#and that makes me sick if i think about it for more than 5 seconds this shit is DARK
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captainkirkk · 5 hours ago
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✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩
The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of June. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.
This monthly round up is shorter than previous ones. Only fandoms included here:
Clone Wars
MurderBot (TV)
Clone Wars
if I could save time in a bottle by saviinika
As he’s peering down at the desk, the pneumatic hatch slides open with a soft chime, and a fully armoured Mandalorian strides through. “Good morning, sir,” greets the very handsome man with the curling scar, not bothering to look up from his datapad. “We’ve got a busy—” He jerks to a stop. “Holykriffwhothekarkareyou.”
The two stare at one another open-mouthed for a moment before Obi-Wan swallows and turns on the charm. He pulls himself up straight, tugging on his tabards, and swivels fully to greet the stranger.
“Hello there.”
in those quiet ways by lux_arcana
Day 1: adverse effects / wiping the others tears away
Obi-Wan, after a long moment, finally managed to strangle his vocal cords and force them back under his control. “Cody,” he said again. “Cody, I’m not - I’m fine. It’s a side effect. I really am -“ he took a breath, and sobbed on the exhale, emotions tangling up and threatening to choke him once again. “I know this does seem like I’m lying, but I really am fine.”
Cody’s eyebrows twitched.
“Sir, avoiding your emotions isn’t healthy.”
Obi-Wan just barely resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall.
safe with you by lux_arcana
In which Obi-Wan very nearly dies for lack of cuddles, Cody learns to knit, and Padme murders the Chancellor.
(An assassination attempt goes horribly - well, more horribly - wrong when Obi-Wan's biology reacts to the allergen in unexpected ways. Featuring caring for someone when sick, snuggling and cuddling, platonic a/b/o dynamics, and Obi-Wan being beloved by his whole messy family.)
In the Quiet Moments by Lady Sarai (lady_sarai), NutterZoi
Small acts of love and kindness in the midst of war.
In other words: 5 ways Obi-Wan takes care of his troops, and 1 way they take care of him.
Or: sometimes your family is your Jedi lineage, and sometimes it's hundreds of clone troopers you adopted, and who adopted you in return.
two things can be true at the same time.
chronic conditions by deniigiq
“I will ask you questions of a person unnamed,” Commander Cody says. “And afterwards you can tell me if any of these behaviors are in need of professional support.”
Kix’s stomach yearns to become a farmer. Oh, the cheese it could make. It decides to practice curdling while this conversation continues.
(Kix ends up learning way more than he asked to about a most scandalous affair occurring at very top of the 212th Attack Battalion.)
when everything else is trying to hurt you by CallToMuster
One moment Obi-Wan was curled in the space between the couch and wall in his quarters, holding desperately onto the soft feathers of Boga’s crest, and the next he was sitting in the middle of an open dirt field as men shouted and blasters fired overhead.
[or: in the months post-Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan is transported to the middle of the Clone Wars.]
MurderBot
Performance Reliability by coulson_is_an_avenger
Murderbot can't seem to shake whatever's bothering it.
Something in its memory keeps dragging down its performance reliability, and it has to figure out what before there's a problem. Or worse, someone notices.
Or: Murderbot talks to someone about how it was treated by Leebeebee.
Propositional Logic by e_va
Murderbot downloads a nasty virus.
There is, unfortunately, only one person it can turn to for help.
Seven Seconds in Hell by TempusPetrichor
"SecUnit?" Mensah repeated. "Yes, Ca—" Captain? "Yes, Dr. Mensah." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Are you all right?" She asked. "I–" I didn't know. Why was she asking me that? And why didn't I know?
Murderbot thinks it's still a danger to the team. Mensah tries to convince it otherwise.
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transmutationisms · 1 day ago
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ok to elaborate i think the main problem bojack was always going to have (related to my television manifesto) is that its entire narrative engine was bojack being a shitty rich man, but the moral universe of the show never actually wanted to absorb the idea that he might be 'irredeemable' or incapable of change (understandable. i don't really agree with that sort of personality typing either) and so the writers were always conflicted between the desire to show bojack changing in some incremental way versus the desire to continue generating episode & season plots about what a shitty rich man he was. to some extent you see the same with diane & even mr peanutbutter, and notably also with todd (no reason for that one even! todd is a peripheral comic relief character, you can make him as calcified as you want without it implying much about the show's broader moral logic, why am i sitting through the most saccharine self improvement pilled therapy minded episodes about gettig your rock opera sabotaged by your Addict Friend lmfao). but it's worst with bojack because he gets so much screentime & because his moral transgressions are most disturbing -- the shit with his coworker was never handled well for example: the show sets up a genuine moral condemnation and then largely sidesteps it by ultimately calling bojack sick in the head and institutionalising him.
i also think the sarah lynn storyline gets a lot of credit it really shouldn't: it's actually possible to think about the sexual and general exploitation of child stars without completely flattening their perspectives but this is nigh impossible if the entire point of the show is nothing to do with sarah lynn herself and everything to do with how she makes bojack feel lol. i remember the penny storyline occasionally being somewhat more successful in this respect but mostly falling into the same trap. and i hateeeee when writers just randomly decide that a woman character desperately wants children and her entire narrative presence is now determined by that desire -- like i think there's a way to have a character want kids without doing "woman randomly changes her mind and HATES being so Career Minded and Independent and only desire in life is to hold a Little Rascal that she owns in her arms" but i'm not holding my breath for it. bojack's own relationship to parenthood is also annoying as hell because once again it's barely even about hollyhock (drugged against her will by a woman she thought liked her who in fact thinks she's fat and ugly -- we could spend more than 5 seconds gathering her thoughts on this i would say) and mostly about bojack interpreting everything in the world as a referendum on himself, which could be perfectly fine fodder for a television show if the writers didn't also agree with it 75% of the time.
to me this is a classic case of a show that would have been better if they'd planned it out from the start, cut at least 2–3 seasons, polished the jokes, and run it only until it became untenable to have a main character who basically doesn't change and always has the same fundamental flaws. you can do that as essentially an extended character study and it'll honestly get you a fair amount of content if you're smart lol but when you try to plot and pace it like a bunch of overlapping extended film screenplays you are just always going to run into the basic issue that either your characters need to progress in some way (which means altering the dynamics and flaws on which the show is premised) or they're going to start feeling stale. usually a more successful sitcom goes the latter route and just relies on making the plots more batshit (community) or so trivial it doesn't matter (seinfeld); i think the only comedy i can really think of that semi pulls off the first is search party & that's because it literally resets genres every 10 episodes. bojack was like trying to plot reset every 30 minutes while telling me its characters were complex people capable of growth and change or of being morally culpable for failing to grow & change. it's just hard to do that even before taking the writers' insane misogyny into account lol
I love your addiction tag it's so liberating a few months ago I finished Bojack Horseman and the way that show depicted addiction fucking bothered me all the way through but I couldn't put my finger on it so thank you
bojack is so funny its literally like what if a show was repeatedly bad for no reason like just sheer force of determination to make a bad show that sucks. it has like three good concepts and four good lines and the ending is on par with mr robot levels of dogshit. blackout drunk on someones dorm room floor in 2017 type of show
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looker-bureau · 11 months ago
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I'm sorry but is no one gonna talk about how there is a universe where Gideon straight up killed Dipper??!!!! No???!!!
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justablah56 · 5 months ago
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thought about dx tr and mr sn again. throws up and dies.
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abbotjack · 3 months ago
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God I hate to be that person but ughhhhhh I love that jack fic where they find out reader is pregnant and I'm CRAVING a second part to that (if you're u to of course). Like, how it'd be during her pregnancy, him being sweet but also worried and protective. Omg I need more soft jack w a baby on the way!!!!!
The Camouflage Onesie
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LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST <3
content warnings: pregnancy, medical references, nausea/morning sickness, sexual content (explicit but consensual), body image changes, hormonal shifts, domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, labor and delivery scene, emotionally intense partner support, and high emotional/physical dependency within a marriage. yeah. pregnancy
word count : 5,735
WEEK 5
The test turned positive on a Sunday. By Monday morning, the entire medicine cabinet had been rearranged like it was a trauma cart.
Your moisturizer had been nudged over to make room for prescription-grade prenatals, a bottle of magnesium, a DHA complex, and—of all things—two individually labeled pill sorters with day-of-the-week dividers. One pink. One clear. Yours and Jack's, apparently.
You found him in the kitchen at 6:42 a.m., already in scrubs. He was calmly cutting the crusts off toast while listening to NPR and making a second cup of coffee for himself.
When he turned, he gave you a long once-over—not in a critical way, but diagnostic. Like he was scanning you for vitals only he could see.
“You’re flushed,” he said. “And your pupils are dilated. You feel dizzy yet?”
You furrowed your brow. “No?”
“Good. You’re hydrating better than I thought.”
You blinked. “Jack, I haven’t even said good morning.”
He walked over and handed you a glass of room-temp water. “I’m loving you with medically sourced precision.”
You stared at the glass. “This isn’t cold.”
“Cold water upsets your stomach. Lukewarm helps with early bloat.”
“Jack.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He tilted his head. “I’ve watched septic patients stabilize faster than accountants facing a positive Clearblue. I know exactly what this is.”
You pressed your hands to your face and groaned. “You’re not going to hover this much every week, are you?”
Jack leaned down, brushing a kiss over your shoulder. “No. Some weeks I’ll hover more.”
“I made your appointment already,” he said, voice casual. “Friday. Dr. Patel. 3:40.”
You blinked. “You didn’t even ask me.”
“She owes me a favor,” Jack said. “Got her niece into ortho during the peak of the shortage last year. Trust me—she’ll take care of you.”
You frowned, stunned. “How did you even pull that off so fast?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. I’m an ER doctor. I have connections. I can get my wife seen before the week’s out.”
Your eyes welled up suddenly—caught off guard by how steady he was, how sure. You were still half-floating in disbelief. Jack was already ten steps ahead, clearing the path.
WEEK 6
You learned very quickly that pregnancy was a full-time job—and Jack approached it with quiet precision.
The first time you dry-heaved over the kitchen sink, he didn’t rush in with a solution. He didn’t lecture or hover. He just stepped into the room, leaned against the counter, and waited until you looked up.
“Still thinking about that leftover pasta?” he asked softly.
You made a face. “Don’t say the word pasta.”
He crossed the kitchen, wordless, and pulled open a drawer. Out came a wrapped ginger chew. Then he disappeared down the hall.
When he returned, he had your cardigan in one hand and a bottle of lemon water in the other.
You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”
Jack handed you the water first. “You always run cold when you’re nauseous. But I know you’ll refuse a blanket if you’re flushed.”
You stared.
He draped the cardigan over your shoulders.
“You okay?”
You nodded slowly. “I think so.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you want toast.”
You half-laughed, half-cried, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You don’t have to be this gentle every second.”
Jack leaned in. “I’m not being gentle. I’m being exact. There’s a difference.”
Later that night, you sat curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the cardigan, while Jack quietly swapped your usual diffuser oil with something new.
“Peppermint,” he said when you asked. “Helps with queasiness.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And the bin next to the couch?”
“Let’s call it contingency planning.”
You smirked. “You’re really building systems around me, huh?”
Jack looked at you—soft, certain. “No. I’m building them for you.”
He moved across the room and brushed your hair back off your forehead, thumb pausing at your temple like he could smooth out whatever discomfort lingered there.
“You’re not the patient,” he murmured. “You’re the constant. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the ground steady under your feet.”
You didn’t have a clever reply.
You just pulled him onto the couch beside you and tucked yourself into his chest—grateful beyond words that this was who you got to build a life with.
WEEK 9
Jack was folding laundry on the bed when you walked into the room barefoot, carrying a bowl of cereal and wearing his old college sweatshirt.
You caught his glance. “What?”
He shook his head, smiled a little. “Just thinking you wear my clothes better than I ever did.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. He set a towel down. Reached for your bowl as you sat on the edge of the bed.
“I got it,” you said.
“I know,” he murmured, holding it anyway while you shifted the pillow behind your back. Once you were settled, he handed it back.
You took a bite, then glanced at the basket of half-folded laundry.
“You know that’s mostly my stuff, right?”
Jack looked at the pile. “It’s ours. Who else is gonna fold your seven thousand pairs of fuzzy socks?”
You laughed into your spoon.
He leaned against the dresser and just looked at you for a second. Not in a way that made you self-conscious—just soft. Familiar.
“You’re quieter this week,” he said.
You shrugged. “I’m tired.”
He nodded. “Want to go somewhere this weekend? Just us?”
“Like where?”
“Nowhere big. Just—out of the house. We could rent a cabin. Lay around. Sleep until noon. Let you pretend I’m not watching you nap like it’s my full-time job.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You do that now?”
“Not always. Just when you start snoring like a golden retriever pup.”
“Jack.”
He grinned, walked over, and kissed your temple.
“Alright, no trips. But at least let me cook something tonight. Something warm.”
You sighed. “You already do too much.”
He looked at you seriously then, crouched a little so you were eye-level.
“I don’t keep score,” he said. “I’m your husband. You’re growing our kid. If all I have to do is make dinner and fold socks, I’m getting off easy.”
WEEK 14
By week fourteen, the second trimester hit like an exhale.
You weren’t queasy every morning anymore. Your appetite returned. You could brush your teeth without gagging. And Jack, for the first time in weeks, actually relaxed enough to sit through an entire episode of something without checking on you mid-scene.
You were curled on the couch together—your head in his lap—when he slid his hand beneath your shirt and rested it on the soft curve of your stomach.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re subtle.”
“I’m consistent.”
You snorted. “You’re clingy.”
His thumb brushed just under your ribs. “I’m memorizing.”
You shifted slightly, tucking your feet closer. “You already know everything about me.”
Jack looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I know the before. This part? This is new.”
He went quiet, and you could feel the shift in him—something deeper, more reverent than before.
“I’ve seen pregnancy before,” he said. “But I’ve never… watched it happen to someone I come home to.”
You turned your head to look up at him. “You okay?”
Jack nodded slowly. “I just keep thinking… you’re building someone I haven’t met yet. And I already know I’d give my life for them.”
Your throat tightened. You reached for his hand where it rested on your stomach, lacing your fingers through his.
“We’re doing okay, right?”
Jack bent down, kissed your forehead. “You’re doing better than okay.”
You smiled. “We’re a good team.”
“The best,” he said. “Even if you keep stealing all the pillows.”
You laughed. “You sleep like a corpse. You don’t need them.”
He grinned. “You’re getting cocky now that the nausea’s eased.”
“You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”
“No, I’ll just be glad to have you back.”
You rolled your eyes. “You have me.”
Jack kissed you again. Longer this time.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”
WEEK 15
It started with the baby books.
Not the ones you bought. The ones Jack picked up—three of them, stacked neatly on the nightstand one morning after a grocery run you hadn’t joined him on.
You noticed them after your shower. He was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, humming something that definitely wasn’t in tune. But the titles made you pause.
“‘What to Expect for Dads,’” you read aloud, holding the top one up when he walked in. “You going soft on me?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Hardly. Just figured if you’re doing the building, I can at least read the manual.”
You smirked, flipping through a page. “You’re the manual.”
“I’m the triage guy. I don’t have maternal instincts. I have protocols.”
You leaned back against the headboard. “You’re being humble, but you’re gonna ace this.”
He shrugged, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “I just want to know what’s coming. I’ve done newborn shifts. I’ve handed babies to people shaking so hard they could barely hold them. But this? This isn’t a shift. This is us.”
You touched his arm. “You’ve already done more than I can even keep track of.”
Jack looked at you for a long moment. Then placed his hand over yours. “I don’t want to just be useful. I want to be good. For both of you.”
You didn’t know what to say.
So you leaned forward and kissed him—gentle, deep. His hand slid to your stomach as naturally as breathing.
You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You already are.”
That night, when he thought you were asleep, he cracked open the book again.
And stayed up past midnight reading about swaddling, latch cues, and the difference between Braxton Hicks and the real thing.
WEEK 16
Jack stood in the doorway of your office for almost a full minute before saying anything.
You looked up from your laptop, eyebrows raised. “What?”
He didn’t move. Just scanned the room—your desk, the bookshelf, the little armchair in the corner that you never actually used.
Then, finally: “Is our house big enough for this?”
You blinked. “For what?”
He gestured vaguely toward your belly, then the room. “All of it. A baby. Crib. Noise. Diapers. More laundry. Less sleep.”
You smiled gently. “I thought we were turning this room into the nursery.”
“We are,” he said quickly. “I just… I keep running scenarios in my head. And this place felt huge when it was just us.”
You closed your laptop. “Jack.”
He looked at you.
“We’ll figure it out. We already are.”
He crossed the room, leaned against your desk. “I’m not trying to panic.”
