the rise and fall of her tiny breaths.

“We have a daughter,” you whispered.

Vi rested her chin on your head and nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… we really do.”

──────────────────────

The first few days at home were a mix of quiet observation and small, cautious steps. Ivy was polite and sweet, always whispering “thank you” and “sorry,” even when there was nothing to be sorry for. She kept to herself at first, mostly playing in her room—arranging and rearranging the books on her little shelf or curling up with her stuffed bunny in the cozy reading nook Vi and Vander had built by the window.

But slowly, the house began to come alive in new ways.

Vi showed her how to make pancakes in the morning, even letting her flip one—badly—which left batter splattered on the stove and Ivy in a fit of giggles. You turned laundry folding into a game, a sock-matching race that ended in shrieks of laughter more than clean piles. Every night, Ivy asked for the same bedtime story—the one about the brave knight and the dragon who became her friend.

Then one sunny Saturday, it was time for her to meet the family.

Vi had tried to prepare her. “They’re loud, and they’ll probably bring too many snacks and too many hugs—but they mean well. I promise.”

Ivy clung to your hand as Vander’s booming voice echoed through the house before he’d even stepped inside.

“Is the little one here? Where’s my new tea party partner?”

Vi opened the door, and there he was—massive as ever, with arms wide and a teddy bear the size of a small dog slung over one shoulder. He bent down, eyes gentle behind his tough exterior, and offered Ivy a warm smile. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Vander.”

Ivy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then slowly reached out and took the bear, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m a granddad” he said with a laugh, giving Vi a playful pat on the back.

Jinx was next, practically vibrating with excitement as she crouched in front of Ivy. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I brought glitter, stickers, and I know how to make slime that explodes.”

“She’s joking,” Vi quickly interjected, shooting her sister a look.

“Mostly joking,” Jinx whispered with a wink, making Ivy giggle behind the bear.

Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko arrived not long after, each carrying something they claimed Ivy had to have—a toy, a book, a plushie, a puzzle. Claggor offered to help build a blanket fort out of the couch cushions. Mylo challenged her to a card game he swore he never loses. Ekko knelt beside her and offered a tiny wind-up bird he’d fixed himself, its delicate wings fluttering as it chirped.

But soon, you noticed Ivy starting to withdraw—her shoulders tensing, her voice shrinking to a whisper. You knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Too much?”

She gave a small nod.

You gently lifted her into your arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Alright, how about a little break? Just us. We’ll go back in when you’re ready.”

There, you let her help you with the cake batter while she told you a story about a dragon and a pink-haired knight with powerful gauntlets. Vi peeked in a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe with a smile.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?” she asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you poured the batter into the pan.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at Ivy, who was sitting on the counter with flour on her nose. “She was just telling me a story. Apparently there’s a brave pink-haired knight who slayed a dragon today.”

Vi grinned. “Oh? Sounds like she’s got good taste. That knight sounds very strong.”

Ivy giggled, hiding her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, your parents arrived—quieter than the rest, but just as full of love. Your mom handed Ivy a hand-knit blanket, soft yellow with tiny green daisies embroidered into the fabric. Your dad offered her a small photo album filled with baby pictures of you and Vi—chubby cheeks, missing teeth, wild hair. Ivy flipped through it slowly, like it was a rare treasure.

That evening, the house was full of warmth and laughter. Ivy was now sitting between Jinx and Ekko with her new blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her plastic crown was a little crooked, and she sipped from a juice box with a smile tugging at her lips.

You watched her from across the room, tucked into Vi’s side.

“She’s getting comfortable,” you whispered.

Vi’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you close. “She’s starting to believe this is home.”

You glanced back at Ivy, watching her laugh at something Mylo said, watching her curl up again with her oversized bear and the photo album tucked at her side.

And in that moment, you felt something settle inside you.

You felt whole.

──────────────────────

You and Vi were certain—Ivy was your daughter. There was no hesitation in your hearts. So the very next morning, after your family’s visit, you rushed to your office, pulled a few strings, and quietly set the official adoption paperwork in motion. No more waiting. No more what-ifs. You were ready.

