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farfromharry · 3 days ago

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I noticed

Summary: He never notices you, but Lando does

w/c 3456

Lando Norris x Reader

a/n this was meant to be a few hundred words, oops. if you have any lando or oscar requests, pls do send. also reblogs are hugely appreciated

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“I don’t know why you bother, he’s a dickhead.”

Your body sagged and you sighed, setting down your makeup brush and locking eyes with him through the mirror. He was still lounging across your bed in his going out clothes, hair done to perfection, his phone basically hanging out of his hand as he eyed you. It must have been the 4th time in the last hour he’d made a similar snide comment and you were growing tired of repeating yourself. “He’s not a dickhead, he’s just…” There were a lot of words you could have used to describe him. Hell, Lando could probably supply a few himself, not that you would like his suggestions. Rude and unpleasant came to mind. “Shy.”

He snorted. “Shy?” That was the last word he would use. “The last time I saw him he had his tongue down a random girl’s throat and his hand under her dress.”

You remembered that. The memory stung. It bad been a celebration for Lando, a race win, you couldn’t remember which one now. Much like tonight, you had gotten dressed up in the hopes of him finally making a move and yet when you arrived he already had a girl in his arms. Still, you shielded him from Lando’s harsh words, something he probably didn’t deserve.

“Lots of people kiss on a night out, Lando. He probably didn’t even talk to her.” Defending him to your friends had become somewhat of a routine for you.

“We were in a restaurant, Y/N.”

You didn’t know what else to say. It had definitely been inappropriate and you had no idea how the staff hadn’t put a stop to it. For some reason unbeknownst to Lando, you just couldn’t admit he wasn’t a good guy. You refused to hear it.

With a huff you picked up your brush again, resuming your makeup and paying Lando’s negative comments no mind. “Look, I don’t need you to understand it. You can keep your opinions to yourself.” Her tone was sharp, one he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of.

He didn’t say anything else until they were ready to go.

On your way out of the door he grabbed your arm gently. You turned to look at him with a raised brow, annoyance still simmering under your surface. Sure you would get over what he said soon, but you didn’t want to let him off too lightly.

“Look,” he started, eyes peering into yours with a genuine sincerity you didn’t see all the often. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want some asshole to break your heart.”

Lando and Jake were technically friends too, or at least they ran in the same circle, but that didn’t mean he did anything more than tolerate him. He hadn’t ever really spent much time with him, not on his own, but he had seen enough in group settings. He knew what he was like. You were far too good for him, but you couldn’t seem to see the bad in him.

“He’s your friend too,” you pointed out. “You are the company you keep right?”

His face fell and he put a step of extra distance between them. The words stung. Lando didn’t think he was a brilliant guy. He had his flaws, he didn’t always show up, he had messed a few girls around in his younger years, but he wasn’t like Jake. For you to even imply that he could be, it hurt.

Somehow, you didn’t notice the change in his mood, or how stiffly he agreed with you. “Right.”

If you noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour, you didn’t mention it. The two of you just climbed inside his McLaren and made your way silently to the party. It was awkward, uncomfortable, something that spending time with Lando never was. It made you shift uneasily in your seat.

Every now and then you’d glance over at him, hoping to see him trying to hold back a laugh that would shatter the tension lingering in the air. Each time you looked over he was simply looking at the road. You hated it.

Usually when you arrived somewhere together, he acted like a gentleman. He would open the car door for you, loop his arm with yours and you would wander into whatever social gathering you were attending with wide smiles on your faces. In a totally non-misogynistic way, he loved having you on his arm. It created a sense of pride in him. This time, he barely even checked you were following behind him until you made it to the elevator. What followed was a very uncomfortable ride up to the rooftop bar.

You let out a breath as soon as you could finally get out of the confined space with him. The bar was your first stop, then once some wine was secured, you greeted your friends and the hosts.

You didn’t stick with them for long, finding an empty couch to sit on that had a perfect view of the entrance. You had to be ready for the moment he walked in.

As Lando headed to the bar with Max (who he had found very quickly, the pair never far from one another), you painstakingly made sure every bit of your look was perfect. Unbeknownst to you, he was watching every move you made, a habit he picked up years ago when he first decided he was in love with you. His eyes followed you as you smoothed out your dress, brushing some hair over your shoulders, straightening your posture, double and then triple checking your makeup. You wanted tonight to finally be the night Jake noticed you. The dark-haired man’s stomach churned just at the thought.

Every few seconds you shifted, like you were anxious. You scanned your surroundings a few times, making sure he hadn’t entered without you seeing. You’d had more than a few nervous sips of your wine.

When the elevator doors opened and the man occupying almost all of your thoughts finally wandered in, your heart began to race. It was now or never. Really you should have been practicing what you were going to say.

Each step he took that brought him closer to you made your heart rate spike.

“Jake, hey,” you greeted, a beaming smile on your face. Any sane man would have stopped in his tracks, been utterly starstruck by how beautiful you looked. Your hair fell delicately over your shoulders, back straight, dress highlighting every desirable part of you, skin basically glowing in the light. Yet he barely paused to throw a half hearted wave in your direction. He didn’t even smile back. The man had greeted you like it was an inconvenience to him.

Lando watched the whole thing from his seat at the bar. He watched as you deflated, an ache settling in his chest at the look of pure defeat on your face. The brunette knew more than anyone here how much effort you had put into trying to get his attention. You had taken hours to get ready. Adamant thay every detail had to be perfect. Leaving his flat you’d actually been excited about where the night might go. And he had just brought it all crashing down in literal seconds.

For a second or two you didn’t move. Your eyes were fixed on the ground, breaths growing deeper. He saw it in the way your chest heaved. You weren’t going to hold out much longer. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in the middle of a party.

Lando swiftly excused himself from his conversation with Max, not that he’d been listening for the last 10 minutes anyway, and made a beeline for you in the corner.

You didn’t see him coming, you were too in your own head. When a pair of hands landed on your shoulders you were startled. He didn’t leave you wondering for long. His breath brushed your ear as he dipped his head down so he could whisper to you. “Come outside with me? I need some air.”

A frown curled onto your lips. He knew that expression well, you were confused. “We’re already outside, we’re on a roof.”

A few eyes began to glance at you both. He smiled at them. “It’s too crowded out here. It’ll be much quieter.”

You turned your body so you could actually see his face and try to get a read on him. “Are you okay?” Your own sadness was momentarily put on pause as your worry for him outweighed it. Lando was susceptible to anxiety, even anxiety attacks every so offen, you didn’t want to risk that right now. If he was overwhelmed, her feelings could wait.

It was wrong of him, he knew it was, but he played into your worry. “I don’t know. I think I just need to get out of here for a minute.”

You nodded, grabbing your clutch and gulping down the last dregs of wine that had been in your glass. “Let’s go.” You rose to your feet, almost headbutting him on the way up, and slipped your hand into his much larger one.

Really he should feel guilty about it, but he was just glad it worked.

The elevator ride down to the lobby was quiet. You were beginning to think about Jake again, how he had so easily brushed you off. Meanwhile Lando was thinking about you, and what the hell he was going to say when you both got outside. You were going to be so mad at him. The ding that signalled your arrival was far too loud in the silence.

Fresh air felt like a blessing in disguise. You took a deep breath as you finally headed outside. Then you remembered your company.

You whipped around to face him, eyes wide and hands immediately reaching for him like you were checking for any injuries.

He grabbed your hands in his, stopping your obsessing. “I’m okay.” You looked at him as though he was lying. Now was the time to come clean. “I,” he sighed. “Look, I lied.”

“What?”

“I’m fine, really.” You were still unsure, eyes slightly squinted like you were trying to suss him out. “I saw what happened with Jake. You looked upset and I thought you needed an excuse to get out of there. I didn’t know what else to do.”

If there was one thing you wouldn’t do it was admit that you weren’t okay. Lando hated how you couldn’t even do it with him. “Lan, I’m fine. Jake just— he had other things to do, that’s okay.” Excusing his shitty behaviour only made the man more angry. He had seen it all, the way he ignored you, sauntered up to the bar, greeted Max and your other friends, ordered himself a drink and then probably started chatting up the first girl he set his eyes on. He certainly wasn’t busy like you claimed.

“That’s your problem,” he exclaimed.

Your brow furrowed and your face twisted into something of offence. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too nice, too willing to let him walk all over you. He doesn’t give a shit about you, Y/N!” All these feelings had been building up inside Lando for months now. Every time you went on and on about your crush, every time Jake let you down or dismissed you again, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d had enough. You needed some tough love, someone to tell it to you straight. “Why can’t you see that? Everybody else can!”

Your face fell. The words hit deep. Logically you knew he was right, Jake was never going to give you the attention you so desperately craved from him. He liked having girls falling at his feet. You weren’t special to him, just another admirer. He would never see you as more than someone in his friend group who he didn’t really talk to. To have it pointed out so clearly, especially by someone you care about, it stung.

“No matter what you do, he never notices you. I always notice you.”

You weren’t sure what to take from that. Was it a confession? The thought of him telling you his feelings right now was overwhelming. “Lan…” Your voice wavered. Now that he’d had his initial outburst, his anger died down. Enough to see the tears beginning to line your eyes.

He was such a dick.

He sighed, shoulder’s sagging. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay. I know.”

Like a cruel twist of fate, a couple exited the fancy bar where the party was being held. As they grew closer, stepping into the soft glow of light being emitted from the street lamps, you realised you recognised one of them. So did Lando.

Jake clearly couldn’t read the room. “Oh, hey Lando, Jess.” He greeted you both cheerfully, his mystery woman staring at you both as she clung to him.

You frowned, heart cracking just that big more. He didn’t even know your name? It took everything in Lando not to swing. “Her name’s Y/N.”

He completely ignored Lando’s words. Despite the fact he had basically only just arrived at the party, he seemed pretty hammered and eager to leave already. “What are you doing down here? Party’s great.” His voice was loud, practically echoing through the streets.

“Just needed some air.”

His smile was tight-lipped, fake. All he wanted was for him to go away. Obviously he was too drunk to know when he wasn’t wanted.

There was an awkward pause. Well, awkward for you and Lando at least, he probably didn’t even notice. Jake didn’t notice a lot of things.

“We’re heading off, anyway. Enjoy the party guys.” With that the pair wandered down the empty street, leaving you and Lando free to resume your heated discussion. You didn’t feel like arguing anymore.

A sob escaped your throat before you were able to choke it down. The tears that had been ever so close to falling earlier were back in full force. There was certainly no stopping them now. It felt like your heart had just been stomped on.

There was no way Lando was going to let you suffer on your own. “Come here.”

As soon as you were in his arms you felt better. Whether it was the warmth of another person, his scent or just the fact he made you feel grounded. Everything felt a little less loud with him here.

He leaned his head against yours, one of his hands on the back of your head, stroking your hair. It was soothing. You had no idea how long you stayed like that before the tears stopped. You would stay there forever if you could.

When your sobs turned to sniffles and your breaths grew more even, he began to speak. “You deserve someone who loves you.” He took a deep breath and his hand stuttered on your head. It was now or never. “Someone like me.”

He expected to feel you tense, to have you pull away. Some sign of rejection that would break his heart. None of that happened. You simply tilted your head upwards, so you could look him in the eye. You didn’t look repulsed or afraid, that was a good sign at least.

Your cheeks still shined in the light with leftover tears and he risked wiping them away. The way his thumb trailed over your skin was tender, like he was trying to memorise you. Your heart throbbed.

“You love me?”

There was no hesitation in his response. Lando was a man who knew what he wanted. When he had his heart and his mind set on something, he didn’t stop or waver until he got it. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years.”

It should have come as some surprise to you, maybe shocked you ever so slightly, but for some reason it didn’t. He was always there, right by your side when you needed him, in both your happiest and saddest memories. When you thought about your life in years to come, he was always there. He made sense. You weren’t you without Lando. Subconsciously you had probably been in love with him for years too, it had just taken it being pointed out for you to realise.

The eye contact between you didn’t waver even for a second. If it were anyone else looking at you with such an intensity, you might shy away. The way he looked at you made you feel brave.

You didn’t say anything, just fluttered your eyes shut and closed the gap between your lips.

He acted like he knew it was coming. Maybe it was just the reaction time of a Formula One driver, but he barely wasted half a second before he kissed you back. There was an intensity in the kiss that you didn’t think you had ever experienced before. It felt like any second now fireworks would begin exploding over your heads. You cursed yourself for not having done this earlier.

He was the first to pull away. You chased his lips with your own and he cracked a smile. He granted you one more chaste kiss which definitely didn’t quench your desire.