“I know.”
“I just keep thinking about how everything’s going to change. I want to make sure we still feel like us once it does.”
You stood and wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “We will. You think too far ahead sometimes.”
“That’s my job,” he murmured.
“And mine is reminding you that it’s okay to not solve everything all at once.”
He kissed the top of your head. “I know. I just want it to be enough.”
WEEK 19
Jack was unusually quiet on the drive to the anatomy scan.
Not anxious. Just focused in a way that told you his brain had been working overtime since the moment he woke up. His hand rested on your thigh at every red light, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your leggings.
“You good?” you asked, turning down the radio.
He glanced over, nodded once. “Just running through the checklist in my head.”
You smiled gently. “You’re not at work, babe.”
“I know. But I’ve never seen one of these as a husband.”
You reached over and laced your fingers through his. “You don’t have to be perfect today. You just have to be here.”
He gave you a look. “I am here. That’s the problem. I’m so here I can’t think about anything else.”
The waiting room was dim, quiet, and smelled vaguely like lemon disinfectant. Jack sat beside you, legs spread in his usual posture, one hand on your knee. His thumb tapped once. Then again. Then stopped.
The tech was warm, professional. She dimmed the lights. Asked if you wanted to know the sex. You said yes before Jack could answer.
You held your breath as the screen lit up in shades of blue and gray.
“Everything’s looking healthy,” the tech said. “Strong spine, great heartbeat, long legs.”
Jack tightened his grip on your hand.
“And it looks like you’re having a girl.”
You exhaled all at once. Then laughed. Or maybe cried. It blurred together.
Jack didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at the monitor, jaw tense, eyes glassy.
You turned to look at him. “Jack.”
He blinked. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just—” He swallowed. “She’s real.”
The rest of the appointment was a haze—measurements, murmurs of “good growth,” the gentle swipe of gel off your stomach. Jack didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.
That night, you came out of the bathroom in an old t-shirt and found him standing at the dresser, staring down at something small in his hand.
You stepped closer. “What’s that?”
He held it up without looking—one of the newborn onesies you’d bought weeks ago in a moment of cautious optimism. Light yellow. Soft cotton.
“You think she’ll fit in this?” he asked.
You smiled. “They’re tiny, Jack. That’s kind of the whole point.”
He nodded but didn’t move.
You wrapped your arms around him from behind. “You’re allowed to feel everything. It’s a big day.”
He turned, wrapped his arms around you carefully. “I think I was more afraid of not feeling it.”
You pressed your forehead to his. “You’re allowed to be happy.”
“I am,” he said, voice rough. “I just keep thinking about how I’m going to keep her safe. How I’m going to teach her to breathe through chaos. How I’ll probably mess it up a hundred times.”
“You’re not going to mess it up.”
He looked at you. “You really think that?”
“I married you, didn’t I?”
Jack smiled for real then. “You’ve always been the smarter one.”
You rolled your eyes. “But you’re the one who’s going to end up wrapped around her finger.”
He kissed your temple. “That part was inevitable.”
WEEK 25
Jack convinced you to finally start looking at houses.
You’d been reluctant—emotionally attached to the place you’d built your early marriage in, skeptical about change when everything in your life already felt like it was shifting—but Jack had waited. Quietly. Patiently.
And then one morning, while you were brushing your teeth, he leaned in behind you, kissed your shoulder, and said, “You deserve a bigger closet.”
That was how it started.
Now, you were standing in a half-empty living room with sun pouring through tall windows and a sold sign posted out front.
Jack had just gotten off the phone with your realtor. “It’s official,” he said, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Inspection cleared. We close in three weeks.”
You blinked. “We really bought a house.”
He walked over, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. “Correction: we bought your dream closet.”
You laughed. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am. Also, there’s a window bench in the nursery. You don’t even have to try to make it Pinterest-worthy.”
You leaned into him, eyes scanning the bare walls. “I can already picture her here.”
Jack pressed a kiss to your neck. “I already do. I see her trying to climb that windowsill. Leaving fingerprints on every square inch of the fridge. Falling asleep on the stairs with a book she couldn’t finish.”
Your throat tightened.
You turned in his arms. “You really love it?”
He looked at you seriously. “I love what it gives you. I love that it lets you breathe. And yeah—I love that it’s ours.”
Later that night, back in your current house, you sat on the floor with your laptop open, scrolling through registry links and bookmarking soft pink paint samples. Jack handed you a cup of tea, then lowered himself on the couch beside you with a quiet grunt.
“Is it weird that I already want to be moved?” you asked.
He shook his head. “No. It’s called nesting. I read about it in that chapter you skipped.”
You shot him a look. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the one folding swaddles while you build spreadsheets. This is our love language.”
You leaned into him, content. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
WEEK 27
You’d been on your feet all day—organizing documents, boxing up odds and ends, making lists of what needed to be moved and what could be donated. Jack told you to slow down three separate times, each time gentler than the last.
But now, at 8:43 p.m., you were barefoot in the kitchen, half bent over a drawer of mismatched utensils, when he walked in, tossed a dish towel on the counter, and said, “Okay. That’s it.”
You looked up. “What?”
Jack didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He crossed the room, took the spatula from your hand, and gently nudged you toward a chair. “Sit. Let me take over.”
You blinked at him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re stubborn.”
You folded your arms. “Same thing.”
Jack crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees. “You’ve done enough today. Let me be the husband who makes you sit down and drink something cold while I finish sorting forks from tongs.”
You softened, your fingers drifting to his hair. “I know you’re right. I just feel useless when I’m not doing something.”
“You’re 27 weeks pregnant,” Jack said, voice warm. “You made a person and folded three boxes of bath towels. That’s two more miracles than anyone else managed today.”
You exhaled and leaned back.
Later, when you were curled on the couch with a glass of iced water and your feet propped on a pillow, Jack settled next to you and tugged a blanket over both of you.
“House is gonna feel real soon,” he said.
You nodded. “She’s going to be born there.”
Jack’s arm slid around your shoulders. “We’ll bring her home to that nursery. Hang that weird mobile you picked that I still don’t understand.”
“You said it was ‘avant-garde.’”
“I was being polite.”
You smiled, tired and full. “We’re really doing it, huh?”
“We are.”
You rested your head on his chest. Jack’s hand drifted instinctively to your belly, and stayed there.
“Hey,” you said after a minute. “Thanks for making me sit.”
Jack kissed the top of your head. “Thanks for letting me.”
WEEK 30
You caught him standing in the doorway of the nursery around 9:00 p.m., arms folded, shoulder braced against the frame like he was keeping watch.
The room was nearly done. Diapers in bins. Chair assembled. Books on shelves. But Jack wasn’t looking at any of that. He was staring at the window, like he was imagining the light that would come through it in the early mornings.
You leaned against the opposite side of the doorway, watching him.
“What’s going on in that head?” you asked.
He glanced over at you. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Jack cracked half a smile but didn’t move. “I keep picturing her. Not just baby-her. Grown-up her.”
You walked toward him. “What version?”
He tilted his head. “Seventeen. Wants to borrow the car. Has someone texting her who I probably don’t like.”
You laughed. “You’re already dreading a boyfriend?”
“I’m already dreading anyone who gets to be in her world without knowing what it cost us to build it.”
That stopped you.
Jack finally looked at you then—really looked. “She’s not even born yet and I already know I’d lay down in traffic for her. And I know how fast people can break things they don’t understand.”
You rested your hands on his chest. “You’re not going to be scary.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Well. You’ll look scary. Army vet. ER attending. Perpetual scowl. Built like you bench-press refrigerators for fun.”
He snorted. “Thanks.”
“But you’ll love her in a way no one will mistake for anything but devotion.”
Jack leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours.
“I’m not good at soft,” he murmured.
“You’re good at us,” you whispered. “That’s all she’ll need.”
He pulled you into his arms then, one hand resting flat against the curve of your belly. “She’s gonna hate me when I make her come home early.”
“She’s gonna roll her eyes when you insist on meeting everyone she ever texts.”
Jack grinned. “Damn right.”
You laughed into his shirt. “You’re so screwed.”
“I know.”
But he held you a little tighter. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there in the dim nursery, one arm wrapped around the two of you, as if holding his whole world in place.
WEEK 32
You’d read the pregnancy forums. The blog posts. The articles with vaguely medical sources claiming the third trimester came with a spike in libido. You thought you’d be too sore, too tired. Too preoccupied.
What you hadn’t expected was the absolute onslaught.
It was like your body had one setting: Jack. Crave him. Need him. Get him here, now, fast.
He’d just gotten home from a late shift, dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door, and disappeared into the shower while you laid in bed attempting to not whine out loud. That resolve lasted six minutes.
When he walked into the bedroom, towel low around his hips, water dripping down his chest, you didn’t even mean to say it:
“I’m gonna die.”
Jack froze.
He crossed the room in seconds. “What is it? Where’s the pain?”
You were already on your back, one hand pressed to your belly, the other covering your eyes.
“Not pain,” you groaned. “Just hormones. God, Jack—this is insane.”
He crouched beside you. “You need to describe what’s happening.”
You peeked at him from under your hand. “I need you. I need you.”
Jack stilled. Blinked. Then dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a long exhale.
“Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, laughing into your wrist. “I just—I’m desperate. I thought it would go away. It’s not going away.”
He lifted his head. Smiled. “Desperate, huh?”
“You’re not helping.”
“I think I am.”
Jack kissed your temple, then your cheek, then hovered over your lips. “You sure you’re good?”
You reached for him. “No. I’m feral.”
He didn’t waste another second.
What followed wasn’t frantic—it was focused. Jack stripped you with efficiency and reverence, lips brushing every newly sensitive part of you. Your belly. Your hips. Your breasts. He murmured to you the whole time—gentle things, grounding things.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, kissing the swell of your stomach. “You’ve been patient. Let me take care of you.”
“Please,” you whispered. “I feel insane.”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
He slid inside you slow, controlled, the way he always did when he wanted to make it last. But tonight, there was something more behind it—urgency without rush, intention without pressure.
You clawed at his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Jack, Jack—”
“Right here.”
“I missed you today.”
“I missed you too. I always do.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs tightening around his waist. The angle shifted, and everything inside you splintered.
“Oh—God—don’t stop—”
Jack groaned, teeth catching your jawline. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So damn good.”
He guided you through it, one hand braced behind your head, the other cradling your hip like you’d break without it. When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears at the corners of your eyes.
He followed seconds later, low and deep and steady, body shaking over yours.
Afterward, he didn’t move. Just curled around you, one arm anchored under your shoulders, the other stroking your belly in long, soothing sweeps.
“Still dying?” he asked eventually.
You huffed a laugh. “Little bit.”
Jack smiled into your shoulder. “Guess I’ll keep checking your vitals.”
He pulled back just enough to kiss your chest, then your stomach, whispering something you couldn’t hear but felt down to your bones.
When you shifted against him, needy again already, he looked up with a low laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Jack,” you breathed, “I’m not done.”
And Jack—predictable, capable, ready-for-anything Jack—just grinned.
“I never am with you.”
The second round was slower. Deeper. You rode his thigh first, panting against his neck, clinging to his shoulders while he whispered filth in your ear—soft, low things no one else would ever hear from him. He touched you like he already knew exactly what you’d need next week, next month, next year.
And when you collapsed against him again, trembling and sore and finally, finally full in every sense of the word—he kissed your forehead and said, “You’re everything.”
“I love you,” you whispered.
Jack tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
WEEK 35
The third trimester had turned your body into a full-time performance art piece. You were a living exhibit on discomfort, hydration, Braxton Hicks, and the high-stakes negotiation of shoe-tying. You’d stopped fighting the afternoon naps, started rotating three stretchy outfits on a loop, and made peace with the fact that gravity was no longer your friend.
Jack had adjusted too.
Without comment, he now drove you to every appointment. Without asking, he refilled your water before bed. Without blinking, he gave up half his side of the bathroom counter for the ever-expanding line of belly oils, cooling balms, and half-used jars of snacks.
But tonight?
Tonight he came home to find you crying at the kitchen table over a broken zipper on the diaper bag.
“Sweetheart.”
You looked up, cheeks blotchy. “It broke. It broke, Jack. And it was the only one I liked.”
“Hey, hey—breathe.”
You sniffled. “It had compartments. It had mesh.”
Jack took the bag gently from your hands, and examined the zipper like it was a patient in trauma.
“Looks jammed,” he said. “Not broken.”
You stared at him. “You don’t know that.”
He looked up. “I do.”
He walked over to the toolbox without fanfare, and returned two minutes later with a small pair of pliers. Thirty seconds after that, the zipper slid closed like nothing had happened.
You burst into tears again.
Jack set the bag down and pulled you into his arms. “Hormones?”
You nodded into his chest. “I love you so much.”
He smiled against your hair. “You want to take a bath?”
You sniffed. “Will you sit on the floor with me?”
“I’ll bring the towel and everything.”
Which is how twenty minutes later you were in the tub, steam curling around the mirror, your swollen belly just breaching the surface, while Jack sat on the floor, reading your baby book aloud like it was scripture.
“She’s the size of a honeydew,” he said, tapping the page. “Still gaining half a pound a week. Lungs developing. Rapid brain growth.”
You hummed. “She’s been moving a lot today.”
He smiled, reached over, and rested a palm over your belly. “She likes the sound of your voice.”
“She likes pizza. She tolerates me.”
Jack leaned over and kissed your temple. “She already loves you.”
You sighed, settling deeper into the water. “She’s going to love you more.”
Jack’s voice went quiet. “That’s not possible.”
You looked over.
He was watching you like he was memorizing the moment. Like he knew it wouldn’t last forever and wanted to hold every second of it.
“She’s got the best of you already,” he murmured.
You shook your head. “You’re the one who’s been steady through everything. She’s gonna know that.”
He kissed your hand. “She’s gonna know we did it together.”
And you believed him.
Even through the tears, the discomfort, the slow shuffle from couch to fridge to bed—you believed him.
WEEK 36
Jack came home with a basket.
Not from the store. Not from a delivery service. From the hospital. Carried under one arm like it was made of glass.
You were on the couch, half-watching a cooking show, half-rubbing the spot where the baby had been kicking for the last ten minutes straight. Jack came in, dropped his keys, and didn’t say anything at first.
He just set the basket on the coffee table and said, “Robby made me promise I wouldn’t forget to give this to you tonight.”
You blinked. “What?”
Jack gestured toward it. “It’s from the ER.”
Inside: a soft blanket. A framed photo of the team crowded around a whiteboard that read “Baby Abbot ETA: T-minus 4 weeks.” A pair of hand-knitted booties labeled “Perlah Originals.” A stack of index cards, each one handwritten—Dana’s in looping cursive, Collins’s in all caps, Princess’s with hearts dotting the i’s. Robby’s simply read: Your kid already has better taste in music than Jack. Congrats.
You turned one of the index cards over, reading Dana’s note about how you were going to be the kind of mom who made her daughter feel safe and loved in the same breath.
“I didn’t know they even noticed me,” you whispered.
Jack rubbed slow circles against your bump. “They notice what matters to me.”
You looked at him.
He shrugged. “You’re my wife. You’re not just around. You’re part of everything.”
The baby kicked again. Hard enough to make you gasp.
Jack smiled, leaned in, and kissed the place she’d just moved. “She agrees.”
WEEK 38
You’d read about nesting, but you thought it would look more like baking muffins at midnight—not following Jack from room to room like his gravitational pull physically outweighed yours.
He didn’t seem to mind. He’d brush his hand down your back every time you passed, help you off the couch like you were recovering from surgery, and kiss your temple every time he walked by.
By Thursday, the baby bag was packed and parked by the front door. You’d zipped it, unzipped it, and re-packed it twice just to check. And when Jack got home that evening, he nodded at it, then set something down beside it with a quiet thunk.
You glanced over. “What’s that?”
“My go-bag,” he said simply.
You raised an eyebrow.
Jack nudged it with the toe of his boot. “Army-issued. Carried this thing through two deployments and six different states. Thought it’d be fitting to bring it into the delivery room.”
You blinked. “You packed already?”
He nodded, unzipped the top, and tilted the bag open for you to see: a clean shirt, a hand towel, a toothbrush, a few protein bars, and a worn, dog-eared paperback you recognized instantly.
“That one?” you said, surprised. “You always said you hated it.”
“I did,” he admitted, zipping the bag shut again. “But it’s your favorite. I read your notes in the margins when I miss you on long shifts.”
You crossed the room and leaned into him. “You’re something else.”
WEEK 40
You woke up at 2:57 a.m. with a tight, rolling wave of pressure low in your spine. It wrapped around your middle like a band and didn’t let go.
Jack was already shifting beside you. Years in the Army meant he didn’t sleep deeply—not when he was home, not when you were pregnant.