In the days that followed, Ivy blossomed in your home. She had started settling in, becoming more comfortable in the little routines you and Vi had built just for her. She raced Vi to the kitchen every morning, always insisting she had won—even when Vi clearly let her. She claimed the reading nook as her personal throne, often found there with a book in her lap and her bunny tucked under one arm. And twice now, she had asked you to braid her hair before bed. Small moments. Beautiful ones.

The routine you had once feared would be shattered by change had, instead, reshaped itself around Ivy like it had been waiting for her all along.

One quiet evening, the three of you were in the living room. Vi sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Ivy piece together the glittery unicorn puzzle Jinx had given her, while you curled up on the couch nearby, flipping absentmindedly through a book. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm amber light across the room and filling it with the scent of burning pine.

“I think this one goes here,” Vi said, nudging a piece toward Ivy with a smile.

Ivy took it with a little frown of concentration, studying the image before carefully pressing it into place. “Got it!” she chirped, beaming at Vi.

Vi held up her hand for a high-five. “Told you—you’re a puzzle master.”

Ivy giggled and gave her a victorious high five, then glanced over her shoulder at you, her voice soft, almost offhanded but sure.

“Mommy, look. I did the sky part.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Mommy. The word floated through the room settling over your heart and wrapping around it.

Vi’s eyes shot to yours, wide with awe—but you weren’t crying. Not yet. Instead, you were smiling, your lips trembling just slightly, your eyes shining with emotion.

You slid off the couch and knelt beside Ivy, placing your hand over hers, grounding the moment. “You did such a good job, Ivy,” you whispered.

She leaned into your side immediately, tucking her small head under your chin. You held her close, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her little heart—and something shifted inside you. That trust. That love. It had all found its way home.

Vi moved behind you, resting a hand on your back, her thumb brushing in slow circles as the three of you sat together in the flickering light.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need to. The moment said enough.

Later that night, after Ivy had drifted to sleep—her bunny in one arm, your mother’s daisy-covered blanket draped over her—you and Vi stood quietly in the doorway, watching her breathe.

“She called you Mom,” Vi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I told you… you had nothing to worry about.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving Ivy’s peaceful form. “Yeah. And you’re always right.”

Vi chuckled softly, then wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The kind that said everything you couldn’t find the words for.

──────────────────────

It happened a week after Ivy started school, a week after you signed the official adoption papers.

She had been so excited at first—Jinx had come over and helped her decorate her tiny backpack with glittery patches, and you packed her lunchbox with all her favorites.

You and Vi had walked her to the school gates, knelt beside her, kissed her cheeks, and sent her off with whispered encouragements and bright smiles.

But the glow didn’t last.

By the third day, Ivy was quieter when she came home. She didn’t want to talk much. Said school was “fine,” but her eyes were distant. You and Vi didn’t push her. You gave her space, made her favorite dinner, read her favorite story at bedtime.

But something was wrong, she wanted to stay awake until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open, you would lay next to her, trying to make her fall asleep, but she would battle until the last second.

Then, one night, she had a nightmare.

You both woke up to the sound of her cries—raw, terrified. Vi was out of bed in seconds, tearing down the hallway barefoot. You followed close behind, heart pounding.

When Vi opened Ivy’s bedroom door, she found her curled in a ball under the blanket, shaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her little bunny had fallen to the floor, the daisy blanket tangled around her legs.

Vi dropped to her knees at the bedside. “Hey, hey, baby,” she whispered, voice gentle but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Ivy looked up at her through tears, lips trembling. She launched forward into Vi’s arms, clutching her like the world was ending. “Don’t let them take me back,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me away.”

Vi wrapped her arms around her tightly, protectively. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re staying right here, with us. I promise.”

Ivy buried her face in Vi’s shoulder, and in a choked, broken voice, she whispered, “I had a dream they took me away… and I couldn’t find you. I kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Vi rocked her gently, her jaw clenched tight. “I’m always here, Ivy. I will always find you. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

And then, so soft it could’ve been a dream itself, Ivy said, “I knew you’d come, Mom. You’re my pink-haired knight. You always come when I’m scared.”