“Are you pitying me or did you really want to kiss me?” That was insecurity shining through.

Lando had poured his heart out to you, he was terrified of being a rebound or a second choice. He refused to be second best to Jake. It would be tough to walk away from you if you admitted what he feared, but he would do it to protect his own feelings. The last thing he needed in his chaotic life was a relationship that was one sided. If you weren’t all in he was going to have to walk away.

“I really wanted to kiss you.” A weight was lifted off of his shoulders. “I think I didn’t realise how I felt about you was love. With Jake I wanted his attention, I wanted him to look at me and tell me I was pretty. I tried everything to get him to like me. With you, I don’t have to do that because you’re already looking. I don’t have to be someone I’m not. I can be myself, comfortable. I never worry that you’re going to judge me because you’re probably right there being weird with me.” He laughed as you laughed. “Lando, you, you’re my peace.”

He looked like he was about to shed a tear. “Do you mean that?”

You smiled. He had never really understood the term weak in the knees until he saw that smile aimed at him.

“I mean that. I love you, and I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”

His thumb hovered over your lips, tracing their shape with a look in his eye that was so fond you could have melted. “I would have waited forever for you,” he admitted. Those words basically turned you into a giant pile of mush.

Your smile quickly turned into a grin. “God, you’re cheesy.” You weren’t you and Lando if there wasn’t some playful teasing sprinkled in somewhere, even in the middle of a dramatic love confession.

Lando scoffed. “I’m trying to be romantic here. Do you mind?”

Neither of you could be serious for that long.

“Just shut up and kiss me again, lover boy.”

The kiss he placed on you was done with such a ferocity you were surprised you didn’t get scolded for public indecency. Clearly he had been holding back. You were more than happy to make up for lost time though, just maybe not in the middle of the streets of London.

When you finally returned to the party your lips were swollen and joy was radiating from every part of you. Max’s eyes found his best friends as the two of you re-entered the party with your hands intertwined. He raised his eyebrow and Lando sent him a wink. The elder was rather proud of him for finally making a move. It had only taken years.

You found yourselves tangled together on the dancefloor, arms around one another and heads touching. You swayed to the music. It felt like you were in your own little bubble. Just you and him, as it always was meant to be.

He brushed his nose against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “For the record,” he whispered, lips curling into a smile at the fact he got to tell you these things freely now. “I will always notice you.”

Your heart soared. Yeah, he was the one.

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando x you #lando imagine #lando norris x you #mclaren #formula 1 x reader #formula one #lando norris fluff

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nanasrkives · 3 days ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"FOR HER" — Sakusa Kiyoomi

a/n : its official i am entering my baby fever era :) content : GIRL DAD SAKUSA. fluff. post timeskip. headcanon.

Girl dad! Sakusa who doesn’t cry in the delivery room, but when the nurse places her in your arms, you see the change happen in his expression before he even speaks. He stands beside you with one hand resting on the bedrail, still in his zip-up, curls flattened from the long hours, eyes fixed so intently on her tiny face that he barely breathes. You offer her to him, gently, and although he nods and reaches out, it’s with a kind of quiet reverence, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. When she’s finally in his arms, wrapped in that standard-issue hospital blanket, he doesn’t look away once. “She’s really ours,” he says after a long silence, voice soft and level like he’s stating a fact that still hasn’t settled in. You’re tired and aching and overwhelmed, but in that moment — watching him fall in love so quietly — you feel steadier than you’ve felt all day.

Girl dad! Sakusa who approaches parenting the way he’s approached everything else that’s ever mattered to him — with focus, with discipline, and with the same determination that made him the top ace in the country. He just does it. He reads every product label, tracks feeding times in his phone, and practices swaddling until the corners lie flat like muscle memory. You find him at night adjusting the baby carrier straps with one of her stuffed animals, narrowing his eyes like it’s something to be mastered. In the nursery, everything has its place: pacifiers in labeled containers, diapers stacked perfectly, bottles washed and sterilized on a rotating schedule that no one asked him to create. He’s not afraid of mess — he’s an athlete, after all — but this kind of order calms him. It’s the only way he knows to make sense of something this overwhelming. When you catch him in the early mornings rearranging the drawer of onesies so the softest fabrics are on top, you don’t interrupt. You just watch because you know that this is how he’s learning to love her.

Girl dad! Sakusa who is the first to notice that post-partum hit you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach, the way your hands linger over chores but don’t quite start them, the way you keep saying you’re fine even when your voice betrays how deeply tired you are. He doesn’t corner you about it — he just starts making it easier to breathe. He finishes bottles without being asked. He folds laundry without announcing it. He draws a bath and offers you the quiet without implying you owe him anything in return. And when you finally sit down beside him on the bed and admit, barely above a whisper, “I think something’s wrong,” he takes your hand and says, without even flinching. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do it alone.” That night, when the house is quiet, he tucks her in and then tucks you in too, placing your tea on the nightstand and brushing your hair back from your forehead before placing a kiss on your forehead like he’s reminding you that you’re still being held.

Girl dad! Sakusa who keeps her world structured, calm, and clean — not out of fear, but out of habit, and a deep belief that consistency makes kids feel safe. He doesn’t scold when she forgets to wash her hands before dinner. He just walks her to the sink, adjusts the faucet for her, and says, “Let’s try again,” with the same steady tone he uses when coaching a teammate through a play. You can already see how much of him lives in her — not just in her temperament, but in her tiny routines. The way she lines up her shoes by the door. The way she wipes the table with a napkin after dinner. He never told her to do any of that — she just watched him and followed his steps.

Girl dad! Sakusa who always stops what he’s doing when she calls for him. He never rolls his eyes or tells her to wait. Whether she’s holding a drawing she drew or asking him to see the rain outside on the balcony, he gives her his full attention. She brings him stories, toys, questions he doesn’t have answers to yet, and he listens to every single one. Sometimes, she climbs into his lap mid-stretch, legs crossed beneath her, curls sticking to her forehead, and just rests there like she knows there’s nowhere safer. You glance over from the kitchen and watch as he adjusts his posture just slightly to keep her steady, continuing his cooldown stretches like her presence is just part of the routine now.

Girl dad! Sakusa who teaches himself to braid because one morning she tugs at his sleeve and says, "Papa me want hair like Mama” and he doesn’t want to be the kind of father who says i don't know how to something like that. That night, while the house is quiet, you find him on the couch with one of her dolls in his lap, video tutorial paused on his phone, fingers fumbling but determined. He practices until the parts are clean, until the elastics hold. The first few mornings, the braid sits crooked on her head — slipping by lunchtime — but she runs to you saying, “Papa did it !” every single time. When he finally gets it right, she wraps her arms around him like he just won a trophy. And later, when you're brushing your own hair before bed, he watches you for a moment from the doorway, then comes up behind you, fingers gently sweeping your strands aside. “I didn’t realize how much of you she carries,” he says, quiet and sincere. “It makes me want to do everything right.”

Girl dad! Sakusa who brushes through her damp curls with more care than you thought possible. The spirals are his — the same exact texture that still coils around his forehead after a shower — but the color is yours, unmistakable in the morning light. When she’s sitting between his legs and he’s sectioning off her hair into neat parts, you sometimes find him pausing just to look. Not because he’s unsure of the process — he’s got the rhythm down by now — but because every time he sees her, it’s a new reminder that she’s equal parts both of you.

Girl dad! Sakusa who brings her to matches and never says a word about it being a distraction, though you know how seriously he takes preparation. She always sits with you, gripping a wrinkled “Go Papa !” sign in her fists, her legs swinging off the bleachers while she yells his name through a mouthful of fruit snacks. He rarely looks into the crowd — he’s too focused for that — but today, when she screams his name mid-serve, you swear you see the smallest flicker of a smile on his face. After the game, he comes straight to you both, drops to one knee, and listens to her long-winded play-by-play with a patience that makes even the camera crew step back. You take her hand as he packs up his bag, and she says, “Papa did good today !” He doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he walks just a little taller after that.

Girl dad! Sakusa who changes his phone ringtone to a voice memo of her calling for him because he says it’s easier to hear. It plays once during a team meeting and Atsumu nearly falls out of his chair laughing, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch. “She’s loud,” he says calmly, setting his phone face down on the table, “but she gets my attention.” When you hear it go off at home, it always makes you smile.

Girl dad! Sakusa who never talks about how much he loves being a father — not in words, at least. But you see it in how he shows up. In the way he learns her favorite breakfast, remembers the exact way she likes her blanket tucked in, memorizes the lyrics to a show he pretends to hate. You see it in how he looks at her when she doesn’t notice — like she’s the most surprising, most important thing that’s ever happened to him.

Girl dad! Sakusa who holds her hand tightly on her first day of school, walking her up to the gate with slow, even steps. She’s excited and confident. She lets go of his hand the second she sees her teacher and runs inside without looking back. You expect him to say something — maybe a joke, maybe a quiet sigh — but instead, he just stands there for a long moment. When you brush your fingers against his, he finally speaks. “She didn’t even turn around.” You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “She''s growing up.”

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @itsmeaudrieee @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @dazaisfavgf @virgothesimp @kurooangel @evamame

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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

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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.

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deffonotsupposedtobehere · 2 days ago

Text

𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐏)

Yandere! Batfam x F!Reader

Synopsis: No matter where you go... you're always—always—bumping into one of them.

Warnings: Implicit sexual content and scenarios, implied noncon, maybe ooc writing, kidnapping, extremely obsessive behaviour, isolation, manipulation, threat, mentions of stockholm syndrome, dead dove: do not eat

Disclaimer: Everyone is depicted as 18+. Your relationship with yandere batfam is ambiguous, but it is not platonic, at least, not in their eyes. This is a horror, not a romance.

You don't think you've ever felt your skin crawl as much as it does when those boys look at you.

The feeling is vivid, this coil of disgust that weaves between your bones and squeezes you tight enough to make you shudder.

It curls around you like a snake. Hissing and gliding and slithering through your ribs until it leaves you reeling back from all the slime, a wince barely able to describe the expression on your face.

But it's nothing compared to when they touch you.

"Y/N?"

They claim to be bats but it's only spiders you feel on your skin when Tim brushes his fingers against it.

"Are you alright?"

You don't bother to hide the way you flinch back, or ease the way your hand yanks out of his grasp.

"I'm fine."

Tim frowns, gaze falling down and stretched-out hand retreating to hold his other arm, gripping it like he would've done yours had you let him.

The sight is enough to make you feel green.

"Are—uh, are you sure?"

He starts playing with his sleeve as he asks you that, fiddles with it like he's some sort of nervous school boy speaking to his crush and not a fully grown adult who took part in your fucking kidnapping.

It's sickening.

"Yes," you hiss out through barely gritted teeth, "I'm sure."

Tim flinches back, Adam's apple rolling along his throat as his gaze flits to the side.

"Well, uh," he starts, tongue sweeping over dry lips, "In that case... you should probably head back inside. Everyone's worried. You've been out for awhile."

Inside... where the rest of them all are.

You take a moment to flick your eyes to the right, the familiar sight of a zoomed lens stuck on your form greeting you with a smile.

You don't want to go back inside.

Something liquid passes over your tongue and spills down your throat before you're taking a step forward and training your gaze onto the hoodie-wearing male before you.

"Do I have to?"

The effect is instant, Tim's gaze almost immediately glazing over as his lips part and his mouth somehow visibly goes dry.

"I—uh."

You give yourself a second to squeeze your eyes shut in brief disgust before taking another step forward and holding in a shudder when his breath hitches.

"Can't I just stay out here a little longer?"

He stares at you with blank eyes. But not blank enough.

Just a bit more.

"...With you?"

Bingo.

Tim's breath doesn't just hitch this time, it shudders, breaks up every second like there's something blocking it from leaving his mouth, like he's forgotten how to properly breathe.

His whole form is quivering and his legs look like they're a centimetre away from giving in, from collapsing until he's on his knees in front of you.

And then he is.

The cotton of your skirt scrunches up as he holds it with both hands, head tilted up and gaze swirling when he looks at you, all previous pretend normalcy gone like the fake persona that it was.

"Anything..." he breathes out, grip tightening over your thighs, "Anything... anything... please..."

This time, you can't hold back the way your expression contorts, the way your body leans back and your spine coils like a spring just waiting to jump away.

What he's pleading for, you don't even want to think about, all your previous willpower leaving you at once when he starts to press his lips right up against your hips, murmuring into your clothes with a breath hot enough to seep through them and into your skin.

"Off... get off of me!"

You almost fall in your struggle to get out of his grip, and something icky settles in your stomach when you register the wet patch on your clothes right where his lips were.

