#PCOS!READER

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

Hi! I like to request a drabble/fic for Laezel x pcos!Tav(female)? PCOS is Polycystic ovary syndrome, some women have it and has them have hormone imbalances. This causes beards to grow. Can we have Tav (who always had a covering over their face to hide their beard cause they’re ashamed) try to shave it off to look “presentable” for when Lae’zel comes to their bed? This is taking place the night when Lae’zel and Tav sleep together the first time.

omg :0 yes!! i didn't even know this was a thing!! i will deffo try my best to represent this as best as I can and do your ask justice!! also u didn't specify what class you wanted reader to be so for the purpose of the mask, she will be a human paladin! (god isn't important) she will also have more of thick scruufy!!

Eat at your doubts | Lae'zel x Fem!PCOS! Reader

Relationship: Romantic Warnings: reader insecure of her looks (rememeber queens, kings and imperial highnesses, y'all are so beatiful and very much deserve ever ounce of love you reviece and more!!), reader cutting her facial hair.

You adjusted your helmet, uncomfortable with the way it was positioned. Trekking your way on the path, you couldn’t wait to head back to camp and take it off. You hear the chatter of your party mates as you all near your last stop, you need to buy a couple of things. Once in the grove, you turn to the group.

“Hey, I need to get a couple of things before we turn in. You guys can head back if you need to.” You say, your voice was somewhat muffled through the helmet. While unconventional at times, you found it easier to hide your face. Thankfully, in a group where everyone had their secrets, no one pressured you for yours. Everyone acknowledged you, before they dispersed, some heading back to camp, others finding something to do. You are about to turn when you hear someone call out to you.

“Istik.” You turn, to see that Lae’zel remains. You hesitate, unsure of what she wants. You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say that you didn’t harbor some feelings for the gith woman, you were fascinated with her. Her mere presence and intimidation were enough to pierce you through your heart.  You turn to face her, letting her know that she has your attention. She doesn’t say anything, looking you over before stating what she wants. “I have a confession. I was too hasty to judge you. I thought you witless, gutless, unimpressively bland.”

“...What about now?” You ask, trying to keep your voice loud enough for her to hear it.

“Now, well- you have earned my respect, and more still. You’ve proven your wits. You are efficient and dominant, in and out of battle. You’ve proven your courage. I swear, you would tear the horns of one dragon to plunge into another.” She says, her voice growing ever so slightly more feral with each inkling of her desire. You feel your face getting warmer at her praise. While odd, your knowledge of gith, while extremely limited, made you understand that being the best soldier there was is the highest of compliments. You tense a bit, however Lae’zel doesn’t seem to notice. If she did, she didn’t make any effort to mention it as she continued. “And you’re hardly bland. Your scent alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hair stand on end.”

‘Oh!’ was all you could think. You knew for sure that you wanted the woman in front of you. You rack your brain for possible responses that don’t make you sound pathetic. 

“The feeling is mutual, Lae’zel.” You say, surprised you didn’t fumble your sentence. Wanting to return her praise, you continue, “You know how to set my heart racing. Seeing you covered in blood after a battle is when you look your best.”

“Good.” She says with a look that seems to show her satisfaction. You think she is done when she continues, “I want to taste you. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps later. But I want it all the same. Do you?”

“Uhh…” You freeze. You so desperately wanted to share yourself with her, however, there were certain…things hindering you. On the other hand, you knew that you would never get a second shot. Although hesitant, you agree. “Yes. I want to share my body with you Lae’zel.”

“Yes. Perhaps one night soon, I will come to your bunk and take what’s mine.” You flush a little more at her already laying her claim on you. You know deep in your heart that she doesn’t mean it in the romantic sense, but it flutters your heart all the same. “Until that night comes- I shall keep enjoying your scent.”

She leaves soon after, leaving you essentially a puddle. Your brain takes a while to catch up, and after snapping back to reality, you hurriedly turn to the inside of the grove. Rushing to the merchant, you make a list of what you need, adding more to the list. ‘I will need a dagger and mirror…’

▪────  ⚔  ────▪

A couple of nights had passed since your talk with Lae’zel. Since then, you grow anxious that she will come up to you with no warning and you will have no time to prepare. Much to your grace, and slight disappointment, there hasn’t been a night since when everything was silent. It was quite hectic, from the dream visitor to meeting Scratch and Wyll’s pact owner and the person who was hunting Karlach. However, it seemed today was going to be the first quiet night in a while. Lae’zel also seemed to notice this, as when the camp wasn’t looking, she pulled you in close and whispered in your ear. “Tonight is when I will claim what is mine. Be prepared for a long night.”

You nodded, and anxiously headed to your tent. Now you sat in your tent, with a handheld mirror and a dagger in front of you. Your helmet was still on. You bring your hands up to your helmet and leave them there for a moment, scared that anyone would walk in. However you knew that no one would, no one ever waltzed into your tent, however, you have this fear stilled into you that they could. Afraid of them seeing you under the mask. Even at night, when your tent walls were the only thing around you, you slept with something covering your face. You even made the extra effort of sneaking off to the nearby lake late at night every day, just to clean off any blood that remained from the battles. Lifting the helmet slowly, still fearful of someone wandering in. Once your helmet passed your nose, you took in the smell of the fresh air around you, the smell of the forest, dirt, lake, and everything overwhelmed you ever so slightly, you considered leaving it on and waiting for Lae’zel that way. You stopped that train of thought as soon as it entered your mind. Out of everyone at camp, you wanted her to be the one to see you. Taking the helmet off entirely, you take a deep breath of fresh air, the cool air of the night relieving you. 

Placing your helmet down next to you, you reach for the mirror with a slightly shaky hand. You can’t bear to stomach the anxiety of seeing your face, since for as long as you could remember, you had avoided your gaze. You knew that if you wanted to do what you needed you needed to see what you were dealing with. In your reflection, you saw yourself, your acne, and your beard still as prominent as it was before the illithid had picked you up. You bring your hand up to your face, touching the scruffy hair that was along your jaw. It seemed that there was way more than normal, which made sense it had been at least a couple of weeks since you last touched your razor. You look at the dagger you picked up at the merchant’s.

While it was still a dagger, it looked fine enough to use as a razor. You reach for it and find a way to find the best way to shave without it being awkward. After some time, you managed to get comfortable, and you started to shave. While it was uncomfortable to shave with no water, you had to do with what you had. Making decent progress, you failed to notice that footsteps approaching. 

“Istik, I have come to sate you and be sated.” Lae’zel opens your tent, startling you and causing you to nick yourself. You pull the dagger away from your face and bring a hand to where you cut yourself. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad, but it still hurt. Hastily grasping at the cloth you use to cover your face in the evening. You pressed the cloth to the lower section of your face, only leaving your eyes, and turned to Lae’zel, who was confused at the entrance of your tent. “What are you doing?”

You don’t say anything, instead opting to look at her. All your life, you have never had the correct answer to explain your situation. No doctor seemed to know what was causing you an abnormal amount of acne, irregular menstrual cycle, deeper than average voice, and the most evident feature, a beard. Physically, you were a woman; you had all the bits and pieces, but you also had the body hair of a man. You even strayed from relationships, throwing yourself deep into your oath, in fear of your partner being turned off by you. Lae’zel moves closer, before kneeling on the floor in front of you. Her hand reaches towards your hand that was holding the cloth. You panic and move back, causing her to growl and reach for your hand. Forcefully, she pulls your hand down, causing you to yelp in surprise and try to stop her. With the cloth no longer around the bottom half of your face visible, Lae’zel sees you in whole. You try to grab the cloth again, however, her grip is so strong that she helps your arm in place. She spends a while looking at you, and feeling ashamed you turn your head.

“You never said what you were doing.” Lae’zel’s stern voice makes you flinch a bit. Still looking away, you try to answer her. 

“I…I was shaving.”

“Why?” Her question caught you off guard. You look at her, now confused. 

“Huh?”

“What are you shaving for?”

“I just…” You trail off, confused as to how she doesn’t understand. “I wanted to look presentable for you.”

“Tas’ki. Did you not listen to me?” She says. You feel your face morph into further confusion. At your expression, she rolls her eyes and explains. “When I told you I wanted you, I meant your strength, your fierceness in battle. All you humans look alike to me. What does it matter to me if you look presentable?”

With the way she explained it, it made sense to you. Feeling foolish, you look down again. You hear her smack her teeth before she drags you out of your tent. 

“Wuh- Lae’zel- Where are we going?”

“To be sated. I came to you to lay my claim on you, and I will before the sun rises. I will lead, you follow.” As she dragged you away from camp, you can’t help but feel free. It had been years since you walked into the night without any of your masks. For you to walk out without worrying about someone judging you. Hand in hand with Lae’zel, you felt your heart flutter at the thought that she accepted you. She wanted you. Regardless of your whole predicament, even if you weren’t desirable to parts of the land, you were wanted by her. 

And truthfully? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK LONGER THAN I WANTED IT TO ☹️☹️☹️ I was partially researching it to PCOS to see how else it affected women and I wanted to incorperate that as well. Hope you enjoyed and really hope I did this ask justice!! it is also short so I apologize once more :(

[formulaonecrumbs]

you don’t have to write this if it makes you uncomfortable but maybe osc and reader are doing it and she pushes through the pain to make osc happy but he ends up upset with her for not talking to him and stopping him

-🧸

we only keep going if you’re okay.

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader pushes through pain during sex to make oscar happy

warnings: pcos pain, penetrative sex, reader in discomfort, miscommunication, guilt, emotional aftermath, no smut details but heavy emotional tension

A/N: hiii sorry if these are little halfassed, i just wanted to get some of these out. so not proof read at all. but i still hope u enjoy it!!! i love u. MWAH.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you should’ve said something.

you know that now. you knew it then, too. but you didn’t want to ruin the moment. not when he looked so happy, not when he was being so soft with you, not when everything else about the night had been perfect.

so you smiled through it. kissed him back. let him press you into the mattress like he always does, his body warm and familiar on top of yours. his voice soft in your ear. his hands gentle.

but your body wasn’t ready.

your lower stomach was already aching when he touched you, a dull throb you were used to pushing through. your back had that deep, hot sting that makes your whole spine feel tight. and when he finally slipped inside you, it hurt.

not sharp. not unbearable. just wrong. tender. like everything inside you was too inflamed to take him properly.

but you didn’t say stop.

you just breathed through it, faked a few quiet noises, curled your fingers in the sheets and tried to focus on his voice, his kisses, the way his hands kept smoothing over your waist like he was trying to ground you.

he looked so happy.

he was whispering things like so pretty, and feel so good, and missed you all day, and it made something in your chest ache in a different way.

you held onto that. tried to let that be enough.

when he came, he buried his face in your neck, soft little groan in your ear, one last shaky thrust before going still.

you didn’t come. not even close. but you smiled when he kissed you, and you kissed him back, and you curled into his side like everything was fine.

he didn’t notice right away.

he didn’t see the way you winced when you shifted. didn’t see how tightly your hands were curled in the blankets. didn’t notice your breathing wasn’t quite steady.

until a few minutes later, when he reached down to gently help you clean up.

“hey,” he said softly. “are you okay?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

he paused.

“you’re… really tense,” he said, eyes scanning your face. “and you’re not—” he cut himself off. “it didn’t feel good for you?”

you bit your lip, suddenly blinking back tears. “i didn’t want to ruin it.”

his whole face changed.

he sat up straighter. “wait—did it hurt?”

you didn’t answer. which was answer enough.

his hand hovered over your waist, not touching you now. “baby. why didn’t you tell me?”

you covered your face with both hands, suddenly humiliated. “i didn’t want to disappoint you. you looked so happy.”

he exhaled hard, voice low and hurting. “you’re not supposed to push through pain for me. ever. not for sex. not for anything.”

you looked away. “i didn’t think it was that bad at first. and then it just… kept hurting. but we were already—”

“it doesn’t matter,” he said. “you could’ve stopped us at any second. even if we were seconds away from finishing. especially then. i wouldn’t care.”

you were silent.

he sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced on his thighs. you could tell he was fighting the urge to cry. or yell. or both.

“you think i’d rather you be in pain than be honest with me?” he said finally. “that i’d be upset if you stopped me? is that what you really think?”

you shook your head. “no, i just—i didn’t want to make it about me.”

he turned back to you then, eyes soft but so visibly hurt. “but it is about you. it’s always about both of us. not just me.”

your voice cracked. “i’m sorry.”

he pulled you into his arms, carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter. and honestly? you might’ve.

“i’m sorry,” you said again, quieter this time.

“no, i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “i should’ve noticed. i should’ve checked in.”

you shook your head. “you were being sweet. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “next time, you tell me. even if it’s halfway through. even if you think i’ll be upset—spoiler: i won’t be. i’ll just hold you and take care of you, like this. like always.”

you nodded, lip trembling.

he kissed you so gently it almost broke you all over again.

“you don’t owe me your body,” he whispered. “not ever. not like that.”

you nodded again.

he tucked you back into bed, this time curled up against his chest, his arms around you like a shield, like warmth, like forgiveness.

and you felt safe again.

not because everything was perfect.

but because he meant it.

THE END :>

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Im with you- Matt Casey

Summary: When an ovarian cyst ruptures on the job, Matt and Firehouse 51 take care of you.

Warnings: vomiting, cursing, probably inaccurate medical stuff even though I do have PCOS and get ovarian cysts.

Authors note: You asked and I’m delivering. Here’s a fic I wrote a while back. I hope you enjoy!

——————————

You and Matt have been together for a couple years. You have been best friends since you both joined 51, straight from academy. You and Matt shared everything. Your feelings, thoughts, personal issues, a bed. Everything was out in the open. Though Matt was your lieutenant, you never let it effect your job or your relationship. You said it was one of the perks of starting off in the house together. He saw you and your strength. He knew you could take his spot any day, but you were content with just being part of the company.

You started feeling some major discomfort on a call. You were doing a sweep with Severide when you kicked open a door, causing the fire to blow back, sending you and Kelly flying through the air.

“Y/N!” You were sure you heard Kelly scream your name, but your ears rung as you laid against the wall. Kelly quickly shut the door and made his way toward you. “Look at me! Say something!” He yelled, grabbing you by your jacket and making you face him.

You were a little further toward the middle of the door than Kelly, which kept him from flying far. You just went through the air hitting the wall HARD. You were disoriented and had some major ringing in your ears.

When you couldn’t focus on him, Kelly called a mayday of sorts through the radio. “Emergency! Emergency! Fire fighter down. I need a medic to meet me out front.” Kelly yelled, not wasting another second before he pulled me up and into his arms. “I’ve gotcha. Your okay.”

“Who?” Chief Boden asked.

“Y/L/N.” Kelly said just before he broke into a sprint when he saw the exit.

Outside, Dawson and Brett were waiting with a stretcher. As soon as Kelly put you down, Dawson was ripping the mask off your face. The light assaulted your eyes, but the fresh air was like a kick in the butt, which was exactly what you needed.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, attempting to push yourself up.

“Y/N.” Dawson said, pushing you back down with a shake of her head. “You were unresponsive for almost two minutes. I need to check you out.”

I shook my head, regretting it as soon as I did it. I laid back, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I said I’m fine Dawson.” I growled out. Finding the strength to sit up, I swung my legs over the edge of the gurney and tried to stand. My legs failed me as I collapsed into Kelly with a pained gasp.

“Fine my ass Y/L/N.” Kelly said, picking you up and putting you back on the stretcher.

“What hurts hunny?” Brett hummed, allowing Kelly to rip your jacket off as Dawson ran to help a civilian.

“My right side. Like all of a sudden.” You gritted out, swatting Kelly’s hand away as he palpitated the area. “Ow Sev.”

“Sorry.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not too hard like internal bleeding.” He informed Brett. “I’m going to go update Casey. He looks ready to abandon the company to come check on you. You ladies talk.” Kelly said, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Once Kelly walked off, you snuck a glance in Casey’s direction. He was talking to the crew, giving orders, but his eyes stayed trained on you.

“When did this start? I don’t see any bruising or signs of a contusion.” Brett murmured, moving back to let the sunlight hit that area.

“I mean, it’s been a dull pain for a while now, but this is the first time it’s been bad enough to effect me.” I said, leaning my head back and breathing deeply. “I have an appointment set with my gyno tomorrow. I’m fine, really. Just extra sore.” I tried to reason, but I was fighting to keep back a sudden wave of nausea. “It’s uh.” I swallowed thickly before continuing. “It’s a normal woman thing I think. Matt knows. Just give me an anti-inflammatory and zofran and I’m good.”

“Zofran?” Brett asked, stopping as she was pushing me to the ambo, which I suddenly realized meant that Kelly was back and helping.

“Yeah. Kinda nauseous.” I said, shaking my head. Kelly hummed and placed a hand on my thigh.

Brett did a thorough head trauma exam before giving me the all clear once she was sure that I didn’t have a concussion. Kelly spent the entire time texting while I was being treated. He was listening and keeping Matt up to date as I waiting to be discharged from the rig.

“Casey said to ride back with Ambo and go straight to his office when we return.” Kelly said, leaning up to place another kiss on my forehead, jumping out of the rig before I could protest. He hit the doors and Dawson, whom I never noticed jumped back into the rig, drove back to the house.

“Well, looks like I’m off the rest of this shift.” I sighed, leaning back and trying to relax as Brett dimmed the lights to the rig.

“Might not be such a bad thing. He’s just looking out for you.” Brett said, sitting on the bench and buckling me around the waist to the stretcher before buckling herself in and propping her feet up to use as a makeshift desk. “Get some rest. We got 20 minutes till we get back.”

I gave her a confused look. “We shouldn’t be that far out.” I mumbled.

“Dawson has to pick up lunch.” Brett replied. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

——————————TimeSkip————————-

I woke up to someone softly pushing the hair away from my face.

“Hey Hunny. Come rest in my office.” Matt whispered, trying his best to coax me awake.

“I don’t feel good.” I whispered, leaning my head forward and into his hand.

“I know.” Matt soothed. “I’ll carry you.”

Matt unlocked my seatbelt and gently lifted me into his arms. Doors were opened for us as we made our way through the house. The common area went quiet as we passed through, shuffling could be heard as doors were opened until Matt got to his office.

“Hey Matt.” Kelly whispered, stepping in and closing the door. “Brett gave me these. How’s she doing?”

Kelly shook a sick bag out and put it on the side table and then stashed the rest on the desk. Matt laid me down slowly, pulling the covers over me gently and turning me onto my side into the recovery position. I kept my eyes closed, wondering why Brett never gave me the Zofran, making me focus on not throwing up.

“Doesn’t feel well.” Matt said, sitting next to me and pushing my hair back again. “Baby. Kelly has a sick bag here if you need it. I gotta talk to Boden and fill him in. I’ll be right back.” He said, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Can you stay with her a minute?” Matt asked Kelly.

“Anything for you guys. You know that.” Kelly said, standing and switching spots with Matt. The door closed softly as Kelly sat next to me. He placed a hand on my back and rubbed soothingly. “Let’s be real. Need to go to med?” Kelly asked, knowing I wouldn’t fess up to Matt unless it was dire.

“No.” I gritted out, frustrated by the whole situation. The pain was subsiding, but the nausea was ramping. “It’s a girl thing.” I simplified.

“Your sure?” Kelly asked, leaning forward and grabbing the sick bag as he saw me pale.

“Mhmm.” I said, not daring to move.

We sat there in silence. I was trying to steady my breathing as Kelly continued to rub my back. He was at a loss. He knew I hated being sick, as he has dealt with a sick me before, but he knew it was gonna happen.

“Sit up. I know it’s gonna happen.” Kelly said, moving to stand and help gently guide me into a sitting position. “Hold this. I’m gonna call Matt.” He instructed, placing the bag in my hand. Kelly went to the door and opened it, yelling for Matt. He knew not to leave me.

The nausea was winning and I began to freak out as Kelly called out again. “Kel- hurlk” I tried to warn him, but got cut off with an unproductive heave.

The door slammed shut as Kelly raced toward me. “Fuck.” He muttered, helping me hold the bag under my chin. With his other hand, he used his radio to call for Matt. “Case. You’re needed in your office. Now.” He said into the radio. A quick “copy” from Matt was all that was heard before I started retching harshly. “Shhhhhhh. Breathe.” Kelly murmured. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Matt exclaimed, running and sliding to a stop in front of me. “Baby? It’s okay. I’m here.” He soothed , taking my hand and pushing my hair back. “Dawson’s gonna check your vitals, okay?”

I nodded as I finally started throwing up all the breakfast that I forced down. Kelly kept holding the bag and rubbing my back, Matt held my hand and kept my hair out of the splash zone, and Dawson went about checking my vitals.

“Pulse is fast. Oxygen is mid 90s. Pressure is slightly low, but not worrisome.” She said. “Any other symptoms?” Gabbi asked Matt.

“Ovarian cysts. Think one ruptured on that call.” Matt muttered. “Never seen her this bad before.”

“Does it hurt, Y/N?” Gabbi asked. “Just squeeze once for no and twice for yes.” Gabbi took my hand and felt me squeeze once. “Good. No pain.”

“What does that mean?” Kelly asked, noting how much I was vomiting and the sweat building up on the back of my neck.

“So, sometimes a cyst can rupture and be infected. This is her body getting rid of it, which is probably why Brett didn’t give her anything for the nausea.” Gabbi explained, writing some stuff down. “If she starts running a fever, tell us and we will take her straight to Med. I’d suggest camping out here for a few hours to make sure she doesn’t spike one. Then you can go home and get her rested.” Gabbi said, patting Matt on the shoulder and walking out.

“Breathe sweetheart. Your gonna need to switch bags in a second if you need to.” Matt said, trying to see my face better. He reached over and grabbed a new one, making a quick switch with Kelly and holding the new bag under my chin as Kelly disposed of the old one.

Talking could be heard as he opened the door. Gabbi and Boden’s voices floating in.

Suddenly, a cool cloth was placed on the back of my neck. “Herrmann got you a rag Y/N.” Kelly said, resuming his post of rubbing my back. “Chief has Herrmann taking lead on truck for the remainder of shift and offered to let me hang around to help unless Squad is needed.”

“Thanks Kel.” Matt said, patting his friend on the knee. “You done baby?” Matt asked, noticing the few coughs I was letting out, but also the lack of vomit.