Vi’s heart broke and mended all at once. She kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than ever. “Damn right I do,” she said, voice cracking. “You’re mine, Ivy. Forever.”

You leaned quietly at the doorway, watching them from the shadows, hand pressed to your heart. Vi looked up at you, her eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say, and you simply nodded. You felt it too.

That night, you brought Ivy into your bed. She slept curled between you both, safe and warm, her little hand clasped in Vi’s the whole time.

And in the morning, she woke with a smile.

The fear wasn’t gone completely—but now, she knew that even in the dark, even in her worst dreams, her knight would come for her. Her Mom would always come for her.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

end notes: i don’t know how the system works in other countries so i went mostly with what i’ve seen on tv and what happens in my own country, so yeah!! if anything is wrong pretend it’s not 😛

[oneofstarkskids]

redemption

THUNDERBOLTS* END CREDITS SPOILERS:

genre; angst with a splash of fluff

summary: bucky knows that even when he feels like there's no one he can rely on, nobody who's willing to stay, you'll be right there beside him.

"it went poorly," bucky tells yelena about his call to sam. part of bucky wanted to be angry with sam.

how could he sit there, knowing this was what bucky's always wanted- purpose, redemption- and try to take it away from him?

at the same time, bucky felt almost guilty. like it was his own fault. he should've done something. said something. told everyone it was another one of valentina's scams.

but he couldn't. not when there were so many people cheering and chanting for him. they weren't calling him the winter soldier. a monster. not a criminal, but an avenger.

a true hero.

he went home to you, heart feeling heavy.

"hey sweetheart," you greeted him at the door, wrapping your arms around his neck.

you ran your hands through his blown out curls, brushing them out of his pretty face. you noticed the tired look in his eyes. "everything okay?"

he sighed before pulling you into him, caging you against him in a crushing embrace.

you didn't push the matter. you just let him hold you like that for as long as he needed, and eventually he sat down and confided in you.

"sam called," he started, but paused. you smiled a bit at the mention of your friend. he'd been there countless times for both you and bucky.

bucky had gone to visit him about a year ago, but it had been awhile since you had talked to him without having to dial his number.

"how is he?" you asked.

"he's suing me," he said flatly. you furrowed your brows and shook your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. "well, not just me, the new avengers. for copyright."

it suddenly made sense.

"oh, bucky," you sat down next to him, interlocking his metal fingers with your flesh ones.

he kept his gaze on the floor, "he was pissed. and maybe he has every right to be."

you didn't say anything. what could you say?

you could see it from sam's point of view. he was an avenger. and he'd lost so many of his teammates.

bucky had even told you that sam was planning to rebuild the avengers a while back. you were so sure that he would've asked bucky to join.

but it looks like he never got the chance.

and bucky. your bucky. this meant so much to him. it's not like he went out searching for it. this team, these lonely, messed up people, just happened to fall right in his lap.

they were just like him. people who'd fucked up beyond redemption.

but here they were, getting the clean slate each of them had only ever dreamt of.

he was supposed to throw that all away?

he rested his forehead on your shoulder, "i don't know what to do. you know, after steve..." you waited for him to finish, knowing it was a rough topic.

"after steve left, i thought i would never have that kind of bond with anyone else," he whispered.

"besides you, of course," he looked up at you with a lopsided grin.

you smiled back, softly.

"but then sam and i...we really started to understand each other. we were forced to work together, and despite him being an annoying pain in my ass... he's filled the emptiness that steve left behind." his face contorts with pain.

you took his face into your hands, thumbs brushing across his cheeks.

"what if he never forgives me?" he asks the question that leaves the room thick with the loss and pain he's lived with his entire life.

you shook your head once more, "buck, don't say that. he's sam. he's pissed off, probably hurting, but he loves you."