Fucking freak.

You don't even bother giving him a second glance as you run back into the manor, the wind pushing against that damn patch and making the skin underneath it feel abnormally cold compared to the rest of your body.

You're definitely changing your fucking clothes. Holy shit.

"Miss Y/N?"

Your ears perk up, the voice of their butler stiffening your spine.

"Are you alright?"

Your gaze hardens. Why does everyone keep asking you that?

You barely mutter out a response before you're pushing past him. He may not have taken part in your kidnapping himself, but he's still complicit in their fucked up little scheme.

And you aren't about to treat him any better than them.

You release a breath after a few steps, shoulders falling for just a brief second before rising again, tenser than before.

Goosebumps.

Someone's watching you. Demon spawn.

Your gaze falls to the right, and sure enough, there he is, cloaked in shadows just like his father.

His gaze is piercing. Unreadable. Every bit the expressionless ghost that he is.

He doesn't say a word. Usually never does. Just watches. Waits. For what, you don't know. But you usually don't stick around long enough to find out.

That's not changing today.

His gaze follows you as you walk, and you're squeezing your eyes shut again at the sound of his nose taking you in when you pass by him.

And just when you think you can get away with once again not saying a word to the usually quiet man, his grip on your arm renders you still.

"Beloved."

Something burns in your throat.

"Where are you headed?"

'Away from you.'

"To my room."

"Allow me to accompany you."

"I'll be fine on my own."

You attempt to tug your arm away.

"I insist." His grip tightens.

You stare at him. He stares back at you.

For a moment, everything stills, the world stopping to accommodate the both of you, drowning everyone else out until it's just the two of you.

Then, the water drains away.

"Demon brat. The hell are you doing?"

The grip on your arm loosens enough for a tug to free you, and you waste no time rushing to your room, catching a glimpse of dark hair paired with a broad frame before you're slamming your door shut and leaning against it with a chest heaving up and down.

But of course, you should've known that even your own damn room isn't safe from them.

"Hm, is this the gift I got you last summer?"

You still, eyes flying over to the figure by your dresser.

"I was wondering where it was." The oldest grins, your jewellery's glint practically reflecting off his white teeth with a wink. "How come you never wear it, babe?"

He's leaning on one arm, the other holding your gift high enough to catch the light of the sun that bleeds through your window as he looks at it like an artist admiring a painting. If said artist was a monster hiding behind a boyish smile, that is.

"Dick..." you breathe out his name, and squeeze your eyes shut at the way he licks his lips, "...get out of my room."

"Nah"—he lowers your necklace, grin wolfish—"I don't think I will."

The piece of jewellery meets your dresser with a soft clink before he takes a step towards you, and your eyes dart around the room for just the smallest opening.

He blocks your gaze.

"Tut tut tut"—Dick shakes his head, wagging a finger as his eyes glint with that sick sense of amusement of his—"is the little birdie trying to escape?"

Your jaw sets, almost biting your tongue had it not retreated further into your mouth in time.

"And here I thought I was your favourite."

You avert your gaze from his, trying your best to imagine you're anywhere but here, though apparently, he saw that coming.

His hands slam beside your head loud enough to make you flinch, and the rush of wind that accompanies his actions reminds you of Tim's earlier ones when the cold makes its way to your hips first, further solidifying that this, right here, is your reality.

Disgusting.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

Revolting.

Spiders crawl under your chin.

Nauseating.

"Mm. Hiding again, are we, pretty girl?" he purrs so close to your face.

You only gulp in response.

"Do I need to draw you out myself?"

His breath is on your neck now, lips ghosting over the exposed skin as you inwardly curse yourself for not wearing a turtleneck earlier today. For leaving your room at all really. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time outside, they wouldn't be as antsy as they are now.

Fucking pieces of—

Your shoulders tense.

Tingles. Explosive, dangerous, horribly unpleasant tingles all over your neck. All around his lips.

You raise your hands, bracing yourself, but just before you can push at his chest—sob and beg and plead for him to go away and just leave you alone—a knock sounds at your door.

You feel the vibrations of his growl against your neck.

"What?"

The voice on the other side is muffled. "Uh, Mr Wayne wants you."

Dick pauses, head still buried in your neck, not reacting as though the longer he delays it, the longer he can stay here, nestled against you.

Like you'd ever let him.

You push at his chest, and he lets you, because he's letting you, pulling away with a groan before regarding you with one last look, intense and unwavering.

"Don't think this is over."

With that, you fling yourself off your door like it stung you, and he leaves the room briskly, sending a brief glare to the person right outside.

You release a sigh, gaze falling to your saviour.

"Uhm, Mr Wayne isn't actually calling him. I just figured that would keep him busy for a while."

The gaze of the most recently adopted son (though that was years back already) flits to the side, fingers playing with his collar.

Your lips quirk up. "Thank you, Duke."

He perks up. "It's uh, it's no problem, Y/N."

He stands there, awkwardly shuffling on his feet for a bit before you're letting out a sigh and following it up with a, "Do you... wanna come inside?"

His eyes widen at your invite, fingers freezing right where they were fiddling with his collar as he regards you with parted lips and an air of disbelief.

It is strange, you'll give him that, but your reason for it isn't anything noble. Having him in your room will likely deter the other, worse ones from entering in hopes of some sick one-on-one time with you.

Besides, you've seen no sign of him harbouring the same feelings for you as they do. At least, not to their intensity.

You'll kick him out if need be.

With a step back, you're nodding towards your room, and already, you make note of how his own steps seem all-too-eager as he follows you in.

Strike one.

You don't bother closing the door, not fully anyway, just enough to leave a visible gap so everyone can see exactly what you'd like them to, and stop reading your room as an open invitation to come harass you alone.

When you turn around, Duke is already staring back at you, lips parted and gaze distant, far, as though trapped in some sort of trance.

"Duke?"

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes wide open. "Oh, uh, sorry. I was just uh... thinking."

Strike two.

At this rate, he'll be out before even five minutes have passed.

"Do you... do you want anything?"

You raise a brow, watching the man rock on his heels.

"You're asking me if I want anything in my room?"

"Right, right. That was stupid."

Your lips quirk up, a dangerously fond thought crossing your mind before you halt it right in place and steel your expression again.

You didn't think this through. You did not think this through at all.

You're not supposed to have thought that was cute. Why did you think that was cute?

He kidnapped you. He and his brothers—they all kidnapped you.

Strike three.

"Out..."

Your words come out quiet, a whisper in the wind, a barely-heard current over hail.

"Huh?"

"Get out."

Duke takes a step back, blinking with those stupid fucking wide eyes of his that he just can't seem to stop regarding you with. But even still, he makes no further indication of leaving.

Is he deaf or something?

"Get. out!"

The man flinches at your tone, though unlike before, he actually starts towards the door. But not without throwing one last glance at you over his shoulder, brows scrunched and eyes swirling with that same look they all take on when they pretend to care.

The one they give you before all the brothers know about your outburst.

The door shuts with a click.

Your hips feel cold.

Spiders crawl all over your skin.

And before you know it, you're curled up on your bed, lower half covered by nothing but your underwear, and skirt laying discarded in the corner of your room.

A knock.

"Princess?"

You pull your knees closer to your chest.

"I'm coming in."

Why even bother with a warning?

The bed dips with a weight.

"You alright?"

'No.'

You purse your lips.

"'Ts okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

His hand, calloused and familiar and full of just as many spiders as all his other brothers', presses flat against your bare thigh.

"I'm here to make it all go away."

He pulls, gentle, but firm enough to unravel you, like a gift carefully being opened.

"You'll feel so good."

The bed dips even further.

"Promise."

And the last thing you see before all your fight gives way—

—is Jason's face smiling down at you.

#female reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere duke thomas #yandere damian wayne #x reader #batfam #batfam x reader #dc x reader #yandere dc x reader

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loveinhawkins · 1 day ago

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outside the cruelty of locker rooms

ao3 Written for @steddiemicrofic May 2025 prompt, “delay,” 408 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, pre season 3/season 3, Scoops Ahoy. cw: implied/referenced homophobia

“Hey, Harrington! You dropped something.”

My dignity? Steve thinks, followed more passionately by The hat? Please say it’s the hat, God, I wanna burn that thing.

But turns out it’s just part of the cardboard display that had been dumped outside of the mall—presumably for him to collect, but no-one’s told him or Robin anything, honestly, who the hell even runs this place?

He doubles back, close to the spot where the bus drops people off. Eddie Munson’s on the sidewalk, holding up a speech bubble with the Scoops Ahoy anchor on it: flavors limited—try now, don’t delay!

“Thanks,” Steve says distractedly. He tries to slot the speech bubble back into the display—it’s meant to be coming out the mouth of some Popeye knockoff—but when the words land upside down, he decides he’s not paid enough to care.

“So, did they pass a law,” Eddie says amusedly, “that, like, requires you to be in shorts all the time?”

All things considered, it’s really tame; Steve’s taken much harsher jabs, especially from those in his year, lining up to the ice cream parlor like it’s a zoo attraction, which, Jesus, get a life.

“Dude, get me a free sample,” Mark Lewinsky had demanded, like he hadn’t just been ridiculing Steve to his friends at the entrance.

“Sure,” Steve said flatly. I’ll even throw in a punch to the face, too.

He sets the display aside to tug at his sailor collar. “Nah, I designed this. And since when do I wear shorts all the time, Munson?”

“Uh, every single gym class? It was a year round event, man.”

Eddie looks embarrassed even before he’s finished speaking, like he already regrets saying it. He’s also wearing shorts—it’s too hot to be wearing anything else—and a t-shirt, faded with age. The clothes are vaguely familiar, and when Eddie leans against the brick wall, arms folded, covering up bare skin—self-defence disguised as nonchalance—it recalls gym in another way, the self-consciousness that only breeds within the cruelty of locker rooms.

God, it’s bullshit. Fuck anyone, Steve thinks with a sudden fervour, who made you feel like—

“The shorts are better than this damn hat, dude. It’s killing my best feature.”

Eddie snorts. “Nice to see your modesty is alive and well.”

Point to Munson, Steve concedes, but as Eddie’s arms relax just a little, can’t help thinking, Point to me, like he’s just won a game he didn’t really know he was playing.

#steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficmay #pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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billysgirllol · 3 days ago

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“you’re the only one sayin’ that.” she isn’t calling him gay at all, but if it bothers him then fine, that’s what she’s saying then but that’s all on him. lucy gray steps into the room and barely finds it surprising he’s not here because he’s chicken. “sex tape with who?” stepping back, putting her hands on her hips. “oh, well i bet they did.” big brown eyes roll again. “it’s just a name. it doesn’t imply you like it up the hind end.” her jaw sets, “i just have a bad habit of callin’ everyone little pet names.” shouldn’t really have to explain that, she’s the type to call the stranger in a gas station babydoll, thanks babydoll, while getting her change back — it’s not something she really thinks on before saying. why the hell is it all the sudden a big deal to poke fun at her about? the liking it up the ass comment is just unnecessary, he been hanging round jesse without her knowing it after all? makes her eyes roll again. “what are you doin’ anyway? HIDIN?” uncapping the marker, ready to draw on his ass cheeks if she can get a hold of them.

“not little ole me.” lucy gray playfully claims, acting as if she didn’t just admit it. “couldn’t have unlocked my heart better with those three ingredients.” she laughs, “well you might as well, it’s your titty anyway.” doe eyes roll, throwing it at his head instead, “since when are you grossed out about anything anyway?” THAT’S a first.

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dakusan · 2 days ago

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S K Z D I C K A N A L Y S I S

stray kids ot8 x reader | field research, god-tier dick, you won’t walk tomorrow

🖤 synopsis: eight men. sixteen hands. one universal truth: they’re all built different. this isn’t a thirst post. it’s a forensic study. a field report. a soul-snatching gospel of hips, tongues, and the quiet cruelty of a man who knows how to fuck. some of them worship you. some of them destroy you. all of them leave you shaking. welcome to the skz dick analysis. we’re not just rating dick. we’re decoding it.

💌a/n: i don’t even know how we got here. one second i was sipping tea like a sane person, the next i was writing about han jisung crying in your arms post-nut while “That That” by PSY (feat. yoongi, because of course) blasted in the background. filth. absolute filth. but you know what? it’s what they deserve. it’s what we deserve. also if it wasn’t obvious by now — yeah. my favourite colour is red. has been for years. red + black is a whole era. i don’t just want to write skz dick analysis… i want to bleed it in velvet. p.s. reblog this post like it gave you a hickey p.p.s. tag your bias & cry about it in the notes p.p.p.s. give some love to Flavor click the link or don't

⚠️warnings: : 18+ ONLY (MDNI) — explicit sexual language and themes, kink-based character analysis, dom/sub dynamics, degradation, praise, overstimulation, body worship, size kink, oral fixation, possessive behavior, creampie mentions, implied breeding, power imbalance, aftercare, emotional collapse, use of pet names (e.g. "good girl"), choking, mirror play, neck biting, fear of God inserted through dick game, and aggressive levels of brainrot. all fictional, all consensual, and all unhinged.