“Yeah.” I breathed, leaning forward and resting my head on Matt’s shoulder. “It’s awful.” I moaned, resting my forehead into the crook of his neck.

“I know.” Matt whispered, reaching up and wiping my face with the rag from my neck. “Wanna brush your teeth and shower before taking a nap?”

I nodded and tried to stand when Matt helped me up, but swayed dangerously as I suddenly became lightheaded.

“Woah.” Kelly said, bracing me from behind. “You okay?” He asked, keeping me steady with hands around my waist.

“Yeah.” I breathed. “Just lightheaded s’all.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head onto Matt’s shoulder again.

“I gotcha.” Matt said, picking me up and taking me toward the bathroom. “Can you grab her go bag Sev?” Matt called over his shoulder.

“On it.” Kelly replied, jogging toward the locker room.

Matt wasted no time in getting me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the counter and pulled my head back into his neck.

Herrmann came into the bathroom with a sprite in his hand. “Cindy used to have this problem. This outta help.” He said, placing the can on the other side of the sink. “I’ve got Mills running to get some popsicles too.”

“Thanks Chris.” Matt said. “You’re a good man.”

“Anything for her.” He said, rubbing my arm. “It’s gonna be okay. You just get to feeling better.” He then patted Matt on the shoulder. “Take care of my girl.”

“Always.” Matt said, turning and placing a kiss to my head as Herrmann walked out and Kelly walked in.

“Got your CFD hoodie.” Kelly said to Matt, “I got everything else out of her locker though. Toiletries and her clothes. Also grabbed your stuff too Case.” He said, putting everything on the counter. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.” Matt said, shaking his head as he looked around. “Just set some towels in here. I’m gonna shower with her. I don’t trust her balance.” He said, rubbing my back.

“Good man.” Kelly said, patting Matt on the back. “Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks Sev.” Matt said, watching the Squad lieutenant leave. Finally, he turned to face me. “Ready to get cleaned up?” He asked gently, pulling away to see my face.

“Then nap?” I murmured, pouting at my boyfriend.

“Nap and cuddles.” Matt confirmed, nodding his head.

With that confirmation, I was satisfied and found the strength to get cleaned up. After brushing my teeth and gargling twice, Matt helped me off the counter and to the showers. He sat me on the bench before striping and going in to turn on the water. With quick persuasion, Matt was able to talk me into the shower. He made promises to keep me steady and to sit me down if I needed it, seeing as Mills just finished scrubbing the showers.

Once under the water, which was a little cooler than I usually liked it, Matt kept a secure hold on my waist, leaned down and kissed my head, then adjusted me so that my back was getting the brunt of the shower.

“Mmmm.” I moaned, practically melting in Matt’s hold. “S’ nice.” I mumbled into Matt’s chest, pressing my forehead into it.

“I know baby.” Matt said. “We can stand here for a moment, but we need to get cleaned up and get you resting.” He said, reaching around me and engulfing me in a hug. “You just relax.” He whispered.

“Mkay.” I sighed, losing any fight I could have left.

When Matt noticed me getting heavier, he made quick work of washing my hair and body before calling Kelly.

Matt only trusted you with very few men, one of which was Kelly Severide. You all had made a quick bond when in the academy and Kelly picked you up off the floor more times than you could count, but that was before Matt. Matt didn’t like overstepping, but Kelly had no problems helping you out in a bind and was there for you in more ways at the beginning than Matt, but you knew it had to do with Haily and not because Matt didn’t like you, so you never let it affect your relationship now. Kelly knew his boundaries, even now, and was the one person you trust other than Matt.

Kelly walked into the bathroom and scooped you up in a towel. Once Kelly had the towel firmly secure, he took your microfiber head wrap towel and wrapped your hair up in it. Then, he helped guide you into Matt’s CFD hoodie and stayed with you leaning into his shoulder until Matt came out of the showers.

“Thanks Kelly.” Matt said. “One more favor.” Matt said, cringing slightly into himself. He hated asking for help, but you were pretty out of it at this point. “Mind getting more bags from Brett and Y/N’s fan from her bunk and taking it to my office?” He asked, pulling on his underwear and pants before trading with Kelly.

“Hey man.” Kelly said, taking Matt by the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. You guys are family. I’ve already got it all taken care of.” He smirked.

“You’re a life saver.” Matt said, turning and hugging Kelly once he was sure you wouldn’t fall over.

“I get that a lot.” Kelly laughed, the sound echoing behind the man as he walked to the door and exited the bathroom.

Matt helped me into some pants and left our stuff, claiming he’d get it all later, but knowing that someone else was probably waiting to come in behind you both and get everything situated. Once in his office, Matt laid me down near the edge of the bed, closed the blinds, and turned off the lights. He left the blinds connected to Kelly’s office window cracked enough to give him some light to see you, but also give Kelly a way to see if you and Matt needed help.

Once the fan was turned on and he was sure the radio was turned off and I didn’t need anything else, Matt crawled into the bed behind me, spooning me with an arm around my waist. He carefully rubbed my stomach and placed little kisses on the back of my neck.

“Get some rest baby.” Matt whispered, peppering my shoulder with kisses before leaning up and kissing my cheek. “I’m with you. We will get through this.”

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@mattangel11

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

[sylus-shivanika]

Fighting Pcos with Sylus by your side.

Sylus × Reader

You hadn’t expected this.

Sitting in the clinic, hearing the doctor’s words, the reality of it settled like a weight in your chest. Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. You had gone in for a routine check-up, thinking nothing of it, but now you were leaving with a diagnosis that made your future feel uncertain. Your mind swirled with questions, what if it got worse? What if the symptoms became unbearable? What if… you couldn’t have children?

By the time you reached home, exhaustion pressed down on you. Sylus was waiting, his eyes searching your face the moment you walked through the door.

"How was the check-up, sweetie?" he asked gently.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You lowered your gaze, not trusting your voice. Within seconds, Sylus was by your side, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

"Shhh… don’t worry," he murmured, his voice a steady comfort. "Whatever you’re going through, just know you’re not alone. I’m here for you, sweetie."

The warmth of his embrace, the slow rise and fall of his breath, the way his fingers stroked your hair, all of it melted away the tension you had been holding in since the clinic. You didn’t need words; this was enough.

The Next Morning

You woke up feeling slightly better, but as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you heard Sylus’s voice in the distance.

"Make sure all the meals are PCOS-friendly. Focus on balancing proteins and healthy fats. Avoid refined sugars."

Peeking from the bedroom, you found him instructing the chefs, his expression serious, as if he were personally overseeing an important mission. Your heart swelled at the sight.

Not long after, Sylus walked in carrying a plate of food. "Alright, sweetie, breakfast time."

You glanced at the dish, full of greens, lean protein, and all things healthy. You frowned.

"Sylus… I don’t want this," you mumbled, crossing your arms.

He chuckled softly, setting the plate down. "Baby, I know it’s hard. You love your pizza and chocolates, but I want to see you healthy and fine. You can still have your favorites, but only twice a week, okay? I can’t see you struggling with your PCOS so much."

You pouted, staring at the food as if it were your enemy. "Sylus, it’s so hard… how can I avoid pizza?"

With a smile, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I know, sweetie. But we can start little by little. I believe in you."

His belief in you made you smile. "Okay, Sylus… I’ll try. Just for you."

His lips curled into a soft grin. "That’s my girl." He gently patted your head. "And to make things easier, this weekend, I’ll cook for you myself. Your favorite pizza and dim sum, only twice a week, deal?"

You couldn’t help but giggle at his determination. "Deal."

A Walk with Sylus

The next day, after enjoying the homemade pizza Sylus made, the two of you went on a walk. Your fingers were intertwined with his, a small gesture that always brought you comfort. But as you walked, that familiar insecurity crept in, your weight. PCOS had caused you to gain some, and even though Sylus never made you feel anything less than beautiful, the thoughts wouldn’t leave your head.

You slowed your steps, suddenly hesitant. Sylus noticed immediately.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he asked, concern in his voice.

You hesitated before mumbling, "I just… I feel like I’ve gained weight."

Before you could even process his reaction, Sylus chuckled softly. Without a second thought, he lifted you effortlessly with one arm, holding you against him as if you weighed nothing.

"Sylus! Put me down!" you squealed, your face burning with embarrassment.

But he only smirked, adjusting his hold on you with ease. "Why would I do that, kitten?" he teased. "I can walk like this all day while carrying you. You’re my kitten, your weight doesn’t matter to me."

Your heart melted. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let out a breathless laugh. "You’re unbelievable."

Sylus kissed the top of your head. "Only for you, sweetie."

Working Out Together

Determined to support you in every way, Sylus adjusted his entire workout routine just for you. He consulted an expert to find the best low-intensity exercises for PCOS and made sure to wake you up every morning to join him.

"Let’s go, baby. We’re doing this together."

Having him as your workout partner became your biggest motivation. Every time you felt like giving up, he was there, encouraging you, pushing you gently without pressure.

"That’s my girl. Just a little more. I know you can do this."

And slowly, the workouts stopped feeling like a chore. With Sylus beside you, they became something you actually enjoyed.

Your Fears About Infertility

One night, as you lay beside Sylus, a thought crept into your mind, the one that scared you the most. PCOS sometimes led to infertility. What if you couldn’t have children?

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Sylus turned to you, concern etched into his features.

"Sweetie… what’s wrong?"

You swallowed hard before whispering, "What if I can’t… have a baby?"

Sylus’s gaze softened, and he immediately pulled you into his arms. "Hey… listen to me," he said gently, wiping away your tears. "I didn’t marry you just to have a child. You are my baby. Whether we have one or not, it doesn’t change anything for me."

He playfully pinched your nose, making you giggle through your tears.

"Your health comes first. That’s all I care about. So stop worrying about something we can’t control, okay? You’re more than enough for me, just as you are."

You smiled, feeling grateful beyond words.

"I love you, Sylus."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "And I love you, sweetie. Forever."

Skincare and Period Care

Sylus went above and beyond, he even started doing a skincare routine just so you could join in, helping your PCOS acne heal.

"Here, let me do it for you," he said, applying a mask to your face. When he rinsed it off, he cupped your cheeks with admiration.

"You are my magnum opus," he whispered. "A masterpiece. No acne, no scars, nothing could ever change that."

And when your periods came, he took care of everything. He tracked your dates so you wouldn’t stress, kept a hot water bottle ready, and cooked you healthy meals to ease your cramps.

"Leave it to me, sweetie. Just rest."

As you lay in his arms, feeling the warmth of his care, you realized something, having PCOS might be hard, but with Sylus by your side, you would never have to go through it alone.

[skiesficz]

blood as sweet as honey ₊˚⊹🩸🍯

bf! sakuya x fem reader w/PCOS

category: tooth rotting FLUFF

tws: talks of bl00d, doctors surgeries, swearing, talks of fainting, bl00d tests and needles

summary: you’re in the process of being diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome) and your boyfriend is freaking out for you, but you’re too busy freaking out about the blood test you need to get now

a/n: this was a hard one to write, i kept getting faint 😖 is this about me?? no way… but i need to get over my fear of blood/blood tests before I get mine done somehow! this is also PCOS awareness for my other PCOS girlies, i see you all 💗 anyways wether you have or not i hope you enjoy this silly way of me getting over my fears!

when sakuya learned about your condition he was sent into an absolute frenzy “y/n.. this is serious.. is it really that bad?” he asks in a concerned panic. his girlfriend having cystic ovaries?? will that stop her having children in the future? will that make her prone to other things? will it hurt her? you respond to his concerned, wide-eyes expression with a giggle. “saku-chan, did you even listen to the nurse when she told us what it meant?” to which he shyly shook his head. “PCOS just makes my periods a little heavier and irregular or gives me none at all, i produce less estrogen, makes me hold a little more weight and i’m at a slightly higher risk of type 2 diabetes, that’s it silly” you say softly, pinching his cheek. he frowns and playfully wafts your hand away. “yeah but it must be uncomfy.. i don’t want my sweetie being uncomfortable or ill at all” he says with a little pout, which you laugh at. “it’s not a big issue saku baby, don’t worry” you pause for a second and go slightly pale. “it’s the confirming blood test we need to worry about”. you have a big fear of blood, it’s a pretty rational fear after fainting at your last blood test after accidentally seeing the vials. now even talking about blood alone makes your legs go weak, skin go cold and ears go fuzzy. sakuya also knows your fear of blood, he’s seen you freak out at his minor injuries before. once he cut his hand while cutting some bread and it bled, he came to you for help to put on a plaster, next thing he knew he was helping you stay conscious as he hid his cut from you and sat you on the floor with a glass of cold water. all in all, you’re absolutely terrified for the test. sakuya looks at you with worry and pitty etched across his face, he reaches out and cups your face, “i’ll be with you the whole time okay honey.. i’ll make it as comfortable for you as possible, i promise” he says softly but sweetly. boy did he keep his promise.

you arrive at your GP, clutching your phone as sakuya said he’d meet you there. you walk up to reception and anxiously sign in, the receptionist lets you take a seat as you wait for the nurse to call you in. just as your appointment time approaches, sakuya runs into the practice with a hot chocolate in hand and a bag from the nearby grocery store. “i made it on time!! i told you so!!” he says happily as he sits beside you. “this is to keep your blood sugars up!” he says as he passes the cup to your shaking and cold hand. he pulls out one of his hoodies and lets you wear it to keep your body warm. he also has a plethora of sweets in the bag for afterwards. he gently takes your hand and looks into your wavering eyes. “it’ll all be okay my sweet sweet girl, i’ll hold your hand, sing you something or even just be there with you. the nurse will help you if you faint so there’s nothing to worry about” he says softly, gently pressing kisses all over your now very pale face. the nurse calls you in and you both take your seats across from the table. “hello, my name is mark and i’ll be your nurse today, you’re here for a blood test yes?” he asks as he types away on the keyboard. “y..yeah i am” you say in a shaky voice, making the nurse look up at you and your anxious figure and give you a gentle smile “you have nothing to worry about, it’ll be over before you know it”. sakuya beside you nods and holds your hand a little tighter. you explain your symptoms to the nurse and he types everything down before rolling his chair and table over to you with everything on it. “now, try not look until i say” mark says as he sets up. tears well in your eyes as you look at sakuya, your arm muscles tensing and hands shaking. “sweetie.. it’s okay.. i’m here.. i’m here” he says softly. he cups your face, covering your eye that’s closest to the needles and vials. he hums you a little song as you feel the pump wrap around your arm to make it easier. you wince and a little tear escapes your eye. “sakuya.. i’m so fucking scared” you whisper. sakuyas eyes softened as he reached into the bag he brought and took out your favourite plushie and sweets. “hold him, and i’ll get you some sweets out hm? please don’t be scared, i’m here, i’m here” he says softly. you wince as you feel the needle insert, causing you to cry a little and go paler than you already were. your body went cold and your ears went fuzzy. sakuya wiped your tears gently and held your hand gently while singing a little song to you in between comforting words and praises. before you knew it the nurse was done and you were all done! “that’s me done, good job miss y/n, you did well” mark the nurse says with a smile. “please stay seated for a few minutes in case you feel faint or wobbly”. you and sakuya sit together, sakuya picking you up and sitting you in his lap so he can cuddle you and praise you for your bravery. “well done honey, you did well, you’re all done! i’ll treat you tonight okay?” you nod and give him a little kiss, which he returns.

that night sakuya takes you to your absolute favourite restaurant for dinner, which he paid for of course! he then took you out for boba and to a bakery for deserts! “saku chan why do you always buy bread for dessert?” you ask with a giggle as you take a munch out of your cinnamon roll. “hey! it’s sweet loaf!! brioche bread is sweet! it can be dessert!” he says with a playful pout as he leans over, swipes some icing off your cinnamon roll and dots it on your nose. “hey!! you’re evil” you giggle as you take his hand and swing it as you walk cheerfully down the street, it was like a switched flipped as you went from upset and anxious earlier to cheerful and bubbly like usual. sakuya didn’t miss that opportunity to tease you for it. in the next few days you got the result back, you did have PCOS. you pouted at the letter. sakuya came over and peered at it. “at least it wasn’t a wasted trip…” he jokes to cheer you up, to which you hit him gently over the head with the envelope. “it’s okay sweetie.. i’m always here for you” he says softly after fixing his hair and hugging you close from behind.

thank you for reading!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

masterlist here .ᐟ.ᐟ

requests: closed ❤️

[lunarw0rks]

Hiii!!!Can i ask for Valeria Garzaxf!reader,and Valeria comforts her gf whos on her period??:3 i am rly carving at this,cramps fr killing me😭 thank u!!!

you're not supposed to lift a finger as it is, so when you're menstruating — valeria takes it to the next level !!

today was especially painful; cramps along your tummy and lower back, rendering you exhausted and slumped on the ground, in whatever position minimizes the agony just a bit.

she finds you on the bathroom floor, curled in the fetal position with a blanket snug around you. creeping closer, she kneels and holds out a hand, waiting for you to accept the help, "i know the bathroom is nice, but you should be in bed, mi reina."

once the next wave passes, you gather your strength and take her hand. they were always cold, no matter the sweltering temps in las almas.

she guided you through the luxurious bathroom, surely nicer than any you had ever been inside. it was spacey enough to be made into a home, but not ideal when you needed proper rest.

you sigh in relief when your achy muscles sink into the mattress, finally at ease a bit. from the linen closet, she grabbed one of the spare quilts and draped it along your shivering body. "how about i have the chef make you some tea? how does that sound?"

after you muttered some sort of yes, valeria sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on your cheek, caressing your soft flesh in a patterned manner. with her other, she texted the kitchen staff, ordering you more than you'd asked for.

a care package, if you will; tea, fresh soup, and some hot towels to place on your pain points. "only a few more minutes, then you can get some rest." you nodded slowly, hating how the minutes felt like hours when you were aching.

after a small knock, she ushered you to keep your eyes shut and relax. with a clink, she set the soup and mug on the nightstand, then unrolled the steamed towels. she whispered, and then you felt her raise the hem of your shirt enough to expose your stomach and back. placing them one by one, the damp towels clung to your skin, supplying heat to your cramping muscles instantly. "just keep your eyes closed, amor. try and sleep..."

˖⁺‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ⋆⑅˚₊

[formulaonecrumbs]

hi hi!! it’s been an okay day so far! could you do osc with pcos reader on a good day :) maybe a lil smut

-🧸

ovaries out of office 👅

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader has a pain-free day with pcos and celebrates it with oscar; soft smut, softness after

warnings: pcos mention, soft!smut, morning sex, swearing

A/N: hellooo!! i’m glad u and ur body are finally getting the rest they deserve. i tried writing PROPER smut but cringed myself out and deleted it with how bad it was so this is what u get 😭😭 i’m a virgin, i’ll say it now. all my knowledge on actual sex comes from other smut, so bare with me 🙏 ANYWAYS i added softness after cause that’s what i do best. i love u, 🧸!! keep livin it up ❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you wake up warm, and for once, it’s not from a feverish hormone spike or that weird night sweat thing your body does. it’s just… sunlight. sheets. oscar’s arm thrown around your waist.

your body feels good. light. calm. you stretch, and there’s no resistance. no cramps. no tension. just you, whole and soft and steady for the first time in what feels like forever.

“you’re smiling,” oscar mumbles, voice gravelly against your shoulder.

you roll over, nose brushing his. “i feel good today.”

he blinks his eyes open slowly, like your words need to be processed. then: “really?”

you nod. “like, nothing hurts. at all.”

his grin is immediate, sleepy and wide and a little disbelieving. “holy shit. that’s huge.”

“i know,” you laugh. “it’s like a weird miracle.”

he leans in and kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then a lazy trail toward your neck. “we should celebrate,” he murmurs against your skin. “just saying.”

you hum. “what kind of celebration are we talking about?”

he’s already sliding the strap of your tank top down your shoulder, fingers light and careful but full of purpose. “the slow, naked kind.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

the way he touches you is different when you’re like this—not because he’s more excited, but because you are. there’s no flinch under his fingers. no quiet apology in your breath. your body is yours again, and you’re letting him have it—not like a gift, but like a promise.

he kisses down your chest, pulling the hem of your top with his teeth, playful and slow. you arch beneath him, all heat and permission. his hands are already under the waistband of your shorts, thumbs brushing the softest parts of your hips, teasing.

“can i?” he asks, eyes flicking up.

“yes,” you breathe, already trembling. “yes, please.”

he pulls everything off carefully, then sits back on his heels for a second just to look. “god, you’re beautiful.”

you reach for him, pulling his shirt up and over his head, hands already roaming over his stomach, his ribs, the smooth lines of him. you’re both so warm and bare and wanting.

he moves back over you, lips on your neck, then your chest, then lower—he’s soft with his mouth, steady with his hands, and unhurried in a way that makes your chest ache. he listens to every sound you make like it’s gospel.

your hands find his hair, tug gently. “oscar…”

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth back up your body, settling between your thighs. “you just feel. i’ll do the rest.”

and he does. slow, deep, grounding. every stroke of him feels like being pulled closer to the center of something real. your breath stutters, hips meeting his in perfect rhythm, and he kisses you through it, keeps you from floating away.

“you feel so good,” he whispers against your mouth. “so soft. so fucking perfect.”

you moan, fingers clutching at his back, his shoulders, his hair—like you can’t decide what to hold on to. he presses his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours like he needs to see the exact second you fall apart.

and when you do, it’s full-body. overwhelming. everything and nothing. you shudder and gasp and he holds you together through all of it.

he follows not long after, jaw slack, hand gripping yours tight against the pillow. “fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “fuck, i love you.”

the room goes quiet. just your heartbeats, your breath, the occasional shift of skin against skin.

he doesn’t pull away. just lowers himself so your legs are tangled and his hand rests on your stomach, thumb brushing the skin there like it’s still healing even when it’s not.

“we should have good days more often,” he whispers, half-smiling.

you hum, curling into him. “i’ll put in a request with my ovaries.”

he laughs softly, presses a kiss to your temple. “tell them i said thank you.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you must doze off for a little while, because the next thing you register is the smell of toast. and eggs. and… nutella?

you blink, still tangled in the sheets, still bare beneath them, and oscar’s nowhere in the bed. but then the door swings open, and there he is: shirtless, hair a complete mess, balancing a tray in both hands like he’s presenting treasure.

“rise and shine, princess,” he grins, walking it over with the swagger of a man who definitely made you come twice an hour ago.

you blink at the tray. “you cooked?”