"a brief argument over the phone is never going to change that. you two will work this out," you said confidently. it helped that you truly believed the words coming out of your mouth.

there were some bumps in the road of bucky and sam's relationship, but ultimately, they were the captain and his sergeant. inseparable.

bucky was in awe of you. your unwavering faith in him. your never-ending love and support. his blue eyes shined with affection.

"i'm glad that it's you by my side, doll," he whispered. "even if nobody else is."

you pressed your forehead against his and frowned, "which they are."

he couldn't help but chuckle at how adamant you were.

"c'mere," he lifted your chin slightly and kissed you tenderly, his love for you evident in the way his lips lingered against your own.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hiii! since you requested bucky thoughts, since his resurgence i’ve been thinking of him and a shy!reader? like maybe he takes her to some sort of avengers charity gala and helps her with her nerves and anxiousness with all the people? love your work:))

oh this is so cute!!! I did change it a bit so they're at a kind of government related party but it's very vague, but that's it!

“Hiding from everyone?” Bucky whispers behind you making you jolt where you stand, your body shielded by two corners that crest a perfect blind spot. 

You hadn’t heard him because you were busy chewing on the skin around your nails and scanning the Justice Hall for people you knew. 

“Bucky you can’t do that.” You slap at his chest, and he chuckles. 

Your heart’s already beating a thousand miles per minute, any more nervousness and you’re sure you’ll pass out. 

He smiles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall. 

“You can’t stay up here forever, doll. They’re going to come looking for you.” 

Your body stills, eyes wide as you look up at Bucky. There’s some small part of you that hopes he’s exaggerating, but the other part of you knows he’s being so totally serious you’re worried you’ll get hives from the anxiety that builds in you. 

Bucky doesn’t let you spiral too far, “Or, I can be your date and show you off so everyone sees your pretty face and doesn’t come looking for you.” 

That’s another thing that gives you anxiety. Bucky’s very free with his compliments of you, though you’ve hardly done anything to earn them. 

He calls you ‘pretty’ or ‘doll’ and when he’s in a very flirty mood, he’ll call you his girl which makes you feel just as you imagine butter on a warm day.

He notices every reaction too, he knows when you can take his over the top flirting and when you just need a simple but effective, ‘how’s my girl today?’ 

You’re not together, or dating, Bucky just likes you and you’re too shy to take any of his advances seriously. He’s trying though, to make you realise that he’s very committed to the possibility of you and him. You’re running out of reasons to brush off his advances and you’re sure with all his super enhancements he can tell that you’re just as infatuated with him as he is with you. 

“Bucky,” 

He only shakes his head and holds out his arm for you. “I won’t leave you to fend for yourself, what sort’a gentleman would I be?” 

You mumble under your breath and thanks to his super hearing he makes it out, ‘This can’t be gentlemanly,’  but he doesn’t want to embarrass you further so he says nothing. You hook your arm through his, and Bucky smiles. 

Bucky takes measured steps to get you both back to the glitz and the glamour of the party in full swing, he doesn’t say much of anything, but you feel a little less anxious knowing he’s with you. 

“Breathe doll,” he whispers as the people come into view and you seize up where you stand. 

You’re trying, but there’s so many of them here and they’re going to want to know something about the project you’re working on, and that makes you scared. 

You don’t want to have to speak to any of them or endure their never ending questions that come across so condescending that your skin itches. 

“I don’t think I can do this, Bucky.” You feel like the walls are closing in around you just standing there and Bucky’s quick to notice when your breath rattles.

Your breathing is shallow and sharp, your hand squeezing Bucky’s arm hard. He doesn’t flinch or say anything, he lets you squeeze his hand as he looks for another secluded area. 

When he does, Bucky’s quick but gentle as he leads you into the cove of two walls. You’re starting to get pale and it worries him more than he cares to reveal.

“Hey,” he uses his vibranium arm to press into the skin of your neck, knowing that the coolness of it will help focus you a little. His voice is sharp but it helps snap you out of your panic a little.

Bucky presses his other arm on your chest, “I’m right here, gorgeous. Focus on me, yeah?” 

You nod, but your eyes are unfocused as Bucky guides your chin upwards. 