🎶now playing: "Flavor" – VX

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

BANG CHAN // 방찬

Length: 6.5" – 7", but it’s not the size that breaks you — it’s the command. It’s the way he angles himself just right, drags it out slow at first, then gives you everything when you’re begging prettily.

Thickness: Thick and hefty, the kind that makes you gasp when he slides in. Veins you can trace with your fingers. Warm, weighty, always throbbing against your thigh when he gets needy.

Stroke Game: Rhythmic. Calculated. Insane. He doesn’t just fuck — he directs. One hand pinning your hips, the other on your throat, whispering “Take it like a good girl. You’re doing so well.” Alternates between deep, punishing thrusts and slow, ruinous rolls that leave your legs shaking. You’ll lose count of your orgasms — he won’t.

Cum: Heavy. Warm. Deep. He always finishes inside — slow thrusts, gritted teeth, holding your hips still as he fills you up. Groans in your ear, “Fuck, you take me so well.” The kind that drips out for hours and makes you blush when you shift in your seat the next day. Breeds you like he means it, like it’s a ritual, not a reflex.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t just fuck you — he orchestrates your undoing. With precision. With obsession. With love so filthy it makes you sob. You’ll forget your name. You’ll remember his.

Lee Know // 리노

Length: 6.5" — sleek and sculpted like everything else he owns. Elegant curve, perfect for that spot. His hips do most of the talking. He knows what he’s working with.

Thickness: Just enough to make you stretch and shudder. Not monstrous — but deceptively perfect. Every thrust feels like a calculated violation of your sanity. Fit like a lockpick, not a sledgehammer.

Stroke Game: Deliberate. Cruel. Precise. The kind of man who watches your face while you fall apart and smiles. He’ll edge you with shallow strokes until you’re begging, then snap his hips once and have you seeing stars. Minimal movement, maximum destruction.

Cum: Warm. Coats your insides with slow thrusts and low moans. Doesn’t always finish inside — sometimes he likes to paint your stomach, your thighs, your tongue. But when he does finish in you, he makes you stay full. “Don’t let a drop go to waste.” Then fingers it back in while whispering, “Good girl.”

Dick Game Verdict: Not loud. Not messy. Just lethal. He’ll fuck you like a science. Break you in silence. Leave you so ruined, you’ll flinch when someone says his name. He never rushes. Because he knows — when he’s done? You’ll never look at anyone else the same again.

Changbin // 창빈

Length: 6" — don’t let the number fool you. It’s the girth that has you blacking out mid-thrust. Short king? Try wrecking ball. When he slides in, you feel every inch, every time. You’ll swear it grew mid-session. It didn’t. Your walls are just traumatized.

Thickness: Unholy. We’re talking stretch-your-soul level. You’ll see stars before he even bottoms out. Has that heavy, veiny, “you’re not ready for this” kind of presence. Leaves you breathless, wrecked, and praying for a second round you know you can’t survive.

Stroke Game: Rhythmic. Punishing. Zero brakes. Thrusts like a gym playlist — fast, powerful, relentless. No teasing, no build-up — just impact. You’re folded in half, being pounded like a drumline, choking on your own moans while he’s still breathing steady. “C’mon, baby. You can take it.”

Cum: Heavy. Sticky. Endless. Loves finishing inside — but also loves watching it drip out of you. Will thumb it back in just to see you flinch. Grabs your chin after and says, “What’s wrong, baby? Thought you wanted all of me.” Leaves bruises. Leaves marks. Leaves memory loss.

Dick Game Verdict: He’s not just built. He’s built for destruction. You’ll scream. You’ll tap out. You’ll beg — and he’ll just tilt his head and go, “Already?” Sex with him isn’t just a night. It’s a full-body event. And he’s the headline, main act, and afterparty.

Hyunjin // 현진

Length: 7 – 7.5" — long, elegant, dangerous. The type that makes you gasp when he pushes in slowly, watching your face with hooded eyes like he knew it would hit that deep. Fills you up like he’s been dreaming about it for days.

Thickness: Sleek but firm — a velvet blade. Enough to stretch you, but it’s the depth he reaches that changes you. The curve? Unfair. Like it was sculpted to kiss your g-spot just to hear what you sound like when you lose composure.

Stroke Game: Flowy. Deliberate. Unfathomably deep. He starts slow. One hand gripping your thigh, the other tilted under your chin, lips barely touching yours. Once you’re a whimpering mess? He speeds up just enough to overwhelm you. The hips don’t lie — and they destroy. “Take all of it, baby. I’m not stopping.”

Cum: Slow, hot, emotional. Finishes deep with long strokes, burying himself fully as he breathes your name like a prayer. Moans in your ear while holding your waist tight. Likes to cum inside — watches it drip out with dazed eyes and kisses you between the legs like an apology.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t fuck. He haunts. Every moan is a poem. Every thrust is a love letter sealed with bruises. He’ll make you feel like a canvas and leave your body shaking like he wrote a sonnet with his hips. You’ll walk home sore and smiling. And you’ll want him again immediately.

Han // 한

6" — average but deceptively powerful. It’s not the size that ends you. It’s the way he uses it — every thrust hitting just right because he’s memorized every inch of your body like it’s his favorite song. You’ll forget air exists.

Thickness: Slightly girthy with just the right stretch. Has that perfect snug fit — enough to make you gasp, never too much to tap out early. Just the way he likes it: “I wanna feel all of you squeezing around me.”

Stroke Game: Fast. Desperate. Unhinged. He fucks like he’s trying to get you addicted. Starts off whimpering and soft, then kicks into overdrive when you praise him. Slams into you with frantic rhythm like his soul depends on it. You’re drooling, overstimulated, and he’s still muttering, “One more. Just one more, please.” (Lie. It’s never just one.)

Cum: Hot, fast, everywhere. Finishes with a long, desperate groan — body trembling, fingers digging into your hips. Might cum inside without realizing because he’s too far gone. Or on your chest while panting apologies like “I couldn’t hold it, you were too good.”

Dick Game Verdict: He’s your emotional support slut. Will rail you to pieces and then cry in your arms. Sex with him feels like a confession, a breakdown, and a fireworks show all in one. You don’t just cum — you ascend.

Felix // 필릭스

Length: 6.5" – 7" — smooth and beautiful. Not too much. Not too little. It’s the kind of dick you see once and think about forever. The first thrust always makes your breath hitch — not because of size, but because of how intentional it feels. Like he’s been waiting for this.

Thickness: Just right — sleek and filling. Perfect pressure, perfect stretch, perfect rhythm. You don’t get overwhelmed, you get hooked. Hits that spot and stays there, grinding slow, deep, and steady until you’re breathless.

Stroke Game: Deep. Rhythmic. Lethal. The slow strokes kill you. It’s the way he grinds, chest pressed to yours, whispering soft filth in that low voice — “You’re so pretty like this… all mine.” Will go harder if you ask, but he prefers to fuck you through eye contact and emotional damage. Makes you melt, then makes you moan.

Cum: Warm, slow, and intensely possessive. Finishes with a deep groan and wraps his arms around you instantly. Fills you up and doesn’t pull out — “I wanna stay like this a little longer.” Watches it leak out of you with a dazed look and kisses your trembling thighs.

Dick Game Verdict: He doesn’t just make love — he devours your soul. You’ll cry, you’ll shake, you’ll feel cherished and wrecked. Sex with Felix is like being adored into submission. You’ll never recover — and you’ll never want to.

Seungmin // 승민

Length: 6" — but don’t get comfortable. He doesn’t need to be huge — the control, the angles, the timing is what sends you to the ER. Slides in like he’s done it a thousand times in his head. Because he has. “Told you I’d fit perfectly.”

Thickness: Sleek and dangerous. Just enough to fill you right — just enough to make you squirm. He lives for the moment you exhale and say, “Oh my god…” because he already knew it would feel that good. He's been patient. Calculating. Now you're his problem.

Stroke Game: Controlled. Cruel. Clinical. Each thrust is calculated. Each change in rhythm is intentional. The kind of sex where he grabs your jaw mid-stroke, leans in with a smirk, and says: “You’re so loud. You trying to get caught?” You’ll cry. He’ll coo. And then he’ll go deeper.

Cum: Hot. Possessive. Intentional. Loves cumming inside — and watching it leak. Will plug you up with his fingers and say, “You’re not wasting a drop.” Doesn’t make a sound when he finishes — just a quiet gasp and clenched jaw like he’s in complete control even now.

Dick Game Verdict: He’s a fucking weapon. Not loud. Not flashy. Just precision-based annihilation. He’ll gaslight you into thinking it wasn’t even that intense — while you’re still shaking 30 minutes later. You’ll never win. But you’ll beg to lose again.

I.n // 아이엔

Length: 6.5" — a sleeper hit. You don’t expect it to hit like that… until it does. And then you’re arching, twitching, grabbing sheets with a voice you didn’t know you had. He gives you that deep, shaky breath before sliding in like, “Tell me if it’s too much.” (It is. But you won’t dare say no.)

Thickness: Slim but deadly. Slides in too easily. And that’s the trap. He gets deeper than he should, hits angles that make you shiver, and then stays there. Tilts his hips, watches your eyes roll back, and just smiles. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Stroke Game: Evolving. Dangerous. Addictive. At first, he watches you — every gasp, twitch, stutter. Then one day he finds a rhythm that makes you break and he never lets it go. From then on, it’s deep, slow, purposeful fucking. Holds your hands down. Bites your neck. Makes you beg with a soft whisper: “Louder, baby. Let them hear who owns you.”

Cum: Hot, messy, unexpectedly filthy. Finishes with a choked gasp and a twitchy thrust, still buried inside you, whispering your name. Then collapses on top of you, breathless and shaking. Sometimes asks if he can stay in a little longer. Sometimes goes again while you’re still twitching.

Dick Game Verdict: He is the sweetest weapon you’ll ever encounter. You think it’s cute until your legs are shaking, your brain’s gone, and he’s pulling you in for another round with a soft, dangerous smile. He didn’t ask to break you — but now that he has? He’ll never let anyone else put you back together.

#skz #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #bangchan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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brittle-doughie · 2 days ago

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Hi Brittle! This is my first time requesting a scenario for you. But anyways, can you create an angsty one where the reader comforts Pavlova Cookie? Since I learned that Pavlova Cookie's desire is to leave the garden but he can't due to Eternal Sugar Cookie won't allow anyone to leave her Garden of Sweet Delights (I hadn't play CRK for quite some time, so this is new to me) and it is implied that the "statues" in-game were actually living cookies who defied Eternal Sugar Cookie

[Calm Sugar Angel] “Would you like another, heavenly?”

[You] “That would be nice.”

[Gentle Sugar Angel] “We have plenty, so don’t be afraid to have as much as you want!”

The angels kept continuing to feed you countless fruits as you lay back in the pink cloud. It hadn’t been that long since you’ve arrived here in the garden, at least it was what you thought. Here? It was nothing but relaxation and a stream of berries and other delights!

Who would even think of wanting to leave such a place like this!

“Well, with a beaten down and broken heart like yours, a rest like this from the outside world was needed!”

[You] “Pavlova Cookie? When you did get here?”

[Calm Sugar Angel] “Pavlova Cookie! You know this sanctuary was only made for our heavenly in mind!”

[Gentle Sugar Angel] “The Bringer of Happiness will not be pleased to see other Cookies in here, including you!”

[You] “Hey, it’s okay! He’s probably only here to pester me about my heart. I can take it from here. Peace!”

The Sugar Angels nodded to your request and fly away from the sanctuary, leaving you and Pavlova Cookie alone.

“So what brings you to me, Pavlova Cookie? Here to talk about how my heart is locked away? How I need to move on after all these years? Because let me tell you, it’s going to be eons more before I even consider it.”

“So many Cookies pining for your love and you won’t even give them a chance! It’s such a tragic way to go, love so close yet so out of reach! I LOVE it!”

“They understand that part of me isn’t ready. Maybe someday, but for now, I just like doing my own thing of helping Cookies in my kingdom and out of it.”

“Your kingdom?”