“i assembled,” he says proudly, setting it down on the bed. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

there’s toast, soft scrambled eggs, fruit, a questionable pile of chocolate spread, and two mugs of coffee.

you sit up slowly, wrapping the blanket around you. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re glowing,” he says, climbing back into bed beside you and stealing a strawberry. “so i figured feeding you was the next logical step.”

“you already fed me this morning,” you deadpan, and he chokes on the strawberry, laughing.

“jesus christ. you get one pain-free day and suddenly you’re hilarious.”

you shrug, smug. “the hormones are aligned. i’m unstoppable.”

he leans over and kisses your shoulder. “seriously though. seeing you like this? happy, comfortable, full of food and smug little comments? best thing i’ve ever witnessed.”

you smile, soft and sleepy. “i love you.”

“i know,” he smirks. “i love you more… plus… you said it with your legs earlier.”

you swat at him with a piece of toast and he yelps, diving under the blanket.

it’s dumb. it’s perfect. it’s your good day.

and with him? it feels like there are going to be a lot more.

THE END :>

[trashland-llamas]

Cramps

Brought to you by whatever cursed deity it was that decided my bitch ass was getting cramps this time around despite never getting them for roughly 7yrs at this point. Thing is they're not that painful, just fucking annoying.

They/them pronouns used for reader; x fem reader

C/f - comfort food

-- -- --

'Uh, Nami?' They didn't know who else on the ship they could turn to exactly, except maybe Chopper as the medic knew of their PCOS diagnosis. Being the one to see that they got their needed medications. But they didn't want to go to him for this. You see, they had never experienced the dreaded period cramps they had heard about. While their period was regular, all the symptoms were extremely mild...well, besides the blood. Guaranteed to ruin at least one pair of pants each time it came.

'Yes y/n?' Nami answered, hardly looking up from the book she was reading. 'How do you deal with cramps?' Placing a bookmark as their question caught her attention. Finally taking in how they were hunched over themselves, a hand failing to discretely cradle their lower stomach. A grimaced expression to match. 'Come with me.'

'Where are we going?' Their steps were smaller than usual, barely able to keep up with Nami's strides. Noting all the twists and turns as they went. 'To my room. I have some stuff that'll help. And then we'll pester the cook for some chocolate or whatever it is you're craving.'

'He's not going to be weird about it, is he?' Nami's room was cluttered with maps. Some were fully finished while others were in the first or second round of drafts. Her desk had an opened ledger, a paperweight holding down some receipts. 'Not anymore than he usually is.' Nami lied as they handed them a bottle of painkillers, not wanting to stress them out. The truth was Sanji would want to pamper them in excess. To the point of infantilization. 'Take two of those. Should ease the pain for a couple hours.'

Nami gave Sanji a stern glare, silently telling him not to pull any funny business. 'What can I make you, mademoiselle?' Eyes softening after noticing their condition. Not wanting to frighten them or be too over the top with his hospitality. 'could you make c/f?' Reader was unsure if they could stomach it but it did bring comfort when they were sick. 'Of course, let me see if I have the needed ingredients.'

'Here you go, m'lady.' Passing them a plate along with a cup of herbal tea. Sanji watched from his peripherals as they ate, gauging their reaction. 'Thanks cook,' Nami appreciated that he had reeled in his affection. After they finished what they could of the tasty food, Nami led them to the nearest hammock. Staying by Reader's side as they softly snored, coaxed into sleep by the ship rocking against the waves. Rubbing gentle circles into their stomach. Sanji smiled, seeing this less abrasive side of the navigator.

'Will you keep watch over them?'

'Gladly.'

[bonkers-4-hatter]

@sacredwarrior88 asked: Welcome back my amazing buddy! 😊 May I please request headcanons for Nana, Nobu, and Yasu finding out about their female S/O having PCOS which causes various problems including weight gain?

Hello buddy! <3 of course you can! As someone who has PCOS myself and is currently going through trying to regulate my hormones through my diet and medications this hits home. I hope you enjoy the headcanons hun!

Headcanons for a female S/O that has PCOS:

Nana Osaki (I picked her, since it didn't specify which one):

She never thought about you gaining weight in the first place.

When you told her what your doctor said, she hugged you, not really sure what else to do.

When you start your new medications and your mood swings go in different directions, she doesn't take it to heart and will give you space and time for yourself unless you tell her you want her there.

She even cuts out her beer and cake so its not around the apartment in case you get a craving. She knows you're cutting your sugar intake as your doctor suggested to help balance out your hormones and you can't drink on the current meds you're on.

When you feel sad, no matter if it's your mood swings or just feeling down through this whole process, she holds you close making sure you know she's there for whatever you'll need.

Nana even starts making sugar free or low sugar sweets for you two to share.

Does her best to make you your favorite dishes that go along with what your doctor suggested. Cooking and baking for you are her love language so get ready to be pampered with delicious dishes.

Nobuo Terashima:

Adored you with your current weight and doesn't bat an eye when you seem to gain more weight or stay the same.

Is initally confused when you told him you had PCOS, but tries to be a supportive boyfriend in his own way.

Knows you want to do some form of movement to help and he finds fun ways to do that with you. Through doing dancing games with you, to Zumba, even taking you to puppy yoga one day.

When you tell him it's hard to lose weight when he notices your weight staying the same especially with PCOS and its due to you having more male hormones instead of female hormones that hold onto the weight, but you assure him you feel better with all the movement activities you've been doing with him and that makes him happy.

It's hard for him, but he stops drinking and having booze in the house. He likes drinking and it helps relive some stress he has some days, but since you can't drink, you both find new ways to deal with stress like reading, listening to audiobooks and his favorite which turns out to be plants/gardening.

Does his own reasearch into PCOS and sees what vitamins and such would help you and buys them for you and presents them in a cute basket along with some new foods and drinks that go along with your changes.

He'll always be supportive during your journey with this and will help in any way he can.

Yasushi Takagi:

Didn't care about your weight and never commits on it even when he can see you've gained a bit more. He lieks you for you.

Knows what PCOS is and figured you had something like that with the signs. To be honest, he already had things ordered like vitamins and low sugar snacks and drinks for you. He got them the day you went to the doctor.

Doesn't bat an eye at your mood swings and takes it all in stride. When you come to him afterwards, he'll cuddle you on the couch as he brushes your apologizes aside. He knows it's not your fault, its the medications and that's the truth.

Goes on walks with you every morning to get you moving a bit more and he'll listen to you talk about what's new at work, or with your friend groups and the latest from your doctor. He likes to see you happy and content like this.

Meal preps for you with foods that are packed with what you need and will give you energy even if its just for a little bit.

With your memory not as good as it was before the new medicines, he makes sure to write what pills you need to take and when on a whiteboard he bought so you can remember. He knows you can't miss a single dose of them.

Makes sure there's extra blankets and warm socks around the apartment. With your hormones starting to balance out, you're not hot all the time and start to get cold more frequently. He'll make sure you have everything you need and more.

[addison828]

erm

im bored so, im gonna write down my insecurities and stfu if u dont care and just leave then pooks.

legs

face

stretch marks

stomach

tits yall...

thighs

my pcos

diabetes

my mental health

not being skinny

being taller then i want to be

my eyes

my hair

my voice

acne

facial hair

[kiwi-jelly-mochi]

I DEMAND!! DEMAAAAND!!! More reader with pcos fics. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[therosebunpost]

werewolf! Steve and Eddie paired with a Reader who has PCOS who slowly helps them become less self conscious about their body hair <3

[peachdues]

AMYYYYYYY

care. / a levi period comfort fic

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: You have to skip your gym date with Levi due to bad period cramps. Levi, however, isn't going to let you suffer alone.

note: set in the press four for more options / dating on airplane mode universe tags: modern au, neighbors au, menstruation, cramp pain, period talk, doting new boyfriend levi, fluff, adult language, reader has a chronic pms pain

author note: today is my birthday!! my gift to you is this little P4/DOAP one shot. this is a little self indulgent, so i hope this helps anyone else that experiences bad pains like me! i will be writing one shots all month for my endo awareness event, so feel free to send requests if you would like to see more! credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

( Read on AO3. )

You know as soon as you wake up what kind of day it’s going to be.

As you stir from slumber, you’re met with the familiar, unforgiving punch to the gut before you take your first deep inhale. The sharp jab is a tell-tale sign that you should have probably hit the pharmacy when you had the time during your lunch break — yesterday.

You know, before things got awful.

“God damn it.”

Periods have always been a sore spot to discuss in your life. The immense pain that follows the next agonizing few days is not a new occurrence, but knowing them intimately never makes them any better. No matter how many times you’ve prepared, weathered, endured — it’s a gamble whether or not you have the energy to eat today, much less do anything productive.

Dragging your phone off of the adjacent nightstand, your heart sinks when you see your most recent notifications:

Alarm set for 7:30 a.m. (Dismiss?)

Remember to pay credit card bill. (Eventually.)

New text from Levi Ackerman.

Shit.

Opening the third notification first, you read his text from five minutes ago.

[LEVI:] Hey. Still going to the gym this morning?

Self hatred floods your system when you realize there’s no way in hell you’re going to be going to the gym today, much less leaving this apartment. It’ll be a miracle if you can drag yourself to the bathroom.

Missing out on seeing Levi today hurts more than you’re willing to admit.

Tapping the reply bubble, you type in response:

[ME:] Sorry, not feeling well. :( Rain check?

It’s weird to confess why, right?

Everything is way too fresh, much too new, between the two of you.

You can’t burden your newest partner with the—

Another notification pops up immediately.

[LEVI:] What’s wrong?

Double shit.

Sighing to yourself, you type back, hesitate, then send.

[ME:] Don’t worry about it, it’s pretty embarrassing. I probably won’t be able to leave the apartment today. I’m rooting you on from down here!

Or up here, technically, if he’s going to be at the gym.

(Dumbass.)

You drop your phone to your mattress, slowly easing yourself out of bed. You check the sheets behind you to make sure you didn’t ruin them — thank god, there’s a singular win for this morning — before waddling to the bathroom.

Grabbing a new pair of underwear and a pad, you sit on the toilet with your head in your hands, taking some time to breathe through the initial cramps.

A few days.

Just a few days and you can—

It’s faint, but you hear it.

Three raps at your front door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Perking your head up, your brows furrow as you finish up, tug your pajama bottoms back on, and wash your hands. Crossing the living room to the front door, you use the peephole to see who’s waiting outside.

For the briefest moment, you forget your cramps altogether.

“Levi?!” you yelp, shocked by his presence.

“Hey,” he states, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his typical white workout tank, displaying his lean arms in the fisheye lens of your doorframe. “You okay in there?”

“I— yeah, I’m okay!” you lie, higher pitched than usual. “Sorry, I can’t let you in.”

You note how his chin tilts, contemplating your brevity. 

“You come down with some shitty cold or whatever?”

“No, it’s—”

“Stomach bug?”

“No, not at all, it’s just—”

“I can wear a mask if you got something catchable.” He shifts, thumbing back to the hallway behind him like he knows you’re watching. “I have a bunch at my place.”

“Levi, no,” you blurt, getting frustrated. “I have my period!”

The dark-haired man stops.

His brows furrow, contemplating with evident confusion on his face.

“...I’m confused, a period of what? Fucking dysentary or something?” When you’re about to argue, he pointedly glances at the peephole. “Can you at least open the door for a sec?”

Reluctantly you agree to his request, unlocking the door and swinging it open. You feel immense shame standing in front of your new boyfriend looking messy and make-up free.

There hasn’t even been time to at least put on some moisturizer, damn it.

When he finally sees you at your worst (or so you perceive to be your worst) he doesn’t even bat an eye.

The stormy grays just stare into your own, brows rising expectantly.

“What do you need?”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to breathe through another wave of cramps. “What?”

With a tsk, he steps a baited sneaker into the threshold of your apartment. When you don’t push him out, he fully enters your apartment and beelines to your kitchen.

(Right. Same layout, just a couple of floors higher.)

“Get comfy on the couch,” he states like he’s a coach again, devoid of nonsense. “You have any tea lying around?”

“I don’t understand,” you state, only then closing the door to your apartment. “You were about to go to the gym—”

“Yeah, and now I’m not.”

“Levi.”

“Couch,” he counters, plucking the kettle you had sitting dormant on your stovetop to fill it with water. “Or your bed, if that makes you more comfortable.”

You can’t really argue with that, not when your cramps are making you dizzy.

Hell, his insistence on helping is making you even dizzier but in an entirely different way.

When you dated Porco, he never extended help beyond some comforting words and a stray pint of ice cream. Levi looks natural rummaging around your kitchen as if he’s been spending time here for months.

“You really don’t have to babysit me,” you try to reason, though you find yourself slowly shambling towards your couch anyway. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, my mother used to have a lot of really bad months when I was growing up.” Levi starts the stove, heating up the water. His eyes briefly flicker to you. “My friend, Hange, doesn’t exactly have a walk in the park with this shit, either. They left an arsenal of supplies at my place whenever they come around. Can’t imagine they’ll care if I borrow some of it.”

So Levi has period supplies at his apartment for friends and family?

That…

You’ve never heard of any man who has something like that.

“Supplies like what?”

“Admittedly it’s a bunch of stuff we used to offer people at our gym in case they were having a rough week,” he explains as if this is nothing while he watches the kettle grow hot. 

Then again, periods are supposed to be nothing.

They’re natural and half of the planet go through them monthly, and yet —

“Heating pads, two different sizes. Mint and ginger tea are soothing for cramping. I’ve got a decently fresh stock of those leaves. Not sure if you’re out of sanitary products, but I got some of those in a cabinet, too.”

You stare dumbfounded, your heart skipping a beat.

(As if this man couldn’t be any more attractive.)

When you don’t respond, he turns around to look at you. His eyes soften as they search your face.

“I’d ask how your pain is right now, but I take it it’s high?” You nod. “Alright. Mind if I keep the door unlocked? I’ll run upstairs and grab everything.”

“You don’t have—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, but it isn’t firm like before.

Levi walks across the room towards you. As he bends at the hip, his dog tags slip out of his tank top.

Gentle lips press to the crown of your head.

“Let me take care of you, alright? You’re my girl. That’s my responsibility, especially when you’re feeling like shit. I can do push-ups anywhere. Gym’s not a necessity.”

Melting at his reassurance, you can’t help but tease. 

“So I get pampering and a show? Talk about high-class service.”

The lips on your head curve to a smirk before pulling away, his eyes meeting yours. His hand raises to cup the side of your face adoringly. An absentminded thumb strokes your cheek.

“Yeah, well, you know me. High fucking class or whatever.”

When you laugh, the corner of his mouth twitches again. He lifts your chin and leans forward, kissing your lips. You return the gesture, warmth spreading throughout your body.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he whispers against your lips.

“It only takes you five minutes to run up six flights of stairs and back?”

“You can time me if you think I’m lying.”

“Deal.”

[formulaonecrumbs]

hey junie :) this is based off an actual experience of mine: osc gets worried about reader losing a lot of blood, her period lasting almost two weeks. he finds her weak, almost passed out and has to take her to the er where she gets blood transfusions and they cuddle in the hospital bed

-🧸

let’s get colour back in your face 🤍

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader loses too much blood during a long period flare-up and ends up in the hospital.

warnings: pcos struggles, heavy period bleeding, near-fainting, hospital visit, blood transfusion

A/N: (another old req) i was gonna write more about the transfusion itself but i’m squeamish as FUCK. so no thanks 🤗 i hate that this is what u have to deal with but i do hope u have a genuinely lovely support system to help u thru it. it’s what u deserve, hun :) love u, 🧸❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’ve always been good at pretending.

shrugging it off when it drags longer than it should. telling yourself it’s fine even when it’s not. one week turns into nine days, then ten, then twelve. you bleed through pads in an hour. your skin goes pale, lips dry, eyes tired.

but you keep going. brushing your teeth, making the bed, replying to texts like nothing’s wrong. oscar’s been at the sim all morning, and you didn’t want to bother him. you told him you were tired. you told him you’d rest.

you didn’t tell him you hadn’t stood up in hours because your legs were shaking too badly.

you didn’t tell him the room spun when you tried to walk to the bathroom.

you didn’t tell him how you blacked out on the floor for a second and came to with your heart pounding in your ears.

he calls before he gets home. you barely answer. your voice is slow, breath shallow.

“you okay, baby?”

“mhm.”

he knows you’re not.

he’s home ten minutes later. he finds you curled on the couch, skin too white, lips almost blue, a blanket pulled halfway over your legs, eyes glassy and barely open.

“hey,” he says softly, kneeling beside you. “what’s going on?”

you blink. “dizzy.”

“how long?”

“since this morning. maybe yesterday.”

he runs his hand gently over your forehead. your skin is clammy. cold sweat and warmth all mixed together. his voice is too calm when he says, “you’re bleeding too much, aren’t you?”

you nod slowly, like you’re ashamed.

“okay,” he says. “that’s it. we’re going.”

“no—”

“yes.”

you try to argue but he’s already scooping you up, already grabbing your bag with one arm, already texting someone on the way out the door. the car ride is blurry. you think he holds your hand the whole way.

the hospital is cold and bright and too loud. you don’t remember much—just that they take you back fast, someone says the word “anemic,” someone else says “transfusion.” oscar never lets go of your hand.

they give you fluids. blood. oxygen.

you sleep through most of it. your body heavy, but finally still. and when you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed with warm blankets pulled around you and oscar tucked beside you—legs awkwardly bent to fit on the tiny mattress, one arm wrapped under your neck.

he’s half-asleep but stirs when you shift.

“hey,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your temple. “you’re okay.”

you don’t even speak. you just curl closer to him, pressing your face into his chest. he holds you tighter.

“you scared the shit out of me,” he says, voice shaking just a little. “don’t ever do that again.”

you mumble something about not wanting to worry him.

“you worrying me is never worse than you almost passing out in the living room alone,” he says gently. “i want you to tell me, every time. even when it’s bad. especially when it’s bad.”

you nod against him.

he kisses the top of your head. “i love you, y’know.”

you hum. “i love you too.”

and even in a stiff hospital bed, in a gown that itches and an IV in your arm, it’s the safest you’ve felt in days.

THE END :>

[sailorsoons]

Please (c.sc)

PAIRING: Alpha!Seungcheol x Omega! f.reader 

SUMMARY: A heatwave in your city makes dealing with your hormones more difficult than usual. Getting locked in a lobby at work for an hour with an alpha makes it ten times worse. Thankfully, Seungcheol is there to help you - and maybe a little more. 

WC: 18,512

AU: Omegaverse, Coworkers to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, A bit of Fluff, the barest hint of angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

TEASER WARNINGS: Mix of traditional and nontraditional Omegaverse dynamics in terms of heat cycles, social statuses, and body chemistry but this fic doesn’t really dip into it very heavily - including no knotting or any of the traditional lore. There are brief mentions of social discourse and discrimination across all three subgenders. Reader has some internal back and forth and moments of feeling embarrassed and frustrated with her body and hormonal fluctuations. Some internal stresses/anxieties on reader’s part about what comes after with Seungcheol. Seungcheol is a touch possessive in parts. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content including very gratutious smut, oral (f. and m. receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, a lot of spit/slick/fluids mentions, nipple play, vaginal fingering, lots of praise (use of good/good girl/baby often), not explicit dom/sub dynamics but more alpha/omega dynamics, no use of a condom as in - I just never wrote one in and they never talk about it tbh I just forgot lol - reader experiences some highs and lows through her heat emotionally… I think that’s mostly it. Please tell me if I forgot anything. 

A/N: I don’t know how I ended up writing so much of this, but here we are. Reader’s struggles as an omega are inspired directly by my struggles with PCOS, especially living in a very hot climate and constantly having fluctuating hormones and just having to exist!!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. 

A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta reading this - I love u thank u hehe. 

MASTERLIST | ASK | NOW PLAYING: BAMBI BY BAEKHYUN

SWEAT TRICKLES DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR NECK AND THIGHS. Irritated, you wipe at the back of your neck for what feels like the hundredth time before pulling at the collar of your shirt, fanning it in hopes of cooling the rest of your body off. It’s unseasonably hot, a heat wave sweeping through the city and turning your office cubicle into a toaster oven.

The small fan on your desk whirs pitifully, barely offering any sort of respite. Adjusting in your seat does nothing but remind you how uncomfortable you are, the scratchy grain of the chair digging into the back of your sweating thighs, the underwire of your bra digging into your ribs, the heat rash forming where your underwear digs into the creases of your hips. 

Unbearable. 

A message pings on your computer and you open it, growling in irritation as you see a message from Wonwoo in the cubicle behind you. 

Jeon Wonwoo: Ever heard of suppressants, diva? 

You: IT’S FUCKING HOT IN HERE

You: Tell this company to BUY SOME FUCKING AIRCONDITIONERS 

Jeon Wonwoo: Irritable… sweaty… irrational… 

You grab the nearest pen and whip around in your chair, launching it at the back of his head. It hits with a satisfying thwack. He flinches, cursing as his hand flies up to rub the spot where you nailed him. Wonwoo turns in his seat, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder.

You meet his glare with a stuck-out tongue and a very deliberate middle finger before turning back to your screen, face flushed, partially from the heat, partially from embarrassment.

He doesn’t get it. You know he’s just teasing, but it still stings. That old, familiar insecurity curls in your gut at his jest, no matter its innocence. Being an omega is hard enough. You’ve spent years unlearning shame, of trying to accept this part of yourself you never asked for. And you’ve gotten pretty far with that. 

But then something as simple as a heatwave hits, the rise in temperature turning your body traitorous, unable to accommodate for a little bit of humid air and heat. 

Of course, Wonwoo doesn’t understand - can’t conceptualize the level of difficulty it is to maintain a baseline for you. Betas don’t have to deal with this kind of hormonal chaos. Sure, they’ve got their own issues - media erasure, medical neglect, in general being left out - but it’s not the same. Not when your body actively works against you, not when your biology fights you. 

You sigh. There’s no point in going down the rabbit hole and comparing omegas and betas. You’ve traveled that road since your subgender presented itself in your freshman year of college. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s also an endless torture device. 

Your thighs rub together uncomfortably when you get up. You swipe your water bottle, unscrewing the cap as you duck out of your cubicle, head down and steps fast. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo is attuned to your scent more than others, having been one of your closest friends and cubicle-neighbor for the better part of five years. But still, you’re nervous about it, hand snaking up to touch the translucent patch on the side of your neck, meant to dampen the smell from your glands. 