“You okay?” he asked, groggy but alert.
You exhaled shakily. “It’s time.”
He sat up immediately. “How far apart?”
“Six minutes.”
“Let’s move.”
By the time you got in the car, the contractions were coming faster—steadier. Jack didn’t speed, but he gripped the steering wheel like the world depended on it.
You were wheeled in through the ER doors—because of course you were going into labor at the hospital where Jack worked. Princess met you at triage with a knowing smile.
“She’s in three,” Princess said. “Perlah’s setting it up now.”
You were halfway into the room when Jack froze.
He turned to Collins at the desk. “Patel?”
“Stuck behind a pileup on 376,” Collins said. “She’s trying to reroute.”
Jack muttered something under his breath and scanned the monitors. “Where’s Robby?”
“Down in trauma. He’s finishing up a round.”
Jack didn’t wait. He left you in Princess’s care and went straight for the trauma bay.
Robby was wiping his hands on a towel when Jack stepped in. Hoodie half-zipped. Scrubs wrinkled. Wide awake.
“She’s in labor?”
“She’s in active labor,” Jack said. “And Patel’s not gonna make it, but—”
“You want me in the room,” Robby finished.
“I need you in the room.”
Robby dropped the towel. “Done.”
When Robby stepped into your room, you exhaled like someone had lifted a weight off your chest.
“Hey, doc,” you muttered through a contraction.
“You’re in good hands,” Robby said, glancing between you and Jack. “You’ve got half the ER out there whispering about it.”
“Tell them if they bring me chocolate, they can stay,” you joked.
Perlah dimmed the lights. Princess wiped sweat from your forehead. Robby took your vitals himself and kept your eyes steady with his.
Hours blurred together. Jack never left your side.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“You’re doing perfect.”
“She’s almost here.”
Then everything started to move faster. Robby gave a nod to Princess and Perlah.
“One more push,” he said. “You’ve got this.”
Jack leaned close, his forehead against yours. “Come on, sweetheart. Right here. You’ve got her.”
And then—
A cry. Loud. Full. Brand new.
“She’s here,” Robby said quietly.
Jack didn’t move at first. Just watched. His eyes were wet. His hand covered his mouth.
Princess handed her to you, swaddled and squirming. Jack kissed your forehead and brushed a tear off your cheek.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it.”
Later, after they’d cleaned up and the room was quiet, you watched Jack walk over to the bassinet. He held up a camouflage onesie.
“Oh my God,” you said. “Seriously?”
He looked over, completely straight-faced. “This is important.”
“You’re impossible.”
He kissed you once, then again. And held her like he’d waited his whole life.
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ipushhimback · 6 months ago
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we were drunk it happens - part 3
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5
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pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: pregnancy, jos verstappen words: 1.5 k
summary: Y/N find out she is pregnant. she doesn’t want to tell Lando as she was scared of his reaction.
taglist: @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8
Fuck. That was the only thought in her head as she stared at the pregnancy test in front of her. She was on birth control. How the hell was she pregnant now.
This couldn’t be happening. She was only 22 years old. Definitely not ready to be a mom! And a single mom? No way she could do that. Oh my god. How should she tell Lando.
She took her phone and clicked on her brother’s contact. She really needed advice right now and who was better for that than her brother. He would probably be a bit upset but Y/N couldn’t really think of anyone else who could help her right now. After only one rang, Max answered.
“Hey, little one. What’s up? Everything alright?”, he asked.
“No, Max. Nothing is alright! Please. Can you come here? I need you.” Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes and her voice broke.
“Of course. Are you hurt? Did something bad happen?” Over the phone, she heard how Max grabbed his keys as told Kelly he would have to leave. A second later she heard a door close.
“I am not hurt. No. Please just hurry.” She sank down against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall and just hung up. Max would be there soon. And then everything was going to be okay.
The doorbell rang and Y/N got up slowly to open it. When she did, her brother immediately went to hug her as he saw her wet cheeks.
“Hey. What happened. Did someone hurt you? Are you sick?”, Max asked as he leaned back a bit to look her in the eyes. “You know you can tell me everything, right?”
Y/N just held up the pregnancy test. There was no chance it was wrong. The word pregnant was clearly written across the little display in the white stick.
“That’s… yours? I assume?”, Max asked carefully.
“Of course it is mine! Why else would I stand in my fucking house and cry like someone died?! I don’t know what to do, Max. He will kill me if he finds out.” Well aware that she would make Max’ shirt completely wet, she buried her face in his grey shirt.
“Who will kill you? Who even is the father? Oh my god. It’s Lando, isn’t it. No way.” Max looked concerned, but now Y/N could also see he was a bit disappointed, even though he would never show it.
He was too much of a supportive brother. He would never show his disappointment, nor would he upset her on purpose.
“It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright. I promise. Do you want to tell him, already?”
Y/N shook her head furiously.
“No. He… he can’t know. We said no feelings. He really can’t know. Not yet.” Her brother just nodded while looking thoughtful.
“Do you… do you wanna keep it?” He looked worried as if he was scared that he might have said the wrong thing.
Y/N nodded. She thought about an abortion, but she simply couldn’t. It was her baby. And more importantly, it was her and Lando’s baby.
“I do. It is mine.” She placed her hand on her still flat belly.
“Ok. I just want you to know that Kelly and I will support you. No matter how you decide to raise it in the end. And hey, maybe your baby will be friends with ours in the end. They won’t have a huge age gap.” The Formula 1 driver laughed a bit.
“You are not disappointed?”, Y/N asked. She honestly would have thought that Max would be a bit mad, but here he was, being the most understanding person.
“Maybe a little. No… that’s not right. I am just a little scared. You are my little sister. And… I am not really disappointed just worried about you. But you know I will always support you, no matter what happens.” Max smiled at her which made Y/N a little happier.
“I am going to have a baby”, she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
***
For over a week, Y/N had been feeling nauseous. The pregnancy made her tired, dizzy and she couldn’t keep any food down. Still, she told Max that she will attend the next grand prix. Monza. She was happy, because she slowly started to like F1 again. When she was younger, Monza had been her favorite grand prix and the atmosphere when the Ferraris were on the podium…
Like Seb had been saying. Everybody’s a Ferrari fan. Even if they’re not they are Ferrari fans.
Even though Y/N was looking forward to watching the race, she couldn’t help but feel nauseous as fuck. She threw up her whole breakfast earlier and now she just felt weak.
Because the last thing she wanted now was being alone, she had decided to go to the Ferrari garage where Charles’ girlfriend Alex already was. They have become quite good friends over the last weeks so Y/N enjoyed being around her. Together they were now staring at the tv in front of them. Observing the different cars and occasionally swearing when they were annoyed or too caught up in the moment.
At some point Y/N excused herself to head to the bathroom, needing to puke again. When she returned, Alex looked at her a bit worried.
“You look shitty today”, she said bluntly.
“Wow. Thank you. I didn’t see that already in the mirror or so…”
“No… I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N. More in an ‘are you okay’ way. Because seriously, you look like you’re about to faint. And I don’t want to explain that to Max later.” Alex looked at her, definitely worried.
“No. I am alright. It just happens sometimes.” Y/N suppressed the urge to throw up again and took a deep breath. “Let’s focus on the race, ok?”
Alex nodded hesitantly.
Y/N really wanted to tell Alex that she was pregnant, but she simply didn’t know how. Furthermore she wanted to tell all her friends she made over the last weeks together. Alex, Lily, Carmen, Rebecca. And of course, her childhood best friend.
A bit later, the race was finished. Charles came in P1, much to Alex’ joy, Max in P2 and Lando in P3. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.
She just went outside to head to the Red Bull garage but just as she came near, she heard a sharp voice.
“P2? And you are proud of yourself? Wipe that damn smile from your face, Max. You started from pole; you should have won easily. Didn’t I raise you better?”
Y/N froze outside and couldn’t move anymore. What was her dad doing here? Max didn’t know about it, did he?
Suddenly she felt like she might really faint. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t breathe anymore. She hasn’t seen her dad in at least three years. And honestly, she was glad about it. She didn’t want him in her life anymore.
Y/N knew that Max didn’t have as much of a problem with Jos as she did, but he still didn’t exactly like it when his dad was complaining about him being P2 in a race. She knew he would beat himself up for it, as it would make him believe he was terrible at what he does.
“Y/N? Are you ok?”, she heard a voice say. Lando.
“Uhm. Yes. Everything’s alright.”
Lando eyed her.
“You don’t look like you’re alright… You’re pale and you look like you just saw a ghost. Did something happen? Are you not feeling well?”, he asked.
“No. Seriously everything’s alright.” But in that moment Max walked around the corner, and Jos was just behind him.
“Oh. Y/N. Nice to see you again after you’ve been ignoring my calls for what now… three years? And still living in your brother’s shadow I see.” Jos laughed and Y/N felt like she wanted to die.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes and her chest tightened. The nausea was back as well, and she hated it. Why couldn’t she just live in a normal family?
“Are you alright, Y/N?”, Max asked from where he was standing. His sister just nodded before turning around and walking to Max’ driver’s room.
“Great, dad. Well, done.”, she heard Max say to their dad behind her. But she just started crying. Damn pregnancy hormones.
A little later when she sat on a small couch in the room, she heard a knock on the door. Max.
“Can I come in please?”, he asked while he was already opening the door. “I didn’t know he would be here, I promise, I would have told you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you or even the baby.”
But exactly then, Y/N saw Lando in front of the wooden door. He looked at her with wide eyes the shock evident in his eyes.
“A baby?”
A/N: sorry it took me so long to write this part but i was so tired thanks to school i didn’t have the energy to write a lot. also updates to the next fics and what i am writing etc is on my pinned post / intro post
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strwbrychffoncke · 6 months ago
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"baby ,i care for you,, 2.6k words synopsis: caleb nurses you back to health contains: fluff! lads caleb x f!reader (caleb calls you "good girl" + "silly girl" x1) ,established relationship! ,just some self-indulgent fluffy sick comfort ,chef!caleb ,kind of stern!caleb (he's just worried) ,caleb makes u take medicine ,two suggestive jokes (cause its caleb) ,like one second of angst ,one single use of "gege" ,he carries you to the couch ,he pats your head/gives u a massage ,lulls you to sleep ,one head kiss ,i think thats it note: not proofread! its 5 in the morning when i post this so forgive any mistakes i just needed this out of my system i need him to take care of me so baaad :x enjoy
-
for some reason, you woke early for someone who didn't sleep till the late hours into the morning last night.
what you'd gotten couldn't even be considered proper sleep, more like just a nap, but somehow your body wasn't too keen on slipping back into the grips of slumber that easily.
and somehow, you woke up feeling even worse than you had for the past two days.
even if your sore throat was mostly gone, you heaved out a couple of dry coughs as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, shivering in the cold that surrounded the room (courtesy of your comfort, unable to sleep comfortably otherwise even if it worsened your current condition), and on top of that your head was softly throbbing. not wanting to deal with it, you decided to lay back completely to soothe the pain.
your nose was stuffy and runny at the same time, reaching for some tissues on the bedside table to wipe away at it, not before sneezing a couple of times and sniffling afterwards— it was so sensitive today for some reason.
you let out a deep sigh, soft breaths escaping from your mouth as you couldn't breathe comfortably from your nose.
how did it get worse? sure, you only took medicine once yesterday instead of every couple of hours like you were supposed to, but seriously, it was just a sore throat and a small fever!
you sighed, irritated that you were still sick. weren't you supposed to be the one with a good immune system? you and caleb often argued about it, and if he were here, he would surely use this as a point that his was better.
the yearning for his presence bit into the silence of the room as you laid comfortably on your back, shutting your eyes once again as your shallow breaths evened out.
you thought about getting up, washing your face and then making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and then something to eat so that you could take your medicine and then proceed to rest- something caleb would already be doing for you the moment he'd realize you were sick.
but he wasn't here right now, and even though you'd seen his moments posts about being out with friends, you had no plan to worry him when this was just a little cold.
you thought about it- you were hungry after all, and you wanted something warm to soothe your throat, but just the idea of going all the way down and doing all of that at the moment in your state was tiring.
but, you had taken care of yourself for the past two days like this. what was another?
you opened your eyes, pulled yourself up with a groan, swung your legs over the edge of the bed to slip on your slippers, slipped on the closest sweater and slowly padded your way to the bathroom, leaning against the wall for balance as your headache and sick haze had you dizzy and unsteady on your feet.
you washed up without much of a hitch, and when you exited the bathroom, you thought you heard a door close.
huh?
you thought it might be your mind playing tricks on you. after all, you were at home by yourself and weren't expecting anyone (even if you yearned for someone, the stray thought of him being here leaving you as soon as it came), and you couldn't think of anyone that would stop by on a random wednesday who also happened to have a key to your place.
you shook your head, pocketing your phone as you padded down the way towards the living room, pausing at the faint sound of the television being on- had you left it on?- before proceeding towards the kitchen.
you froze at the sound of light humming coming from your kitchen, feet subconsciously carrying your slightly swaying body closer at the pleasant smell of food wafting towards your nose, completely disregarding a certain bag laying at the end of the empty sofa.
your footsteps must've been heavier than you thought because before you could fully enter the kitchen, the person in question turned around, staring straight at you, spatula in his hand and smile stretching across his face.
"morning, sleepyhead."
you tilted your head.
"caleb?" you whispered.
"surprised?"
you took a few steps closer, heart pounding with excitement but managing to keep your distance due to your illness.
"what are you-"
"hey."
his playful smile quickly morphs into a look of concern as he studies your face, noticing your shallow breaths, quiet voice and slightly-swaying body.
"pipsqueak, are you sick?"
you jolt, looking off to the side.
"not really, its just—"
you startle at his free hand brushing your bangs from your head and resting on your forehead.
"hey! i don't have a fever, i'm fine—"
"your voice is mostly gone," he deadpans.
"that's—"
"how long have you been sick??" his look is full of concern, voice laced with worry.
"just the past two days.."
"two days? and you didn't think to tell me?"
"it was just a sore throat at first!"
"and you're telling me this is still just that?"
before you can answer you're interrupted, bringing up your sleeved arm up to cover the lower half of your face to sneeze twice into it before sniffling.
you put your sleeved arm down and sigh.
"bless you," he says, taking a once over if your state before placing a hand on your lower back.
"here, i made you breakfast, just- sit down, i'll get you everything."
"that's okay, i wanted to—"
"i have water ready for tea if that's what you're after, just sit down, i'll bring it to you."
he says it in a way that almost feels like he's scolding you, and you can't help but to obey and trudge over to the closest seat at the dining table, secretly grateful since your head was hurting more now.
you momentarily rest your head on the cool surface, missing the frown that adorns caleb's face at seeing you in such a weakened state.
he knew how prideful you were when it came to your wellbeing, and he also knew how, for as little as it happened, sick you got when you did succumb to illness.
luckily, from a surface level it didn't look too bad, and the duration wasn't anywhere near severe-level yet. he was sure it was something plenty of rest and medicine would help with.
which is when he vowed, while filling your plate and pouring the steaming water into your favorite mug with a green tea bag resting inside, that he would be the one to nurse you back to health himself.
just like he used to.
-
"that's way too many, caleb!"
"i'm not letting you leave until you take em' all."
"is this really necessary??"
"lingering sore throat, mild fever, headache, stuffy and runny nose, sneezing, dry cough. did i miss anything?"
"no.."
"then yes, this is all necessary. it's not even that much!"
"caleb, there's five different pills sitting in front of me. i am not swallowing all of that!"
"haven't you swallowed more than just this before?"
"caleb!"
you smack his arm and he lets out a hearty laugh— one that you're grateful to see (despite it being at your expense), given he's mostly been overcome with concern— before looking over the medicines again.
"fine, fine, here."
one hand drags an orange pill away towards him.
"how about now?"
you deadpan.
"you're joking, right?" you sniffle.
"that's the best i can do, pipsqueak. now hurry up and take them."
you let out a groan, but reach for the largest pill first.
"do i really—"
"yes," he crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "i won't say it again."
you sigh, taking a small sip of tea before slipping the pill between your lips, tipping your head back before taking multiple large gulps of your tea to help its descent.
caleb nods, uncurling his hands and reaching for his utensil to grab some rice.
"good girl, now eat some more and take the rest," he instructs, shoving the rice into his mouth.
you're about to speak but are interrupted by a small sneeze.
"bless you."
you pout at him.
he points to your plate with his chopsticks.
"eat."