“Yeah, it’s a place where Cookies get to live their lives the way they want to live it! It’s safe and welcoming to all Dessertians! Just don’t be overly evil and we’re all set!”

“Safe and welcoming….the Bringer of Happiness told me that the Cookie world was unfair. That the garden is the only place where Cookies can be happy…”

That happiness you’ve been feeling turned into confusion at his pondering words.

“There…are unfortunately some crummy parts of Earthbread, but it doesn’t cover the ENTIRE land. There are villages, kingdoms, and nature where Cookies live worry-free lives, it’s not something only exclusive to this garden..”

“If what you’re saying is true….”

“Yeah?”

“……”

“Pavlova Cookie?”

Pavlova Cookie quickly looked around for a second, flying around to make sure the brush was well bunched together and the gate leading to the sanctuary was secure before flying back to you, taking you by surprise as he holds your hands into his.

“Please take me with you!”

“What!?”

“The Bringer of Happiness told me about you, how you bring happiness to the Cookies that live in your kingdom. It makes you and her alike in that way…”

“I…guess you can say that…but why would you want to leave, it’s safe here…”

“…..you won’t turn me into a lifeless statue, will you?”

“I’m repeating myself here, but what!?”

“That’s what happens to any Cookie that tries to leave here. I wanted to be free for so long, but I was so afraid of what the Bringer of Happiness would do to me if I tried. But with you here, I might have a chance!”

“Pavlova Cookie….”

“Please….*sniff*…I can’t live like this any longer….”

Pavlova Cookie started to cry, this knocked you out of your happy-induced stupor as your protective instincts took over. You hold the little Cookie close to you as he weeps into your chest.

“Hey, ssshhh. It’s okay, please don’t cry!”

“Don’t leave me here,…*sob*….take me with you…”

You felt conflicted…but that went away real quick with a feeling of determination as you brush his hair.

“I will find you a way out….”

#brittle answers #cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #pavlova cookie

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enimsiyobeht · 2 days ago

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HAVE YOU EVER TRIED THIS ONE? txt hard thought.

synopsis : txt ot5 (separately) x amab reader! & their favorite position. minor breath play/choking (yj), against a mirror (yj), subtle exhibitionism & dacryphilia if you squint (yj), reader calls yj a slut once, degradation (yj), risky setting (bin), praise (bin), implied multiple rounds (bin), pet name; bunny (bin), sleepy sex (gyu), cockwarming (gyu), subtle breeding kink (gyu), risky setting (tae), minor bondage (tae), one occurrence of spanking & denial of orgasm (tae), vanilla intimate sex (kai), subtle breeding kink if you squint (kai).

YEONJUN & standing doggy, against a mirror.

His palms brace against the cool hotel bathroom mirror, muscles trembling as you fuck into him from behind. You’ve got one hand gripping his throat, just tight enough to keep him present, and the other pushing his lower back down to arch him deeper.

“Look at yourself,” you growl against the shell of his ear. “Look how desperate you are.”

Yeonjun’s lips are swollen from earlier kisses, parted in messy moans that fog the glass. His eyeliner's smudged, his cheeks streaked with sweat—and you love it. His cock bounces with every thrust, untouched, but leaking.

“God, you love being watched, don’t you? Little slut for the camera—too bad this mirror’s the only audience you get.”

He whines, trying to roll his hips back into you, but you grab his jaw and force him to lock eyes with his own reflection. “Don’t look away. You’re going to watch yourself come undone.”

And he does—crying out as he finishes untouched, legs shaking as your rhythm grows merciless.

SOOBIN & reverse cowgirl, on a chair.

You’re seated in a creaky wooden chair in the practice breakroom—hours past midnight, doors locked, lights low. Soobin’s in your lap, facing away, thighs spread wide over yours as he sinks down on your cock with a soft, open-mouthed gasp.

“You always take me so well, baby,” you murmur, hands gripping his hips. “So eager to ride, even when you’re sore.”

Soobin’s eyes flutter shut, head tilted back as he starts to grind in slow circles, the curve of his back on display. You can see everything—his flushed neck, his cock twitching against his stomach, the way his ass bounces just slightly with each desperate movement.

When he gets too shaky to move, you take over—thrusting up into him while your grip tightens, holding him down so he can’t escape the overstimulation.

“Just sit there, bunny. Let me use you. You don’t need to do anything but take it.”

Soobin moans helplessly, fingers digging into your thighs. “D-Don’t stop. Wanna feel it… wanna feel you stay inside.”

BEOMGYU & lazy, sideways spooning.

The dorm is quiet. You’re spooned up behind Beomgyu on his bed, one hand lazily wrapped around his waist as you grind into him slowly, hips rolling with a sleepy rhythm.

His back arches into you, body relaxed and pliant. “You feel so good,” he breathes, voice slurred with pleasure. “Don’t stop, please…”

The angle has you pressing against that perfect spot over and over, dragging moans from him with ease. His legs twitch every time you bottom out.

“I won’t,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m gonna stay inside all night. Fill you up and keep you full.”

Beomgyu moans at that, hips stuttering. “Fuck… yes. Want it, wanna be full of you.”

He’s clenching down with every thrust, warm and tight, whimpering as you rub circles into his hip. You don’t stop until he’s trembling, covered in sweat, and begging through broken breaths.

Afterward, you hold him close, still buried deep, his back sticky against your chest as he falls asleep with a blissed-out smile.

TAEHYUN & bent over a desk, one leg lifted.

The room still smells faintly of sweat and wood polish. Practice ended hours ago, but you stayed late—because Taehyun asked for it.

Now, he’s bent over a desk, arms tied behind his back with your belt, one leg lifted onto the edge to give you better access. His shirt is bunched around his waist, exposing his flushed back and trembling thighs.

“You sure about this?” you ask lowly, even as your cock teases his hole.

“Please,” he grits out, looking back at you. “Make me beg.”

You thrust in hard, deep, and his breath chokes out. He moans louder than he means to, biting his lip as you set a brutal pace. The position stretches him open in a way that leaves him wrecked—and you make it worse by staying silent, letting his own noises fill the room.

When he starts getting close, you pull out and spank him once, dragging your cock against his twitching hole. “Not yet.”

Taehyun whimpers, body trembling in restraint. “Fuck… please. I can’t—I need it.”

Only then do you slam back in and fuck him until he’s sobbing, cock untouched but spilling across the desk.

HUENING KAI & seated lotus position.

Your hotel room is dim, soft music playing in the background as Huening Kai sits in your lap, chest to chest. Your arms wrap tightly around him, guiding his hips slowly as he takes you in inch by inch.

“It’s okay,” you whisper when he gasps. “I’ve got you. Just let me feel you.”

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and buries his face in your neck, cock flushed against your stomach. Every time you thrust up, he shivers and lets out a soft, broken whimper.

“I love this,” he whispers. “Being this close. It’s like… you’re inside my heart too.”

You smile softly against his temple and thrust just a little harder. “I’m not letting you go, baby.”

His nails dig into your back, thighs clenching. “Please,” he breathes. “Please don’t pull out.”

You fuck him deep, slow and aching, until he’s trembling in your arms, sobbing your name as he cums between you—held tight, worshiped, completely yours.

a/n : do y'all like this layout .... trying something new after passing my exam today 👉👈.

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

Text

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who is high or drunk

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: drugs/ alcohol, swearing, implied sex, sexual themes

MAIN MARK

Mark had barely shut the door behind him when he heard it—the shuffling of feet, the soft whimper of someone trying not to cry.

“Y/N?” he called out cautiously, dropping his bag by the couch.

You stumbled into the hallway from the kitchen, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. You wore one of his shirts, oversized and hanging off your shoulder, and your smile trembled the moment you saw him.

“There you are,” you slurred slightly, wobbling into his arms like gravity couldn’t work without him. “I missed you so much. You were gone forever.”

He caught you easily, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as your face nuzzled into his neck. “Babe, what’s going on? Are you high?”

You nodded against him, still sniffling. “Or drunk. Or both? I dunno. I just— I was thinking about you, and then I got sad, and then I couldn’t stop thinking, and then I missed you and then I was crying and now you’re here, and… you smell so good…”

Mark laughed softly, even as he cupped your cheek and tilted your head up. “God, you’re a mess. But a cute one.”

You pouted, big eyes watery. “I do love you, you know. So much. It hurts.”

His expression softened as you pressed against him more, hands sliding under his shirt, fingertips tracing his skin like you couldn’t bear the distance. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

“Don’t leave again.”

“I just went to the store.”

“It was too long!”

Mark chuckled again and gently walked you toward the bed. “Come on, let’s lie down. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

You climbed into his lap before he could tuck you under the blanket, clinging to him like a koala, whining. “Nooo. You’re my pillow now. You belong to me.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I always did.”

Eventually, whether it was the weed, the drink, or the warmth of him under your fingers, you fell asleep tangled in his arms. Mark held you like you were fragile, even though you had just wrecked yourself emotionally over a six-hour absence.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered with a smile, brushing your hair back. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

MOHAWK MARK

The doors to his chambers swung open with a hiss of pressure, metal groaning in response to his strength. Mark had just returned from a brutal planetary negotiation—one that ended in conquest rather than diplomacy—and he was still stained with blood and ash. He barely had time to exhale before he heard it.

“Markkkyyy,” you sang from across the room, voice slurred and syrupy sweet.

He raised an eyebrow. There you were, sprawled on the velvet chaise in the center of the imperial suite, clearly wasted—eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide. The scent hit him immediately: weed, with a faint tinge of something stronger. A bottle of alien wine, half empty, rolled near your feet.

“I misshed you soooo much,” you hiccupped, crawling toward him like a lazy jungle cat, completely unbothered by your disheveled state. You pawed at his chest before melting into his arms, arms clinging tight around his neck like a vine.

Mark sighed, irritated at first—but then you looked up at him. Teary-eyed. Lips trembling. “You’re gone so much… I get so lonely. You’re warm, and I need that. You’re… y’r everything.”

The words hit him harder than a Viltrumite punch.

He grunted, sliding off his armor and catching you when your legs wobbled. “You’re high,” he muttered, “or drunk. Or both.”

“I’m needy,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck. “Can’t you hold me, Emperor?”

He hated how much he liked that. You only called him that in public—or when you were messing around—but now? Now it felt like a plea. He sat with you on the massive bed, letting you curl in his lap, small kisses pressed to his throat and jaw.

His hands smoothed over your back, trailing down, gripping your thighs. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight,” he murmured into your ear. “Because this—” he gave your ass a light squeeze, “—is dangerously distracting.”

You giggled, then yawned, fingers threading through his mohawk. “You smell like war.”

“You smell like bad decisions.”

“Wanna make another one?”

He smirked. “Tempting.”

You passed out ten minutes later, half-tangled in him, still whispering how much you missed him. And though he’d never admit it, he stayed awake far longer than usual—just watching you sleep, cheek against his chest, breathing slow and soft.

SINISTER MARK

He entered your shared apartment like a shadow, silent and brooding. Sinister Mark didn’t like being followed, didn’t like being watched—and he especially didn’t like coming home to unexpected noises. So when he heard the giggling from the kitchen, his first instinct was to kill.

Until he saw you.

You were perched on the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt—oversized, slipping off one shoulder, and so thin it barely hid anything. Your pupils were huge, unfocused, your cheeks flushed. And you were grinning like an idiot.

“Mark…” you breathed when you saw him, arms stretching lazily toward him. “You’re home… finally.”

He paused. “You’re high.”

You slid off the counter, stumbling toward him. “I smoked a little. Or a lot. I dunno. I missed you.”

He didn’t move, just stared as you pressed your body against his, grabbing the collar of his suit to pull him closer. “You don’t even text me back anymore,” you pouted. “I thought you didn’t wanna touch me anymore.”

Your voice cracked at the end. He stiffened.

“Oh, shut up,” he growled, gripping your hips suddenly, making you gasp. “You think I’m not touching you because I don’t want to?”

You blinked, lips parting.

He scoffed, backing you up against the wall. His hand slid under your shirt—his shirt—and gripped your bare waist. “You don’t even understand what I do to keep people away from you. What I’ve done.”

You smiled—hazy, stupid, pretty. “I know. You kill ‘em, right? For me?”

His jaw clenched. “Damn right.”

You reached up and kissed his jaw, slow and lazy. “Then prove it. Stay with me tonight. Touch me like you mean it.”

He stared at you for a long beat. “You’re lucky I like you needy,” he muttered, before scooping you up and walking you straight to bed, where the shirt came off within seconds.

OMNI MARK

The door shut behind him with a quiet hiss of displaced air. Mark rarely made a sound when he entered, and tonight was no different. Except the moment he stepped in, he smelled it—sweet alcohol, sugary and sharp. It hung in the air like a fog.