No one pays you much mind. You breathe a sigh of relief to find the break room empty. You make a beeline to the water cooler in the corner, sliding the water bottle under it and pressing the tap. As it fills, the air conditioning kicks on, the vent right above you. 

Cool air hits the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter, a shiver of relief slithering through you. For a moment, you lose yourself, letting the cool wick away the sticky sweat, the first time you’ve felt a little relief all day. A small sound escapes your mouth, half whimper and half plea. 

Someone clears their throat and you flinch, losing your grip on the water bottle. It crashes to the ground, water splashing up your legs but more importantly, all over the floor. You squeak in panic, diving to pick it up in an attempt to stop the outflow of water. 

Hands dripping, you pivot on your heel, scanning for paper towels only to find them being offered. You blink in surprise, body going rigid as you become acutely aware of who is offering them. 

Choi Seungcheol watches you with quiet concern, dark eyes steady behind his glasses. He keeps a respectful distance, arms extended with a roll of paper towels, waiting for you to take them. But you don’t move. Your pulse pounds in your neck as your gaze drops from his face to his hands, large and patient.

He has pretty hands, you think absently, staring a beat too long.

For a moment, all you can hear is the roar of blood in your ears. Then, he steps forward without a word, crouching down to wipe the water pooling around  your feet. You jerk, startled, a sharp sound of protest escaping you as you drop down and snatch more paper towels from his hands. Apologies tumble out, disjointed and breathless, your thoughts scattered. 

He doesn’t back away. Instead, he methodically dabs at the wet tile while trying to avoid soaking himself in the process. His proximity is overwhelming, his spicy scent nearly knocking you over. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw, irritated. He’s not supposed to affect you like this - never has before. 

Seungcheol is always mild. Unassuming. He’s worked here as long as you have, one of the few alphas on your floor, and one of the most reserved. He keeps to his office, always dimly lit, always quiet. He greets you politely. Never lingers. 

It surprised you when you first met him. Seungcheol looks like the type of alpha who is the opposite of quiet and shy. There’s a gravitas to him that you haven’t quite figured out and a body made to ruin. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a voice deep enough to rattle through your spine even on your best days. 

Yet somehow, he’s never once made a pass on a single omega at work. 

Which, he shouldn’t. You respect that about him, which feels ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to be flattered by the bare minimum of respect, shouldn’t need to be surprised when an alpha is able to be normal. To treat you like a human being. 

You mumble a quiet thanks, focusing on the mess. It’s the only thing tethering you right now. It shouldn’t feel this intense, but the goddamn heat is getting to you. It’s baking you from the inside out, turning your cube walls suffocating. It makes you tired. Irritable. Prone to throwing pens at Wonwoo’s head. 

“Thanks,” you mutter when you stand. You toss the soggy paper towels into the bin, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry again.” 

“No need to apologize. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Seungcheol stands slowly. You don’t move, watching the way he wipes his damp hands across his slacks. You hate that you notice how the fabric pulls over his thighs. As soon as you have the thought, you avert your eyes, looking anywhere but him, afraid that he’ll see the embarrassment or the way your body reacts without your permission. 

“It’s been a long week,” Seungcheol offers, voice soft. “You alright? I know Jeonghan had you working on that insane report.”

You swallow past the dry patch in your throat. “All good. Just tired. It’ll probably keep me here forever, but what can you do?”

“Mhmm. Don’t forget it’s Friday - cleaning locks the office and will trap you inside.”

“Sounds like you’re intimately familiar.” 

His smile is soft, cheeks flushed. “Cannot confirm or deny.”

“I see.” You gesture to the watery floor. “Thank you, again. And sorry for being a bit clumsy.”

“No problem.” 

You slide away from him, hoping that he can’t tell that you’re leaning, trying to avoid catching his scent again. He doesn’t seem to notice - or has the decency not to make it obvious - and you slip away from the break room, all but running to your cube.

Inside your little haven, you rip open one of your drawers, grabbing a pheromone damp nasal spray. You all but shove it up your cranium, putting it as far up your nasal passage as you can manage before squeezing and shooting a blast of medical grade dampener up your nose, inhaling sharply. 

It helps a little, settling your nerves and erasing the lingering scent of Seungcheol. You breathe out a sigh, calm and collected. Carefully and quickly, you peel the suppressant patch off your neck and swap it for a new one. It tingles when you apply it, the microneedles that embed into the skin to deliver suppressant a cool sensation at first. 

When you settle, you feel much better. It isn’t until you turn to start knocking out the rest of your report that you realize you never refilled your water bottle after dropping it, making you lean back on your desk and groan. 

-

Working for Yoon Jeonghan comes with its challenges. He's incredibly sharp and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bit forgetful and brings a touch of chaos wherever he goes. Jeonghan is the reason you’d started working at this company, though, admiring that there was an omega in charge, defying the long-standing social norms that omegas could not lead. 

It’s a silly stereotype, but you’ve been fighting stereotypes your entire life, unlearning your own and reminding yourself that there are still inherent biases to unlearn. 

Like right now, when you're mentally cursing Jeonghan for tossing a last-minute report your way, even though he had multiple reminders in his inbox and just forgot he'd opened them. You only blame him a little. Work’s been nonstop, keeping him up at all hours, and if there’s one thing that truly makes Jeonghan unbearable, it’s sleep deprivation.

Jeonghan doesn’t have an assistant, but you’re the closest thing to it, one of the few people in the office he trusts to get things done. So when he’s on vacation and starts spamming your email that he dropped the ball, it’s on you to cover for him, like he’s done for you in the past. 

The consequence of competency, he’d told you over the phone, the sound of the ocean in the background. I’m sorry, I owe you, please don’t quit. 

You weren’t going to quit. Despite your irritation, you like working for Jeonghan, and despite the unbearable heat burning in your cubicle, you like being able to focus on pulling and building reports, inputting data into a spreadsheet and setting pivot tables and charts.

It makes you forget about the world for a little bit, including the oppressive office air and the way that the building’s air conditioner barely keeps up with the raging temperatures outside. Makes you forget about the incident in the breakroom, and about everything else, including the passage of time. 

Above you, the lights go out. You flinch, looking up in surprise. Rubbing your eyes, you blink until your computer screen comes back into focus, looking at the time. You groan. It’s past seven, far later than you meant to stay at work. But you’re done with the report, dragging the attachment to your email to fire it off to Jeonghan with a less than happy emoji pasted in the body of the email. 

Exhaustion weighs you down when you stand. Your joints pop and everything feels hot and itchy again, all of your irritations flooding back to pester you now that you’re not locked in on your work. You flip off the fan, lamp and computer at your desk. Immediately without air circulation, your cube is sweltering, the dress sticking to you, fabric itchy and clinging to your skin.

A sudden wave of dizziness makes the room tilt around you. You steady yourself with deep, measured breaths, trying to stay grounded. A spike in temperature is normal. You can deal with it. It’s manageable. Sure, the heat triggers a surge of estriolase, the hormone that kicks in during Stage 1 of an omega’s heat cycle. And sure, it leaves you flushed, restless, skin prickling with irritation, and-  

“You’re still here?”

You shriek, whirling around, heart hammering as your hand flies to your chest in terror. Seungcheol takes a cautious step back into the hallway, hands lifted in surrender, quiet concern etched into his features. For a moment, the air between you is thick with silence, broken only by your uneven breathing, still reeling from the rush of epinephrine and cortisol.

Being an omega means constantly walking a tightrope of hormones. One shift sets off another, like dominoes toppling. Fear bumps into instinct, instinct stirs something deeper, until your body is a storm of tangled biochemistry.

Now, your body is caught in a storm of fear, annoyance, embarrassment and interest, each one fighting for dominance. You swallow thickly and lean off your desk, ignoring the way your body flashes between hot and cold, fear and something else.

“Just finished Jeonghan’s report.”

“Ah.” 

Something passes his face. It’s unreadable, but he’s focused. Your skin prickles under the heavy weight of his stare, watching as his mouth tightens at the corner. 

“You heading out?” 

“Yeah.”

A beat passes. His gaze flickers briefly, so fast that you’re not sure you track the movement correctly, but you swear it drops to the patch on your neck, dampening your scent. His jaw flexes once before he offers you a tight smile, gesturing. 

“Mind if I walk you out? It’s late.”

Your heart hammers. “Sure.” 

You’ve walked out of work with Seungcheol before. He offers to walk anyone out when it’s after hours, even if he himself isn’t leaving yet. It has nothing to do with your subgender and everything to do with him being kind, a sort of stoic office guardian.

Grabbing the rest of your things, you follow Seungcheol in silence. The building is quiet, both of you the only people still around on a weekend. The lack of sound amplifies everything else: the sound of your own quickened breathing, the warmth pulsing under your skin, the spicy scent of Seungcheol as he steps onto the elevator, lingering at the threshold to hold the door open for you.

You murmur a thank you as you pass by him. You can’t help the shiver that snakes through you as you pass. You clench your fists, angry and willing yourself to calm down. This has never happened around Seungcheol, and you blame the fucking weather for the way your body overrides you now. 

The forty five seconds spent in the elevator are borderline hell. Neither of you says anything. You’ve pressed yourself in the corner, trying to remain nonchalant, like your entire world isn’t spinning, like there isn’t a dull ache in the pit of your stomach, like there isn’t saliva pooling at the back of your tongue. 

Seungcheol smells warm. Grounding. Something that lingers, sharp and clean with a bit of a bite. You breathe in, trying to figure it out. Perhaps bergamot and cardamom, spice touched by sweetness, a hint of earth. 

The elevator dings and Seungcheol is halfway through the lobby before you realize it. You push off the elevator wall after him, steps stilted and uneven. It’s even hotter in the tiny lobby of your office building, making a bead of sweat trail down the back of your neck. You adjust your dress, licking your lips in an attempt to relieve the hot flash threatening you. 

Seungcheol pushes on the glass doors at the front, but they don’t budge. Both of you stand and stare for a second before he curses low under his breath, voice like gravel. You ignore what your stomach does at the sound of it as he turns to look at you, expression wary.

“Remember what I said in the break room?” You definitely remember the break room, but not anything he said. “The cleaners come on Friday evenings and they lock the doors.” 

“Oh.”

Seunghecol walks back to the elevator and swipes his badge at the scanner and presses the button. The metal doors do not open again, and the button doesn’t light up. He curses again, pinching the bridge of his nose right beneath his glasses. 

“Badges don’t work after hours.”

“They don’t?”

“No. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck here, unfortunately.” He adjusts the strap on his bag and pulls a cellphone from his pocket. “Thankfully I have security’s number saved for exactly that reason.”

Seungcheol’s words do little to bring you relief. He paces a few steps away from you, dialing a number on the phone. He holds the phone to his ear, waiting for security to pick up. His free hand is stuffed into the pocket of his slacks, thumb tapping idly. You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to focus on the sterile, white glow of the lobby lights instead of the way your skin feels like it’s humming.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Seungcheol’s voice sounds loud, making you twitch. “Yes, I’m locked in the lobby again.” He glances at you. “I’m with another coworker as well. The badge isn’t working to get us back up. Can you come let us out?” 

You barely register his words. A flush is working its way up from your stomach to your chest, your chest to your shoulders, shoulder to elbows. You feel it unfurl, the slow-burning petals of a flower blooming. The air feels thick and heavy, almost damp, and no amount of focused breathing seems to help with the pulse you feel throbbing in your neck.

Seungcheol’s voice momentarily pulls you from your daze. “They’re sending someone from central security. Might take about an hour, though. They were in the middle of a shift rotation.” 

You nod, swallowing hard. “Alright.” 

“Are you alright?” Seungcheol asks quietly, eyes fixated on you. 

You open your mouth to say yes, but the word dies in your throat. Because you’re not. Not really. There’s a heat curling deep in your belly now, slow and insistent, and your clothes feel too tight, your skin too sensitive. You press your palm against the marble wall behind you, trying to ground yourself with the coolness of the stone.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding and giving him a thumbs up. 

You’re anything but. It hits you slowly, but when it does, it locks into place with terrifying clarity: the dizziness, the temperature spikes, the way everything around you sounds sharper, smells sharper, the bergamot and cardamom. 

Your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of heat, triggered by the unbearable temperature spike across the city and the unbearable proximity of the alpha standing across the lobby from you. 

You shift your weight, arms tightening around yourself, every nerve ending suddenly too aware of Seungcheol’s presence. He’s not even close, but you can feel him. Or maybe it’s just your scent receptors going haywire, both just as likely. 

“You’re flushed,” he says after a moment, eyes not quite meeting yours now. “You sure you’re not getting sick?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “I don’t think it’s that.”

Seungcheol’s brows pull together, not believing you but not sure what to make of it. He shifts his weight, gaze scanning you, trying to figure you out. You refuse to meet his eyes, looking up at the lobby lights that are too bright, making you squint. But you can feel him watching you, his gaze intense. 

“You look uncomfortable.” He shifts a little further from you. “I apologize if-”

“It’s not you!” You blurt, a little forceful. “It’s just hot in here. It’s… hard on me.” 

When he doesn’t answer, you dare a look at him. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push it. He nods, leaning against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes track the way his biceps flex, the way his shirt compresses across his chest and your mouth goes dry. 

He studies you carefully now, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in suspicion, but understanding. Something settles in his expression, the faintest flicker of recognition behind his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. He knows. He knows and the embarrassment is so overwhelming you nearly fold over and start crying. 

Still, he doesn't call you out. Doesn’t voice what you’re sure he knows, what his instincts are telling him. Doesn’t corner you with it.

Instead, he says, “Tell me something you enjoy.”

“What?”

He watches you, eyes soft. “Anything. To pass time. I only know the basics about you. Tell me something you’re passionate about.”

Something you're passionate about? A million things run through your mind. You grab the first thing you can think of, a single subject that you’re well-versed in.

“There’s a theory that the Tyrannosaurus Rex didn’t roar.” 

He looks confused. “The dinosaur?” 

“Yes. Like you know in the movie how they… rahhh.” You imitate the noise, immediately wanting to smack yourself for the ridiculousness of it. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. He nods and gestures for you to continue, dark eyes focused only on you. “So it’s a total myth. Scientists think they made way lower sounds, like… you know when crocodiles do that weird purr?” 

“Crocodile purr?”

“Yeah you know when they…” You hunch your shoulders. “Do that weird water rumble thing.” 

“I think I follow.”

You nod rapidly, grateful for the distraction even as your heart beats way too fast. “Yeah, like a subsonic hum. They think it was more intimidating that way. A sound that could vibrate through the chest cavity of its prey. Honestly, it’s kind of genius.”

He watches you with quiet amusement, one brow raised but not mocking. “I didn’t know you were into dinosaurs.”

“I was obsessed as a kid,” you admit, shrugging, eyes still fixed on the security panel like it’ll spark to life if you ignore it long enough. “Used to correct people all the time. I was that kid. I got in trouble once for lecturing my cousin while playing with dinosaurs because Stegosaurus and a T. rex never existed at the same time. They lived millions of years apart! And he was trying to tell me they were best friends.” You scoff. “As if.”

You hear a soft chuckle across the lobby and you look up to meet his face. Your pulse flutters again, reminding you why Seungcheol asked you to distract yourself in the first place. 

As though he can sense where your thoughts are going, Seungcheol asks, “So are you one of those people who thinks the Jurassic Park raptors were too big?” 

You huff, a flare of irritation licking through you. “Well yeah. They were too big, thank you for asking. Plus, Alan Grant pointed out in the first movie that they were the size of turkeys, and then they get to Isla Nublar and they’re fucking six feet tall! And they were supposed to have feathers!”

“Not very intimidating.”

“I mean, I feel like a giant bird of prey is pretty intimidating.” 

Seungcheol grins and you feel another shiver threaten to pulse through you. His grin is beautiful, turning his face from intimidating to soft in seconds. “I’m never going to be able to take them seriously again, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

It’s quiet again. The tension from earlier hasn’t disappeared, but something in the air feels different. Sweat fills the creases behind your knees, beads on the small of your back, gathers on your thighs. Your rambling had made you forget about it all for a moment, but now it’s back, the awareness of the way your body is crawling toward Stage 1 of your heat. 

If security gets here soon, you’ll be okay. It’s the lightest phase of the cycle, manageable with some effort and focus. But it’s unpredictable. Sometimes it lingers, sometimes it crashes into the next stage without warning. And while your body usually keeps a steady three-month rhythm, outside stimuli can trigger an early onset.

Like being trapped in an overheated lobby with an alpha just a few yards away. One who’s quiet, watching, aware. 

Still, it’s not unmanageable. You’ve handled worse. If you can get home in time, the meds waiting in your cabinet will ease you through the worst of it, keep you from slipping into second and third stage alone, unprepared.

If not…

No, you can’t think about that. If you stray too far to the second stage of your cycle before getting home, your options are limited and grim. 

You don’t like any of them. 

You shift your stance again, ankles crossing and uncrossing, arms hugging your waist like that might hold everything in place. But it’s not helping anymore. Your skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t fit right on your body. The heat is building now, no longer a low thrum, but a steady pulse radiating from your core, licking up your spine and sinking into your limbs. Your breaths come shorter, faster, and there’s a dull ache beginning in your lower belly, something deep and hormonal and utterly beyond your control.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, causing you to look at him. His face is soft. Concerned. “You still with me?”

The way he says it, soft and gentle, makes things worse. Makes you want to whine and cross the lobby floor to him, to let him pull you in tight and tell you it’ll be okay. To comfort you. The desire is so bad that you realize you’re much farther into Stage 1 than you thought.

Panic starts to nip at your heels. You’re unsure what to do. There’s nothing on you besides your nasal spray and your patches to help you out, but those aren’t what you need. Your patches protect others from your scent and the nasal spray protects you from others - from Seungcheol. 

You try to answer, but your voice catches in your throat, coming out thin and shaky. “I’m okay.”

“Are you in prodrome?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low and careful.

You flinch when he finally says it out loud, letting the acknowledgement ring in the lobby. You close your eyes for a moment, your silence an answer in itself. 

Seungcheol sighs and pulls his phone back out of his pocket, dialing as he lifts it to his ear. “Yeah, I know. Look, you need to expedite. My colleague needs medical assistance and we’re still locked in the lobby. No… no.” Seungcheol glances at you. “She’s experiencing prodrome. Can you please expedite? Yes. Thank you.” 

He hangs up and turns back to you, stepping slowly so he doesn’t overwhelm, arms loose at his sides in a show of calm. “They’re sending someone now. Shouldn’t be long.”

You nod, but your breathing is uneven, shallow now. You can feel the sweat dripping down your spine, the pressure behind your eyes. Everything smells too sharp, too thick. Especially him. Spice and warmth and safety. It’s awful. 

Seungcheol stays where he is, a careful distance between you, but his voice is steady when he says, “Tell me what you need. What I can do to help.”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean it. If you need space, I’ll back off. If you need something cold, we’ll figure it out. Just don’t… don’t try to pretend this isn’t happening. Let me help you.” 

The kindness in his voice cracks something in your chest. No judgment, no pressure, just him, steady and solid, offering help while your body betrays you one symptom at a time. 

You swallow hard. “I just need to get out. I just need to make it home before it gets worse.”

Seungcheol nods, no hesitation. “Then we’ll get you home. I promise.”

Time moves like molasses. The silence between you thickens. You give up on standing, sitting on the cool tile floor. It only offers momentary respite until you’re panting again, struggling to maintain your grip on yourself. 

It’s not working. Your entire body is pulsing, tingling, burning in waves that crest and fall without rhythm. Your skin itches with hypersensitivity, every shift of your clothes unbearable, your breath slow and ragged. It feels like you’re melting, burning up from the forge in your chest.

You can feel Seungcheol watching you from his assigned corner. He says nothing, keeping a respectful distance. You steal a glance at him through bleary eyes. He’s just leaning against the wall, hands clenched and jaw tight. He’s doing his best to appear calm, but you see signs of irritation. His throat works and your eyes linger on the way his Adam's apple bobs for too long. You think about sinking your teeth into his neck, tasting him-

His scent, normally warm and grounded, spikes. You sense the shift and it makes you squirm, pressing yourself further into the wall. You look away from him, hiding your face in your shoulder while you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave of cramping crashes into you. 

Seungcheol’s irritation is sharp. Shame floods you, thick and fast. Of course he’s annoyed. Today has gone from bad to worse. He’s now stuck in a lobby with an omega in prodrome, a liability that he now has to be responsible for, and you’re barely holding it together, shaking like a live wire. You’re stuck, and he’s stuck with you, and-

The lobby doors beep and hiss open. You don’t even lift your head. Don’t even hear the first few words from the guards. You only feel cool night air and the sudden shift in pressure, making you keen and melt into the tile. 

Seungcheol appears at your side, his scent fading from acrid to soothing. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, crouching down to your level. It’s the closest he’s been to you all day. You feel the heat of him, the nearness overwhelming. “They’re here. We can go.”

You don’t move. The thought of moving suddenly seems like an insurmountable task. Your world is tilting, your ears ringing. Your limbs feel detached from your brain and your body is locked, curled in on itself. Heat prickles across your skin like static.

Worst of all, you’re starting to panic. Fear sets in, stabbing deep. You don’t know how to get up and take the train home. Don’t know how to get yourself up the stairs and into your apartment. To the cabinet to take a suppressant. To the fridge for water. 

Seungcheol’s voice sharpens. “Hey. Look at me.”

It’s a command. You blink up at him, barely able to focus. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s on the phone again. “Hi, I need emergency assistance for an omega. She’s in heat prodrome and she’s deteriorating fast. No, she’s conscious. She’s overheating, but having trouble standing and struggling to focus. I have no idea what to do.” 

You barely hear the voice on the other end of the line, but Seungcheol does. His expression shifts, each word they say tightening his jaw.

“She’s a coworker - we were locked in a lobby at work but I can take her to an omega hospital.” You whimper and shake your head vehemently, whining. He softens. “They said they can give you a heat inhibitor on-site.” 

“No,” you pant. “It hurts.”

He nods. “I can’t do that, she doesn’t want to go.” The operator says something else and he nods. His eyes tighten at the corners and he glances at you. “I can take you to a service clinic. They can assign you-”

“Home,” you plead. “I just need to get home. I can- I can deal with it.”