"you're lucky your food is so good..." you trail off, shoveling some eggs into your mouth, delight quickly filling you at the flavor of such a simple food item.
the cycle repeats: caleb watching you take sips of your tea and shoveling small bites of food into your mouth before pushing the next pill towards you until they're all gone.
in no time at all, both of your plates are empty. he takes yours from in front of you as you sip on the remainder of your tea, nodding when he asks if you're finished before taking them away to the sink.
you watch as he rolls up his sleeves and makes quick work to wash the plates, utensils, and the kitchenware he'd used, mesmerized by the familiar movements but willing to watch again and again all the same.
once he was finished and the dishes were properly put away, he dries his hands, walking back over to you and feeling your forehead again.
"hmm.. not too warm. how are you feeling right now? are you cold?"
you nod your head, and he gently pats the top of it. you close your eyes in response, the gesture soothing to you.
he grins.
always so cute...
"we should get you back to bed," he murmurs, bending down to your level. "want gege to carry you?"
you crack your eyes open and shake your head, prompting him to tilt his in question.
"i don't want you tripping on the way to your room if you're still dizzy, pipsqueak—"
"i don't wanna go to my room," you cut him off.
"can't i rest near you?" you peer up at him, hope filled in your droopy eyes, and something about that hits him.
you'd been on your own feeling like crap the past two days (now onto the third) and, knowing you, haven't been taking proper care of yourself, prompting the sickness to become what it is now.
no one could guarantee that you'd been eating properly, taking the proper medicine and on time, and most of all, not trying to work while in this state.
his heart feels heavy at the thought, but at his prolonged silence and hard stare, you shift your gaze behind him, embarrassed, and speak up again.
"or— i've already caused you enough trouble, right? this is supposed to be your time off and i've worried you enough... so i'll go back to my room! i wouldn't want to get you si—"
"no, no, no," he quickly cuts you off, swiftly shaking his head before grabbing onto your shoulders.
"pipsqueak, when have i ever denied you of your wishes?"
you sniffle. he did have a point...
"and besides, it's my job to worry about you, ya know?"
"so come on, let me carry you to the couch, yeah? we can put on whatever you like until you fall asleep."
you smile, ever so grateful at how caleb loved to spoil you.
you move to stand up and barely feel your feet hit the ground for half a second before you're easily scooped into caleb's arms, laughing at the sudden gesture before he walks towards the living room with you.
"caleb! i could've—"
"nope, you really couldn't have. i saw the way you trudged through the kitchen earlier, pipsqueak. you looked like you'd fall over if i so much as blew on you."
you look away, small pout adorning your lips, sniffling again.
"s' not my fault... don't even know how i got sick this time."
"maybe cause you missed me so much?
"yeah, maybe."
his heart throbs at your honesty, plopping down on the couch with you before smiling.
"so i guess this means i've got the better immune system, huh?"
"ugh, i knew you'd bring that up..."
he chuckles, letting you adjust in his hold as you use his lap as a pillow.
"whaddya wanna watch, pipsqueak?"
"dunno," you yawn. "just see what's on right now."
you watch as he looks around for the remote, pointing at it being just out of reach on the coffee table. you're about to offer to grab it before you see the strings of his evol grip onto it, bringing it into his hand before he catches it with ease and begins flipping through the channels.
"cheater," you tease quietly, letting out a small laugh at his use of his evol.
"hm?" he catches your words, humming thoughtfully in response, eyes glued to the television.
"you say that, but i remember a certain hunter practically crying under my evol while begging me to—"
"c-caleb!"
he laughs at the way you try to swat at him as you're laying down, settling for a small thwap! on his thigh instead.
"sorry, sorry," he says nonchalantly, loving how easily riled up he could get you at the mention your bedroom activities.
"here," he says, free hand finding its way to your head, softly massaging at your scalp.
"this a good enough apology?" he asks, only earning pleased mewls from you in response.
he smiles fondly in response, pleased at your little noises and the way you nuzzle into him further, resembling a satisfied cat that just filled its belly and was ready for its afternoon nap.
he eventually lands on a channel with a classic favorite movie for the both of you, setting the remote down and using his now-free hand to rub soothing circles into your back.
"you know, wearing my clothes while you're sick is a little selfish, don't you think?"
"s' warm," you mumble, slowly being lulled to sleep by his ministrations.
"and comfy. smells like you..."
even though he teased you, he always felt his heart grow fuller at the sight of you in his clothes, and he felt some amount of pride that it was the first thing you'd reached for even in your current state.
"yeah? i guess i can forgive you," he whispers, evol reaching for the nearest blanket to drape it over your lower half.
in the edges of slumber, you can feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, but you don't have the energy to reprimand him for doing such a thing and risk himself getting sick.
he sits back up, watching you fondly as he continues his comforting ministrations.
"get well soon, okay? ill be right here when you wake up."
even after he was sure you were sleeping, he continued his gentle caresses, comforted by the fact that you were there with him, and that he could keep a close eye on you.
so long as you were under caleb's care, you would be okay; that was something he would always make sure of.
-
extra:
half-paying attention to the movie on screen, he was already planning a soup to make you when his phone buzzed beside him.
it was a message from a friend of his.
wanna grab a bite later? my treat! some others will be joining too.
grateful for the offer, he messaged back quickly.
can't, playing nurse for my cute girlfriend tonight~
aw, next time, then!
he placed his phone back down, looking back at you and brushing stray hair out of your face as he thought back to your words.
"can't i rest near you?"
you'd looked so helpless, almost like you were expecting him to refuse you and make you rest by yourself, but eyes holding a lingering hope anyway as they peered into his soul.
his heart is full, his eyes are full of mirth, lips curling lovingly.
silly girl...
there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, right beside you—
whether you were ill or perfectly healthy.
always.
and he would make sure you never felt the burden of illness by yourself so long as he could help it.
-
a/n: i'm sick and couldn't help but imagine the l&ds men taking care of me ,and namely imagined caleb nursing me back to health so here we are. caleb come home!
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marblehazel · 6 months ago
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Sitter
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dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
Part One | Part Two: Deeper
You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.
Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)
Word count: 6.8k
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“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.
“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”
You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.
“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.
“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.
“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”
“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”
You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.
“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?
Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.
You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.
It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.
You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.
You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.
Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.
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You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.
“Easy, easy,”
If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.
It’s Joel Miller.
Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.
He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.
Well, just your father. Not Joel though.
You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.
He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.
“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”
“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.
“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.
“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”
“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”
The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.
“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.
“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.
You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.
“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.
“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.
“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.
“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”
“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”
You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”
“And before that?”
“Just a scratchy throat.”
He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.
And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.
The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.
All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.
Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”
“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.
He chuckles. “Yes or no?”
That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”
Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.
“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.
You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.
Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.
You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.
“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”
“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”
Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.
“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”
“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”
Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.
At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.
When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.
“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?
Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”
“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.
“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”
He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.
After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.
“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”
“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”
“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.
The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.
You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.
“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”
Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”
You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.
“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.
The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.
Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.
“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.
They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.
You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.
Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”
“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.
“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”
He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.
“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”
“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.
“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.
Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.
In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 
The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.
You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.
It’s not working.
Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…
You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.
The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.
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There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.
Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.
And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.
So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.
That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.
It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.
He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 
You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”
You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.
“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.
Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”
Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”
Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”
“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“
“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.
Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?
“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.
“Hm?”
“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.
Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”
“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.
“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.
You scoff.
“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”
“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”
Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.
He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.
But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.
A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.
Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”
That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.
You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.
The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.
Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.
You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”
For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.
“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”
You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.
“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”
He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”
You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.
The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 
“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.
“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”
The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.
“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”
You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.
“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”
Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”
When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.
“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”
You wince. “What are you doing?”
“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.
“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”
“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.
“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”
“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”
You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?
“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”
Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.
“Joooooel,”
“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”
“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.
“What are your pants made of, steel?”
“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.
“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”
“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”
“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”
Joel groans.
“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”
“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”
“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”
“I don’t, but, sure,”
“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”
Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.
On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.
You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.
They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.
Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”
But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.
You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.
You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.
You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”
Joel nods.
You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.
“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.
The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.
Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.
“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”
“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.
Just like in the movie.
You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.
“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”
Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.
“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”
Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”
“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.
“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.
“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.
You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.
“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.
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chrisfawns · 8 days ago
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the girlfriend effect. . .all the ways matt and chris change after getting a girlfriend
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꒰ ੭ ꒱ ᐣ matt. . .starts sleeping more 💌🍵🎀
it's a well-known fact that matt doesn't sleep at night. he sleeps the next day. it's not unusual for nick or chris to get up at 5 am to get water, only to see a sliver of light still coming from under matt's door. he's either on the computer, watching tv, or simply pacing, waiting until his body is so exhausted that he has no choice but to sleep.
after you, though? matt's in bed at a solid eleven pm. you're tucked safely into his side, head against his chest. he'll nuzzle his stubbly chin into your hair as you yap about your day until you fall asleep mid-sentence, following you into dreamland shortly after.
now, matt's up before the clock hits noon. his shoulders don't slump with exhaustion anymore; instead, he's awake, dressed, and looks more alive than he ever has. his eyes aren't plagued with dark bags anymore and he has energy now.
ଘ꒰ ꒱ chris. . .drinks more water 🏹🐇🪞
shocked was an understatement. the internet practically exploded the first time they saw it. chris' usual car video soda had been replaced by a bottle of water. in fact, it became such a regular occurrence that even nick and matt were shocked.
"what?" chris asks, looking up to see matt staring at him like he's got two heads.
"you're drinking water?" matt asks, staring at the new, blue stainless steel water bottle that's on the counter next to his brother.
"yeah?"
"since when?"
"since my girl said i had to." chris shrugs, going back to his phone.
before long, chris' water bottle is covered in stickers from places you and him have visited together, cartoon characters, and just about any other sticker you had. the bottle becomes such a regular part of car videos that even you can't resist cracking a joke or two in the comments about the "girlfriend effect".
᧔ ᧓ matt. . .takes an ego sick day 🍰🤍🍓
if you didn't know matt sturniolo, you'd think he was simply a shy, quiet guy. which he is, until you get to know him. then the retorts and self compliments spill out of him faster than a waterfall.
"what song would you want to be edited to?"
"hmm... p power, probably."
"who's the best looking?"
"me. though nick is a close second."
"kid, if you're gonna talk out of your fuckin' ass at least turn around so i can hear you better."
when you come into the picture, all that goes away. matt's flustered when you caress his jaw and tell him how handsome he is instead of spouting some nonsense like "thanks for telling me what i already knew."
his ears turn pink at the tips and a soft, slow giggle makes its way from his lips. when nick and chris tease him about it, the only thing he says is "god forbid a man gets a little shy around his girlfriend" rather than some reply about being sex on legs.
you like him this way. you softened him. it's nice to know that underneath the mattitude as his brothers call it, matt really is a big softie.
૮ ོ ོ𑁬 chris. . .changes his mindset 🪩🩰🕰️
chris sturniolo has never considered himself "famous", but there's a specific clip of him that circles the internet every few months that one could argue he's famous for.
"what's your biggest fear?"
"having a girlfriend."
you had to admit that when the video had first come across your tiktok during your early days of dating, you were a bit hesitant. would he really commit to you?
that video is specifically is why matt and nick are shocked when chris hands you a plate of food as you grin up at him, eyes crinkling. "thank you, baby." you hum, seemingly unaware of the eyes on you.
even just the pet name has his brothers staring between the two of you, waiting for chris to mumble some shit like "it's not a big deal. it's just food."
instead, chris kisses your forehead, before sitting down beside you. "you're welcome, my love."
nick practically chokes on a piece of pasta. in his entire almost-twenty two-years of life, he's never heard chris call anyone my love and mean it. you and chris seem oblivious to the obvious shock radiating around the deck outside of the boy's boston home.
you reach over and tuck a curl behind chris' ear, a soft, shy smile appearing on your boyfriend's face. again, there's no "stop" or "not now". this time, matt decides that he has to see if you've just changed chris or if an alien has replaced his younger brother.
"you've got sauce on your face, baby." he croons, using his thumb to wipe the side of his brother's face.
chris bats matt's hand away, glaring. "fuck off."
you giggle, watching the chaos before you. chris is glaring at matt like he wants to kill him and matt's just laughing.
"what happened to 'i'm scared of having a girlfriend'?" matt asks.
"times change," chris grumbles. "besides, my girl isn't a dickhead like you."
"you've done something to him." matt says, pointing his fork at you, but you see the smile on his face.
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© chrisfawns
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜。: i love it when men change their whole personality after they've met their girl 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ interactions are appreciated but not expected!!
tags ⋆. 𐙚 ̊: @mattslilies @backwardshatnick @bernardsbendystraws @h3arts4nat @mattyblover07 @mattsstarlet
if you'd like to be added to my taglist, inbox me/dm me/comment!!
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heathermason6060 · 8 months ago
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Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere
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Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit
Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not
Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there. 
Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!
All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be. 
He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs. 
His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint. 
Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like. 
It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move. 
That simply wouldn't do. 
It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent. 
“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you. 
“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.” 
You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.
“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags. 
“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water. 
Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”
You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest. 
His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.
You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips. 
The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned. 
You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory. 
It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.
And then you stopped.
He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 
“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”
“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis. 
Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests. 
You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life. 
The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process. 
You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.
“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips. 
You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic. 
“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth. 
“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?” 
“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands. 
“Give me your hand.” 
The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs. 
You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis. 
Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.
“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.” 
“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”
It went on like that for a while. 
One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh. 
Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans. 
Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else. 
Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course. 
He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips. 
You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy. 
“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.
“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing. 
“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.” 
You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted. 
“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless. 
“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”
“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.” 
“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.” 
Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough. 
“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.” 
Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”
“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.
Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his. 
His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him. 
How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin. 
Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves. 
The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted. 
He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.
So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement. 
The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda. 
He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise. 
“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”
“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum. 
You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”
He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks. 
It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room. 
There was no way you could wave him off now.
Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied. 
You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer. 
His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.
He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut. 
“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder. 
“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point. 
You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing. 
“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction. 
“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck. 
His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right. 
“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”
He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.” 
“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against. 
“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you. 
You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.” 
“Want ya. Right here.”
“Want me to what?” 
Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”
You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again. 
“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”
Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.” 
His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow. 
But he still hadn't cracked. 
The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.
“Maybe some other time.” 
His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.
There it is. 
“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?” 
You forced a nod. 
“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?” 
You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive. 
He looked so fed up. 
“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered. 
Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”
You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you. 
“Don't want you to beg.” 
You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away. 
His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans. 
After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him. 
You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity. 
“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened. 
“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb. 
“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.
“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location. 
“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water. 
You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit. 
“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back. 
“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.” 
Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank. 
“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action. 
Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.” 
Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan. 
Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding. 
“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”
You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.
Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented. 
Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to. 
The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly. 
You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder. 
Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax. 
He withdrew his finger and you whined. 
“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”
You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.” 
His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.
There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised. 
Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.
You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel. 
Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.
You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger. 
“Ew!” You gasped. 
You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor. 
At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.
The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest. 
“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.
“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further. 
“Y-you said you had condoms.” 
Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs. 
He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath. 
“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body. 
“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man. 
“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.” 
You didn't. Not one bit. 
“But I know ya'aint.” 
You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut. 
His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation. 
Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips. 
“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust. 
“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”
“Thought I was gonna regret it.”
Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly. 
“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”
He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace. 
It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had. 
Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made. 
“Get up.” 
You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked. 
Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed. 
The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust. 
“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath. 
There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough. 
When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.
“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!” 
There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation. 
“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.” 
“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red. 
You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.
It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache. 
“Point stands.” 
Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist. 
The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest. 
He yanked your head to the side. You gasped. 
“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in.  
“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans. 
“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle. 
“More.” 
He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you? 
He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound. 
You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on. 
Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.” 
“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”
Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?” 
“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.” 
He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air. 
You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly. 
Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it. 
It was barely a love tap. 
You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick. 
He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.
“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.” 
You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip. 
It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch. 
“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine. 
“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless. 
Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again. 
And again. 
Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him. 
As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick. 
He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.” 
“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling. 
He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you. 
“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you. 
Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like. 
You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate. 
The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss. 
That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping. 
Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together. 
It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation. 
“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”
“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.” 
He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back. 
The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.
The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it. 
“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”
A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat. 
Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.
In fights.
He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you. 
You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing. 
Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”
You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head. 
“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision. 
“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh-  fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-” 
He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you. 
Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it. 
“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl. 
“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size. 
“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”
“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.
“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips. 
“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.
You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”
That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back. 
“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”
Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”
“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”
Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”
“I'm serious.”
He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”
You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”
He nodded, going back to biting his cheek. 
“How'd you last so fucking long?”
A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.
“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.” 
That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses. 
“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own. 
“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled. 
“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.” 
“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”
Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again. 