Then he heard you.

“Mmm… Markieee…” your voice echoed down the hallway, slurred and soft, like you were singing to yourself. “Where were you, you big mean bastard… I missed you so much.”

He followed the sound to the bedroom, where the lights were dim and you were curled up in the center of the bed in one of his black shirts, legs bare, a bottle of something expensive still uncapped on the nightstand.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re drunk.”

You looked up, blinking, and then grinned. “Oh, it’s you…” You tried to crawl toward him on all fours, slow and uncoordinated. “I thought you forgot about me…”

Mark didn’t respond. He simply watched, letting his cape drop to the floor as you grabbed onto his belt to pull yourself up against him.

Your lips brushed his jaw. “You’re so cold sometimes,” you whispered, chest pressed to his. “You never hold me long enough. Never fuck me soft. It’s always—grr—Viltrumite strength.”

He growled low in his throat. “You like when I’m rough.” You pouted, drunk and desperate. “Yeah. But I like when you miss me, too.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, with one strong hand, he picked you up by the waist and tossed you back onto the bed, his eyes gleaming.

“You want attention?” he murmured, crawling on top of you. “Then lay back and take it. Every. Fucking. Second.”

You giggled—then moaned, arching your back as his hands slid under the shirt, lifting it slow. Mark didn’t say “I missed you.”

But the way he touched you—like you were something fragile he hadn’t seen in months—said enough.

VILTRUMITE MARK

The hall echoed with the faint clatter of your stumbling footsteps before he even made it to the door.

Mark stepped into the apartment, his armor still dusted with the remnants of battle—alien blood, cracked stone, a smear of soot across his jaw. He barely had time to breathe before your body slammed into his. “You’re back—finally,” you whispered into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him. “I missed you… I missed you so much, Mark.”

He stiffened slightly, catching the scent of wine on your breath. “You’ve been drinking.”

You pulled back, cheeks flushed, swaying just a little. “Maybe… a little. Just enough to miss you harder.”

You tried to stand tall, but you were barefoot and in one of his shirts again—loose on you, showing just enough of your thighs to make his jaw tighten. Your eyes shimmered, not just with the haze of alcohol, but something deeper. Lonely.

“You always leave me here,” you said, frowning, trying to be serious despite how you practically melted into his hands when he grabbed your hips to steady you. “You go off saving or conquering or killing—and I’m here, alone, waiting. Do you even think about me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Always.”

You blinked up at him, swaying. “Liar.”

Without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard. It was more possession than affection, all teeth and breath, his grip firm enough to bruise.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips. “You’re mine, remember? I don’t forget what’s mine.”

You whimpered, dragging him closer, your thighs parting instinctively. “Then remind me…” He growled, already lifting you off your feet. “I’ll remind you until you forget you were ever lonely.”

PRISONER MARK

You didn’t hear the door open.

But you felt when his presence entered the room—the air shifted, heavy and tense. Mark stood in the doorway of the dim apartment, the scent of sweat and smoke clinging to his skin from a mission gone wrong. The look in his eyes was guarded, hard. Until he saw you.

You were curled up on the couch, legs bare, face flushed, eyes glassy and unfocused. The bottle of something cheap and strong sat half-empty on the table. You looked up at him, a lazy grin spreading across your lips.

“Maaark,” you slurred, voice soft and warm with affection. “You’re home…”

He moved slowly, cautiously, like you were something delicate—because he knew what it looked like when people broke.

“What the hell did you take?” he asked lowly, kneeling beside the couch.

You reached out, fingers fumbling against his jaw before cupping his face. “Just some vodka… ‘s okay. I’m okay. I just—” You swallowed, blinking hard. “I missed you. So much.”

His eyes softened, but only a little. “You shouldn’t be drinking like this alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” you murmured. “I had your hoodie… and this,” you added, holding up his broken dog tag from when he escaped the facility. “It still smells like you.”

A beat of silence passed. He hated that you were drunk. He hated more that you needed to be.

“I thought maybe…” you mumbled, curling into his lap as he sat beside you, “if I drank enough, I’d stop crying about it.”

“About what?”

You buried your face in his chest. “You always look like you’re ready to disappear.”

He didn’t respond right away—just held you tighter, his grip firm and grounding. “You know I wouldn’t leave unless I had to.”

“I don’t care. I still missed you,” you mumbled, kisses dragging lazily across his collarbone. “I need you. Want you.”

His breath caught—rough and uneven—before he pulled you flush against him, the alcohol on your breath mixing with the scent of his skin, the heat of your touch.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you what you need. Just… don’t fall asleep on me, sweetheart.”

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #sinister mark x reader #omni mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader #prisoner mark x reader #viltrumite mark x reader #mark grayson x reader

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pitlanepeach · 2 days ago

Text

Brat Tax | Omega!Lando x Alpha!Reader

Summary — Lando has a terrible habit of hiding his pre-heats from his alpha. So when she comes home and finds him a mess, there’s only one thing to be done; tame him.

Warnings — 18+**. A/B/O dynamics. Pegging. Dirty talk. Begging. Explicit scenes. Pure filthy smut basically. Praise kink. Brat!Lando. Possessiveness. Implied fem!reader.

Notes — I will be writing more omega Lando after this… because why does the role suit him so well?

The flat is quiet when you step inside, all warm golden light and lingering scent—Lando. Faintly sweet, rich, unmistakably his. It coats your tongue and wraps itself around your heart.

He’s home.

You toe off your boots, shaking off the London drizzle, and sling your jacket onto the hook by the door. You’re tired. Your shoulders ache from travel. But there’s something else threading under your skin the moment you cross the threshold—instinct, coiled and pulsing low in your spine. Something’s off.

“Lando?” You call, casual, but there’s an edge to your voice you don’t bother hiding. “‘Mega?”

You don’t get a response.

Your brow furrows as you move through the flat. Everything’s in its place—tidy, still. But the air is heavy. Saturated. You can feel it clinging to your skin. He’s in pre-heat. Early. He’d messaged you two days ago saying he felt “weird,” but he’d just brushed it off like he always did.

He hates the vulnerability of it. Hates being seen like that. But he’s yours. And you know the signs.

You find him curled up in your bed, wearing one of your old shirts and nothing else, the sleeves too long, swallowing his hands. His cheeks are flushed. Pupils wide and unfocused. His legs are tangled in the sheets like he couldn’t decide if he was hot or freezing.

He blinks at you slowly. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

You lean in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. Take in the full picture. The restless twitch in his fingers. The old bite marks on his inner thigh. The scent spiking higher now that you’re closer.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

He shrugs, and it’s a pathetic little movement. “Didn’t want to bug you. You were working.”

You cross the room in three strides.

“Lando.” Your voice is soft, but it cuts clean. “You never bug me. How many times have I told you that you come first?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, hand finding his jaw to tilt it up. He leans into your touch like it’s oxygen.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Just… felt stupid. Needy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re an omega in pre-heat, baby. Needy is pretty much what’s expected.”

That earns a tiny laugh, and you catch the flicker of relief in his eyes. He trusts you. You’ve earned that trust a hundred times over. And right now, you’ll earn it again.

You stroke a thumb across his cheek. “You want me to take care of you?”

His breath catches. “Yes.”

“Use your words, ‘mega baby.” You cooed.

He swallows hard. “Please, please. I need you.”

There it is.

And it lights a match behind your ribs.

—

You don’t move right away.

You let your fingers trace the hollow of his throat, feel his pulse hammering beneath fragile skin. He’s so warm already—fever-slick, breath hitching every time your touch drifts just a little too low. And yet he’s still trying to hold it together. That’s the part that gets you.

“Strip,” you say, voice low, even.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows what you’re doing. You see it in his eyes—calculation, hesitation, the ghost of a smirk.

“Make me,” he says.

You blink once.

Then smile slowly. “Oh, Lando.”

It’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. The kind that makes him squirm.

“You really want to do this tonight? When you’re already laid there for hours and soaked through my sheets like a fucking pillow princess?”

He pouts, cheeks going red. “It’s not that bad.”

You grab the hem of the oversized shirt—your shirt—and yank it up. The fabric peels off him, clinging to his skin. He gasps, sharp and breathless, and your gaze drops.

He’s a mess.

Inner thighs slick, cock flushed and untouched, hole already twitching from the scent of you this close. And still—still—he’s trying to act like he’s got even an ounce of leverage here.

You toss the shirt aside. “Get on your knees.”

He obeys. Eventually. Grumbling, but flushed and trembling all the same. He settles between your thighs as you sit back on the bed, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s daring you to make the next move.

“You like being a brat, huh?” You ask, reaching down to thread a hand in his curls. “Makes it better when I ruin you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he says—too fast, too hopeful.

You lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You really want to test me tonight, omega?”

He whimpers.

—

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. That’s the worst part, and he knows it. You just watch him—spread open on his knees, cock hard and untouched, the scent of slick thick and cloying in the air like it’s trying to pull you under.

And you’re so fucking patient with him.

That’s what undoes him, in the end.

Because he wants you rough. He wants to be taken, not coaxed. But you never give him what he wants until he earns it.

You let your hand trail along his jaw instead, thumb brushing his cheek. His lips part, instinctive, ready to suck, to serve, to please.

But you don’t let him.

“You think if you brat hard enough I’ll lose control?” You murmur, still smiling. “That I’ll fuck the attitude out of you?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Maybe.”

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his neck. You inhale, long and slow, soaking in the high of his heat scent—intoxicating and sweet and desperate.

“I think,” you whisper, “you want to be forced to give up control. You want to fight just enough to feel like you’re not soft for needing it.”

He shudders, full-body.

You let that sit for a beat. Two.

“Lie back.” You tell him.

He obeys faster this time.

You grab the lube from the drawer, strap already buckled on your hips, slow and deliberate. Lando watches with that hungry, already fucked-out look—lips bitten red, pupils blown wide.

“You’re gonna prep me?” He asks, voice small.

You cock your head. “You want that?”

A pause.

Then he nods.

But you don’t give it to him.

You crawl over him instead, pressing your chest to his and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. He gasps—arched, completely at your mercy now. Your other hand slides between his legs and barely ghosts over his slick hole.

He jerks beneath you, breath catching.

“God,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

You smile like a wolf. “That’s right. You beg, omega. You beg your alpha to open you up.”

And he does.

He breaks for you.

Just like he always does.

—

He’s panting by the time you get him on his back again, legs spread and trembling, arms limp against the mattress. His scent is everywhere now—thick and wet and drowning you in it. But you stay steady. Controlled. Calm.

Because you don’t spiral.

He does.

You slick your fingers without a word and reach for him. He tenses, but not from fear. From anticipation. He’s waiting for it, for the stretch, for the way you always make him feel like he’s coming apart and safe at the same time.

“Breathe,” you order, pressing in with your first finger. “Let me in.”

He gasps—sharp, desperate. His hips twitch, but he stays open. Stays good.

You add a second, scissoring slow, watching him unravel.

“God—fuck, alpha—” His voice breaks.

“Louder,” you growl. “I want the neighbors to know you’re mine.”

A sob. “Yours, I’m yours, I always—please—I need it.”

You kiss him hard, claiming and filthy, your strap nudging against the inside of his thigh.

He flinches. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Already have,” you murmur.

Then you line up—and thrust.

Not gentle. Not slow.

You bottom out in one smooth, practiced push, and he screams.

It rips out of him raw, guttural, like he’s never been filled like this before even though he has—by you, always you.

He thrashes under you, half-feral, slick soaking the sheets as you pull back and slam in again, setting a brutal pace. His cock bounces against his stomach, untouched, already leaking. You don’t need to stroke him. You don’t need to do anything but fuck him hard and deep. That’s what he likes. That what little omega bitches like him need:

His eyes roll back. His hands claw at the sheets.

“Fuck,” he cries out. “Alpha—please, please—”

“Shut up and take it,” you snarl, fisting your hand in his curls and yanking his head back. “You said you could handle it. Now you prove it.”

He whimpers. But he doesn’t beg you to stop.

No. He’d never do that.

He just begs you to give it to him harder.

So you do.

You fuck him into the mattress, brutal and relentless, until his thighs are shaking and he’s babbling nonsense—his pretty little brain turning to mush under the weight of the pleasure.

“You’re mine,” you pant, grinding deep. “No one else gets you like this. No one else could ever get you like this.”

He chokes on a sob. “Yours. Fuck. Yours.”

And then he’s coming untouched, big hands fisting the sheets, body locked tight as he sobs through it—wrecked, overstimulated, absolutely undone.

But you don’t stop.