“I don’t know… do you have, um. Do you have an alpha you usually…?”

“No.”

Tears well up fast and hot, blurring your vision, sliding down your cheeks in silent streaks. Your whole body feels wrong, like you’ve been unraveled from the inside, trembling and raw.

“I just want to go home,” you whisper, folding in on yourself. “I have my meds. I can manage if I can just get home. Please.”

He repeats what you say into the phone. They say something and he shakes his head and hangs up, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to get you home, okay?” 

He helps you to your feet slowly, carefully, arms braced around you like he’s afraid you’ll break. You lean into him, weak and unsteady, but there’s no judgment in his touch, just quiet strength and a protective kind of focus that makes your throat tighten all over again.

The lobby fades behind you. The night air hits your overheated skin like salvation. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word as he guides you into the passenger seat of his car, buckles you in, and throws his jacket over your lap for warmth. His hands are shaking as he starts the engine.

“Can you give me directions?”

You mumble them. You’re not even sure that he hears you. He has no idea the bomb he’s given you, tossing his jacket over you. Your fingers curl into it, greedy. Inhaling deeply, you feel yourself drift as he drives, the hum of the engine lulling you into a half-daze. The smell of Seungcheol is overwhelming, but comforting. Steady. No longer a threat, but something you want. Need. 

It isn’t until Seungcheol’s hands are gently shaking you that you realize you’re at your apartment. You blink up at him, stars in your eyes. He looks down at you, glasses a little askew as he asks you a question. His words are garbled and you don’t understand, shaking your head in confusion as he gazes at you. 

“Come on,” he sighs, unbuckling your seat for you. His chest brushes across you as he does, bergamot and cardamom hitting you so hard that it knocks the senses out of you. You’re near catatonic for a second until you feel his hands pressed against your forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Can I carry you?”

You must nod, because he bends low and scoops you out of the car. You jostle against his chest as he carries you bridal style toward the stairs. His scent is mind numbing. Your face is too close to his neck and he doesn’t have a scent blocker on, pheromones doing insane damage to your self control as he climbs the stairs, you in his arms like you weigh absolutely nothing.

Gently, Seungcheol places you on your feet. He slides an arm around your waist, keeping you upright and pinned to him as he unlocks your door. You have no idea where he got your keys, must have fished them out of your purse at some point. 

Seungcheol guides you into your dark apartment, helping you to the couch like you’re made of glass. You collapse onto it, dazed. He crouches, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes are devastatingly soft, touch featherlight. 

“Let me call a doctor.”

“No.” Your voice is hoarse but immediate. “Please don’t. I can’t go to the hospital again. I don’t want to do this strapped to a bed, surrounded by strangers and white lights and IVs. I can’t.” 

He exhales, hands flexing. “Okay. Okay. But—then what? Do you have anyone who can help you through it? Any alpha you-”

“No. I just do it alone with meds. They’re in my bathroom cabinet. If you could just get them, I can do this.”

“I don’t think meds are going to help.” His admission is soft. Regretful, almost. Like it pains him to tell you this. 

You think he’s right, but you don’t know what else to do. 

Seungcheol’s brows furrow. You watch the internal war play out on his face, concern and hesitance and something harder to name. His throat bobs as he swallows. “If… look, if there’s no one else. I can try to help.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “What?”

“I can try. Only if you want. Only if you need. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage, I just… I don’t want you to suffer. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m here. I don’t want to leave you like this.”

A fresh wave of tears hits you, shame curling hot in your chest. 

“You don’t want to,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You’re just saying that because you feel bad. And I feel awful. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to put you in this position-”

“Hey.” His voice is firmer now, but not unkind. He shifts forward, his hands finding yours, wrapping them gently between his palms. Your skin tingles where he touches you, a fresh wave of heat licking through you. “Stop. Look at me.”

You do. Barely. His face is open and honest, his eyes warm. He’s so pretty like this, looking at you like you’re something he cares about - someone he cares about. 

“I want to help you. Not because I pity you. Not because I feel obligated. Because I care about you. And you’re in pain. And I can do something about it.” He takes a breath, then adds, softer, “Even if that means the more intimate parts.” 

Your face crumples, fresh humiliation rising, but he keeps holding your gaze, steady and calm. 

“Only if you want to,” he says. “Only if you’re lucid and safe and sure. If you want me to sit on the other side of the apartment all night and just be here, I will. If you want to go to sleep and pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll follow your lead.”

“I don’t want you on the other side of the apartment,” you admit. “I just feel embarrassed by what I need.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially for something out of your control. Your body isn’t your enemy.”

You press your lips together, fighting the emotions building in your chest, but it’s no use. A soft sob slips out before you can stop it, and Seungcheol is there in an instant, wrapping his arms around you with careful strength, cradling you against him like he’s anchoring you to the moment.

His scent hits you more fully now, warm and earthy beneath the sharp spice, like cinnamon bark and sun-warmed cedar. It fills your lungs and settles into the frantic edge of your nerves like balm, and it’s… comforting. Not invasive. Not overwhelming.

Just Seungcheol. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “Whatever you need, we go slow. I’ll follow your pace. You lead.”

“Even if it’s more than you expected?”

“Even then.”

Seungcheol helps you sit back, propped with cushions on the couch, still watching you like you might unravel again, but not because he doubts you. Because he cares. Because he’s listening to every breath you take like it matters.

“I’ll need… a few things,” you say, quietly. “If this really goes into the full cycle. I have suppressants, but they won’t help much unless I can get them in the next hour, and I don’t think I have that kind of time anymore.”

“Okay. Tell me what you need.”

You breathe in. “Water. A lot of it. Heat spikes dehydrate fast, and I’ll probably get a fever if we don’t keep me hydrated. Heats are a game of chess except sometimes the board blows up.” 

“Funny. Got it.”

“And blankets,” you add quickly. “I’ll feel cold, even if I’m burning. Like weight and softness. Like nesting.”

“Like a bird… or dinosaur.”

You scowl at him and he grins, dimples appearing in his cheek. It makes you want to lean forward and bite him, to sink your teeth in and never let go. 

“What else?” He asks. 

“I’ll need food eventually. Simple things. Broths, carbs. My body’s going to want to burn through everything at once.”

“Easy.”

“And proximity.” You hesitate here, voice wavering. “I’ll need closeness. I haven’t had a heat partner before, but probably a lot of sex. It uh - comes in waves but it helps. Obviously. So there’s that.”

“I can do that.” There’s no hesitation. Just firm dedication. “It’s not a problem. What else?” 

You look at him, something stirring in your chest, still unsure how to express the storm of emotions bubbling beneath your skin. “What have you done for your omegas in the past? During heat? This is sort of new to me.”

He pauses. “I haven’t. I’ve never spent a heat with an omega.”

“What?”

“I’ve never been with an omega at all, to be honest with you.” The gravity of his statement makes you panic. You start to sit up, protests bubbling to your lips but he hushes you, eases you back down. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t totally sure.” 

“Why offer at all?”

“Because it’s you,” he says simply. “And I’d rather learn how to help you than let you suffer alone.”

A beat passes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” he echos. “Let’s get you settled.”

Seungcheol stands, giving you one more lingering gaze before he sets himself to the task of readying your apartment. He sends you to your room to change into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt before he lets you settle on the couch, sweaty and shaking.

Seungcheol moves through your space like he’s been here before, like he knows where everything is even when he clearly doesn’t. He opens cabinets and drawers gently, always looking back at you as though he’s seeking permission. You nod each time, endeared by his hesitancy. 

You don’t know what to make of his admission of never being with an omega before. In your experience, most alphas would loathe to admit that, finding something wrong with it. But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, admitting it as a simple fact, neither good nor bad. 

You like that about him, his self-assuredness. 

When he finds your largest pot, Seungcheol fills it with water and sets it over the stove. He pulls out ingredients for simple foods: rice, pasta, anything with carbs like you’d said. He hums under his breath as he moves, a soft, low sound that vibrates in your bones.

It’s soothing. Almost domestic. But every second that stretches between you builds like static, his very presence buzzing along your awareness like an exposed wire. 

Seungcheol brings you a cool glass of water and kneels to hand it to you, his fingers brushing yours when you reach out to take it. You try not to flinch at the bolt of electricity that jumps up your arm. His eyes linger on your face, reading you. Not pitying. Not worried. Just seeing. 

“You’re doing okay?” He asks, but by his tone, he knows you are. You nod, but your throat is dry again, so you take a few gulps of water, nearly emptying the glass. He laughs and reaches for it when some spills over, running down your chin. “Careful.”

Something in his voice changes. The softness of it ripples down your spine and you look at him over the brim of your glass. His scent is warmer. Closer. Still under control, but pressing at the edges of your awareness like velvet, his alpha instincts responding to your body chemistry, the need of your hormones begging for him. 

Seungcheol rises, keeping a respectful distance, and yet his gaze burns where it rests on you. He takes the glass from you, fingers brushing yours again before heading to the kitchen to refill it. 

It makes you unravel, every part of you unspooling wildly as you watch him in your kitchen, the muscles under his shirt flexing. He rolls his sleeves as he turns the stove off before coming back your way, forearms bare, veins throbbing. 

Arousal unravels inside of you. You feel the tip from Stage 1 to Stage 2, your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your hands shaking more. When Seungcheol offers the glass, you don’t take it. You stare at your hands, willing yourself to stop, willing yourself to stop wanting him. The fear of making him uncomfortable is so sudden, a wave crashing into you.

Seungcheol notices. He drops to his knees immediately, putting the glass of water on the coffee table. This time, he doesn’t hesitate when he touches you, putting his palm to your forehead, his other resting on top of your wrist, his thumb tracing back and forth soothingly. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice is like velvet. “What happened?”

Your lips part, but no words come. You try again. Nothing. You don’t know how to shape the words, don’t know how to tell him that a second ago, you thought he was domestic and sweet, and now you’ve strayed into dangerous territory, thinking that you’d like nothing more for him to pin you down and fuck you until you can’t feel anything but him anymore.

You don’t need to tell him. Seungcheol inhales and you see the shift happen, a shiver rattling through him. He closes his eyes, inhaling again. A knowing, almost pained sound grumbles in the back of his throat and you squirm in response. He drops his hand from your head to your shoulder, fingers squeezing. 

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes snap open and he looks up at you, deadly serious. “Hey. No shame. Not with me. You told me to help, didn’t you? Let me do that.”

You nod, small and shaky. He lingers for a second longer, like he's giving you a chance to back out, then slowly rises, curling an arm around your back. You lean into him instinctively, your body already seeking contact, and he lifts you with ease.

Your bedroom isn’t far, but the walk feels endless, every footstep echoes with your racing pulse. You can feel his scent thickening around you, not overpowering, but present, comforting. It keeps you tethered, grounded. You cling to him in silence, your skin flushed hot, thighs pressing together in search of friction, your heart betraying you in its longing.

He places you gently on your bed, kneeling down beside you. For a long moment, he doesn’t touch you. He just watches, reading your every breath, every twitch of discomfort.

At first, you don’t do anything but stare at him. Seungcheol is so beautiful, with a plush mouth made for kissing, long eyelashes that frame gentle eyes, a dimple that appears each time he smiles. You’ve always noticed him, this quiet and soft alpha in your office. You’d never imagined you’d be here, looking up at him with want in your gut so strong that you can barely stand it.

Seungcheol senses it, because of course he does. He surges forward, catching your mouth in a gentle kiss. It’s slow and uncertain at first, hesitating to see if you pull away. You don’t pull away at all. Instead, you keen, a whine slipping between your mouths that makes him groan in response.

He deepens the kiss slowly, reverently. His lips are soft but sure, his hands careful as they frame your face. He tastes faintly of cherry chapstick, your omega running wild as you lean into him and lick into his mouth, eager to taste him. 

“Is this what you want?” He asks, panting as he breaks the kiss. He’s leaning onto your bed now, pressing his nose against yours. You feel him pant against you, barely contained. You nod, unable to speak. “Even if this goes further?”

“Please.” 

That one word seems to break him. He climbs up into your bed, hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. You let out a sound of appreciation as he settles, his mouth meeting yours again. This time, there’s heat in it. One hand roams you carefully while the other is planted by your head, keeping him looming over you. Every touch eases the ache and stokes the fire in equal measure. 

You can’t get enough of him, running your hands over his stomach and around his waist, pulling at him, desperate. It feels like you’re burning up, both suffering and relieved at the same time as his tongue finds the warmth of your mouth, drinking you in. 

His scent is rich and spicy, unmistakably alpha. It makes your omega instincts claw at you, urging you to submit, to bare your neck. You tilt your head, exposing the sensitive skin, and Seungcheol growls low, his lips brushing the pulse point before he nips gently, not enough to mark but enough to make you shudder. Your slick pools between your thighs, the air thick with your arousal, and he groans again, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.

“Fuck,” he growls, burying his face in your neck. It might be the first time you’ve heard him curse. “The sounds you make… fuck.”

Seungcheol’s tongue darts out, sweeping against your scent gland. His head snaps up and he frowns, realizing there’s a scent blocker on your neck. His lip curls like he’s offended, and he gently peels the pad off your neck, soothing the sting as the adhesive tears off with his warm, wet tongue. 

His tongue directly against your neck nearly makes you catatonic. Your eyes roll back, breath catching as he mouths at you before pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses up and down your neck. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. 

His hand slides down your body, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping as his fingers find your slick-soaked panties. He teases you, fingers circling slowly, pressing the fabric of your underwear into your messy cunt.

“Please,” you pant. 

There’s that word again. It seems to make him malfunction, makes him bend to your will. He nods, peppering your collarbones with butterfly-light kisses as he pulls your underwear to the side. His fingers drag up and down your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your arms circle around his neck, clinging to him for dear life, hips canting as he leisurely circles your clit, applying subtle pressure. 

“Feel okay?” He asks, breathing the words into your ear. His teeth nip at your ear playfully and you gasp, making him chuckle deep in his throat. “Do you want-”

“Please.” 

He kisses your jaw. “Got it.” 

Seungcheol presses a finger into your heat, wet and slow, aided by the arousal dripping from your entrance.  The stretch is perfect, his fingers curling just right, and you gasp, hips bucking against his hand. 

You whine, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. He hums in response, pleased at your reaction. He slowly starts to pump his fingers, restricted by the waistband of your sweats. His thumb swirls against your clit and you hurtle toward an orgasm from the barest stimulation, already too worked up, too fucked out on him and his fingers and the hormones. 

Your body sings under his touch, heat coiling tighter, your omega keening for more, for him, for everything. His lips find yours again, mouths clashing as he slips another finger in, working you open until you’re shaking in his grasp and coming around his fingers. You hear the wet smack of his hand against your pussy, the way his fingers squelch. 

You don’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed by it. Instead, you’re floating in a fucked out haze, the world dulling. There’s just Seungcheol’s lazy tongue in your mouth and the smell of bergamot and cardamom. The weight of him on you feels safe, setting you in a trance. 

Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you. You make a noise of protest but he hushes you with a gentle kiss. You feel a little more aware as the orgasm subsides, the ache you’d had a few moments ago dulled by the satisfaction. You know it’ll get worse and you’ll need more, but for now, you’re okay. 

You open your mouth to give a shy thank you when you’re stopped, entranced by the way Seungcheol brings his fingers, shining with your cum, up to his mouth. Your lips part in shock as he pops them past his lips, sucking generously. He hums, eyelids fluttering shut as he licks them clean. 

Never had you imagined that, imagined him like this. When he opens his eyes, his pupils are dilated. Starving. Feral. 

“Taste so fucking good,” He murmurs, leaning down to give you a lingering kiss. You taste yourself on him, different but not unpleasant. “Can’t wait to taste you properly later.” That makes you whine and you reach for him, but he smiles and kisses your nose before standing up. You pout and he laughs. “Water. You need water.” 

Seungcheol leaves your room but he leaves the door open just in case. You nuzzle into the bed, fisting the jacket he’d given you earlier as you nuzzle into it. You wish the bed smelled more like him. Right now it just smells like you, with bits of Seungcheol laced in. 

You close your eyes, letting your body melt into the sheets, muscles pleasantly sore and mind hazy with velocetin, a neurochemical that heightens arousal and reduces pain perception during Stage 2 of an omega’s heat cycle. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the AC and the faint creak of the floorboards as Seungcheol moves through the house.

When he comes back, Seungcheol is holding a bottle of water in one hand and something else in the other. A bowl of mac and cheese. He brandishes both proudly before sitting on the bed next to you. You prop yourself up on the pillows, looking at him through your lashes.

"Figured you might need both,” he says. 

You shake your head. “Just water.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He levels a look at you. Switches tactics. “It would make me feel better if you did,” he urges gently. He puts the water on the nightstand, bowl of mac and cheese in his lap. He reaches out and brushes his fingers along your bottom lip. “Please.”

That word hangs in the air between you, both a pleasantry and a weapon. You feel the way he means it, the way it would make him feel better if you ate. You nod, sitting up with his careful assistance until you’re leaning against the headboard. 

Seungcheol stabs some of the pasta and lifts his hand before pausing, realizing he was about to feed you. You both flush, averting his eyes and handing you the bowl awkwardly, you trying not to put it down and jump him at the thought of him wanting to care for you this way.

Instead, you bite into the mac and cheese. It’s a little salty, but it’s good. You eat the entire bowl in comfortable silence, Seungcheol holding out the bottle of water for you in exchange for your empty dish. You trade and you chug some of the water, letting it keep you cool.

“I guess I didn’t realize how much of an appetite I had,” you note, sagging into the pillows. You feel good. Far better than you ever have when dealing with your cycle alone. 

He grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Guess I fixed that, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning too. “Shut up.”

“I could,” he says, climbing back into bed beside you, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you whine like that.”

You flush at the memory, at the way your body still responds to his voice alone. He notices, of course he does, and his smile softens. One hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until you're nestled against him again.

“Take a nap,” he murmurs, leaning back into the headboard. “You need rest.” 

“What about you?”

He smiles softly. “I’m good right where I am.”

-

You wake to the sound of voices. For a moment, you're disoriented, wrapped in sheets that smell faintly like Seungcheol and sweat and a myriad of other scents familiar to you from years of heat cycles. It’s still dark in your room, only the glow of a neon sign outside slipping through your blinds a source of illumination. 

You roll over instinctively, reaching for Seungcheol and you freeze. The spot where he was when you had fallen asleep is now vacant. Cold, like he hadn’t been there in the last hour. 

Panic lances through your chest, so painful that it feels like a physical blow. You all but fall out of bed, heart hammering when you realize he left. He’s gone and you’re alone and you don’t know what to do, terror working its way up your throat. 

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe everything he said was just talk. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to silence the rush of doubt, of fear- until you hear it again. Voices. Voices that had woken you up in the first place, momentarily forgotten by a hormone-addled brain and sleep. 

The door is shut to your room but you reach for it now, cracking it open. Dim light floods through the gap. All the lights in your apartment are off, but the single bulb over your stove is burning, a warm golden glow filtering down the hall. 

Sticking your head out, you see Seungcheol standing at your door. It’s mostly closed, just enough for him to block the gap with whoever he’s talking to. His broad back is facing you and you cock your head, puzzled. You can see the tension rippling through him, the way his hackles rise and the rigid way he stands, like he’s barring entry to something important. 

“Yeah, you’ve been really helpful,” Seungcheol growls. There’s a low, dangerous edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before. It sets the hairs on your arm standing. 

“Relax, man.” You don’t recognize the voice on the other side of the door. It’s playful, distinctly male. “I brought you your shit, didn’t I? You’re acting like I came to steal her.”

Seungcheol bristles. “Out, Soonyoung.” 

“Okay, okay,” Soonyoung - whoever that is - says. “Message received. You don’t have to piss on the doormat, Cheol.”

“I just might.”

You can’t help the small sound that escapes you, half laugh, half sigh of relief. 

Seungcheol’s head whips around at the sound, eyes immediately softening when they land on you. “Hey,” he says, voice gentler now, but still tight with emotion. “You should be resting.”

You pad down the hallway toward him. Each step closer makes the fire inside of you return. You feel the throb come back, needing more, subtle but growing. “I thought you left.”

His entire expression changes, and he’s at your side in an instant. “No. No, baby,” he says, cupping your face with both hands. “I just went to the door. I called Soonyoung for some clothes and stuff. I wasn’t leaving. I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

Baby. He says it so naturally, so unconsciously, that you’re not even sure he realizes it slipped out. But it hits you like a warm wave, softening every edge of panic still clinging to your chest. Your knees wobble slightly, and he notices. His hands slide from your face to your waist, grounding you there, steady and sure. He pulls you closer, and you melt into him, breathing him in.

Not gone. Not alone. He’s right here with you, like he said he would.

“Sorry. I just panicked.”

“No, it’s my fault. I should have known you’d wake up.”

A throat clears behind him. 

You both freeze, and then Seungcheol stiffens, the muscles under your hands tensing like a drawn bowstring. His eyes narrow behind his glasses as he turns his head, keeping you tight against him, chest to chest, like a shield. A low, warning growl rumbles from deep in his throat.

“Soonyoung was just leaving,” Seungcheol asserts. 

“Soonyoung is leaving, but also says he hopes your cycle goes well!”

Carefully, you peek around Seungcheol to see Soonyoung in the doorway. He’s standing in the doorway with a duffel slung over his shoulder, unbothered and grinning. His dark hair is long around his ears, and his eyes curve into soft crescents when he smiles. He waves at you, the gesture so sincere it makes you falter, like he’s genuinely happy to see you, even though you’ve clearly never met.

“Nice to meet you!” 

Another warning growl vibrates through Seungcheol’s chest. You feel it more than hear it.

Soonyoung just rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, relax.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender as he backs away. “Let me know if he starts brooding in corners or being unbearable. Happens when he doesn’t get enough attention.”

“Bye, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol grits out. 

Soonyoung flashes one last wink and manages to pull the door shut just before Seungcheol fully turns to kill him. He exhales sharply and mutters something under his breath.

You look up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Territorial much?”

His ears flush instantly, color blooming down to his neck. He chews the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping.  “I apologize,” he murmurs, stepping away. “I know I’ve overstepped and-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, reaching to pull him back, hands curling into his sides. “I liked it.” His brows lift, uncertain. You offer a soft smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of you before. You’re usually so calm. Quiet. Kind of unassuming. Not very…”

“Not very alpha.”