@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami
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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 months ago
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Pt 5 of the Danny is a clone/reincarnation in DC au. Tw: discussions of sa and child sa
[Part 4 here]
Danny is not sure how he got talked into this. Sure, he's been steadily getting better at "normal" interactions over the last 2 and a half years, and he's met or is family with everyone here, but it's still a lot. It's Dick, Wally, Kori, Raven, Jon, Damian, Kon, Bernard, Tim, Jason, Roy, and him all camped out in the second largest family room for a sleepover. Sort of. As overwhelmed as he feels, it's still rather fun.
They have movies playing in the background while they all play different games. At first, different groups split off to play board games or card games, but Dick decided they should play something all together. It was hard to find something that accommodated so many players, so they decided to play never have I ever.
Danny could even play honestly because everyone here knows about his "second set" of memories. So there's no questions if he puts a finger down to something he hasn't technically done from their perspective. But it does mean they hone in when he hesitates.
"Never have I ever lost my virginity." Damian said it because he knew Tim, Jason, and Dick would put their fingers down, but his eyes widen when Danny debates if he should. "Seriously?"
"I'm not sure it counts.." Danny shifts uncomfortably.
"Oh-ho! You lose it to someone Before?" Jason teases, "Who was it? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"
"Jason.." Dick scolds while staring hard at Danny. He's clearly pieced it together. There's this look on his face that isn't sympathy, but empathy. Danny feels sick knowing his eldest brother knows exactly what he means because he's also been through something similar.
"I've actually never made it past kissing with a romantic interest." Danny can see the exact moment his very specific wording clicks. He starts trembling as a bunch of ugly emotions make themselves known.
"Shit."
"Danny-"
"I don't think it counts." Dick cuts everyone off, his sunshine smile nowhere to be seen. "No more than my assaults should be considered cheating."
The way Kori flinches leads Danny to believe that's exactly what she accused him of at some point. He knows they're exs, but didn't know the details. The guilt written all over her over this topic is reassuring, though.
"Sometimes things happen outside of our control." Dick gives a small sad smile. "Which means we can't blame ourselves. We just figure out how to live in the aftermath."
The fact Dick has been sexually assaulted seems to be news to everyone, but Wally and Kori. The anger on both of their behalves is heartwarming, but Danny just feels the need to scrub his skin raw. The images of the pedophiles pretending to be scientists flashing before his eye and their phantom touches making him feel dirty.
"I'm never going to escape what that lab did to me.."
"You already are." Kon pipes up. "Look around you, kid. Even just a year ago, you wouldn't have agreed to be part of this hangout. Sure, the scars will never go away, you'll have moments where you feel like nothing but an experiment or a tool, instead of the kind and bright person you are, but that's okay-"
"Whenever you forget. The people who care about you will just have to remind you!" Jon's bright grin has sadness mixed in it.
"Danny?" Tim shuffles closer. "Can I hug you?"
Danny doesn't verbally answer, just nods and crawls into Tim's lap. Danny curls up tightly and whispers. "I think I'm done playing for now."
"Alright.." Tim hugs him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back. A glance towards Dick reveals Wally and Kori have him sandwiched between them, giving him comfort.
"How..." Jason starts slowly, clearly still recovering from the information that his eldest and youngest brothers have both been assaulted. "How about we play Uno? We have 3 packs worth, so there should be enough."
Danny knows this won't be the last time the topic of their assaults are brought up, but it's a weird sort of painful healing to even just acknowledge it happened. It'll probably also stop them from trying to push him into relationships like they do with Damian. He can't stomach the thought of dating currently. He's happy just sticking to platonic affection for now.
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hollyhomburg · 2 months ago
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Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)
(Pack alpha Hoseok focus, Background ot7 x reader, Omegaverse, Forced Caretaking, Omega scarcity au)
୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: When a performance keeps pack alpha Hoseok from tending to his sick omega, he struggles to contain his rage (and looks back on all the reasons he has to control his anger).
୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 16.6k
୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sicfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Background ot7 x reader, eventual Brat! m/c, Implied chronic health issues, themes of trauma, Hoseok has PTSD from enlistment, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, brief smut, Brief allusions to omega obedience training, Brief Dom! Hoseok, Breif Sub! m/c + Jk, referenced Dom Jimin + spanking, non-chronological storyline
୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: This was inspired after i got /dreadfully/ ill after seeing HOTS in march. i've been writing it for a good long while i guess! i'm open to adding more to the story if i'm inspired but as of right now it will only be 5 parts. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! this story also does go non-chronolgocially, if we organize it by chronology this is actually the middle. basically it goes 3 < 4 < 5 < 1 < 2, but i think you'll enjoy the flashbacks of how they got togeather!
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The sound of the audience and the rumble of screams and shouts are still ringing in Hoseok's ears as he exits the stage. The roar of the lyrics are a hum filling his veins. Adrenaline pumps through his system better than any drug or instinct. More addictive and more natural to him than breathing.
He’s sweat tacky in places he’d rather not name and yet despite this night- a show, the dance of performer and performance, the validation that comes from the screams of many waiting fans- despite all of that- Hoseok's still not calm. Hoseok's still not satisfied.
He yanks his in ears out, nearly tearing at the wiring the second he's clear from view. Not even bothering to put his microphone in its correct case as he moves, breathless and hurried in the direction of the dressing room.
A stagehand tries to help him, but after clocking the rage and aggression rolling off of him they think better of it and lower their gaze as he passes, practically curling in on themselves.
He's on alert, aggression a hairpin trigger just waiting to be pulled below his skin. Almost hoping for an outlet. The still lingering roaring cheers of Alphas, a good number of betas, and a sparse select few omegas ferry him as he cuts through the sea of staff.
By all metrics the show had gone well. He's not angry because he stumbled or because someone messed up the queue for the cube again. This performance had gone perfectly. It has nothing to do with why he's about to snap and punch someone. Maybe bite them. Maybe tear them limb from limb- yeah his alpha likes the sound of that. But none of this, none of this is what makes his blood hot in his veins.
That honor belongs to his omega.
You’re not just his, of course, you belong to the others too. But he’s pack alpha, so they all belong to him to some degree. The pups more so, his peers, Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi- less. Being a part of a pack is more like belonging to matching a set and less ownership.
But not anymore. You're Hoseok's. In every way that matters. You're his.
It's hard to believe, but Hoseok was not always so possessive and exacting as a pack alpha. He never had to deal with any of this- the instincts and the near-feral need that comes with them before the pack became fractured. Broken in a way that can’t be fixed by words and promises. Leaving Hoseok's alpha to pace back and forth the inside of his mind like a monster caged and understimulated.
Hoseok wishes he knew what he was giving up when he enlisted.
Not that knowing would have changed anything. But at least then he'd have been prepared.
Hoseok has seven pups and seven packmates registered to his pack. four alpha's, two beta's, and one precious omega. He's never been without his pack for so long and before 22 months ago they'd never been apart for more than a few weeks. Enlisting posed new challenges, some that Hoseok thought he'd be better at handling by now.
But adjustment takes time. Healing takes time. It doesn't matter how many times he repeats that to himself. Nothing ever gets easier (You might disagree).
The military wasn't easy. They didn't go easy on Hoseok.
He'd never been one alpha among the many, never had his rage cultivated and honed as a weapon to be used and wielded by his superiors. Hoseok learned he was good at being angry- good at melding his body and his alpha together as one- it's only now that Hoseok's out that he's struggling to detangle his sense of self from his alpha.
He'd never been without some sort of pack structure. At least not in so many years. He'd presented with Namjoon and Yoongi- had dealt with their instincts and learned how to settle his own alongside them. A good thing too because a few years after when Jungkook and Taehyung had come along. Young and wide-eyed and entirely unprepared for anything like presenting- they'd needed a pack alpha to help settle them. Someone to guard and mind their instincts, to take care of them, to push when they needed pushing and get them to bend when otherwise they might break.
But war is different. Rage- Hoseok is learning, Is a particular monster that doesn't go down easy.
Of course they'd never been completely broken as a pack. Even now Yoongi is home in the pack house still doing his daily service and coming home at the end of the day. The last time Hoseok had been home (nearly 5 weeks ago before the start of the tour). Yoongi was still struggling; Hoseok saw signs of it everywhere.
His camo jacket wasn't in the house even, it's in the garage where he leaves his boots. Takes them off before he even sets foot inside. separate lives and separate alpha's. There are pack house slippers set up by the door. 16 slippers, 8 sets, color coordinated. Kept meticulously clean like the rest of the house. Namjoon's coffee mug left by the coffee maker, Tae's scarf laid over the chair. A still life painting. hints of the pack left undisturbed. As if they'd just popped out for a moment and where coming back later.
Maybe Hoseok should have realized it when Seokjin was discharged, how you and Yoongi had gone radio silent for 6 hours. How much more communicative Seokjin was after and how every day after he told Hobi how much he couldn't wait for the pack alpha to come home. A new edge to his tone. Hoseok should have suspected something was wrong.
Now that Hoseok's home, he knows. Jin had it easier. Jin's a beta Jin doesn't have a monster in the back of his mind constantly out for blood.
He knows that Yoongi's still not used to buying less than 8 people's worth of food at a time after so many years of cooking and shopping for 8. That he struggles to fall asleep at night- too used to the press of warm bodies around him. Now Hoseok knows that Sometimes when Yoongi wakes in the morning, his hands shake. Instincts and body unsettled.
Hoseok knows, for the first 6 months of his service, his hands shook in the morning too. Call it psychological dependence or physical addiction- Hoseok doesn't quite know what it is. Although Hoseok expects that had more to do with you.
Alpha's can grow dependent on omega's after all. It's no more addictive than a cup of coffee, and yet,
And yet…
In his worst moments, Hoseok wonders what the pack would do if they didn't have you.
If you hadn't have asked, Hoseok wouldn't have let you come on this tour, would have never dragged you across the globe from city to city and would never have taken you from Yoongi. But the fact of the matter is that Hoseok is...it's not that he's not handling this well exactly but...but...
But you'd pouted, and Hoseok (notoriously weak for your every whim and desire) had predictably melted. (He'd been a little oblivious to the thankful looks shot at you over his head, he'd missed the way that Yoongi had cornered you just before the start of tour, how he'd folded himself across you.
"I'll get him back, you know I can be persistent."
"I know, I'm just worried, he's so...unhappy." Yoongi finally settled on. Even if you're both aware that that's not quite it. "You know how I hate it when you push yourself.")
But trauma changes people, it affects everyone differently. Hoseok had changed.
Now Hoseok regrets letting you come even more. When he checks his phone he doesn't have a single text from you. Not a 'good luck on the show.' Or an 'I'll be watching alpha' or anything. Which is not like you. Hoseok shouldn't be so surprised. You're probably sleeping. You're probably just resting like you should be. He'd ordered you to rest last night.
Exiting the stage, Hoseok does try and settle himself. Pausing in the darkness listening the the shouting of the crowd, slowly becoming a murmur and rumble. 60 thousand footsteps trudging towards the exit.
He spends a few moments standing there, staff around him waiting on bated breath, waiting for him to move. He's at least practicing his breathing exercises even if his body still feels like a weapon poised to attack.
When Hoseok closes his eyes, he sees each member of his pack as a pinprick of light against the map. Five dots clustered across the ocean back in Korea, one here close by, and one on the other side of the world.  7 dots and 7 breaths.
Seokjin is in France for an event that left him looking glittery and bejeweled. But he's existed as little more than sinful pictures and soft check-ins on Hoseok’s phone. His phone buzzes, but Hoseok keeps his eyes closed and breathes before he looks at it.
Those check-ins are the only way Hoseok stays sane these days. The updates from Jimin and Jungkook- shots of the dinner they make for the thousands of other recruits. 30 gallon pots of honey potatoes. Recordings of Namjoon's military band. The few promos that Taehyung is allowed to shoot- although he out of all of them is radio silent most weeks. Hoseok knows it's just because he's military police and has a higher clearance than them- even though Hoseok's technically a sergeant- but still-
Taehyung is a shifting wolf, he has different expectations than the rest of the pack.
Hoseok isn't in the military anymore. He's just Jung Hoseok. Only Hoseok could never be just Jung Hoseok- no matter what universe you put him in.
As long he knows exactly where and what his pack is doing the instincts are a little bit easier to bear. As long as he knows when Yoongi's going to come home, when Seokjin will be done with his photoshoot or recording session or this or that and is ready there waiting at the front door for a scenting or a brief nibble at their throat. Hoseok's instincts stay mostly in check.
Mostly. It's easier if Hoseok gives in, just a little bit, to what his alpha wants.
Hoseok's alpha wants more than Hoseok can give him right now, Hoseok's alpha wants blood, wants to tear this stadium apart and hunt across the city, tearing through anyone that steps in his way until he gets to you.
They haven’t all been together in so long his body is almost used to it. His body has adjusted. It’s been months now but there is still aggression that lurks under his skin, alpha constantly roiling to get out out out out. To get back to his pack, to drag them back by the scruff of their necks to the pack house and place them gently in your nest where they belong. Damning laws and discharge dates and all associated consequences.
The truth is that Hoseok's alpha doesn't know what to do when they're not together. Will keep him awake, will keep him from eating or resting. He'd heard that enlistment time could be dangerous for pack alphas, that many don't survive their 18 months without going feral at least once. Hoseok had skimmed by the skin of his teeth.
In many ways, the fight between man and alpha is like a dance, Hoseok’s alpha asks for obedience and Hoseok gives him his body but not his mind when he can help it. He runs and moves, and puts every ounce of discipline and dominance into his dance. His moves are always mastered, never shaky.
Hoseok's not sure he'd know it if he went feral.
When he'd been announced as pack alpha back just after their debut, there had been more than one article that questioned why the sunshine of the group, the ever-smiling and genial member, neither the largest nor the tallest was made pack alpha.
But size has nothing to do with it. Now, no one wonders. After seeing him perform solo on the stage they bought and paid for with their youth and hard work. After seeing him and what he can do no one questions him. Hoseok made discharge look effortless, no one would ever guess. No one would ever wonder.
Other times, Hoseok's alpha asks for more than Hoseok can give without showing it. Like tonight.
The only thing that made their military service at all tolerable was the fact that for those 6 months when the 6 of them had been in active service- at least Yoongi had been able to come home to you.
There’s a text from him on Hobi's phone and he's not asking about the show. Yoongi always watches the live stream and usually texts him the second he's hot off the stage. Asking about how it went even though he saw it. Namjoon might be the group leader but Yoongi has always felt a bit more like Hoseok's second in command.
Hoseok has no doubt that Yoongi saw right through him tonight, saw the furious crispness to his movements, and was able to tell how close he was to breaking. Hoseok doesn’t doubt that the other alpha checking his phone every few minutes. Anxiously waiting for Hoseok's response.
When Hoseok is certain he has enough control over his body that the text isn't going to make him trash the backstage area. He checks his phone.
Yoonie (10:32pm): How is she? Any news? Has her condition gotten any worse?
Yoonie (10:33pm): I know you're probably already considering it, but you know traveling isn't healthy for omega's long term. She needs her routine. You should consider sending her home.
Yoongi has gentler instincts and always has. But even he can't stay settled when their omega is sick. Yoongi also wasn’t taken away from you for a year and a half and taught to kill so Hoseok thinks he’s allowed to be a little on edge.
Hoseok shouldn't feel so fragile and so volatile. He should feel better. This is nothing compared to how it was right after he got back.
Yoongi's not the only one who's texted, the rest already have using their precious 30 minutes of phone time a day to check in. Most of the time, Hobi tries to time his updates to accumulate before they wake.
Jin gets it, Jin understands. Even though he's a beta. His text came through just before Hobi got on stage.
Jinnie (7:05pm): Let me know if you want me to change my flight.
They’ve been separated for a year. There was only Jin’s discharge and then his that they’ve all been together for. They all keep in regular contact and that’s not difficult. They check in and text daily and call weekly. But it's never enough.
As a pack with a registered omega they’re offered some allowances by the government. They get more days off and leeway if one of them gets sick or injured (like last month with Taehyung- Hoseok’s little alpha, bundled close in the nest, face tucked under your chin, so achingly still. His newly big body oh so carefully placed so that he wouldn’t strain his cracked rib.)
Alphas don’t have a better reason to fight than for omegas and recovery rates are always always higher if an alpha has been scented by an omega. The boost to their immune system alone is enough to make omega’s necessary for the war effort. The government even employs some omega's and compensates them greatly for their service as scenters.
The pack would never think about going to a government omega, not when they’ve got you at home.
As a bonded pack there’s no use, it wouldn’t work the same (and Hoseok would never offend you that way). But there’s less time given if more than one alpha is out. It’s one of the few reasons why Hoseok went in first so that he'd be able to help them all adjust when the time came.
He never expected to be the one to have trouble with it. To struggle to turn his instincts off now that they've been turned on.