Not yet.

Not until he’s seeing stars.

—

He’s trembling under you, boneless and slicked in sweat and your scent. The room smells like heat and sex, but under it—buried in the silence that follows his sobbed-out release—there’s something gentler. Something warm.

You stroke a hand through his curls, still tangled in your grip. “Breathe, baby.”

He nods, barely. Obeys.

You ease out slowly. His whole body flinches—too raw, too tender—and you shush him quietly, soothing with your hands and your mouth. Kisses pressed to his jaw, his temple, the tip of his nose. He shudders every time you move, but he doesn’t push you away.

He never does.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur as you unbuckle the strap and set it aside. “Took me so well. You’re perfect, baby. So perfect.”

Lando blinks up at you, eyes glassy and wet, but he’s still there. Grounded in your touch.

His voice comes out wrecked. “I love you.”

Your chest tightens.

You brush a thumb beneath his eye. “I love you more.”

He laughs—weak, broken—but real.

You slip off the bed to grab a warm cloth and a fresh towel. He tries to protest when you start to clean him, but you shut it down with a look. “Let me take care of you.”

So he lets you

You wipe him down gently, careful with every inch of his skin. You settle a hoodie over his shoulders, pull the blankets around both of you, and press him to your chest like you’re trying to stitch him back together.

He tucks his head under your chin, body still buzzing with the aftershocks, but finally—finally—he exhales.

You feel it. The way his weight shifts into you like surrender.

“Next time,” he mumbles, half-asleep, “you better kiss me before you rail me like that.”

You smile, kissing the crown of his head. “If you don’t want to pay the brat tax, don’t act like one.”

He hums. “But I’m pretty.”

“You’re a little shit,” you mutter, holding him tighter. “But you’re mine.”

Always.

—

The sun is hot on the Imola tarmac, shimmering off the halo of his car. From the private hospitality suite above the paddock, you watch him slice through Sector 2 like he owns the track.

Which—technically—he almost does. At least on a good day.

Lando’s voice crackles through the team radio, loud enough to catch in the background of the Sky broadcast, sharp and unbothered.

“Tell Max I’m not moving. He can cry about it later.”

Your mouth twitches.

A few engineers in the room wince, but you just sip your iced coffee slowly, hiding your smirk behind the rim.

You recognize that tone. The arrogant edge in his voice. The cocky little bite. You’d know it anywhere.

It’s the same one he used last month, right before you folded him in half and made him forget how to speak.

And he’s using it again.

In public.

Bold.

You don’t even say anything. Just reach for your phone and text him one sentence.

That mouth is writing checks your ass is going to cash tonight.

There’s no reply, not immediately.

But after the break between Q3 and Q2, the message goes from delivered to read, and on his next run, his sector time drops by a tenth.

Focus sharpened. Legs probably a little shaky in the cockpit. You grin and set your phone down.

Oh yeah.

Your omega needs to be taught a lesson in manners.

And you can’t fucking wait to teach him.

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rafsmusicalnotes · 2 days ago

Text

Insecurities with Rafayel

Tags: Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Premise: Rafayel wants to go swimming at the beach with you, but you’re insecure about the stretch marks and cellulite on your body, afraid it’ll turn him off completely. He comforts you and reassures you that he’s completely enamored by you. It’s kind of implied that it’s the earlier stages of dating Rafayel (you’ve walked along the beach with him, but haven’t gone swimming with him).

MC is gender neutral, but does have a vagina.

MC's physical body isn't described, besides saying there's stretch marks and cellulite (implied mostly on the legs). I try to make my works as inclusive as possible. I hate to leave anyone out.

~4.5k words

MDNI 🔞

It’s the summer, the perfect season for going swimming at the beach. The weather is hot, the seagulls are out, it’s an easy sweat just standing two minutes outside, so of course he’d ask to go swimming at the beach with you. It’s right by his studio, and if not that beach, the private island that he owns. And of course, he'd tell you to prepare a week ahead, and of course, you haven’t gone swimming at the beach in years. And of course, to go swimming, you need a bathing suit. And of course, your old bathing suit doesn’t fit anymore. You’re not a teenager anymore; you're an adult. An adult with a grown body. A body with skin stretched around it. You thought you didn’t care, but now that there’s plans to go swimming at the beach with him… Suddenly, it hurts to see yourself sometimes, and staring too long at the creeping marks around your lower abdomen, thighs, hips, arms, chest, etc. just makes it worse.

Those “marks” which you believe look more like lingering claw marks holding and curving around your body weigh heavily on your mind as you go shopping for a bathing suit. You see other adults and take notice of their smoother skin with less marks, and you try not to let it get to you. You know better than to compare yourself to other people, but it’s a horrible habit that’s been hard to break. Usually those comparisons are nothing more than a passing thought, but they’re lingering lately much longer than they should.

You try on various shapes and designs of swimwear. Whatever you can get your hands on, but something in the back of your mind keeps nit picking at yourself, so now you’re sitting in the changing room, kinda sweaty from changing so many times in a small space that isn’t well ventilated. You stand one more time, and you look behind you, and oh… Cellulite. As if you needed another reason to not go, and another reason to pick at yourself.

You know it’s just the horrible lighting in the room, but you can't help but start grabbing at your legs and messing with the fat distribution. You’re not going to cry. No, you’re not. You’re an adult with an adult body. This is normal. You know it’s normal, but you wish you weren’t right now. You quickly put on your clothes, and hang all the swimwear on the return rack. As you walk out the store, you’re already planning various ideas on letting Rafayel down gently.

After much thought, you decide to do it about 2 days before the date. You’re cutting it close, but a part of you wants him to be upset at you. As some sort of odd self punishment you think you deserve. Also, you do it over call, so you don’t have to see his face, hearing his disappointment is more than enough to guilt you.

“Ahh I’m so sorry Rafayel, but I accidentally picked up a shift for that day.”

“Accidentally? And you’re sure you can’t take it back?”

“Maybe I could? But it would feel kind of rude… look I’m really sorry.”

“I get it. We can go another day, right? The beach isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Also, don’t overwork yourself, cutie.”

Rafayel’s soft chuckles reverberate into your head and down your spine in a similar warmth, but your frigid guilt washes it away. You hate that you’re telling a half truth; you did pick up a shift, but it was never an accident.

Now, a few weeks pass before Rafayel tries again to set up another beach date. This time, he brings it up while you’re in his studio. Whilst he’s busy opening boxes of packages he ordered a week or so ago, you’re sitting on his couch, watching him pull out random articles of clothing, gadgets, and even some strange ceramic pieces. After some time of opening boxes, he shifts the conversation to arranging another beach date.

“I’m telling you way ahead of time, so this time don’t forget and accidentally pick up a shift please. I’ll tell you about it everyday if I have to.”

He moves to sit next to you, and you tell him okay. Unfortunately, as the conversation keeps going along, a familiar heaviness of insecurity and guilt takes the forefront of your consciousness. More specifically, you’re distracted by how you don’t even have a bathing suit, the stretch marks, the cellulite, and most importantly, will he catch on if you make another excuse again?

“Hey cutie, what’s on your mind?”

The question cuts through your trance, and you refocus your attention on him. His body is leaning towards you, and his brows are a bit furrowed as he scans your face.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

You barely manage to roll that response out as you lean your body away from him. Can he tell something is up? Can he tell you really don’t wanna go? Well, it’s not that you don’t, but would he even still be attracted to you? Could he see you and still want to be with you? You shift your gaze down to his blouse, and peak at the defined collarbone and sculpted chest. Another comparison that adds another weight. You’ve been adding on a lot lately.

Then you look at his face again. Perfectly smooth, free of blemishes. Another weight.

“Yeah, thinking about what? ‘Cause you’re staring off a terrible lot.”

He leans even closer and a cheeky smile paints his face, but his eyes still show deep concern. And they’re trying to meet your eyes, but you won’t let it happen.

“Just... thinking.”

“Thinking… Would you let me in, please?” He’s reaching over to hold your hand, kissing your knuckles. “I promise I won’t stop pestering until you tell me.” He winks at you, and your heart beats a lil faster. You’re flattered by his gesture, but scared of his response if you told him the truth.

“I can’t go.”

“Go where?”

“The beach Rafayel.”

“Can’t? Why?” He leans back to give you space to think, but he still holds your hand, so you can’t run away from this. There’s a long pause in the air as you reach for words to catch in your mind. What’s a good reason? You want to go. You really do, but you’re not ready to go with him. The flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams. What if it all falls apart at the beach? What if he tells you some crap that ‘oh it’s all in the beauty of your soul’ or some crap. You know he likes your personality already. That’s probably what has kept him with you this long. That’s not what you want to hear, but what if he’s not even attracted to you anymore after that date. And suddenly, he’s asking less and less to go on dates, and then… he breaks up with you?

“What’s going on?” He whispers, his fingers trace the side of your face. “You’re starting to seriously worry me.”

“I’m sorry. I wanna go, but… Oh it’s so stupid and embarrassing.”

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s holding you back from going somewhere you wanna go.”

You make an odd noise from the back of your throat. You should tell him. You really should, but you feel so stupid. It’s such a ridiculous reason. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself now that he’s putting you in the spotlight.

“I’m worried about something.” It took so much out of you to even say that, so you’re starting to sweat and slowly shifting away to the furthest end of the couch.

“Yes?” He lets you shift away, but never lets go of your hand. He’s starting to get nervous too, and you can feel it in the way his hands are starting to sweat, and he holds on tighter.

“I’m worried that… That you won’t like me anymore afterwards.” You stare at the connected hands– you’ve loosened your grip. Because if he wants to let you go after this, then he has every right. A good, handsome guy like him deserves an equally good, beautiful person that has more self confidence than you could ever muster.

“That.. I won’t like you anymore?” Rafayel tilts his head to the side, eyes widening for a moment, but quickly returning to normal. “Why wouldn’t I like you anymore? I’ve loved you thus far haven’t I? Why would one good date ruin that? One good date at the beach, may I add, because you’ve been fine with other dates and meetups. Even today’s meetup. What’s so different at the beach? Haven’t we walked alongside it before as well?”

You sigh and shrug your shoulders. “It’s because at those other dates, other non-beach dates, I’m dressed up. Y’know? Even when we walk alongside it, I’m still dressed up. Nice blouse, sandals, whatever. I’m not naked. Not even close. But like an actual beach date, you wear a swimsuit. I remember you told me to prepare for that, and I went shopping for it, but I just... I hate it.”

Rafayel nods along and lets you keep going, his gaze never drifting away from you despite how yours darts from place to place. In those small milliseconds that he can catch your eyes, he takes notice of the worry and fear that plagues your mind; he’s catching onto what you’re trying to push out, but he needs to hear it from you.

“Hate what?”, he whispers and reaches out to hold your other hand.

You feel a pull in the back of your throat. Like it’s holding your voice back, but you push through it because you decide, if this is really something that he can't help you through, then he was never really that flattering, fashionable, funny guy of your dreams.

“My body,” you say through an exhale that barely pushes against the pull that was holding you back.

“But your body is gorgeous.” Rafayel moves to your side of the couch and lets go of one hand to cup your face, carefully maneuvering to see your face properly. “I’ve always thought so.”

“But you haven't seen me in swimwear at a beach, Rafayel. I went shopping the other day and do you know how ugly I was.” You hate to get choked up, but it can’t be helped. These things have been weighing on you the entire time, and you’re just placing it all bare at once, to the guy you want to hide it from the most. “And I don’t want to go to the beach, and you realize ‘oh that’s ugly’ and then stop liking me. And I can’t force you to like me, so I would just have to wait until you break up with me because I know I won’t do it.” You keep rambling and forcefully pull your hands away to hide behind them. “This is so stupid and embarrassing.”

Rafayel takes the time to think about what you’ve said. As he formulates his response, he puts his arms around you to pull you as close as he can to himself, and then tucks your head under his chin as he lets you cry. Hearing you speak so poorly about the person he loves the most hurt him so deeply, yet he could only imagine the suffering you’ve been enduring with yourself. He knows this is a deeper issue than he could ever hope to solve in one day, but he hopes that at the very least, his words breach the surface and make light of what has been weighing you. “You’re not ugly at all. The opposite really. I promise. I’ve liked you for a long long time. Longer than you will ever know.” He speaks clearly into the open as he pats your head. “And I’ve been attracted to you since the beginning. I promise.”

“Only because you haven’t seen all my weird stretch marks.” You close your eyes, squeeze your legs together, and cross your arms in a poor attempt to soothe yourself and to hide, making yourself small. “And cellulite,” you mumble off, and all the weights on your soul seem to tug you down to drown you deeper towards despair as you recall the changing room mirrors.