“Not in the way people expect. But that’s not a bad thing.” He studies you for a moment, searching your expression, and something in his shoulders loosens. “I like the way you are. And the possessiveness…” 

You shiver and he grins, cockiness returning to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” 

His hands slide back to your waist, gripping just a little firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have told me that. Now I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to. Please.” 

Seungcheol forgets all about his bag by the door. He scoops you up in his arms, taking you back to your room. You let out a soft sound, something almost like a purr, keening under him, excitement and arousal flooding you overtime. 

He notices, groaning when he catches the change in your body chemistry. He places you down on the bed gently, crawling over you, hand skimming up your t-shirt as he does. His fingers are warm and light, playful. You don’t want playful, though. You want greedy. Hungry. 

The buzz of anticipation curls low in your belly, heat blooming under your skin like wildfire. You arch into him instinctively, hips twitching. “Don’t play with me,” you breathe, reaching up to fist the fabric at his sides. “Please.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Recognition, you think. Like he sees the hunger gnawing inside of you and he recognizes it as his own. You want it, want that fire in him. You want to dive in head first and never come up for air. You want him so bad it hurts, a physical pain manifesting between your legs as your thoughts drift away and your instinct takes over.

“Please,” is all you can whisper. 

That’s all it takes. The control he’s been clinging to snaps like a thread pulled too tight. He crashes his mouth onto yours, swallowing your moan as his body presses down, heavy and solid, every inch of him demanding to be closer. His kiss is nothing like the ones before, this one is rough, consuming, all tongue and teeth and need. His hands slide up your sides, pushing the shirt higher, until the fabric is bunched at your ribs and he can finally touch bare skin.

His palms are searing, dragging up your waist to your ribs, brushing just beneath your breasts before he groans deep in his throat, your scent thick in the air now, laced with heat, need, you.

“You smell so fucking good,” he growls, mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down your throat. “It’s driving me insane.”

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again, his hips pressing into yours, and you gasp at the hardness you feel through his pants. He’s still in his work clothes, though they’re wrinkled and sweaty and a mess. You tug at them desperately, whining, trying to get them off. 

He growls again, low and possessive, and then he’s kissing you hard, his body rolling against yours in slow, grinding movements. His thigh slots between yours, pinning you in place, and the friction makes your back arch, chasing more.

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters against your mouth, one hand cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your bra, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “I’ll give you anything, baby. Anything.”

There’s that nickname again. Baby. It sounds sinful on his lips, like he’d do anything for you, like he would give anything for you. It makes you dizzy with gluttonous power and you pant, pulling him as close as you can get him, a button popping on his shirt. 

“I want you. Now.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darken, pupils blown, and he pulls back just enough to kneel above you. His gaze rakes over you, flushed, trembling. He makes a sound, something pitiful, hands trembling slightly as his fingers work the buttons of his shirt. 

He shrugs his shirt off, the fabric catching on broad shoulders before it falls, revealing hard planes of his chest, skin flushed with a thin sheen of sweat. His muscles flex when he moves, every line of him radiating strength. Your mouth waters, arousal pooling between your legs, screaming to touch him, to taste him. 

He doesn’t rush, though. His fingers linger on his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness, the clink of metal loud in the charged silence. Your hips shift, impatient. He tuts at you, narrowing his eyes and you still immediately, falling into line, eager to please. His mouth twitches and he drops a hand to give your thigh a squeeze as if to say good job.

It makes you want to pass out. 

Seungcheol slides his belt free, letting it drop, and when he unbuttons his pants, the sound of his zipper is tortuous. You want him immediately, you want him now, but he seems dead set on doing this at exactly his pace. So you let him, letting the ache peak inside of you, shivering at what you know he’s going to give you. 

He carefully shoves his pants down, kicking them alongside his briefs in one fell swoop. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum. Your core clenches at the sight, a fresh wave of slick dripping from you, and he groans, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent.

“God, you’re perfect,” he says, voice low. He peels your sweats down your legs, shaking his head as he goes, overwhelmed by the sheer need for him, to your body's reaction. “Fuck.”

He crawls back over you, hands skimming your sides, sliding up to peel your shirt off of you. The air is cold but Seungcheol’s touch is burning you up. He deftly removes your bra, tossing it somewhere behind him. He pauses, eyes locked on you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your breath catch. It’s like he can’t get enough of you, cannot fathom what’s in front of him.

Seungcheol shakes himself as if from a daze and then his mouth is on you, lips trailing fire down your throat, over your collarbone, until he reaches your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling, and you moan, back arching to press closer.

His worship is meticulous, unhurried. He lavishes attention on your other breast, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, while his hand slides down, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You’re trembling, omega instincts in overdrive, and when his fingers finally find your slick-soaked folds, you cry out, hips bucking into his touch. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, and pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice scratchy. “So wet for me.” His fingers tease, spreading your slick, circling your clit with maddening slowness. “All for me?”

“Yes. Yours.”

Hearing you say it makes something snap in him. His pupils dilate, fucked out and filled with an intensity you didn’t know was possible. He dips lower, kissing a path down your stomach, nipping at the soft skin above your hips. He settles between your thighs, spreading them wide, and the sight of him there, all broad shoulders, dark eyes, and lips parted, makes your core throb. 

He doesn’t tease this time, reaching up with one hand to rip off his glasses and toss them to the corner of the mattress. He drops down and his mouth finds you, tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line through your folds, and you moan, loud and broken, as he tastes you. Relief floods through you. You feel yourself go boneless, the pain that was ebbing in you a moment ago dulling again as Seungheol leisurely tongues at you, groaning while he does. 

Seungcheol is relentless, worshipful, every lick and suck a testament to his need to please you. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, and you writhe, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard. He moans into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and doubles down, tongue flicking with precision, lapping up every drop of slick. His fingers join in, two slipping inside you, curling against that perfect spot, and the stretch, the pressure, is overwhelming.

You gasp, hips grinding against his face, chasing the building heat in your stomach. He hums, pleased, and the sound pushes you closer to the edge. He’s messy, slick coating his chin, his lips. He doesn’t care. He seems drunk on it, one hand pressing your thighs to further open you up, pressing his face further into your cunt to drink you in. 

His fingers thrust in time with his tongue, every curl and suck calculated to make you unravel. You shiver under him, your limbs unable to keep up, thighs twitching against his hand. It feels maddening, better than anything you’ve ever felt up until this point. 

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, dragging you under until you’re gasping for air. Your thighs clamp around his head and he lets you. He laps at your entrance as it drips, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you’re whimpering and overstimulated. 

Even overstimulated, you want more. Need more. 

Seungcheol pulls back, lips glistening, eyes wild. He pulls his fingers from you and crawls up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is filthy, desperate, and you moan into it, pulling him closer. 

“Need you,” you gasp, hands roaming his back, feeling the muscles flex under your fingertips, your nails cramping. “Need you inside of me. Please.”

He nods, unable to respond. He lowers his waist and drops a hand down to peel your thighs open. You feel how wet and messy you are but you don’t care. Seungcheol seems to appreciate it, swearing when he looks between your bodies to fist his heavy cock and line himself up with your entrance. 

The anticipation makes you tremble. He pushes in slowly, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the sensation overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and your walls flutter around him, slick easing the way.

“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his forhead against yours. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Seungcheol fights to keep still, fights to let you adjust around him. You’re stretched tight, gripping him like a vice, your breathing hitched as you struggle yourself, near ready to come from just this alone. 

You manage to hang on, tangling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. You need more - always more. You start rocking your hips, urging him deeper. It feels so good you see spots in your vision. He moans and thrusts hard on instinct, bottoming out. 

The pace builds, his hips snapping, each thrust precise and deep, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. The pressure builds so fast you barely register it, chasing your high and whatever he’ll give you, your omega instincts screaming for it. 

He can tell. He quickens his pace, trying to get you there faster. It does the trick, because you come around him without warning. You pulse around him and he slows down, grinding his hips against you, letting you gush around him until your shaking subsides. 

Seungcheol is still rock hard, cock throbbing. Your forehead rests against his forearm, Seungcheol leaning over you, caging you in.

“Can you take more?” You nod but he shakes his head, nosing your temple. “You have to verbally tell me.”

“Can take more.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He kisses your temple and picks his pace back up. 

It’s slower, but more defined. Deep. Seungcheol’s stroke is slow and deliberate, one of his hands slipping under your thigh to hike it up around his waist. That makes you whine, high-pitched and he loves it, mouth catching yours, drinking in all the sounds you make. 

You’re close again, the pleasure building faster now, amplified by the way he watches you, eyes never leaving your face, like he’s memorizing every gasp, every moan. His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit, still swollen from his mouth, and he rubs tight, relentless circles.

“Want you to come again,” he murmurs, voice raw. There’s a bit of a command in his voice, laced with something you swear is devotion. “Wanna feel you, baby. Give it to me.” 

His words and the relentless drive of his cock are too much. You whimper, nails digging into his back and he leans down, lips brushing against your neck. Not biting - that’s far too advanced for whatever this is - and his fingers press harder, circling faster.

The coil in your belly snaps and your second orgasm crashes through you, sharper and more intense. Your body locks around him, walls pulsing as you come again. He groans, low and guttural, pleased by the way you clench around him. But he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it. 

You’re shaking and oversensitive, but he’s not done. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, keeping you tethered. 

“So good for me,” he praises, kissing your sweaty forehead. “So fucking perfect. You did so good.”

The praise makes your omega sing, and you cling to him, breathless, as he chases his own release. His hips stutter, breaths growing ragged, and with a final, deep thrust, he comes, spilling inside of you. He groans, dropping his forehead against you, shaking in your arms as he comes down from his high. 

Finally, he collapses over you, careful not to crush you. You stay like that, a pile of tangled limbs, panting. His lips find your neck, kissing softly, soothing spots he’d nipped. 

“You okay?” He croaks, voice hoarse with disuse.

You’re only slightly coherent, somewhere stuck between a dreamlike space where your omega is satiated and reality. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Good.”

“I’m gonna grab water, okay? I’ll only be gone for a second. Just gonna get water and then we can sleep for a little.” 

“Mhmm.”

Seungcheol is hesitant this time when he gets up, no doubt worried about what happened the last time you thought he left. This time, you’re too out of it to really register how long it takes him to get water. One moment he’s out the door and the next the bed is dipping under his weight as he cradles your head to feed you water.

It’s cool and you come back to life a little, opening your eyes as you gulp, greedy. He admonishes you to be careful not to choke, tilting the glass so that the water isn’t gushing into your mouth. When you drain the glass, he smiles and kisses you. 

“Good,” he hums, happy. That makes you beam at him, thrilled that he’s pleased. “More?”

You shake your head. “Tired.”

“Okay. Let me change the sheets - don’t move. I’ll work around you, okay?”

Somehow, he manages to. With a careful series of rolling you to the side and lifting you to slide new sheets under you, Seungcheol executes an impressive sheet change without really bothering you. He disappears once more to throw the spent sheets in the wash. 

Upon his return, you’re barely awake. You reach for him anyway, buried somewhere underneath piles of blankets that smell like him. Finally. 

Seungcheol lets you pull him into bed, sliding across the mattress until you’re flush chest to chest, the beating of his heart against yours. He smells good. Content. Happy. Your eyes blink heavily as you breathe him in, all pain forgotten.

“Sleep,” he mumbles, just as tired. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

-

When you wake up again, you’re not really sure what time it is. All you know is that there is orange light burning through your blinds, something like late afternoon. More important, there’s an ache between your legs and there’s sweat on the back of your neck, already restless from whatever dream had woken you up.

The room is quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and Seungcheol’s steady exhales beside you. His arm is draped loosely over your waist. His scent is warm and spicy, grounding you. But beneath that cool calm his presence brings is a restless heat simmering, starting in your core and spreading to your limbs.

You try to ignore it, shutting your eyes and willing yourself back to sleep. It doesn’t go away, an ache growing in its place. A whine slips through your lips, despite your best efforts. The sound is small, but piercing through the stillness and before you can tamp down on it, Seungcheol is stirring, arm tightening briefly before he’s hooking a chin over your shoulder. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks, voice low and rough with sleep. “You okay?”

His fingers brush back and forth across your waist. It’s supposed to be soothing but it’s almost maddening. 

“Feel hot. Need you.”

Seungcheol presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile. “I’ve got you.”

He moves slowly, peeling the sheets back. His hands are reverent, skimming your thighs and parting them as he settles between them. The air feels electric, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks through you.

Like always, Seungcheol takes his time. His lips start at your knee, kissing softly, then trailing higher, nipping the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. You whimper, hips twitching, needy and desperate, and he hums, pleased. 

“So needy,” he teases. You’re not embarrassed this time, knowing that with him, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

He spreads your legs wider, exposing your warm, wet core. He bites his lower lip, teeth digging into the flesh as he groans, like he’s trying to fight himself on diving in and taking what he wants versus giving you what you need. 

The first pass of Seungcheol’s tongue is slow and deliberate, a long, slow-soft drag through your folds that makes you gasp, hands fisting the sheets. He hums, the vibration making you twitch. His lips close gently around your clit, giving an experimental suck. You cry out and he grins, dragging his tongue to dip back down to your entrance for a taste.

Seungcheol is relentless, his mouth working you with a devotion that borders on obsession. His tongue traces every inch of you, slow and thorough, lapping up your slick like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He alternates between broad, languid strokes and precise flicks, learning your reactions, lingering where you tremble most. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, grounding you as you writhe, the slick coating his chin and lips only spurring him on.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling away for a second. He leans over your cunt and lets a string of spit and cum drip from his swollen mouth to your cunt before chasing it with his tongue. “I could stay here forever.”

He dives back in, tongue pressing into you, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts of his mouth. Your moans are broken, and he takes it as encouragement, running his tongue in lazy circles, tasting all of you. Just as you start to near a soft high, his fingers join in, pressing in gently, making your vision blurry. 

The first orgasm builds fast, your body already primed from the restless heat of your sleep. His fingers pump in time with his tongue, relentless, and when he sucks hard on your clit, you shatter. A cry tears from your throat, hips bucking against his face as slick gushes, your walls clenching around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, lapping through your tremors, drawing out every pulse until you’re shaking, oversensitive, whimpering his name.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You can give me one more.”

You can. He knows it. You know it.

His mouth softens, less intense but no less thorough, kissing your folds gently before returning to your clit with slow, teasing licks. Your body protests, too sensitive, but the heat is already building again, coaxed by his worshipful attention. He’s patient, methodical, every movement calculated to keep you on the edge without overwhelming you. His fingers slide back in, slower this time, curling lazily, and you feel the stretch, the fullness.

Your second orgasm creeps up, slower but deeper, a steady wave that builds as he works you with unwavering focus. His tongue flicks faster, lips sealing around your clit, and when he hums, the vibration tips you over. You come with a sob, less sharp but more intense, your whole body trembling as pleasure rolls through you, slick coating his hand, his mouth. He laps at you softly, easing you through it, until you’re boneless, panting, your omega sated.

Seungcheol’s kisses turn languid, worshipping, cleaning up the mess he made, savouring every drop. Your hands loosen in the sheets and he finally pulls back, crawling back up to the bed, pressing scattered, wet kisses up your body as he does. 

“Better?” He asks when he reaches your face, nose brushing against yours. 

“Thank you.”

He smiles, dimples flashing, and settles beside you, pulling you into his chest. His scent surrounds you, grounding, and you feel the bond pulse, warm and steady.

“Rest a little. Then we’ll shower.”

-

The shower fills with steam and the scent of eucalyptus. Fog covers the shower door as hot water runs over you and Seungcheol. His broad frame stands behind you, hands gentle but firm as he massages shampoo into your hair, working slow circles into your scalp. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. 

If only for a moment, it’s perfect. Almost too perfect, which makes your chest tighten with a quiet ache. This is just Seungcheol helping you through your heat, a temporary balm for a fire that will ultimately flare again.

You don’t know how you ever did this without him before. Don’t know how you’re going to manage to do it without him in the future. After just a day, Seungcheol has flipped your scope of the world upside down, changing your heat cycle entirely. 

Typically, it’s days of foggy suffering with suppressants to numb you. It’s a listlessness that chases you for days until your hormones are right again, until you can feel the sun on your face and let it make you smile. 

Now, you don’t know what it’s supposed to be. 

You turn to face Seungcheol. Water is streaming down his chest, catching the sculpted lines of his front. Each droplet clings to him in a way you understand - you want to cling to him too.

Seungcheol is breathtaking, all strength and quiet care. It’s a wonder that someone so powerful can also be so gentle. He’s unlike anything you expected, and breaks the norms of what you thought having an alpha help you through your heat might be like.

You don’t fool yourself into thinking there’s anyone else like him. You already know that this is just him, just Seungcheol. It makes a flicker of fear come to life in your chest, wondering what will happen when your heat fades and the intimacy here dissolves like the water flowing down the drain. 

You push the thought down. Gliding your hands over his chest, your fingers chase the droplets of water, feeling the steady pulse of his heart beneath your palm. It makes you ache with need again, an always there need for him coming back to life.

Heat cycles are like that. They’re made up of peaks and lows, moments where the need is so high it drives you insane followed by a near catatonic need to drift and sleep. 

Now, you’re approaching another peak, pulse picking up, body thrumming.

Seungcheol senses the shift immediately. He’s attuned to you quickly, but you refuse to let yourself wonder what that means. He steps closer, hands pulling at your waist, dipping his head to brush his mouth against yours in an almost kiss. 

His eyes darken with a mix of concern and something darker. “What’s that look?”

He steps closer, pressing you against the tiled wall, water pooling where your bodies meet. The warmth of him, the slickness of his skin, feels like a dream you’re terrified to wake from. You don’t answer, can’t. Your hands dip lower, tracing the hard ridge of his abdomen, and he tenses, breath catching. 

“Baby,” he warns, voice rough. There’s no real protest there. Just a playful warning, edged with want. 

The endearment hits you like a spark, igniting you.  You can’t get enough of it when he calls you that, when he says it velvet-soft and purring, when he says it like you are his baby. His world. His omega.

You sink to your knees, tiles cold and wet beneath you. You look up at him through wet lashes, biting your lower lip, hesitant, wanting permission. His cock is already hard - has been the entire time you’ve been in the shower - and the sight pulls a whine from your throat. You want to taste him. Want to make him feel good. 

“Please,” you ask, still unmoving, hands resting on your thighs.

The way he looks at you - everent, undone - makes you feel like you’re everything, even if part of you whispers that this is just your heat talking, just his alpha responding to your need.

Seungcheol nods. He places one hand to brace against the wall as you lean in to press soft kisses to the base of his shaft, lips brushing his warm skin. He groans, the sound deep and raw, and it sends a tremble of excitement through you. 

Your tongue traces the underside of his cock, following a thick vein from base to tip. You swirl your tongue greedily around the crown of his cock, tasting the faint salt of him. It’s intoxicating, perfect, and you let yourself sink into it, humming pleasantly. 

One of his hands comes down to rest on top of your head, not pulling, not pushing, just anchoring himself as you take him into your mouth. You go slow, savoring the weight of him. He’s big, stretching your mouth painfully to the limit, but you relax, breathing in through your nose. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Shit fuck. That mouth.”

The praise makes your omega preen. You hum again, the vibration making his hips twitch as you build a steady rhythm, head bobbing, tongue working the underside of his cock while your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync. 

Water rains down on you, making everything fluid. Your lips glide effortlessly around him, your grip on him firm, squeezing gently as your hand meets your mouth on the upstroke. His groans grow louder, more desperate, hips twitching but never taking control of your pace. His fingers tighten on your head, and yet he remains in control of himself, letting you take what you want. 

“Fuuuck, just like that,” He pants, head tipping back. Water falls down his throat in rivulets. The sight of him, vulnerable and unraveling, makes your pussy throb, a wave of arousal running down your thighs and mixing with the water. 

You take him in deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, swallowing around him. He makes a broken sound, half growl, half moan, and his hips finally jerk. You welcome his shallow thrusts eagerly, moaning around him, encouraging him.

Seungcheol looks down, eyes locking with yours. His are fucked out and fazed, the raw edge to his gaze making your heart beat faster. You pull back a little, focusing on the tip, sucking hard, tongue swirling. Your hand pumps faster and his breathing turns ragged, muscles in his stomach twitching. You know he’s close and it makes you grin up at him, mouth full of spit and precum.

“Gonna - fuck - come,” he warns, voice strained. 

You don’t pull away. You suck at him harder, desperate to give him this, to hold onto this perfect moment. With a guttural sound, he spills into your mouth. You swallow down every drop, lips sealed until he’s over sensitive and shying away from your mouth. 

Easing back, you look up at him, your knees aching. He pulls you to your feet and to his lips, pressing you into a kiss that’s deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. He licks into you, uncaring as he pulls you close to his chest. 

“So good,” he murmurs between kisses. “Such a sweet girl for me.” 

You grin as he turns you around, walking you forward so that you're pressed against the warm tile of the shower wall. “My turn.”

-

Soft, neon light filters in from your window, washing your room in a smear of watercolor. You fidget in bed, body coming alive, arousal starting in gentle waves, building the more your body catches up. Seungcheol is already awake beside you, sensing your need. His warmth is a quiet anchor.

Seungcheol’s lips brush your neck, nuzzling and scenting, his gentle possessiveness soothing your omega. You let out a soft sigh, going pliant for him. He hums, pleased at your easy submission, tongue darting out to lick your neck playfully. 

He’s tender, peppering your shoulder and neck with soft, wet kisses. Each one stokes the steady fire in your core and chest. The way he handles you is maddening, like you’re spun glass but he knows you can take whatever he gives you. Your omega preens and you shift closer, feeling the heat of him against you. 

This is different from earlier. At this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done this. You’ve lost track of time and the days. There’s just this: Seungcheol’s hand sliding down to lift your leg up for him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, weeping and wanting for him. 

Then he slides in, slow and stretching you inch by inch, earning a dreamy exhale from your trembling lips. He grinds his hips against the curve of your ass, deep and languid, easing the ache between your legs. His strokes are measured and intimate, each one dragging against your walls, stoking the flames without rushing. 

You moan, breathy, as your slick coats his cock, the wet sounds of your bodies obscene in the silence of the room. His hand slides up, cupping your chest, thumb brushing back and forth over your nipple until it pebbles under his rapt attention. You arch into his touch, whimpering. 