“Doll, you’re gonna have to take a breath unless you wanna pass out right here.” He’s terrified of you actually doing that, but the ease in his voice makes you gasp on what he hopes is a laugh and then you take a breath. 

“Good,” Bucky demonstrates a few till you can take deep lungfuls of air without his prompting. “That’s good, baby.” 

When you’ve calmed a little, Bucky gets you to catch his gaze and gives you a little smile. “Want something to drink?” 

You shake your head, not wanting Bucky to leave just yet. “Just wanna stay here for a little bit.” 

Bucky can’t help it, “Want me all to yourself, doll?” When you sputter he smiles, “You didn’t have to have an anxiety attack for that.” his hand cups your cheek, stroking your cheek as your face heats. 

“Bucky,” it’s all you can manage and he smiles, a little dimple poking through his beard.

He takes a peak out of the corner and finds one of the senators looking for him. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll bring you something to drink, I promise.” 

Bucky doesn’t move until you nod, and even then he doesn’t let you go until he’s pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You stay in your hideaway till he comes back, and when he does it’s with a glass of water. 

“How’s my girl?” he asks as he comes closer, tie discarded and hair a little more disheveled as a few strands caress his forehead. 

You scowl but accept the water, “M’better.” Bucky’s grin stretches his entire face, lighting his eyes. Bucky presses a hand to your neck, feeling your pulse and finding it slow, it lingers there for a moment and as he pulls away, little goosebumps erupt on your arms.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, shucking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders when he notices them. 

You look up at him mid sip, “But I haven’t spoken to anyone.”

Bucky shrugs, “I may have said that you’re coming down with something and are possibly contagious.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “And they believed I’d go home with you.”

Bucky’s smile is impish, “We can’t get enough of each other doll, what do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, and gesture for Bucky to escort you. 

Halfway to his car he asks, “What about dinner? There’s a really nice place that serves that pasta you like.”

You’re a little shocked Bucky remembers the pasta you like, but you can’t help but smile. 

“Sure, but I’m paying. As a thank you.”

He opens the door for you and scoffs, “I’d love to see you try that, doll.”

[andforyouevan]

Post 8x17: Until Next Time

I could not resist when we saw the 217 was at the emergency, so here's a little ficlet. Hope you guys like it.

spoilers for 8x17: Don't Drink the Water

bucktommy - words: 800 ish - rating: gen - complete

Everything is all said and done, the fire is out, and they can breathe again when he remembers what Pepa said about things changing, about accepting it, and going after what he wants could be just what he needs right now. When he’d heard the 217 was coming, when he’d heard Tommy’s voice over the radio, he’d felt like his heart was in his throat the entire time, knowing he was out there, knowing that all he’d have to do is open his mouth and he could get what he wants.

What he’s wanted for months.

He finds him rolling up the hose at the 217 engine, turnouts undone, hair sweaty from the helmet and sticking to his head.

“Um,” he says, then clears his throat, dry from both the emergency they just thwarted and from nerves. “Uh, ground crew, huh?”

Tommy turns and Buck sees the soot on his face and thinks about how much he wants to wipe it off, take care of Tommy again, like he used to after long shifts when Tommy had wanted to get to him so badly, he'd only take the most cursory shower at the station to get the worst of the grime off. Buck feels a pang in his chest at the memory. He wants that back so much.

There’s something else behind the soot, though, and Buck doesn’t miss it, because Tommy doesn’t hide it. His face lights up when he sees Buck.

“Evan,” he says, sounding happy and Buck feels just a little lighter. Tommy motions to the truck behind him. “Um, yeah. They called for all hands and I heard the 118 was here so…”

Buck lets out a slow breath. “You came.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says softly. “I came. I wasn’t sure if I should come talk to you though, so I’m glad you came over. How...how are you? We haven’t talked since you asked me to be a pallbearer.”

“I know,” Buck says. “Thank you, again, for doing that. I just...I’m...I’m not really okay. With Bobby being gone.”