“So-? They’re attractive as well.” You open your eyes and move your head to look at him. “You’re just saying that.” He pinches your cheek. “Nah uh. I’m not. I promise. Where are they? I'll tell you how attracted I am to every bit of you”. He shifts you to sit on his lap, your back to his chest, and his chin now rests on your shoulder. He won't let you hide any longer. You're his precious pearl, after all. You're meant to be admired. To be loved and appreciated, especially by him. His hands glide up and down the sides of your thighs for a few strokes before settling on your hips. “Go on, ” He kisses the side of your neck, “I’ll love you no matter what, and if I don’t, you can always dump me. You deserve someone who loves you for every fiber of your being, and I am that person. I promise.” He chuckles at his last remark, giving you a gentle squeeze.

You’re hesitant, but nod your head firmly. It’s true. You do deserve someone like that, and if he isn’t really that person, then he’s not yours. It would hurt to let him go, but you have every bit the ability to leave him as he does to you. Then, you lift up your shirt just enough, and pull down the waistband just enough to show the stretch marks on your abdomen.

Your head is turned away, but Rafayel looks down as his hands move to rub at your lower stomach. “Attractive. Just as I said.” He whispers and slows his fingers to trace along the marks. “Like gentle streams across your body...” He mumbles “Leading me right to the most lovely parts of you.” His hands move towards the center and his fingers peak just underneath the waistband before drawing back to your hips. You twitch in response and shift in his lap, eliciting a groan from him. “Can I see more? I wanna see all of them,” his whispers gently blow into your ear.

“Okay…” You tug the waistband an inch or two lower to expose the skin of your hips. “And there’s more around my chest and arms…” Rafayel seems to perk up at the mention, kissing your shoulder.

“You know, I invited you over because I was kinda in an art block, hence the boxes and boxes of random stuff. But I see how unnecessary that all was now.” He kisses follow the curve of your neck as one hand caresses your hips and the other creeps along your side and over your chest, lifting your shirt higher in the process.

“In Lemuria, stretch marks are seen as a sign of growth, maturity and even vitality. They’re markings of someone strong and dedicated… These lighter ones represent new beginnings and divinity…Then, these darker ones mean finding love in creativity or creativity in love. Whichever you prefer.” He speaks quietly into your ear, these are meant for you alone. “And that represents you perfectly, doesn’t it? My beautiful muse.”

“Now, what was it about cellulite?” The last weight that laid the heaviest on you, suddenly felt much lighter right now. “It’s just like. When my fat dimples and whatnot when I’m standing a lil bit. But especially when I’m sitting. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to show you really…” Rafayel’s heavy gaze never leaves as you stand up and fix down your shirt. He picks up on how you keep the waistband low. He wants to have his hands there again. He spreads his legs just enough so that when he pulls you towards him, you slot right between them. He lets you ponder, and he leans forward to kiss the marks on your skin, his fingers flirting with the waistband. You flinch when you feel his tongue flick out and drag along your marks. “Wait Raf..” He hums in response and stops, nuzzling into your stomach. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Uhm..” You never thought you’d be saying this, “I have yet to show you my cellulite.” Rafayel lifts his head up to see you and nods. “Yeah that’s right. I think I know how you can show me.” Abruptly, he stands up, lifting you off the floor, and he carries you to his bedroom. “What’s your amazing idea?” You query, and in response, he puts you down on the bed, front facing down. “Just stay still.” You can feel the bed dip as he climbs on after you. “Is it okay if I take these off?” His fingers hook around your waistband. You nod, “Yes.” He pulls them off, eyes immediately going to the stretch marks he couldn’t see before.

He swallows the saliva building in this mouth and puts his hands at the back of your knees. “Is it okay if I move my hands up cutie?” He questions, and as soon as you give the okay, he moves his hands upwards, giving a firm massage up the backs of your thighs while he works on kissing every mark on your lower back, occasionally giving small licks. He notices the dimples in your skin as he pushes his hands up towards your ass. “This is what you were worried about?” He chuckles lightly. “Oh my petite artist and your worries. These are lovely like the soft ripples of a calm ocean. Kinda reminds me of home, and the way the light barely manages to trickle through during sunset and sunrise.” The weights on your mind and soul are dissipating, and a new warm, heated feeling creeps to replace it.

You feel a fluttering kiss right at the crease of your ass and thigh, “Rafayel–!”.

“Can’t you let me savor this a little more?” You suddenly feel his entire weight press down against you. “Please?” The sensation of his breath against the shell of your ear dances with every nerve along your body. “Every mark just keeps leading me right to…,” he rolls his hips once against you, “...your most lovely parts.” Then, just before you can look back, he turns you around himself and spreads your legs, settling them around his hips. He makes sure your hips are just high enough so his boner is nudging just right against your sex. His thumbs are gently rubbing circles at your hips, and for once since this whole ordeal, you properly meet his eyes. He’s blushing, but he’s not embarrassed or shy like he usually is. His eyes carry a stronger emotional depthness. There’s a romantic sparkle, but also this heavy lust in them. His soft lips are slightly parted to take deeper breaths, chest noticeably rising and falling. You look down, and you’re transfixed at how strained his dick is in his slacks. “Cutie, I wanna feel your beautiful body, and paint it with mine.” He leans down, holding himself up with his forearms, grinding his hips down and carefully kissing along your jaw. “Would you let me?” He gives one final kiss to your lips and waits for your answer. “Yes. Please.” You don't know where to place your hands, but gripping the bed feels cold, so you hold onto his shirt, one hand over his heart where it’s warmest.

“Thanks cutie.” He smirks and presses his lips against yours again. Slowly and sensually at first, but gradually deepening as he grinds his hips against you; his hands fondle at your chest, fingers grazing over your nipples. He pulls away, feeling a deep sense of pride when he picks up on how you tried to keep following. “Want more, yeah?” He takes off his shirt and works off his slacks. Then, his calloused fingers pressed against the damp spot on your underwear. “Excited aren't we, my muse?”

He leans forward to whisper in your ear, “And I am too.” He kisses down your chest and puts one nipple in his mouth as his hands tugs down your underwear. “So good for me,” He mumbles against your chest, “Just relax for me.” Carefully he pulls your hips to the edge of the bed, mouth still leaving open kisses on your chest and sucking light bruises.

Once he was proud of the work he made of your chest, he works his kisses down against your stomach and gives a few short licks along the way before slotting his face against your pussy, letting his nose bump against your clitoral hood and tongue give long flat licks against your pussy. His thumbs help to keep you spread apart to taste every surface of you. He tries to take his time savoring you, kneeled by the bedside, but despite his best efforts, he drools and laps against you. His tongue curls up inside and then towards your clit. So engrossed in the taste and smell, he almost forgets that this was meant to please you more than himself.

And without you realizing, the entire time, he was dancing his fingers along the stretch marks of your inner thighs. He was worshiping your body, gently massaging and soothing away the weeks worth of pain you had held up.

He slowly changes his motion, taking shorter flat flicks against your clit, fingers sliding inside and feeling around the ribbing of your walls. He works you open to three fingers and rolls his tongue in circles around your clit. You can’t stop bucking your hips up and rubbing against his face. Your hands grapple at his head, grabbing onto whatever you can– you need him.

As your orgasm builds up, Rafayel resists less and allows you to guide him, giving you more control of his movement. He’s losing his sensibility, so he almost needs you to move him. His cock’s achy and throbbing, tip tapping at his stomach. He reaches down to try and stop the dribbling precum from reaching the floor but it’s a useless attempt. Precum is getting all over the floor and his hand. He can barely manage a short stroke down his shaft without whimpering. He quickly realizes that he can’t do anything for himself if he doesn’t wanna cum before you, but it’s getting painful.

He wants you to cum so bad. He’s twitching at every flutter and throb against his face. He gives up on being gentle and puts his focus on suckling on your clit. You can barely make out his meek attempts at pleading with you “please…please. Please…” With just a few more sharp tongue rolls and strokes and final harsh suckle of your clit, you cum. Quickly, he’s slurping up your orgasm, tongue taking up all you can give and gulping down as much as he can. This is his sanctuary. Where his purpose is, where he belongs, and without having realized, he came too. And it’s likely the Lemurian biology, but it doesn’t shoot out particularly far, but the semen is thick and heavy. It’s getting all over his fingers and spilling across on the floor.

But he wants to feel just a bit more. He needs to feel more, but you pull him away. His whimpers almost sound like choked up sobs, like he’s disappointed it’s over. When you loosen your grip on him, he creeps forward to kiss you. The tip of his cock is kissing at your entrance, and you’re uncontrollably clenching. “Can I?” He looks so dazed, and lost, not completely in his right mind, and you’re not any better.

“Please.” You whine, and that’s all it takes before he’s inside you in one languid stroke. He trembles the entire time, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated inside your pussy.

“Thank you cutie,” you take notice of the shakiness in his voice. “But I think I’m gonna cum again soon.” His chuckle echoes through the fogginess of your mind; he sounds so distant and quiet with the ringing in your ears still there from your orgasm. “That’s okay.” You whisper back, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck– it’s a weak attempt at grounding yourself, so he doesn’t sound so far away. “So please keep going, I love you.” Suddenly, he tenses up and shivers at your whispers, and you realize.

He came again. Right inside. Your eyes go wide. It feels like you’re slowly being filled with cum. Meanwhile, Rafayel’s still and whining into your neck. “I wasn’t ready for that… and I love you, too.” He refuses to show his face as he does shallow pumps, grinding his hips a little when he’s balls deep, like he’s trying to push it all against your cervix. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d have lasted longer.” After a few moments, when he’s finally done cumming, he leans back and watches as he slowly slides out, biting his lip at the view. His cock is completely coated in your slick, and mostly his cum. He takes a moment before pulling the tip out, wanting to really draw the last moment. But after he does, he lays down beside you, floating down from his orgasm.

“You know, I kinda knew something was up since the first time you ‘accidentally’ picked up a shift. You sounded really guilty. But I didn't think over the phone was the best time to confront you. You sounded so sad already.” He turns to hold you. “I was worried, you know? Maybe I had made you uncomfortable? I don't know, but next time don't be afraid to tell me these things. It's okay to depend on me, to ask me about these things.” You nod along, “I know, I was just worried and didn’t want to bother you.”

“I’ve told you before, but I guess you forgot. I want every one of your bad moods.” He reaches to hold one of your hands.

“But what if I'm too moody, and it becomes a pain?” You squeeze his hand, and he does the same in kind.

“I said every. one. I truly mean it. Besides, just seeing you smile is enough to brighten my day.”

Afterwards, there's a long pause. He breaks silence first.

“So like… when do you wanna go shopping for swimwear? I got so many ideas of what we could wear. I bookmarked soooo many tabs.”

You laugh at the sudden change of tone, “We?”

“Yeah we could go matching,” he pinches your cheek before continuing, “And I'm happy that you're laughing again, but I'm serious. Don't laugh.”

There's a light airy playfulness as the conversation continues. Giggles back and forth and light teasing. Whatever insecurities you had weighed on yourself so heavily before, feel so far away. Like it had never happened. Or like it was evaporated out of your skin, and all that’s left is a newfound appreciation for yourself.

A/N: Another week, another work done. Editing takes a lot of work btw. Rereading my own work over and over again until I'm satisfied with it. This was supposed to just be another hurt/comfort fic but it ended up having smut in the end. But it also ends on a kinda funny note, so a win in my opinion. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did. Also, sometimes I like to include lines directly from the game into my writing if I can. That's what the bolded words at the end are for. I got them from that five star memory with fireworks with Rafayel. Sparkling Traces is what it's called, I just searched it up lol.

I think the smut is pretty soft though. I didn't mean to write Rafayel as being so sensitive... but I couldn't help it. It's been 800 years, I can only imagine how pent up that guy is.

OH! Before I forget, yeah I try not to describe the MC's body as much as possible ever. Unless it's specifically for the cause like yk stretch marks and cellulite in this one. I want my writing to be inclusive to all. 🥹🫶I know it's hard to read something while being fully aware it's completely not for someone like you. I remember I was originally gonna write it with a chubby/fat reader in mind, but yk skinny/thin people have stretch marks and cellulite as well. So I decided to cut that out.

But overall, thank y'all so much for reading, and if you have any ideas or suggestions, don't be afraid to ask (if you like my writing ofc). I don't bite. Follow for short updates or if you ever wanna drop me a chat, I'm open to speaking! Please shower this with as much love or more that you gave my first post 🥹🫶I appreciate every note I get on this. It really motivates me to keep publishing my works.

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