The people around must be able to tell that Hoseok’s on edge, and the crowd too. Their cries reached a feral pitch, the same shouting that still vibrates the stage beneath his feet. Rage rolls off of him in waves as he stalks back to the dressing room. Smile and grin and smirk falling from his face.
They must be able to smell it on him underneath all the smell of the show, the gunpowder and fire from Hangsang, the roil of steam from sweet dreams, all irrelevant.
This is what they’ve all been waiting for for what feels like years, a chance to be on the stage again, a chance to perform. This is only the beginning leg of the tour and there are still kinks to work out and problems to solve. The logistical nightmare of moving staff and stage across multiple countries never ends. Hoseok is used to this. Hoseok is comfortable here.
He keeps telling himself that.
But right now, Hoseok can't think about it. He can't think about anything else but you.
Because you're sick.
~-~
Omegas are so rare that not every pack can have one.
Only those who can supply an above-average standard of life usually get one. Both prize and packmate. They're more common in celebrity and chaebol circles. Having an omega in your pack is the ultimate sign of success and wealth.
Some packs even have two, especially if the omega's have decided they're nestmates. But Hoseok can't imagine needing more than you.
A disease two generations ago wiped out nearly 90% of omega's. The sickness left only the most looked after, the most cared for unscathed. But those that were alive by the end of the nearly 10 year period scrambled to cope. To this day the omega population still hasn't recovered in any meaningful way. They make up only about 1 in every 100 individuals worldwide, less in Korea.
Most omega’s go through a very rigorous courting period if they're going to belong to a pack at all, only the richest and well-esteemed packs can covet one for for themselves. The rest of the world survives off of government-sponsored nesting and scenting services. There are even government agencies in charge of omega’s. Each omega gets an id card and a social worker. Hoseok hasn't had to talk to yours in years. Omegan Health Services or the OHS that tracks any omega that might have come into contact with the virus and quickly disseminates antivirals and vaccines.
You have to get yours every few months. Hoseok makes sure you never miss your appointments. Usually, he spends the following day confining you to the nest, immune to your restless squirming and your insistence that you're alright, just a little tired. Resistant to his insistence that he carry you where you need to go, that he fuss over you.
Luckily- the rest of the pack gangs up on you after your shots too. Namjoon puts your bandaid on the inside of your arm and Yoongi soothes your stomach with bone broth and light food to support your immune system. Each spoonful blown at, your lips dotted with reassuring kisses between bites. Jungkook and Taehyung usually wrap themselves around you like a living blanket to keep the shivers at bay. Nosing into your spine.
Only Hoseok and Yoongi usually attend your appointments. They're a little too intense for the others. Sometimes Jin comes. But he's the most likely to burst into tears and then you end up comforting him instead of the other way around.
Hoseok is usually good up until they actually put the needle into your skin. He'd broken a chair the first time he'd seen it. Gripping the wooden arm so hard as he heard your intake of pain that it had splintered under his hand.
There's a genetic component to being a pack alpha. Jungkook has the gene too. Hoseok has always been a little stronger, a little more resilient than the others.
Hoseok has only ever missed one of your appointments. Last year, the year Hoseok was enlisted for your shot. You'd spent weeks telling him he didn't have to take a day off for it (he'd been saving all of his leave for his packmate's ruts and your heat, but even then Hoseok knew he was going to have to miss one or two.) You said you'd be fine, that the shot wouldn't be too bad, you've had them before after all.
Only you hadn't been alright, you'd had to be hospitalized for it. It wasn't all that uncommon, omega's have weak immune systems and yours has always been particularly fragile.
Hoseok hardly remembers it. The static through the line, he'd hardly been able to hear Yoongi's voice over the roar of his heartbeat through his ears. An emergency call from Yoongi, something about an allergic reaction, anaphylaxis.
He'd have gone awol if his commander hadn't granted him emergency leave. His brain hadn't stopped roaring until he'd draped himself draped across your hospital bed after making an 8-hour car ride in 6 hours. Beret off, spilled and fallen onto the floor, face crumpling the second Yoongi rose from your opposite bedside.
"Namjoon will be here in an hour, she tried to stay up for you but the medication they had to give her made her drowsy."
Hoseok hadn't been able to speak, to respond to him. The sight of you in the bed. Small looking. The cannula. Supplying your body with oxygen because it's not getting enough. Everything screaming at Hoseok's instincts wrong wrong wrong. Fight protect keep safe.
Hoseok was terrified.
They'd given him a tranquilizer to stop him from pacing outside your door. Apparently its a normal occurrence in the relatively empty but well maintained omega's only wing of the hospital. Guards watch him with nervous expressions as they patrol the halls.
After that, he'd been a little more susceptible to Yoongi's gentle request that Hoseok should come sit by your bedside table. And what started as sitting turned into nuzzling into your hand turned into closing his eyes for just a moment.
You'd been rubbing your hands over his shaved head by the time he'd woken. He'd been so sure he'd been dreaming it, but Your honey voice is so soothing after hearing nothing but shouting to work harder and run faster you're so weak private Jung, can you even hit the target for weeks and weeks that it felt a bit like a lullaby to hear his own name spoken so gently, with such tenderness.
"Hobi, Oh Hobi. You didn't have to come all this way for me."
~-~
This is thankfully not that. Thankfully you're sick with just a cold and not the virus. But Hoseok doesn't take any sickness lightly. Not when it comes to you.
Modern medicine has come a long way, but still not far enough. Omegas are so rare a good portion of the population even abandons the idea of having an omega entirely. They’re not exactly a necessity for beta’s but for alphas- it’s a different story.
Hoseok can feel the hum of scent deprivation under his skin. The itch unlike any other. Hoseok cannot smell you on him, not his clothes or his skin. Nothing beyond the smell of sweat and alpha annoyance. Through any other performance, he’d at least have the scent of his pack on him. But not tonight, not until June when everyone will finally finally be together.
You’d been sleeping through the morning when he left, and he’d been reluctant to wake you on account of how you’d fallen asleep last night- or hadn’t. You’d been sniffling and coughing the whole night away. Hoseok had kept watch over you through it all.
What had started as a brief tickle in your throat around lunch yesterday (an easy meal- vegetables for Hobi and a tad bit of meat for you, fed from his own chopsticks, every brief shake of your head met with a disapproving look that you have long stopped disagreeing with. Hobi knows how much you are to eat, there's no reason why you need to worry your pretty little head about anything). Had developed into a fever and a few minutes of terror while they waited for the test to develop.
You've never gotten the sickness before but Hoseok knows how it would start; a feverishness like heat, then tiredness. And then all of a sudden you'd go to nest and wouldn't get up again without medical intervention. Might not get up at all. Might stop breathing- might-
He repeats it to himself again. That you're not sick with it. That this is just an ordinary cold. He has no reason to be so on edge.
The fans tonight could tell there was something wrong. Could spot it. Hoseok knows they're wondering if it's you. You aren’t a secret, but you are a private matter. A person that only the pack and the staff know by name. There have been pictures and speculation. They don't hide you but your last name is not public knowledge. You keep your face hidden almost constantly when you know you’re going to be spotted with them.
You are not someone to be jealous of but to be jealous for. You are not someone to be stalked or photographed. What they ordinarily tolerate out of necessity, they never do with you.
But alpha's are not always good at controlling their instincts. There have been incidents, not always because of them or their lack of control either. Jungkook had almost come to blows with an alpha who dared to sniff in your direction just before Jungkook's enlistment, a month or so after Hobi's.
~-~
The flash of the cameras are dizzying. There's a hush that falls over the room as you and Jungkook enter, before the roar redoubles- twice as loud as before.
You're mostly used to it by now, but still some things- like Jungkook close behind you, his big hand on the small of your back make it easier to tolerate. The press of people on either side of you is stifling, press and fans, guards and security. There's only a few moments of claustrophobia from the car to the showcase.
You hold your breath, and Jungkook stays close. It would be easier if your other alphas were here, but you're getting used to having them far away, to having them only on your phone or during evening phone calls. It's been enough months that Hoseok has stopped apologizing for leaving you and Namjoon has started making promises of all the things you'll do once you're home.
But still, sometimes you wake in the nest in the morning, big and empty of bodies, and feel so lonely it aches.
It will be worse when Jungkook goes. You know it will. Which is why you're tagging along today, why you've tagged along to schedules you'd normally avoid.
Sometimes you don't believe what hoseok says, the way that the world talks about omegas, they say you're more delicate, you're more breakable. Most of the time, you don't believe it.
Other times, like this, your anxiety rushes at you, and their touch becomes the only teather you have outside of the fear, the nervousness, the pounding tumble of your heart that ached for confined soft spaces, warmth and enclosed safety. A nest.
But you do away with your instincts today, in favor of staying close. A few more weeks, you only have a few more weeks until Jungkook goes and you don't want to waste a single minute.
One moment you're in front of Jungkook, walking almost instep with him as he leads you through rows and rows of security. You know what you'll look like in magazines later, wide eyes perched over a mask, hat with bunny ears flopping. Swallowed whole by a jacket, small next to your alpha. That there will be articles and breakdowns of your every movement.
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Being an omega can get a little frustrating. You're not the only one scrutinized this way, most omega's that mate with public figures are the topic of the tabloids. You'd flopped against hoseok's chest the first time it happened, "they only saw my forehead! how are they talking about skincare routine when they don't even know?" he'd just pressed his forhead against yours, nuzzling your nose playfully.
"I hate to tell you that you should get used to it but- the press are just kind of like that."
Most of them keep their distance. tipping their head as you pass. it doesn't make you weirded out or nervous, it just is this way. You take off your hat and mask the second you're clear of the doors and fans, about to turn and say something to Jungkook. You don't see the dark figure at the end of the hall leaning forward ever so slightly.
But Jungkook does.
it happens so quick you can't even blink, one moment you're stumbling, turning to say something to him, a security gaurd reaching out to steady you- The next moment you're holding Jungkook back around his waist, blood on his knuckles and a growl on the air.
More than one security guard and staff gets between you and the other alpha. He spits blood on the floor. Some of it hits your legs.
Your ears ring, and you can't hear anything as Jungkook shoves you behind him. Two other security guards have to hold him back. Hands shaking out of their hold.
They'd still been shaking, as he used a wet wipe to clean the blood off of your legs after.
You just don't sniff at an omega without permission, let alone reach to touch them. Let alone an omega with a pack.
"Jeon Jungkook! No! Bad!"
You don't like using their full names, never have, it's always pet names with you. Hoseok can already hear the gentle velvet of your voice crooning softly, "Hobi, are you okay? Do you want to come lay down in my nest for a bit? Can you come here alpha? I want to scent you."
You are the only person for whom his instincts bend. You are the only person he ever willingly takes orders from. The fight worn out of his body at your simplest request.
Hoseok takes Emergency pack alpha leave precious and dwindling by the month, just to handle the situation again. But disciplining his pack takes precedent.
A tidy settlement had kept the situation from leaking to the press, although Hoseok could hardly blame Jungkook for acting aggressively. His head had hung the entire time Hoseok been home. Jungkook doesn't like disappointing the pack alpha. Especially not now, when they don't have days and weeks of proximity and routine to get back on even ground. Not when Hoseok only has 24 hours, and has to leave in the morning.
It only takes one touch for Hoseok to bring him to his knees. A hand on the back of his neck the second they're clear of the outside. The pack house, dusty and mostly empty. Jungkook's mouth has been running wild since Hoseok first walked into the company building. Apologizing to anyone who would listen.
But Hoseok hadn't accepted the apology until they'd been in private.
"Do you know why you're sorry Jungkook?"
You're sat across Hoseok's lap for it, sniffling slightly. Soothed by the rhythmic brush of his hand down his back, your cold nose pressed against his throat. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his uniform before this. Jungkook is on his knees between Hoseok's parted thighs. Inches from you and kept at a distance by sheer obedience. Hoseok admires Jungkook's restraint. Not every alpha could resist nuzzling into an omega's thighs, especially one so close.
Hoseok knows his weaknesses. Jungkook is also a good alpha. Hoseok's most obedient one. But even then he's not even looking at Hobi when as he kneels.
Jungkook looks at you and blinks back tears. Hoseok wants to lick at the alpha's pretty canines, wants to press your faces together and make you kiss. Make it messy just for him. He redoubles his hold on you. holding you tighter. You lap at his scent gland, trying to soothe yourself, nearly suckling at the skin of his throat.
"For offending our omega and...for putting her in danger?" Jungkook's hands slid down Hoseok's calf muscles, but Hoseok just tipped his feet wider. Giving Jungkook more room.
The ball of your foot pressed against Jungkook's shoulder, undeterred, the younger alpha only tries to nose up your leg. Hoseok nudges between his legs with his boot and Jungkook makes a noise- somewhere between a whine and a growl.
"Look at me. not at her." Hoseok keeps him still, and yet- there's only seconds before Jungkook's attention is diverted from the pack alpha's face to yours.
"And how did you do that? How did you put her in danger? Tell alpha."
"For Fighting? For hitting him?"
Hoseok is quick to reassure him with a hand on his chin, rubbing across Jungkook's cheek. "No no no, you did that perfectly. Alpha is so proud of you for defending our omega like that, try again."
"Because" Jungkook is having a hard time stringing his words together with Hoseok's boot pressed to certain places. But that's the point. Hoseok owns all of him like this, the sole of his rubber boot pressed against his knot, gently pressing it snug between Jungkook's body and the unyielding weight of his dominance. The other alpha pants openly. Hoseok can tell that it hurts. Can tell that Jungkook likes it to by the way his mouth opens in a soundless groan.
"Because I did it infront of her?"
"Yes. And why was that bad?"
"Because stress isn't good for omega's? They're too fragile for it." That Jungkook does not say shakily. He, like Hoseok, knows it in his bones that he speaks the truth.
hoseok is perilously weak not to reward him.
"That's right. Good boy. My smart boy. Pull your pants down for alpha and show me your knot." Jungkook pushes into Hoseok's hand like a puppy, letting out a shaky relieved breath at the words. You squirm a little, stilling when you feel Hoseok's hands go firm on your waist. A wordless command to keep still and stay where alpha wants you.
Jungkook rushes to comply, eager to be good. cock popping free, hitting his toned stomach with a light plop. Resting his chin on Hoseok's knee once he's finished.
He waits. You squirm. Looking at him over your shoulder and then at Hoseok. blushing furiously. unnerved by jungkook's complete obedience. Like you're struggling not to give it to.
You rub your nose up and down the column of his throat like you're trying to soothe yourself. "M' not fragile." Hoseok pulls back to peck your nose, humming and willing to play along. His hands on you are gentle, almost too gentle.
"Of course you're not. My sweet little pup. You’re so so brave, you didn’t even cry for that long and alpha is so so proud."
He adjusts his gaze to Jungkook, who has resorted to clinging to Hoseok's legs again for comfort. Pretending he's not rutting his hips in tentative circles and making a mess of Hoseok's pant leg. Eyes teary and worked up. Teeth half bared in aggression like he wants to submit completely but can't quite will himself too. his alpha bubbling up.
"It was just...Scary." You say, quiet and soft. And when you reached down to touch Jungkook's hair, Hoseok lets you.
Jungkook sags into the touch. He chases your scent gland taking deep grateful lungfuls of the scent there. lips parted against your skin. The ache between his thighs forgotten. Teeth almost pressed and bared. But he wouldn't dare nip at you, not when you're sat in Hoseok lap.
This time when apologies dribble from his lips, Hoseok feels like he means it. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry. I won't do that again in front of her- I didn't mean too-"
Hoseok presses his shoe against Jungkook's cock again, This time there's no fabric guarding the harsh dig of the leather and tred from dimpling Jungkook's skin. The alpha yelps. Thighs shaking with the effort it takes him to stay still. Body going rigid.
When Hoseok takes his shoe off, there's a bit of white wet liquid, staining the dark leather. Hoseok's smile is near feral.
"All will be forgiven, Don't you want to show hyung how good you can be? I think you owe our pup a little stress relief Kookie." Hoseok simply shifts you in his lap. Draping one leg over either knee. Fingers dipping between your legs, low. Fingers parting warmth and sweet. Jungkook's blubbering cuts off.
"All you have to do it open your mouth and apologize."
~-~
Jungkook had been sorry, for almost inadvertently pushing your capabilities. The whole world treats omega's like this- like they are inherently fragile.
You are someone that the fans would never shove or push at. It's generally considered a taboo to be rough with omegas at all and more than one idol has had to issue a public apology after tugging their omega's hand a little too roughly at the airport or through crowds of fans.
At least outside of private matters. Behind closed doors, it's more up to what the individual omega wants. At least that's what Hoseok's learning with you.