“I know you aren’t,” Tommy answers and he sounds so damn tender. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I just haven’t been able to keep up with...well, anything really,” Buck continues. “But I just know you’re here and…”

“...have dinner with me,” Tommy blurts out then he looks sheepish like he hadn’t meant that to come out. “I...sorry. I just I miss y-”

“Yes,” Buck interrupts, before he can stop himself. He’s never seen Tommy like this before, a sort of nervousness that Tommy never let him see and he wants to hug him about it, reassure Tommy that, yes, of course he’s wanted. “Yes. Please. I would really like that.”

Tommy smiles, clearly relieved. “Yeah? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Buck says. He turns and looks around, knows he has to get back help with the clean up, but he can’t resist. “Can, um, can I have a kiss? I could really use one from you right now.”

Tommy laughs a little, but it doesn’t make Buck feel like he’s being laughed at, it never does. No, it’s sweet and fond, like Buck’s beat him to the question. He doesn’t answer with words, instead he takes two steps forward and wraps his arms around Buck’s waist, pulling him in. Buck doesn’t hesitate, wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck, holding him tightly as Tommy presses his lips to Buck’s. The kiss is smokey and a little bitter but he’s the best thing Buck’s tasted in months.

They don’t let it go too long, they’ve been standing for longer than they should have already. If Gerrard sees them, there will be hell to pay, but Tommy leans his forehead against Buck’s, breathes slowly and deeply, eyes closed like he’s still savoring the contact. And maybe he is. Buck knows he’ll be savoring this for the rest of the night, long after they’re gone.

“I’ll text you,” Tommy says softly.

“Buckley! Where are you!” Gerrard’s voice rings out.

“Damn,” Buck breathes. He presses one last kiss to Tommy’s mouth before letting him go. “I gotta get back. But yes, please. If you don’t, I will.”

There’s that soft smile curling up the corners of Tommy’s mouth again. “I promise. Go.”

Buck nods and gets back to work, but he was right he does savor it.

When they’re on the way back to the station, Buck’s still thinking about it and there’s a measure of peace he’s reached that he hasn’t felt in a while. He listens placidly as Hen and Chim chat about Jee’s views on her new brother, but startles a little when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He pulls it out and bites his lip to hold back the grin when he sees the text from Tommy.

Tommy: Hi, Evan. What are you doing Saturday?

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 09: Underground

Day 08 • Day 10

⟢ I was getting confused with this prompt. As—underground could mean so many things, depending on the context. But one idea kept clawing back into my brain—corpse AU. And oh, dude. I got way too hyped about it. Turns out, @ghostlyglimmer and I had the same deliciously dreadful idea! Go check out her hauntingly good work here! As for mine? Uhh, well—I turned Danny into uhh—something a little more post-mortem than usual (duhh). Think like—half-dead, half-ghost, full-on corpse aesthetic. Possessed corpse? Danny as a ghostly remnant that crawled his way out of his grave. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Horror • TW/CW: Death — Memory Loss — Identity Loss — Emotional Distress • AU — OOC

Danny was dead. He just didn’t know.

His eyes snapped open to pitch black—thick, suffocating, endless. The silence was too loud.

Then—

A green eerie light. A flickering glow bloomed somewhere in the dark. Acidic light pushed into retinas that no longer needed to see, searing across nerves that shouldn’t be burning. He gasped, or… he tried to. But his lungs didn’t move. His heart didn’t beat. No air, no space. Just… cold.

There was nothing. No memory. No name. No life.

All he knew he was trapped.

I need to get out.

He reached upward, lifting his trembling hands—and they met something rough. Wooden. Dry. Pressed against his palms like a lid. A box. Too small, too tight.

A memory sliced through the fog—white light, searing heat and pain. A scream that never ended.

His.

“No,” he rasped, his voice cracked like brittle glass. “No, no—”

Panic shot through him. His fingers clawed upward again, splinters digging in—except… they didn’t. His hand passed through the lid. Not touching it. Just… slipping.

“The fuck…?”

His breathing quickened—but there was nothing to breath. His chest rose on instinct, not oxygen. There was no warmth, no blood. But something churned inside him, rising from deep within the center of his chest. Something icy. Wild. Terrified.