“So good for me,” he murmurs against your neck. His voice is rough with sleep, just how you like it. 

Seungcheol keeps the pace slow, hips rolling lazily. It builds a steady burn. His lips find the pulse point below your ear, sucking gently, not enough to make tender, but enough to make you shiver, cunt leaking down your thighs.

You reach back, fingers sliding in his hair to tug softly. He groans, low and raspy, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. 

“Seungcheol,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper. “Cheol.” 

He hums, pleased at the nickname. He grinds deeper, the friction perfect and overwhelming as the tip of his cock brushes against the soft spot inside of you, making you unwind. 

Your eyes flutter open and you peer over your shoulder at him. The neon light catches the sweat on his skin, making him glow. You marvel at how beautiful he is, a powerful alpha, yours in this moment. Maybe not later, but you don’t think about that now, trembling as he brings you close to your orgasm like he’s done every time before.

His hand slips between your thighs, fingers seeking your clit, slick and swollen. He starts to circle the throbbing bud with agonizing slowness, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensation is devastating, punching the breath from your lungs. You rock your hips to meet his, desperate for your undoing, needing to come. 

“Come on,” he urges, lips brushing your ear. He presses his fingers hard, circles them faster. Your breath catches and he feels it, deepening his thrusts, becoming more deliberate. “Come for me, baby.” 

The words mixed with the intoxicating feeling of his cock makes you shatter, a soft cry spilling out of your lips as your pussy pulse around him, soaking him thoroughly. He groans, fucking you through it, slow and steady, drawing out the full length of your orgasm until you’re boneless and barely there. 

But he’s not done. Seungcheol eases out carefully and shifts you onto your back. You blink, starry eyed and warm as you watch him slide down the bed and settle between your legs. Your thighs fall open at the sight of him and he groans, pleased at how you immediately know what he wants, ready to comply with your alpha.

No. Not your alpha. But he is right now and that’s all that matters.

Any fight on that subject vanishes as he kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. His eyes are dark and burning when he looks up at you, pupils wide. 

“Need to taste you,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. 

Then, his mouth is one you, tongue dragging through your folds, lapping at the mess left over from your orgasm. It’s filthy, the way he moans into you, lips and chin glistening as he buries his face in your cunt. But it’s gentle, his tongue slow and worshipful, circling your clit.

It’s soothing, the way he moves, tongue tracing lazy patterns, circling your clit with no pressure, just presence. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there, grounding you further. Your fingers find his hair, threading loosely, not pulling, just holding, and he groans softly, the sound muffled against you. The ache in your core softens, not gone but eased, replaced by a warm, liquid comfort that spreads through your limbs.

Seungcheol mouths at you with no purpose other than to soothe and because he can. He doesn’t seem focused on getting you off, isn’t trying to overstimulate you. It builds a soft glow anyway, your breathing hitching as he keeps going, tongue dipping lower to taste your entrance, letting you drift toward the edge without pushing you toward it. 

“Taste so good,” Seungcheol mumbles, mouth full of you. 

This time, your orgasm comes like a tide, not crashing but rising, warm and steady. You whimper, hips shifting and he holds you steady, one hand sliding up to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze his hand tight, letting him keep you tethered as you come undone, throbbing softly. He drinks you in, tongue lapping and slow, easing you until you’re limp and sated, the ache finally gone. 

Seungcheol pulls back, mouth glistening neon in the low light. His eyes are heavy with something that you can’t read. When he crawls back up, you realize he’s come untouched, spilling his own release while getting you off. It makes your chest tighten, instincts purring at the proof of his want, his devotion to you. 

He slides in beside you, kissing your temple before pulling you close. 

“Better?” He rumbles, already half asleep.

“Better.”

-

“You have to eat.”

You huff. “Don’t want.” 

You’re curled up on the couch in one of his jackets, inhaling deeply. His scent makes you tired, limbs heavy. You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping  your arms around them to make yourself small. The blanket over your shoulders is warm and smells like him, making you sink further into the cushions. 

Across the room, Seungcheol watches with thinly veiled amusement. He holds a steaming bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other. You love him like this, hair fluffy and still damp from a shower, glasses pushed high on the bridge of his nose as he glares at you.

“You need to eat,” he repeats gently. It has to be the third or fourth time he’s said it, each time just as gentle as the last. 

You grumble and turn away from him, hiding in your blankets. He sighs and pads over to you, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. Shirtless Seungcheol is a weapon in itself, but the way you smell him immediately, can tell he’s using pheromones against you, makes you growl at him. There’s no heat in it and he laughs. 

“Yeah?” He teases. “Gonna growl at me?”

“I’m tired.”

“I know,” he coos, voice dropping into that low, soft register that always seems to settle you. “Your body is working hard. But you still need to eat something, baby. For me.”

“Meh.”

“I’ll feed you.”

That sparks your interest. You peek out from your blankets with one eye, peering at him. He smiles, dimples appearing when he sees he’s got you listening now. His scent wraps around you, luring you deeper into his spell.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll start pouting. I don’t care if I’m an alpha, I’m good at pouting.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. The image of him pouting is sweet. His smile grows, triumphant as he stands up to sit next to you on the couch. You sit up, squirming toward him. 

“There she is,” he hums, happy. “Open up that pretty mouth for me.”

-

Blue light flickers from the TV while golden light of the afternoon sun washes the room, peeking through the blinds. You’re curled into Seungcheol’s side, his arm around your shoulders and your legs tangled together beneath the shared blanket. Jurassic Park plays quietly in the background because you asked for something familiar, something comforting. 

Your heat is finally starting to fade, edging toward Stage 3. The decline leaves you exhausted, but the full haze of Stage 2 is lifting, leaving you with less thoughts of tangled bodies and tongues. You can feel it in the way your body no longer aches with desperation, clarity seeping in like a slow tide.

With the clarity comes unease. Because… Well, what now? 

Neither of you have brought it up, the what happens next. Everything still feels good, but it also feels fragile, like you’re balancing in the quiet moment between inhale and exhale, waiting for the next breath to shatter whatever this little bubble you’re in. 

Your fingers fidget lightly against his chest. He notices, as he always does, and his hand smooths down your arm in slow, comforting passes. You lean into him instinctively - you don’t know how you will ever unlearn this - basking in his warmth. 

But your thoughts keep spinning. 

You don’t know how to voice the big question, don’t know how to talk about it. Don’t know what the best approach is. So you pretend it isn’t there, staring at the TV screen with unseeing eyes, thoughts burning you from the inside out. 

Seungcheol senses it anyway. 

“What’s up?” He asks, lips pressed against the top of your head. His eyes are still on the screen, the movie reflected in the lense of his glasses.  

“Did you know the stegosaurus had brains the size of walnuts?” You ask suddenly, eyes fixed. “Built like a bus with a very small brain. It was like two ounces.”

“Really?”

You nod, grateful he doesn’t question why you’re talking about dinosaurs again. “Yep. For years people thought they had a second brain somewhere near the anus.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m serious. There’s an enlarged area near their hips and early scientists thought it must have been for a second brain because they couldn’t believe something with so much mass could operate with such a small brain. Turns out it wasn’t an ass-brain.”

He huffs. “Ass-brain would have been cool.”

“Right? I always hated that people thought they were docile too. They literally have massive spiked tails as a built in morning star and could beat predators' asses. People need to put respect on them.”

“Hmm. Sounds like we’re talking about more than dinosaurs here.” 

You go quiet. Your eyes flick toward the screen, but you’re not really seeing it. He’s not wrong. You chew your bottom lip, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. 

Of course it isn’t just about dinosaurs. You’ve always admired creatures like that, misunderstood, underestimated. Not flashy, not predators, not something people are afraid of on instinct, but fierce all the same. Stubborn. Ready to dig their heels in and fight if they had to. 

Which is why you liked the stegosaur. You resonated with that. Maybe not the smartest or the strongest, but never easy to push over, always ready to bare teeth when push came to shove. It was why you liked working for Jeonghan, too, seeing a lot of that fight in him. 

Which brings you back to thinking about work, and that tomorrow is a new work day, and your heat will most likely be fully complete. And you’ll have to go back to… normal?

You don’t know.

“Why are you so nervous?” Seungcheol asks, bringing you out of your reverie. You look at him, eyes wide. He gives you a soft smile. “What, think I didn’t notice?” 

You hesitate. His face is open. Honest. He’s giving you no reason to hold back, no reason to hide from him. But what you have to say is scary. 

You take a deep breath and think about the stegosaurus. “Because my heat is fading. And I know things felt intense and - to me - special. I just… what happens after?”

“What do you mean?”

Tears prick your eyes and you curse your hormones for making you emotional. “When my heat is over, what then? We go back to normal? I’m… I don’t know. Having a heat partner is new to me, and I’m not begging you to stay or make you feel bad, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, catching your face in his hands. His eyes are round, gentle. “I’m going to be honest, nothing is changing for me when your heat is over.” 

You blink in surprise. See nervousness flicker across his face when he says carefully, “I stayed because I wanted to help you. I - look, I was already a little soft for you. Now that I’m here, I like being with you, heat or no. Even when you’re talking about dinosaur ass-brains.” 

That makes you laugh and his smile lights up the room. “Really?”

“Really, baby.” 

His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a single salty tear. “Unless you don’t want-”

“I want,” you insist. “I want so much. I have never wanted this much in my life.”

“Then I’ll stay. I’m yours.”

“Even if I start talking about ass-brains?”

“Even then.” 

The air in the room shifts, charged with something warm and unspoken. You move without thinking, surging forward and climbing into his lap where he sits on the couch. The soft fabric of his shirt brushes your thighs as you straddle him, your hands settling on his shoulders. He feels solid and warm beneath you.

Seungcheol’s hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your forehead rests against his, breathes mingling, and for a second, you just stay there. Savoring the intimacy. Savoring his scent, bergamot and cardamom. 

“You’re sure?” You ask, voice small.

“Very sure.”

His hands slip upward, slow, under the hem of his hoodie. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your waist, making you shiver as heat pools low between your legs. You lean in and kiss him softly, lips brushing, then pressing, slow and deliberate. 

You deepen the kiss, unhurried. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, tasting you, opening you up. You shift, grinding down on him gently, feeling the hardening length of him through his sweats. He makes a sound, soft and low, and it buzzes through your mouth. You feel yourself grow wet against your underwear and he sucks in a sharp breath, catching it. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are fathomless but warm. His hands push the hoodie up and over your head, baring your chest to him. His eyes flicker and he curses. “You’re so perfect.”

You flush, shy under his gaze. His lips find your collarbone, kissing softly before drifting lower, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your breast. Your head falls back as the cool air hits you, your eyes closed. 

He takes a nipple into his wanting mouth, tongue swirling, sucking gently. You gasp, hips rocking instinctively, grinding harder against him. The friction is delicious. He groans against your skin, sending sparks through you. 

Seungcheol’s hands stay on your hips, encouraging your slow, rolling movements. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. It’s soft, the couch slightly creaking under the weight of you. 

His mouth moves to the swell of your other break, lavishing it with the same care. His teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. You feel slick drip down your thighs, not as heavily as before, but still just as ready for him. 

“Cheol,” you breath, voice shaky. 

He hums, lips sealed around your nipple. The wet buzz of his mouth makes you grind on him faster, chasing the heat in your belly. 

Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look up at you, eyes glassy. “Love watching you like this. Love feeling you. Want you like this.”

He pulls back just enough to tug at his sweatpants, shoving them down his thighs, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. You bite your lip, the sight making your core clench, and he catches the look, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth.

Carefully, he helps you kick your sweatpants off. You sit back in his lap, not bothering with your underwear. He pushes them to the side with a careful finger, his knuckle deliberately dragging over the wet heat of your pussy. 

“Fuck. Wet.”

You nod as he grabs the base of his cock, helping you sit high on your knees. He rubs the rib through your messy folds, both of you moaning in unison before the head catches your entrance and sticks. You sink down, taking him slowly, the stretch punching the breath from your lungs. 

His shirt stays on, bunched where you fist it against his chest. It is work, sitting on him fully. You feel him deep in your stomach, your breath turning ragged. You savor the fullness, hands tangled in his shirt. 

Taking a deep breath, you start to move. His hands grip your hips, not controlling but encouraging, letting you set whatever pace you want. His cock drags against your walls, smooth and fluid. His lips find your chest, mouthing at a nipple, sucking gently. 

Your nails dig into him through the fabric of his shirt, the wet heet of his mouth, the press of his cock, all of it driving you mad, sticky with sweat as you continue to use him however you want. 

He lets you, content to suck and mouth at your chest all the while. The couch creaks faintly, a quiet underscore to the soft filth of it all, your slick coating him, dripping down to soak his sweatpants, the way his shirt clings to his sweat-damp chest.

Pleasure builds, slow and warm, a glow that starts in your core and spreads. You grind deeper, chasing it, and he groans, head tipping back, eyes half-lidded but never leaving you.

“How could I ever wanna leave this?” He asks. “How could I ever want anything but the perfect omega?”

The words, the way he says them, tip you over, and your orgasm comes soft but deep, a gentle pulse that has you trembling, walls clenching around him, a quiet moan spilling from your lips.

The way you tighten pushes him to the edge, and he groans, low and broken, thrusting up once, twice, before he comes, hot and thick inside you. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, and you collapse against him, panting, forehead pressed to his, the fabric of his shirt sticking to your skin.

“Mine,” he assures you, giving you a gentle kiss. “Ass-brain and all.”

“Please,” you laugh. 

That single word makes him melt, makes him all soft at the edges. “Anything for you, baby.” 

-

The office feels noticeably cooler when you return, the hum of the air conditioning a welcome sound after days away. Cold air brushes the back of your neck as you step off the elevator, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth on your skin, not from the building, but from Seungcheol following close behind you.

Seungcheol’s presence is unmistakable. And people notice.

Jeonghan is the first. He’s perched near Wonwoo’s cubicle, half-lounging on the edge when he glances up and spots you. His gaze flicks from you to Seungcheol, then back again. His eyes widen. A slow grin spreads across his face, and he immediately points a finger.

“You-”

“Not a word,” Seungcheol warns, voice low as he slides a steadying hand to the small of your back and gently guides you toward your desk. Your cheeks heat, teeth sinking into your cheek to suppress a laugh as Jeonghan starts bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We’re just walking, Jeonghan,” you mumble, feeling anything but casual.

“You’re glowing!”

Wonwoo straightens in his chair, peering over his cubicle wall. His brow lifts as he spots Seungcheol casting a warning glance back at Jeonghan, lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk.

“I knew it,” Jeonghan asserts, looking at you and nodding. “He’s always thought you were the cutest omega. Does he know you’re obsessed with dinosaurs yet?”

“Ugh, Jeonghan.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms with a flat grin. “You remind me of a Stegosaur, Jeonghan. Very… you have similar brains.” 

You snort before slapping your hand over your mouth in horror.

Jeonghan saints at him. “I don’t get it.”

Seungcheol ignores him, turning to you instead. He brushes his fingers against your arm, and his gaze softens instantly, all gruffness melted into something warm and fond. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nod, smiling despite yourself as he walks away calm. Sure. Unmistakably yours.

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[cheftsunoda]

do you think you could do osc or lan with a sister reader who’s a little younger and recently got diagnosed with pcos or endometriosis and they promise to stick by her through surgeries and transfusions. if you’re not comfortable that’s completely fine. hope you’re taking care of yourself🩵

by your side — op81

oscar piastri x !sister reader

written blurbs

one thing about oscar— he will always be there when his sisters need him.

(a/n) : hi baby<3 i hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself as well pretty angel. i got diagnosed with endo very young so this request spoke to me and i started right away.

—

The knock on your apartment door is soft, rhythmic — the way only he ever knocks. You already know it’s Oscar before you even drag yourself up off the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket and barely balancing the heating pad against your lower abdomen.

“Coming,” you mumble, though your voice doesn’t carry very far.

Your legs feel weak when you stand, and you curse under your breath as a cramp twists deep in your stomach, the kind of pain that makes your knees buckle. You clutch the doorframe, swallowing the nausea as you shuffle to the entrance and unlock it.

When you open the door, Oscar grins — suitcase in one hand, takeaway in the other, his hair still messy from the flight. “There she is,” he says, already stepping forward to hug you, but he stops short when he sees your face.

“Hey,” you say, brushing it off like you always do. “Sorry, I was— I’ve just been on the couch all day. How was the race?”

But he’s already tilting his head, reading you like an open book. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Just my period. No big deal.”

Oscar steps inside and sets his things down. “You say that every month and every month you look like you’re being stabbed.”

You roll your eyes, half-laughing. “Because it feels like I am. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

His brow furrows, his eyes scanning your face more carefully now. You try to walk back toward the couch, but the moment you move, another sharp pain hits — this time so sudden and deep that your knees give out.

“Whoa—hey!” Oscar lunges forward and catches you just before you hit the floor, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. “Okay, that’s not nothing.”

You grip his sleeve, gasping as another cramp punches through you like a hot blade. The dizziness floods in next, your vision swimming, and you feel something warm trickling down your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, horrified, glancing down to see the blood soaking through your joggers.

Oscar doesn’t say anything for a second — just steadies you, pressing his hand against the small of your back. His other hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back up to him. He’s not panicked, not yelling, just calm and there, like he’s always been.

“YN,” he says gently, voice low and serious. “This is not just a bad period. You’re losing too much blood.”

You start to protest — “I’m probably just being dramatic—” — but he shuts it down immediately.

“No. Stop. You’re not being dramatic.” He brushes your hair out of your face, his jaw tight. “You’ve been like this too many times for it to be normal. I’m not letting you ride this out on a couch while you bleed through your clothes. We’re going to the hospital. Right now.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he cuts in firmly, then softens again. “You would never let me drive a car with the brakes failing. Don’t make me watch you push through this like it’s fine.”

You bite your lip, the tears finally gathering in your eyes — not because of the pain (well, not just), but because he sees you. Really sees you. And he doesn’t think you’re being weak or ridiculous. He just wants you to be okay. So you nod.

Oscar helps you to the bathroom first, giving you privacy but hovering outside the door, checking in every thirty seconds.

You change clothes with shaking hands, trying to clean yourself up, and when you emerge, he’s already grabbed your wallet, phone, keys, and even your fuzzy water bottle. He wraps your coat gently around your shoulders and holds it there until you push your arms through the sleeves. He guides you out to the car like you’re glass.

The whole drive to the hospital, he keeps glancing over at you, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours across the center console. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand, grounding you while you lean your head against the window, pain radiating through your body in waves.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper at one point. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

Oscar’s grip on your hand tightens slightly.

“You could never ruin anything,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my little sister. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

And just like that, you let the tears fall. Because even in the worst pain of your life, you’re safe. Because Oscar Piastri, cool and composed Formula 1 driver, is also just your big brother — the one who’d fly halfway across the world and still carry you to the hospital without blinking.

And no matter how scary this all feels right now, you know one thing for sure—you’re not facing it alone.

—

The hospital lighting is too bright and too cold, and the antiseptic smell hits you the second they wheel you through triage. Oscar stays beside you the whole time — one hand in yours, the other gripping the strap of his backpack like it’s keeping him grounded. He speaks to the nurses when your voice trembles, helps you answer questions you don’t have the energy to process. When the doctor asks how long your periods have been this painful, Oscar answers before you can lie about it.

“Years,” he says quietly. “But it’s gotten worse lately. A lot worse.”

They admit you for observation, order bloodwork and scans, start an IV. The pain is still blooming like fire in your abdomen, but the medication makes it easier to breathe. You close your eyes for a while, trying to rest, but you can feel the tension in Oscar’s hand — he hasn’t let go once.

When you open your eyes again, he’s scrolling on his phone, eyebrows drawn together, his knee bouncing restlessly.

“You okay?” you rasp, voice rough.

He snaps his head up and forces a smile. “I should be asking you that.”

You give him a weak shrug. “I’m fine… I think.”

Oscar doesn’t look convinced, but instead of arguing, he pulls out his phone again. “I’m calling Mum.”

“No—Oscar, don’t—” you try to sit up, embarrassed, but he gives you a stern look.

“She’s going to want to be here,” he says. “And you don’t have to do this alone.”

You sigh and sink back against the pillows, heart softening. You never win when he uses that voice — the protective big brother tone laced with quiet worry.

He steps outside to make the call, and when he returns a few minutes later, his expression is gentler. “She’s on her way. Should be here in like… thirty minutes?”

You nod, suddenly blinking back tears. For once, you’re too tired to pretend you’re not scared.

Oscar sits beside your bed, leaning forward to brush your hair back from your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

And he doesn’t. Even when your eyes flutter closed again, he stays — holding your hand, helping the nurse tuck the blanket around your feet, even adjusting the beeping IV machine when it gets too loud.

By the time Nicole arrives, your eyes are heavy-lidded from the meds but your heart jumps when you hear her voice.

“Baby,” she says, rushing into the room.

Oscar immediately stands to let her sit beside you. She leans over to hug you carefully, brushing her lips over your forehead as her hand cradles your cheek. You can feel her fingers tremble just slightly.

“I’m okay, Mum,” you mumble, blinking up at her.

“I know, sweetheart,” she whispers. “You’re going to be okay. You’ve got us.”

Oscar places a gentle hand on her shoulder, then leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’m gonna run to make a call real quick, alright? You’ve got Mum now.”

You nod, barely registering the words, but still feeling the warmth of his presence linger even after he’s gone.

Nicole stays with you, smoothing your hair and tucking the blanket around your arms like she used to when you were little. You finally let the tears slip out — a mix of fear, relief, and exhaustion — and she just pulls your hand into hers.

“I should’ve pushed harder when you said your periods were bad,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, darling.”

You shake your head. “I thought I was just weak.”

Nicole’s eyes shine with tears. “You are not weak. You’re strong for making it this far.”

You don’t say anything, but her words wrap around you like a lullaby.

About twenty minutes later, Oscar returns — a little out of breath, cheeks flushed, carrying a paper bag in one hand and something small wrapped in tissue paper in the other.

“Okay,” he says, grinning a little as he walks over. “So the gift shop doesn’t exactly stock gold medals for world’s toughest little sisters, but—”

He pulls out a stuffed animal. It’s a tiny plush hot water bottle shaped like a cartoon uterus, complete with a smiley face and little arms.

Nicole lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh my god.”

You blink at it, and then at him.

Oscar shrugs. “It felt… on brand.”