It's also considered the bare minimum to provide for your omega an extravagant life. That at least- Hoseok does not struggle with. It's easy to spoil you, instinctual almost. To protect and provide and please.
All in all Hoseok is more straightforward that you might expect, he'll give his pack everything so long as they hold nothing back in return.
Being on tour with him means you can try things you wouldn’t ordinarily eat and go places you wouldn’t normally go. To art museums and shopping districts for pretty little diamond studded collars and comfortable designer nesting supplies. Café's for famous desserts shaped like flowers and figs, and even the exclusive omega section at Fao Schwartz.
The packages for that have already been sent back to Seoul where they no doubt fill the entryway of the pack house. Probably carefully unwrapped and organized by yoongi, still in their silk bags on the border of your personal nest at home. A custom-made monstrosity that Hoseok had made for you and Yoongi designed that cost a small fortune.
But Hoseok had no qualms with him spending the pack's money on that. Not even back at the beginning of your courtship and relationship. Nothing but the best for you.
But delicate requests for room service and delivery from a restaurant you’d wanted to try with a promise for more at the next tour stop are now forgotten. Everything is forgotten now that you're sick.
He’s aware he’s been followed, his manager, a bodyguard, a makeup Noona trail behind him as he stalks in the direction of the dressing room. Where his clothes are, where he can get his things and leave. He can feel the rage polishing his canines already.
It makes his grin wider, teeth sharper in the privacy of darkness. Hoseok is snarling at the shadows, the toothy grin crazed as he finally makes it back to the dressing room. Tearing off his jacket popping the buttons and ripping the hem of it in the process.
It can be fixed before the next performance. Hoseok would rip 100 jackets to get home to you even a second quicker.
Unlike usual, no one offers him congratulations and he doesn’t offer any thanks or encouragement. His hands shake as he bends down to undo his shoes, all but yanking them off of him. His necklaces get tangled around his fingers, 7 of them- one for each packmate, and the second he starts to tear at them. Someone reaches for him- to stop him.
Hoseok turns and nearly lunges at Mr. Lee.
Hoseok imagines it perfectly, teeth sinking in, popping through skin and blood. The image is so visceral that Hoseok almost confuses it with reality. The familiar iron tang on the back of his throat what his instincts demand.
He stops himself just narrowly before he can get to his throat. He loses a growl. A sound so bone chilling that no one dare moves a muscle.
Only pure familiarity keeps him from actually biting the other man. the fact that Hoseok's alpha has sort of identified him as someone safe. But the scent of alpha aggression in the air makes everyone, even the lowliest stagehand, pause where they’re gathered. Hoseok bares his teeth and breathes. Struggling to contain himself.
Mr. Lee doesn't flinch, doesn't even raise his eyebrows at Hobi, looking at him with that same impassive expression. Not intimidated in the slightest by Hoseok snapping his teeth.
His hand smooth over the necklaces. He lets go of Hoseok gently.
Honestly, he should be more careful, they were gifts from the pack. The pack like matching their clothes, their shoes, their jewelry, and matching pack items are fairly common, especially in larger packs.
Hoseok in particular likes to have one thing from each of them on his person at most times, especially when he's traveling. Especially since he hasn't given any of them mating bites yet (none of them could stomach the idea of doing it before service). A little memento to keep them close. The biggest necklaces are from Yoongi and Namjoon and the smallest one is from you. Each of them cost no small sum, they're monetarily valuable as well as sentimental to Hoseok.
Hoseok doesn't thank Mr.Lee as he holds his breath, counts to seven, and goes back to taking them off, this time more gently without yanking at the clasps hard enough to bend the metal. even though he's breathing heavy. even though his hands are shaking. Hoseok struggles but there’s already someone behind him undoing the clasps and finally, it feels like he can breathe.
“Sorry. I’m fine I’m fine just-” Hoseok scrubs his hand across his face. Holding the necklaces in one hand. The diamonds sway. long strands handing towards the floor.
“Can I change in the car?” Hoseok is not asking, even if it’s phrased as a question.
With the way Seejin is looking at him, Hoseok knows the answer, and that he doesn’t want to say it. “Fine just- hurry.” Everyone knows why he's on edge, why he’s off.
Everyone here is well acquainted with the pack's omega.
The first few shows you'd ever attended, you'd been quite the distraction. Falling asleep in Namjoon's lap during his makeup. tugging on Jungkook's shirt while he was getting dressed, playfully feeling Jimin's hair while he was warming up and cutting off his notes. Unwilling to let any of them go on stage without being scented. a reminder as you lingered in the wings of the stage, in their peripheral vision that made even Hoseok stumble.
Occasionally you still attend their concerts to remind them of the power you hold, that as much as you give in to their impulses, they're also beholdent to yours. The leash goes both ways.
You're a little bit of a legend among the makeup noonas, managers, and bodygaurds. Because before enlistment and before any of this, before you’d been theirs, you’d been here working alongside them- a member of the support staff.
~-~
Omegas aren’t officially banned from working, not in any legal or governmental capacity.
Every few years some asshole petitions the current government to put some ban on them working and demand they remain registered to one alpha and one alpha only as is natural. But in all reality, the world could not survive without omegas at least taking some modicum of independence for themselves.
A good number of them appreciate their freedom. Just not you.
Hoseok doesn't like to consider the world where there are no working Omega's, a world where they aren't allowed to help. Now that he's seen the military, and seen what it's like when alphas are taken outside of their normal routine and pack structure and put all together. The idea is even more unsettling.
Without omega's, alphas would break out into all-out war.
Hoseok imagines The rage. The quiet of devastation of murder out of necessity. Alphas already have a hard time restraining their instincts even with an omega. Every few weeks there are stories of some alpha going feral on the news. Can you imagine going 8 weeks without being scented? That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd last 4.
Omega’s are too gentle to do most jobs that aren't specifically designed for them. Omegas are sensitive, in need of protection from just about everything. No fear is too small, not fear of thunder or fear of darkness. Anything that can lurk can be killed, and alphas will kill for omegas. It’s a culturally accepted fact.
No alpha can maintain their instincts for long and keep them under control without an omega scenting them docile at least once a week, it's biological, a necessity as much as drinking water or eating. For beta's its slightly less- they get more snapish than feral. they need it maybe once a month.
Hoseok has still seen seokjin's hands shake, has still suffered through more than one sleepless night with jimin. His body and his brain fighting his instinct to stay awake.
There are modern solutions for age old problems of course. Before you the pack subsided the same way the rest of the population did. There are upscale scenting parlors on just about every street corner in the city, private institutions designed with open air booths or similar to cafes that pay out omega's handsomely for a little acess to their wrists or if they're feeling particularly brave- their throats.
Most priced too expensive for the average person to afford, let alone a couple of broke trainees drunk on foolish dreams. There are alternatives for most of the population. Synthetic omega scent (that always smelled too chemical to Hoseok) available for purchase at every convenience store. Fortified drinks with omega pheromones that sort of work that keep you awake when you need to make deadlines. Yoongi used to overindulge in them.
If you're willing to pay extra, you can even buy something that's actually been scented by an omega. They have boutiques for it.
Although very very few packs can have an omega- most idol companies at least employ one designated omega scenter. They’re becoming more and more popular. A perk, similar to a 401k or unlimited PTO. See you don't need to worry about who will scent you next. See, if you're having a bad day or need help pushing through, we have what many don't.
And still- despite their necessity. Not all societies worship omegas. In certain pockets of the world, omegas are thought of as spoiled and lazy. Some are even kept secret to keep their freedoms, their omegan instincts suppressed until later by medications.
Either consensually or non-consensually in your case. You hadn’t known, not until you were well into your teenage years and nearly a legal adult, that you were an omega. Your instincts remained mostly dormant (and what didn't stay dormant you neglected). sometimes you still struggle to understand what your omega wants.
The others just think you're a little more spirited than a regular omega. But Hoseok knows. Hoseok's alpha has always been able to sniff it out.
Hoseok's blood still boils when he thinks about what your parents did to you. They did it in the name of protecting you but still. He'll still rant if given the opportunity (as long as it doesn't set you on edge). Hoseok's ranting is usually met with understanding from the other alphas and chagrined comfort from the betas in his pack.
The alphas understand that the anger never really goes away. But Seokjin and Jimin are different. They get a little spooked when Hoseok shows how truly angry he is.
Jimin usually exits the room when the others decide to indulge hoseok when he wants to hash it out again. He and Taehyung and Yoongi and Namjoon will find themselves in Yoongi's studio with a twelve-pack or they'll hit golf balls off the roof of the company building when the restlessness of unmet anger really tares at them. Hashing it out yet again until the rage has quieted to a dulcet murmur and Hoseok feels like writing songs about it again.
But not now. Hoseok can't calm himself down right now- Not right now when you’re back in the hotel room running a fever. A fucking fever.
You can’t blame Hoseok. He’s protective of you for a reason. It’s not only the omega plague that has him concerned but…your general health.
It's been harder to resist the temptation to worry since after his military service. Without all of them here to temper his anger and calm him down, Hoseok's alpha has been running a little wild. Bubbling up under the surface. Constantly close and whispering in his ear.
You even thing you see it come out on stage sometimes. Sometimes when he commands the crowd or asks them to roar for him it feels almost like he's using alpha voice with them.
You’d noticed the shift in Hoseok the second he’d come back. The second he took off his uniform for the last time after 18 months. His instincts were closer to the surface than ever before. He was so quiet. So silent. None of his usual electric energy, none of his quiet sureness that you were so used to.
Hoseok hates to admit it and hates it when anyone brings it up, but military service had changed him (and not in a good way).
It’s a good thing he has you- if it wasn’t for you- Hoseok doesn’t know if he’d have been able to find his way back to himself.
~-~
Coming home went something like this:
His eyes were wide through the live, open and unsure, a dazed look, almost shell shocked. Trembling with the new weight of old feelings. The position is familiar but the anxiety at his every move being watched- is unmatched. Like Jamais vu. How did being in front of the camera get so scary?
Hoseok used to be so good at this- at being an idol. They used to do this all the time almost without thought before enlistment. Are his movements too jerky? Can the fans tell that he's about to burst into tears? Can they tell? do they notice?
Is Hoseok not good at this anymore?
Leaving his station had felt like walking away from a nightmare only to find himself still asleep, somewhere between a night terror and a sweet dream. Because you were there in the van. You were there. A small body that nearly collided with his with how fast you pushed yourself to grab him the second he'd opened the door, A hand on your back and Hobi's neck, Yoongi close behind.
The cameras had only gotten one picture. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a blurry profile of a face pressed into his stomach.
Now, he listens to the sound of Yoongi prattling to Jin in the kitchen. sitting on the edge of your bed in the packhouse trying to decompress. there's an invitation to shower off the scent of the barracks before dinner that remains unfulfilled. The air smells like garlic and gochujang. the tang of ssamjang too. Smoke and fire. hoseok still hasn't undressed.
But Hoseok just sits on the bed. Hoseok can't move, lead weights attached to his extremities. Frozen there. Listening to the three of you and scenting the air.
the whole house smells like you, Jin, and Yoongi. just the three of you. none of the other alpha's, not Jimin. Hoseok never thought it would smell strange to him. Never thought that it would smell even a little unfamiliar.
Yoongi is all tangerine goodness. Bright and fragrant just on the edge of ripeness. Jin is soft as a peach, sweet and gentle. But You- oh you-
You smell like warm berry jam and nighttime summer air. Something drippy sweet and dark. Like the hint of sunshine and warmth and like syrup moving slow. Those early summer evenings where you can still smell the sun on the air even though it's already set.
Hoseok breathes it in through his teeth, Gritted. On edge. Alpha close under his skin.
Jin's teasing and Yoongi's low murmur fill the air around your bird chirps and squeaks, even when he falls silent. Absorbing it all, adjusting. It's only been a few hours. Only a few. Hoseok should cut himself some slack for not immediately being chipper and lighthearted.
Yoongi sounds relieved and excited even from here. There’s expensive champagne to celebrate (Hoseok hardly tasted his glass when he downed it, trying to calm his nerves) and a home-cooked meal that Hoseok has been looking forward to for months.
He hears the murmurs too, Yoongi breathing heavy, tense. Words he thinks Hoseok can't hear. "He's so skinny hyung, I saw him take off his jacket and I could see every tendon."
"I know, I know, but he's back now, he's safe, that's all we can change now. At least it's over for him."
"But the others."
"Baby I know." A quiet whine, a chirp. "don't you worry your little head about it darling, you just sit there, would you like to try the first piece? it's almost done. You don't need to save it for alpha, he'd want you to have it." It takes everything in Hoseok not to storm into the other room and feed it to you himself.
Hoseok knows what he looks like, knows that he's skinnier than normal, that he looks underfed and somehow more muscular than before. starved for something that isn't food maybe. the military keeps alphas well fed but not satiated. feeds them enough protein and wolfsbane to make them stronger and yet more susceptible.
But in the meantime worry and anxiety have eaten away at him. His cheeks are hollow and his thin birdlike bones look like they've been wrapped with corded muscle. You'd squeezed them appreciatively earlier, the same as you had with Jin. And Yoongi's eye roll had been hassling. But even the other alpha smelled pleased.
"Yah what am I going to do, if they all come back like this it's going to be me and you against the world pup." You'd giggled, and Hobi had delighted you by letting you hang from his arm.
hoseok couldn't explain why when he looks at you he feels like crying. you're wrapped in your most comforting clothing, an old sweatshirt of his that he hasn't worn in two years and has a new hole at the hem like you've worn it every day in his absence. Giggling softly as you try and hang. Yoongi's hand twitches like he's sort of ready to catch you incase you teeter.
"You're so strong now! Bet you're stronger than Jungkookie even! you can lift me all the time not just when you wanna show off!"
"He could always lift you pup," Jin had crooned looking down at you, a head taller, stooping to drop a kiss on your forehead. His knowing smirk light and teasing. "Hobi just feels like lifting you is more for him than for you so he resists, kind of like how I feel about hugging- like this."
Jin has the longest arms but for what he can't reach Yoongi makes up for. The second he reaches around you and Hobi- Yoongi mirrors him. Both of them are in sync and Hoseok mistimed. off beat. Missing a step. Yoongi and Jin squeeze both of them pushing their chests together and trapping both you and Hobi in a Yoonjin sandwich.
Hoseok can feel how gently they do it. going slow so as to not aggravate his instincts. His alpha cocks his head, unused to the careful affection. They keep squeezing until both of you devolve into giggles and until Hoseok is laughing for real. Unbidden, face crumpling towards the end.
The pack house is part of a gated community. Insulated from the public eye by high walls and a guarded gate. It’s a mixture of modern Western architecture on the outside and traditional Korean wood tones and airy skylights on the interior.
Everyone has a bedroom although they more often than not find themselves scattered in pairs or trios. When the pack doesn't have a schedule to attend to the following day and your health allows for it- they pile into your bedroom heaped all over each other. Unworried about sleeping in uncomfortable positions or needing to wake up everyone to pee.
It's adjacent to your nest room and the kitchen on the ground floor- because you were as equally as prone to bumping into things and tripping as Namjoon. The pack couldn’t bear the idea of you having to go up and down the stairs every night.
You could call them overprotective and you would be right. Your comment about Hoseok carrying you wasn't just teasing. You're lucky your alpha's keep you on such a long (and thankfully metaphorical) leash.
Many many omegas find themselves in more controlling situations than you do. Monitored, and kept safe by personal bodyguards or packmates (often times beta's or lower ranking alphas whose sole job in the pack structure is to protect and guard the pack's omega).
The closest thing you have to that is Jungkook and Taehyung. You don't think it's that over the top. In some parts of the world omega's occasionally disappear. Snatched from street corners or stolen from nests in the dead of night. Usually just after the presentation when they haven't found a pack yet to keep them safe.
You're lucky that the pack only sometimes ask to carry you up and down the stairs. You're lucky they don't have the habit of 'omega wearing' as some more traditional all-alpha packs do. No one's kept omega's like that- as little more than pets- in generations. You don't live in a country that requires omegas to wear a collar when they're out in public.
But still, sometimes it's hard not to be protective. You're used to most of it, every time that you so much as pick up a butter knife someone's shushing you and taking it from you. When you bend down to tie your shoes someone is already on their knees before you. Your jacket is always zipped for you, mittens always on, scarf tucked. Whenever you try and put a shirt over your head someone is aiding you. You've lost track of the times that you've heard them say "let alpha do it."
Jimin doesn't even ask, he just glares and puts his hands on his hips if you struggle too much. Surprisingly stern when you feel like you want to squirm or struggle. He's one of the very few packmates whose not uncomfortable landing a swat over your behind or making you write lines.