Realization crept in—this was a coffin. A grave. He was underground, sealed in silence and death.

Six feet under. Buried. Gone.

“I’m not—I’m not dead!”

His body shuddered. A jolt of agony ripped through his spine.

He screamed, and then—something changed.

His clothes tore into black and white in a blur of flickering energy. He didn’t feel it happen. He didn’t mean to. He just panicked—and something inside him answered.

He clawed his way upward, intangible, through dirt and soil and death. His body no longer felt like his own. Cold. Weightless. Wrong.

He burst out of the earth and soil with a gasp he couldn’t feel. And when he looked down at his hands—they weren’t the same. They were covered with white gloves, faintly glowing, trembling. His hair was pearl-white, catching the corner of his glowing green eyes.

And finally, he understood.

He was a ghost.

But he didn’t know who he’d been, didn’t know what he’d lost, didn’t know how he got here or why his bones felt weightless and hollow. Didn’t know what came next.

All he knew was that he’d died… and death hadn’t stuck.

They’d buried him alive—or so it felt. But no… he’d been dead. Truly dead. And now he was back—aware, conscious, no longer rotting in silence. No longer sleeping in that box meant to hold him forever. And now? He was alone, hollow, lost. With no memories, no name, and nothing but the weight of death clinging to his… skin, he had to piece together a life he couldn’t remember.

“I’m not… I’m not dead. I’m here. I’m still here. But I don’t feel anything. I don’t need to breathe—I don’t need oxygen. There’s nothing inside me. No heartbeat. No warmth. Just this… silence and… cold. I’m a ghost. I’m a fucking ghost. Fuck. No. Why? Why wouldn’t you just let me die? Why couldn’t you let me rest in peace?”

He swallowed hard, even though he didn’t need to.

“What do I remember? I remember… a flash—no, a blast—of… of white light, ripping through me. I remember the pain—so much pain—tearing through every nerve like… like fire. I don’t… that’s all. That’s all I have left. There’s… there’s nothing else.”

He grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling so hard like it might help him get his memories back. Confused… he was so confused. Panic consumed him again. He could still feel—but it was hollow, empty. Feeling devastated. Like remembering emotions he couldn’t place. The physical sensations were gone. No pain, no nerves. Just… nothing.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

The only thing he felt was weightlessness. Like gravity had let go of him. Like the world no longer needed to hold him down.

He let go of his head, lowering his translucent arms as he slowly turned around. His eyes landed on the stone sticking out of the earth—the one he’d just crawled from.

There was a name carved into it.

“Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared. The letters made sense. He could read. So… not all of his memory was gone. But the name—it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t feel like his. He could still speak. That was something.

“The fuck is happening to me?”

His knees gave out. He sank to the ground, one hand sliding up to the gravestone. His gloved fingers traced the curved lettering with a kind of detached reverence.

“Was that… me?”

He asked himself. But no answer came. He sighed—a useless motion, but it came anyway. Muscle memory, maybe. A mimic of something human.

His fingers hovered over the name like it might spark something—some memory, some feeling. But there was nothing. Just letters. Just stone. Just silence.

“That… is me?”

He whispered again, quieter this time. But the wind didn’t answer either. He stared at the name like it belonged to someone else. Someone real. Someone who was loved, who laughed, who had a life. Someone human.

But that wasn’t him anymore.

Whoever Daniel James Fenton was… he’d been buried six feet under. And what clawed out of that grave wasn’t the same.

He sat back, knees sinking into the soil, the chill of death wrapping around him like a second skin. His white hair drifted in the still night air. His chest didn’t rise. His body didn’t ache. His heart didn’t beat.

But something deep inside him did hurt. And he didn’t even know why.

“I don’t… I don’t know who I am.”

He said, voice barely above the wind, like a broken echo. But the grave didn’t answer.

And neither did the boy… who once lived.

⟢ That second part wasn’t planned—it just came out of nowhere. And I really needed to stop myself before I ended up writing an entire phic about it, lol.