You burst out laughing through the ache in your stomach, and then immediately wince.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you groan.

He hands it over sheepishly. “It’s soft. You can punch it when the cramps hit again.”

You clutch it to your chest, your smile tired but real. “Thanks, Oz.”

“There’s more,” he says, digging into the paper bag. “Snacks, mint gum, and some weird electrolyte drink I didn’t recognize but the guy at the counter said it helps after transfusions.”

Nicole gives him a fond look, squeezing his arm. “You’re a good brother.”

Oscar just shrugs again, clearly a little overwhelmed. “She’s my little sister. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He sits back down beside you, one hand curled around your blanket-covered ankle, the plush uterus tucked safely in your arms. The room is quiet, warm. Even with the beeping machines and the sterile smell, you feel safe.

You glance between your mum and your brother, both watching you with the same soft, worried eyes.

Maybe things are about to get complicated — maybe you’ll need surgery, treatments, answers you don’t have yet. But right now? You’re not alone. Not for one second. And that’s more comforting than anything else they could give you.

—

You don’t know how long it’s been since they started running tests — maybe hours, maybe days. Time feels strange when you’re waiting for answers you’re not sure you even want.

Oscar hasn’t left your side. He sleeps in the chair beside your bed, feet propped up awkwardly on the edge, hoodie bunched up like a pillow behind his head. At some point during the night, you woke up crying from the pain again, and he was already awake — rubbing your back, shushing you gently like you were little again, like you hadn’t grown up at all.

Now it’s morning. Your hospital room is quieter than before. There’s a dull throb where the IV pokes into your arm, and the cramps haven’t disappeared, just dulled a little under the meds.

When the door opens, you know the doctor isn’t coming in with nothing.

Oscar straightens immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, reaching over instinctively for your hand. You grab it, grateful for the contact.

“Hi, YN,” the doctor says kindly, a folder tucked under one arm. “Oscar, I presume?”

He nods. “Yeah. Her brother.”

The doctor pulls up the stool beside your bed, the air shifting with the weight of whatever she’s about to say.

“We’ve got some preliminary results back from your scans and bloodwork,” she says gently. “And we believe you’re dealing with a condition called endometriosis.”

The word lands like a pin in your chest — not sharp, not heavy, just… sudden. Too familiar in some vague, faraway way, like something you once read but never thought would apply to you.

Oscar squeezes your hand, grounding you.

The doctor continues, her tone soft and practiced. “It’s a chronic condition where tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows outside of it. It can cause severe pain, heavy bleeding, nausea, fatigue — a lot of what you’ve been experiencing.”

You blink, feeling strangely numb. Like you should be crying, but your brain hasn’t caught up yet.

“Right now, we can’t say for sure how advanced it is without a laparoscopy — that’s a minor surgical procedure where we look internally — but based on your symptoms, it’s likely been developing for years.”

Oscar’s thumb is rubbing slow, gentle circles over the back of your hand. He doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

The doctor keeps talking — about management plans, hormone therapy, possible surgery, transfusions, long-term care — but your vision’s gone blurry now, eyes swimming with unshed tears. When she finally leaves to give you a moment, the silence in the room feels too loud. You don’t know how to start. You just look at Oscar.

“I have a disease,” you whisper. “A chronic one. That doesn’t go away.”

Oscar’s already moving. He climbs into the hospital bed without hesitation, careful of your IV line and your blanket, and pulls you into him, tucking your head under his chin like he used to when you were a kid having a nightmare.

“You’re still you,” he murmurs. “You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Your tears finally break, hot and silent. You let yourself cry into his hoodie, his arms wrapped tight around you like they’re the only thing holding you together.

“I thought I was just being weak,” you sob. “I thought I was being dramatic—”

Oscar pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red and glassy but steady.

“No. Don’t ever say that again.”

You sniff, but he’s already wiping the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You’ve been living with this for years,” he says, voice quiet but fierce. “And still going to class, still working, still making dumb jokes on FaceTime even when you looked like you were in pain.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s not weak. That’s badass.”

You let out a watery laugh, curling further into his chest. “They said I might need surgery. Like… actual surgery.”

“I’ll be there,” he says immediately. “Every appointment. Every transfusion. Every surgery. I swear.”

“You’re busy, Oz. You’re always traveling—”

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice cracks just a little. “You’re my baby sister. I’ll find a way.”

You hold onto him tighter, heart aching in a thousand directions at once — fear, relief, love.

Oscar rests his chin on your head, his arms firm and secure around you.

“We’re in this together,” he whispers. “You’re not going through this alone.”

And somehow, even in this sterile hospital room, with a diagnosis that feels like the beginning of a mountain you didn’t ask to climb — you believe him.

Because this is Oscar. And with him here, you know you’ll be okay.

—

You wake up before sunrise the day of your surgery, the hospital room dim and silent except for the rhythmic beep of the monitors. You barely slept. Not from the pain this time, but from the anxiety — thick and restless in your chest.

The door creaks open just as you shift upright, and in slips Oscar, holding a takeaway coffee tray and wearing his favorite hoodie — the old Mclaren one with the faded logo and sleeves he’s stretched from years of nervous fidgeting.

“Hey,” he says softly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. “You awake?”

You nod, your voice croaky. “Did you sleep at all?”

He hands you a bottle of water and shrugs. “Not really. Didn’t want to miss this.”

You smile weakly, unscrewing the cap. Your stomach is a knot, twisting and tight — you haven’t been allowed to eat since the night before, and everything inside you feels like it’s humming with nerves.

“Where’s Mum?”

“Downstairs grabbing Hattie from the parking garage,” he says, sitting on the edge of your bed. “She flew in last night. Didn’t want you to go through this without your favorite sister.”

You snort. “She’s not even top two.”

Oscar grins, nudging your foot gently through the blanket. “That’s the spirit.”

Just as he says it, the door opens again and in walks Nicole, breathless and smiling despite the tension in her eyes. Hattie’s behind her, hair frizzed from travel and a comically large duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

“Look who I found trying to bribe the nurse for early access,” Nicole says.

Hattie drops her bag with a dramatic thud and rushes over. “You better not be doing this just for attention.”

You roll your eyes. “I mean, if the surgery comes with a sympathy puppy…”

Oscar coughs. “I veto that.”

Nicole leans in to kiss your forehead and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her touch is steady, but her hand lingers on your shoulder like she doesn’t want to let go. “You ready, sweetheart?”

You look between them — your mother’s warm eyes, Hattie’s usual overcompensating sass that hides how much she’s worried, and Oscar, seated beside you, hands clasped together like he’s trying to pray but doesn’t know how.

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”

They don’t try to change your mind or sugarcoat it. They just stay close. When the nurse comes in with your surgical gown and consent forms, it hits you all over again — this is real. This is happening. Your hands shake a little as you change. Oscar helps you tie the back of the gown, careful and quiet.

Once you’re back in bed, an anesthesiologist arrives to go over the plan. Words blur — laparoscopy, sedation, recovery time — but Oscar listens closely, nodding and asking questions you didn’t even think to ask.

When the doctor says, “Any final questions?” your voice wavers.

“Will it hurt after?”

“There’ll be some pain, yes,” she answers honestly. “But we’ll help manage it. And you’ll finally be on your way to feeling better.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

The nurse comes to wheel you out not long after. Nicole hugs you tightly, murmuring in your ear, “You’re brave. So, so brave.”

Hattie squeezes your hand and says, “I’ll be here when you wake up. And I’ll probably eat all your Jell-O.”

But it’s Oscar who makes your chest tighten. He walks beside the gurney all the way to the OR doors, his hand on yours, his eyes fixed on your face like he’s memorizing every inch.

When the nurse gently tells him, “This is where we stop,” he doesn’t let go immediately.

He leans down, kisses your forehead, and says quietly, “I’ll be right here when you wake up. You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you, always.”

You whisper, “Promise?”

“Swear on my car.”

That makes you laugh through your tears, and then you’re being wheeled away, watching the ceiling tiles pass overhead. His hand slips out of yours, but the warmth lingers.

—

You come to hours later, groggy and dry-mouthed, blinking against the harsh light.

“Hey, hey,” a voice whispers beside you, low and familiar.

You turn your head slowly and find Oscar seated beside your bed, hoodie wrinkled, hair tousled, eyes red.

He’s holding your hand again.

“Mum and Hattie went to get some food,” he says softly. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Your throat’s too dry to speak, but the tears come anyway. Not from pain — from the overwhelming relief of not being alone.

“They said the surgery went well,” he continues. “They found a lot of the tissue, but they were able to clean most of it up. You’re going to feel rough for a bit, but it’s… it’s going to be better now. I’m so proud of you.”

He reaches down and pulls something from his backpack — a small, lavender-colored plushie shaped like a smiling ovary.

“Gift shop had an upgrade from the uterus,” he says with a soft grin. “It was either this or a sloth wearing a stethoscope.”

You let out a weak laugh and clutch it to your chest.

Oscar leans in, brushing your hair back again. “You did it. And I’ll be here for every step after this. No matter how long it takes.”

You close your eyes, fingers tightening around his. You believe him.

—

You don’t realize how exhausting healing is until you’re actually doing it. Your body aches in a new way now — less sharp, less cruel than before the surgery, but still sore and sluggish and heavy in a way that leaves you winded just walking to the bathroom and back.

Oscar insisted you recover at Mum’s house. Said it’d be easier than your apartment, and Nicole had already made up the guest bedroom with fresh sheets, a heating pad plugged in, and your favorite hoodie folded at the foot of the bed. Oscar’s hoodie, actually.

It’s your fourth day home, and Oscar has appointed himself as your unofficial nurse-slash-entertainment manager. You’ve only been awake for five minutes when he comes barreling into your room — knocking once before pushing the door open with his elbow, hands full of supplies.

“Morning,” he says cheerfully, balancing a tray with tea, toast, your meds, and a little ceramic bowl of strawberries. “You hungry? Or at least hungry-adjacent?”

You blink at him sleepily. “Why are you so chirpy? Did you sleep?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, setting the tray down on your bedside table. “Mum made me watch a documentary about the migration patterns of penguins at 2 a.m. I’m traumatized. But we move.”

You huff a laugh and sit up slowly, wincing a little as your stomach pulls.

Oscar’s there instantly, helping you shift the pillows behind your back, his hands gentle.

“Alright, pain level?” he asks, watching you carefully. “Ten being ‘this sucks’ and one being ‘Oscar, let me go back to karting and beat you again.’”

You smirk. “Five. But leaning toward four now that there’s tea.”

He grins. “Knew I was your favorite nurse.”

He hands you the mug with both hands, like he’s worried you’ll drop it, then busies himself organizing your pills on a napkin like a little pharmacist. It’s over-the-top, but sweet. He even separated your iron from the anti-nausea meds because he “Googled that drug interactions are real, YN.”

You sip your tea and watch him move around your room like he belongs there — like he’s been doing this his whole life. Maybe he kind of has. After breakfast and meds, he pulls your fuzzy blanket up over you and sits on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked underneath him.

“I, uh… got you something else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “If it’s another plush ovary, I’m cutting you off.”

He laughs. “No, no—although that was a great purchase. This one’s more functional.”

From behind his back, he pulls out a soft lavender heating pad — embroidered.

“You… embroidered this?”

He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Okay, Mum helped with the stitching part. I just picked the font.”

You run your fingers over it, overcome by something wordless.

“I thought you could use it when I’m not around,” he says, quieter now. “But just so you remember, even if I’m in Japan or Belgium or wherever… I’m still on your team.”

Your eyes well up before you can stop them.

Oscar notices instantly. “Oh no, don’t cry. It’s too early in the day for tears, and I didn’t bring tissues.”

You set the heating pad on your lap and lean forward to hug him — carefully, but tight.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He hugs you back just as tightly. “Anytime, sis.”

There’s a knock on the door and Hattie pokes her head in, holding a pack of chocolate digestives and her laptop.

“Right. You two ready for today’s movie marathon or what?”

Nicole’s voice echoes from downstairs. “Start with something cheerful this time, Hattie! Last night’s war film was not healing.”

You and Oscar both laugh.

And as he helps you shift over to make room for Hattie, then climbs into bed beside you like old times — heating pad on, tea refilled, your mum humming in the kitchen — you realize this is what healing looks like.

Not just the meds or the surgery or the rest. But this. The love. The laughter. The people who show up for you when you can’t show up for yourself. And with Oscar beside you, steady and safe, you finally believe you’ll get through this.

—

The waiting room is brighter than you remember. Maybe it’s the way the sun is hitting the glass this morning. Or maybe it’s just that this time, you’re not here curled up in a ball, white-knuckled from pain. You’re sitting up straight in a hoodie that actually feels comfortable, with Oscar beside you flipping through a Top Gear magazine like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Did you know,” he says suddenly, “that someone once drove a pickup truck across the English Channel?”

You blink at him.

He shrugs. “I feel like we could do that. If we had the right snacks.”

You smile. Not a forced one — a real, relaxed kind of smile that feels good. Easy. The nurse calls your name and Oscar stands when you do, ready like always. He doesn’t even ask if you want him to come in. He just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, a quiet pillar of comfort.

The exam room is smaller than the one you were in pre-surgery. Warmer, somehow. You sit up on the padded table and swing your feet slightly while Oscar takes the chair beside it, elbows on his knees, watching you carefully.

You can tell he’s nervous. Probably trying not to show it, but you’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his jaw.

The doctor enters with a gentle knock, smiling as she reviews your chart. “Alright, YN. Let’s talk about how you’re doing.”

You nod, shifting slightly as she listens to your breathing, checks the small surgical incisions across your lower abdomen, and asks about your pain levels.

“Still tender,” you admit. “But nothing like before. It’s manageable.”

She smiles. “That’s really good to hear. Your healing is right on track. The swelling’s down, there’s no signs of infection, and the tissue they removed looked consistent with what we expected. I’m happy with your recovery so far.”

Oscar exhales beside you, visibly relieved.

You glance at him and nudge his knee with yours. “Told you I’d survive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap for a few weeks.”

The doctor gives a soft laugh before her expression sobers slightly.

“There is one thing, though. During and after the surgery, you lost more blood than we anticipated. Not dangerously so — but enough that your hemoglobin levels are still on the low side.”

You sit up straighter. “So what does that mean?”

“We’re going to need to schedule another iron transfusion,” she says gently. “Nothing urgent, but it’ll help speed your recovery and give your body the support it needs. It’s fairly routine in cases like this.”

You nod slowly, trying to absorb it.

Oscar looks at you, then back at the doctor. “Same process as last time?”

“Yes. A few hours, IV drip, some monitoring after. And we’ll recheck your levels a week or two after to make sure they’re improving.”

Your fingers twitch on your lap, and Oscar immediately reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours.

“We got this.”

You look at him, surprised — not because you didn’t expect it, but because it still makes your heart ache, in the best way.

“Thank you,” you say softly, and he gives your hand a little squeeze.

The doctor gives you a detailed printout of your progress, answers your questions, and leaves you with a light pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile.

When she’s gone, the room falls quiet for a moment.

You look down at your hand in Oscar’s and murmur, “I really thought it would all be over after the surgery.”

He squeezes your hand again. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint, right?”

You nod slowly, exhaling. “It’s just hard. Being reminded I’m not done yet.”

Oscar nudges your shoulder. “Hey. You’ve already come this far. You made it through the worst part. This?” He gestures around the room. “This is just the victory lap.”

You raise an eyebrow. “With IVs and blood transfusions?”

“With snacks and trashy reality TV to binge during your transfusion,” he corrects.

You laugh, leaning your head gently on his shoulder. “You’re the worst nurse.”

“But the best brother.”

You hum in agreement, heart a little lighter. Because no matter how many steps are left on this journey, you won’t be walking them alone.

—

You already knew Oscar wouldn’t be able to make it. He told you last night, voice tight with guilt over the phone. A last minute commitment with the team. Something he couldn’t move, even after trying to reschedule twice. You knew he felt awful, even if he didn’t say it out loud — he never misses anything for you.

“I’ll still go,” you told him, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s just a transfusion, Oz. I’ll bring a book and headphones. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not going alone,” he said immediately.

And that was that. Which is why, fifteen minutes before your appointment, you open your front door to find Lily standing on the porch with an oversized tote bag slung over her shoulder and a bright pink smoothie in each hand.

“Hi, my love,” she beams. “I come bearing iron support and excessive amounts of snacks.”

You blink at her, genuinely touched. “Wait—he sent you?”

She grins. “Oscar knew I’d be better at distracting you with gossip and trash TV than he would be. Also, I volunteered. There’s no universe where I let you do this on your own.”

You don’t even bother to hide the way your heart melts. Lily is sunshine — full stop. Where Oscar is steady and quiet, Lily is color and chaos and unfiltered warmth. You adore her, and she’s made it very clear the feeling is mutual.

At the hospital, she helps check you in, carries your hoodie, and even flirts with the receptionist to get you the comfiest chair in the transfusion suite. You’re laughing by the time you settle into the recliner.

They hook up your IV quickly, and the nurse goes over the process like she’s done a thousand times — because she has. Still, you flinch a little when the needle goes in. Lily grabs your hand and starts narrating an absolutely ridiculous story about Oscar.

You snort and she passes you the blanket she brought from her car — it’s fleecy and smells like lavender detergent. She’s brought enough snacks to feed a family of four, two different streaming options, and a deck of Uno cards she claims she never loses at. The first hour flies. Halfway through the second, your phone buzzes in your lap. Oscar.

You grin instantly and answer, flipping the camera toward you and Lily.

“Helloooooo,” Lily chimes, practically bouncing in her seat. “Guess who’s behaving like the best nurse in the world?”

Oscar’s face lights up on the screen. “Oh my god, thank god. I was about to call the hospital and beg for them to let me in.”

You laugh, adjusting the phone so he can see both of you. “You mean you weren’t going to break into the clinic and hide under my chair?”

“Honestly? It crossed my mind.”

“She’s doing great,” Lily tells him, squeezing your hand. “Vitals are strong. Spirits are high. We’re watching the worst reality show I could find.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “If she comes home quoting Love Island, I’m blaming you.”

You lean in a little closer to the camera. “I miss you.”

His voice softens. “I miss you too. I’m so proud of you, YN. You’re doing so well. I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll bring doughnuts and a stupid movie and we’ll just hang out, okay?”

You nod, throat a little tight. “Okay.”

Lily gives you a knowing look and reaches out to brush your hair gently back from your face. “Alright, lover boy,” she says to the screen. “Time to let the patient finish her iron infusion in peace. Go win your meeting.”

Oscar blows a kiss into the camera and says, “I love you, sis,” before he hangs up.

You blink back a few tears and turn to Lily.

“Hey,” she says immediately, brushing a tear from your cheek with her thumb. “He might not be here in person, but you’ve got both of us in your corner. And I’m not just here because he asked. I’m here because I care. About you.”

You nod, heart full and overwhelmed in the best way. “Thank you.”

Lily smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Now. Deal the cards, loser. You’re about to get wrecked at Uno.”

—

a few weeks later…

It starts with a text to Lily.

you think Oscar would mind if I came to the race this weekend?

I’m finally feeling like myself again. I want to be there.

She calls you thirty seconds later.

“No, he wouldn’t mind,” she says, voice already thick with excitement. “He’d lose his mind. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

You look at yourself in the mirror — a hoodie that isn’t medical-themed, color back in your cheeks, sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah,” you say, and you mean it. “I feel… good. I feel strong.”

“I’m picking you up at 6 a.m. sharp,” she says. “Don’t tell your brother. We’re going full on surprise moment.”

—

The paddock smells like tire rubber, engine oil, and sunlight — a scent you didn’t realize you missed until you breathed it in again.

Your heart thuds in your chest as you walk with Lily through the team area. You’re not even halfway to the garage when one of the engineers spots you and does a double take.

“YN? Holy hell — you’re here?!”

You laugh. “Guess I clean up well.”

They rush over to hug you, and a few other crew members catch on, calling your name, beaming like they’re seeing a ghost — in the best way. You hadn’t expected this. The welcome. The warmth.

“Where’s Oscar?” you ask, heart fluttering.

“In the garage,” someone says. “He’s probably—”

Before they can finish, you hear Lily gasp.

“Oh my god, look.”

You follow her gaze toward the front of Oscar’s garage, where the crew is setting out his race helmet. The usual design. But your eyes lock instantly onto something new.

A yellow ribbon is painted onto the side. Delicate. Bright. Bold against the curve of the shell.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Lily watches you silently, eyes already misty. “He did it last week,” she whispers. “He told them he wanted something permanent. Said you’d worn your pain so quietly, and he wanted the world to see your strength.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until she reaches for your hand.

Just then, Oscar turns the corner, walking fast toward the car.

He doesn’t see you at first.

But then he freezes — eyes locking on yours like it takes him a second to believe you’re actually real.

“YN?”

You smile through your tears. “Surprise.”

He’s already across the garage before you can blink, arms wrapped tightly around you, lifting you a little off the ground despite your soft protest.

“You’re here,” he says into your shoulder, voice cracking. “You’re really here.”

“I told you I’d be back at a race,” you whisper, arms around his neck. “I kept my promise.”

He sets you down gently, hands still on your arms like he’s anchoring himself.

“You look good,” he says softly, brushing a tear from under your eye with his thumb. “Strong.”

“I feel strong,” you say. “Thanks to you. And Mum. And Hattie. And Lily.”

Oscar turns slightly so you can both look at the helmet on the table nearby. You trace the ribbon with your eyes — the same color you wore around your wrist during your recovery, the same color as the little hair tie he kept on his gear bag while you were in the hospital.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “You never said anything.”

He shrugs, blinking fast. “Didn’t need to. I just wanted to race with you beside me. Every lap. Every corner.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed in the best way. “I love you, Oz.”

His smile is soft, boyish. “I love you too. Always.”

Lily appears beside you, camera in hand. “Okay, siblings. Give me a smile or I will cry so hard I fog up the lens.”

Oscar immediately pulls you into his side, head bumping against yours as Lily snaps a photo. One that would later become your phone background — the ribbon clear as day on the helmet behind you both.

As the race starts later that afternoon, you’re sat next to Lily in the pit wall chairs, headphones on, nerves buzzing — but also, for the first time in a long time, peaceful.

Because no matter how hard the last few months have been, you’re here. And Oscar’s carrying your strength with him. Right there on his helmet. For the whole world to see.

—