Jimin is very very particular about the rules. there are others that apply to the rest of them like 'no staying at the studio over night' and 'pt once a week, no butts' and 'no skipping meals for practice' but there are other ones specifically for you that go a little over the top.
Rules like I will tell my packmates when I'm feeling overstimulated and I will not go places in public alone without someone there to protect me. I will not behave in a way that puts my physical wellbeing in danger even inadvertently. If I go into omegaspace I will go and get someone no matter what they're doing because I cannot be left alone unsupervised.
Other things too like- when i feel needy i will not touch myself like a greedy little pup when I have 7 healthy packmates to fuck me. When I want a knot I will not demand it but ask for it nicely and say please and thank you. I will not take out my plug after breeding until Jiminie or Hoseokie or Namjoonie has told me I can. When I want bruises during a spanking or a settling I will clear it with every alpha first starting with Hoseokie and then Yoongi and Namjoon, then Jinnie, and Jungkookie and Taehyungie, only then will Minnie take you over his lap.
And you'll say please and thank you.
You're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Jimin is a very very particular beta. You miss him so much it aches. You miss all of them so much it hurts you, manifests as a physical ache in your temples or under your ribs. A breathless furious need to burrow away where no one could see you. unsafe without your familiar cadre of packmates.
Most of the ways that they take care of you are completely innocent. A tangle in your hair is hardly there before someone asks you to come sit between their thighs, brush in hand. You rarely ever have to sit on your own, a rotating schedule of who gets to have you in their lap during meal times. You haven't picked out your own clothes in years- someone's always there to do it for you.
At least not before enlistment.
After enlistment, you'd learned to do alot for yourself again. With Yoongi home in the evenings, it wasn't quite as lonely as it could have been but still-
It's the little things, that you'd struggled to accept at first that you ended up missing the most. It's insane to you now how you used to live before. That you were used to being independent and uncared for.
Maybe the truth is you don't hate all of it. It was so much nicer than being hissed at and shunned. You don't hate it when you fall asleep in the car or the couch and Namjoon or Hoseok carries you to your bed. You don't hate it when you're in public and someone is always gripping your arm or hold your wrist and guiding over every uneven doorway or step down. holding the back of your head when they guide you to bite. You don't mind the "hold my hand pup" or "Someone's too small for that, let alpha do it."
It's strange sure, but it's a little true. even when you don't want to admit it.
It's strange when Seokjin blows on your spoon of soup before letting you take a bite. When the alphas growl at you if you linger too close to someone who's not them- But it makes you feel comfortable and cared for in a way that you weren't always used to.
Treasured. That's the word for it. You're their treasure. You don't cringe about it when you remember anymore. (The truth is that the pack has made you a bit spoiled now. You don't resist their babying nearly as much as you used too).
It had felt like something of a game at the beginning. You asked for things to see if you could and they fulfilled it, only to shrink before what they actually wanted to give. But eventually you got so used to them handling everything that even when you'd squirmed and struggled and called too much you'd trusted them enough to let them push- and you'd eventually given in.
Maybe you'd be more used to it if you were born an omega (you were born an omega, you try to remind yourself. It just feels like you weren't sometimes).
Now their bedrooms are spaces that you haunt when you miss them. when they're home there are still moments when they each need their own space to either sleep without temptation or decompress after their busy schedules. It serves no one if they always wake each other up by leaving early for filming, or practice, or meetings.
The only bedroom that’s fit with a bed big enough for all of them is your bedroom, more out of necessity than anything else since your bed is the defacto favorite. You’d tried for a normal bed when you’d first moved in but found it quickly overrun and too crowded by packmates. Giving you the largest bedroom was something Hoseok insisted upon.
His own bedroom is now across the courtyard next to Yoongi’s, hardly used. Last time Hoseok checked, Yoongi had taken to storing some of his recording equipment in there, had propped the old bed up against the wall to make room for a pseudo recording studio. Before enlistment Hoseok rarely spent a night away from you, only if you were sick again and if he had an early schedule and didn’t want to wake you- and even then- he'd just rather steal away to someone else's room rather than sleep on his own.
The packhouse is arranged in a big rectangle with an open-air courtyard at the center. The soil there is crammed close with as many plants as Namjoon can stuff there. Tended to by staff twice a week now that the alpha isn’t home regularly to look after his precious camellia and cloud-pruned spruces. The cherry tree sits stubby, blooms just tempting to burst but not here yet. by spring time a small patch of grass will sit studded with clovers and small flowers, a spot for you to lounge in the middle of the day and curl up like a cat in a puddle of sunshine.
Hoseok and Yoongi are on the other side of the courtyard adjacent to the entrance. close to it just incase anyone tried to enter. The rest of the pack is upstairs. In their various bedrooms scattered between the workout room and entertainment center a larger studio space and a tiny art room where taehyung stores his canvases.
Now, Hoseok sits in your empty bedroom. Trying to decompress. Emphasis on trying.
It's hard when every time he shuts his eyes a new memory assaults him. It's hard to stay present. Hoseok knows his breathing is getting more and more ragged the longer he spends alone. It's so quiet here in the pack house. Hoseok's alpha doesn't like it.
Hoseok closes his eyes and a gun goes off. The feeling of a gun in his hand is heavy and impersonal. Hot and sweaty beneath his fingertips.
He opens them and sees your striped red and pink robe hanging by the door, side by side with Taehyung's green and yellow one. Yours warn and his brand new but both of them purchased on the same day. Taehyung just hasn't been here to use it.
He closes them and a sergeant is yelling in his face. Prodding his shoulder with their finger until his body moves. Hoseok can feel the growl in his throat threatening to burst.
Hoseok opens his eyes and notes that you've dropped one of your heated stuffed animals on the ground, that it's rolled half under the bed, he retrieves it and sets it on the bedside table.
Hoseok blinks again and Hoseok must not be composed enough. He must lift his lip because they're yelling at him to drop and give 50. But it's better than being on night watch for a week. Better than sleepless nights spent staring into the darkness and snow, not better than your bed here, plush and soft, smelling like good summer evenings.
Hoseok undresses in the barrack bathroom shoving the second someone comes too close, body-calling threats before he's even turned to see who it is. Hot water is better than the cold that digs into Hoseok's body like it's something with teeth and claws.
On night watch near the northern border. His fear plays tricks on him, you can only look into the darkness for so long before your mind plays tricks on you. You can only hunt monsters and play at being a killer before you start to feel too real.
Hoseok takes a deep breath and counts to seven.
Tonight is supposed to be full of his favorite things. Marinated crispy beef and seafood that smells rich and buttery on the air, music playing low. Things that Hoseok hasn’t been able to indulge in in months.
Like Yoongi’s cooking and your head in his lap after. Winding down and going slow. Easy slowness warming up to it so that Hoseok can start to get used to living again. He'll go back to work tomorrow with Jinnie because he doesn't have time to waste but with this and everything else. He'll adjust.
Hoseok doesn't have to be asleep tonight by the zero hour and doesn't have to be up tomorrow morning for early drills. He can sleep as long as he wants and He's not going to be able to enjoy it at all. Not while he's so keyed up.
He tries and does his best. Breathing in and out to calm his heart rate, decompressing in the half-darkness of the bedroom. It feels a bit too much like a shrine. There in the corner is Taehyung's record player collecting dust, and there on the shelf is Jimin's cologne.
Jimin doesn't always like to hide his scent, lightly floral, something delicate like roses or lychee, fruity and divine for a beta. You like to press your face into his throat hard enough to make Jiminie giggle. Hard enough to tip him over. He's prone to exaggeration. But when it comes to others outside of the pack Jimin prefers to hide his scent with a light layer of cologne, pushing it just a little more subdued, a little more masculine.
Scents are up to everyone's preference, and a fair amount of betas wear scent blockers and Jimin prefers to keep his scent for only the pack to indulge in and enjoy.
Namjoon's bonsai tree sits in the nook by the window, clipping shears and a pair of reinforced gloves (because the pack can't even let you handle scissors without worrying a little). A piece of Jungkook's artwork hangs above the bed. something that was sort of a courting present for you, it's mostly artful splatters but when you look at it in just the right light- it almost looks like a pair of eyes. Pieces are everywhere but no pack.
All of it, all of those months of discipline and control are gone now. Done and over. Everything is in frightening detail. His civilian clothes sit folded, his jacket off in just his undershirt now.
You scented them. Hoseok can smell it even without bringing it to his nose. Everything feels a little too sensory, a little too close. Like Hoseok is too aware of his body and how different his surroundings are. He closes his eyes because he can't bear how strange his life all looks.
Hoseok knew he had to be the first alpha out, he knew that this would be difficult. That it would be hard for the others to adjust and that it would be beneficial for them all if the pack alpha came home and got settled first. Hoseok can't imagine any of his alpha pups feeling this way, can't imagine Taehyung or Namjoon or Jungkook feeling like this. So tremulous, so fragile, and yet so volatile.
There are no barked orders, there is no rigorous schedule here. Just the scrape of a wooden spoon across a pan and the quiet comfort of home (but hoseok still feels homesick). Jin's creaky laugh, and the burst of champagne. The shuffle of slippered feet across the floor too.
You’re talking to them in the kitchen, can hear Yoongi ask if you need help carrying Hoseok's champagne glass to him- a silly thing to say. but instincts are a little silly sometimes. Hoseok swallows back a lump in his throat at it.
It's not like you’re strangers again, he's had nightly phone calls and daily texts and a night or two of leave a month. It’s only been weeks since he last saw you. But keeping it together for a day before he goes back to the day-in-day-out rigor of the military is different than coming home for good.
This means more, this is different. Hoseok isn't going back. He's never going back.
He holds his breath and counts to seven, then 14, then 21, 35, 49, until he's half gasping.
Hoseok feels the need to catalog everything, the curtains pulled against the window. when did you stop sleeping with the sunlight?Your slippers by the door, new. The plates in the kitchen green instead of white. What happened to your old ones? When did you stop wearing bunny slippers and start wearing matching kitty ones with Yoongi? What more has Hoseok missed by not being here?
The scent of omega anxiety is on the air, scared and nervous. You’d been feeling all those things this morning when you’d woken. Hoseok can smell it on the bed. A nightmare? Have you been having nightmares? Is that what it is?
That’s not all Hoseok can smell, the dewy sweet scent of omega slick lingers too. Slightly stale. The spicey tang of another alpha’s arousal also tingles at Hoseok's nose. Yoongi’s and Jin’s if Hoseok breathes deep, tracing the fresh scent of tangerines and peaches, a pure scent that deepens. Soothing, a balm to his nerves and likely yours.
Whatever solution the others found for your anxiety was the intimate sort. Hoseok can tell.
Just like he can tell that someone had stripped the sheets, had taken your clothes- drenched with the scent of omega arousal, out of the basket in the corner and taken it out, probably to keep Hoseok from scenting it, probably to keep Hoseok from being on edge.
but instead of making him comforted, it just makes him feel like a failure.
Failure, failure of a pack alpha. what kind of alpha is he that he can't even handle a hint of a nightmare? He’s angry, and not at you or at Jin or Yoongi, but at the situation. At things he can't change.
Hoseok can't hear your light footsteps. Can hear them get closer and closer and closer until you're a silhouette in the doorway, lingering, unsure. Catching him like this, sat on the edge of the pack bed, legs parted, head in his hands.
Hoseok opens his eyes; a shadow cuts across the light that streams in, and he flinches before he can stop himself.
“Hobi? Are you alright?” You take a step closer to him and he tenses. You notice, stopping in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Hobi-" you make to take another step closer and he lets out a sound, neither a hiss nor a whimper, neither a warning growl nor an invitation to come closer. Threat and protector blur.
For a second Hoseok's unsure if it's safe for you to be alone in the room with him.
“Stay back for a second pup, I’m sorry I’m just-” He takes off his beret, running his hands over his spiky hair. You probably thought that Hoseok went to shower minutes ago, not that he'd just be sitting here. “This is a little overwhelming.”
"What is? Us? Should we-" Hoseok nips it before your emotions have the chance to spiral.
“No. Not you- never you. Just-" he exhales shakily, trying to tame his racing heart rate. No matter how many times he tells himself there's no reason to be so on edge, Hoseok just can't will himself to relax.
"Is it being home? Being out?” Being free. It goes unspoken but Hoseok hears it and feels it regardless. He never imagined freedom to feel so stifling. To feel so unsure about his next move that he can't even make himself get up off this bed without worrying that he's going to lose control.
“No, it’s my instincts. I feel…” he trails off, resting a hand over his heart and hissing through it. You take a step back; his closed eyes shoot open and he lets out a growl. A real one. You freeze.
The tension is so thick in the air Hoseok could cut it with a dull knife. Do not let the omega escape, sweet omega, pretty omega, omega under your thumb. Protect devour provide devour, please.  His instincts are practically howling out in his ear. Loud, drowning out your words, the concern.
There is a furrow between your eyebrows, Hoseok wants to smooth it out and then bite your cheeks, round and flushed. Why are you blushing?
It takes him a second to answer. He registers you've asked him another question but he can't even hear it over the roar of his heartbeat.
“Sorry. Feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Oh you- oh Hobi. You’re alright. It’s over. We’re gonna be okay.” He hums skeptically when you say it. Blinking rapidly. He hopes its so dark you don't see the glassiness to his eyes. He doesn't respond right away. Can't.
It’s a reminder he’ll need again. He's going to need to hear you say it about a dozen times over the next week. You'll repeat it to him whenever his instincts get like this; whenever they go a little feral. A little haywire. He's not sure if he wants to burst into tears or stalk across the room and pin you to the wall.
It takes a second for Hoseok to work up the courage to be honest. A few seconds where you wait, swaying slightly in the doorway. You're wearing a matching pj set, the top has little iridescent buttons that catch the light like the eyes of a sea creature. The object of his every frustration and all his desires. The confession lurches from his chest, feels like a knife, and feels near violent. 
“I’m worried I don’t know how to be gentle with you anymore. They made me so- I’m worried I’ve forgotten. I don’t- I can’t-”
“What do you want to do right now? Tell me what you need.” your tone leaves no room for his anxiety and Hoseok realizes that his breathing has gone jagged. Hoseok is barely contained, teeth bared, alpha going wild at your scent. This time when you step closer, his alpha lets out a growl purr. A pleased sound, a soothing one. Tempting you closer. His legs are splayed, and a few more steps and you'd be standing in between them.
Hoseok’s hands are fisted in the sheets. He doesn't know if he can hold himself back. “Pup- I don’t, I can’t- i'm going to attack you-”
“Alpha.” Your voice cuts through the bullshit. You step closer and this time he doesn’t flinch away. You set your hand on his knee. Gentle. Barely touching. “What do you need alpha? What are your instincts telling you to do right now?”
He surges forward, stopping himself at the last moment. Your back against the door, swathed in shadow, a column of light flat across his face. Nose to nose with you. He grips your cheeks instead of your throat. You don't flinch and you don't sigh. Your reaction is immediate. Pushing into his touch. Hoseok's whole body is trembling with the effort it takes to stay gentle.
Hoseok hisses through his teeth. “My instincts are telling me you don’t smell like me anymore. That I need to bend you over this bed and make you mine from the inside out. Then take you out there and do the same to Yoongi and Jin until everyone's mine again. I want to devour you until there's no question who you belong to- until the whole world knows you're mine.”
He breaks off with a contemplative hum, and you realize how much his muscles are trembling, the dark tilt of his eyes as he stares at you, the dilation to his pupils. It’s faint, but it’s there. The physical strength it takes to hold himself back- you can't imagine.
he rests his forehead against yours. and his hand tightens to a fist on the wall. He lets your face go to skim his hand down your throat, feeling your pulse. Beating out a 120 tempo against his fingers. Then to your waist. Only a fool would mistake his touch for anything but claiming.
If you ran, Hoseok would catch you. You kind of want to do that, to run and have him hunt you down. You wouldn’t get far probably not even to the doorway. You imagine him taking you right there right where Yoongi and Jin could see.
They'd probably just tease you both and keep cooking.
Hoseok's hands smooth up and down your sides, from your spine to your ass. You let him touch. You're his in every way that matters anyway. You don't react or at least you try not too. You jump a little, when he squeezes, hissing appreciatively. His fingers continue to touch, to devour, slipping lower, palming, between your legs from behind.
He brushes something sensitive and you jerk. He growls. "Stay still omega."
"Trying alpha it's just-"
He undoes the buttons one by one on your top, hands surprisingly steady until it falls away from your shoulders. Hoseok nuzzles. Dark hair tucked beneath your chin as he mouths at your scent gland, hot breath dusting your skin. You're not worried or shy, Hoseok has seen all of you. You stay still until you feel the press of his teeth, jerking.
He squeezes your hip, reassuring you. The tension dissipates just a little.
"I’m so tired,” he laughs, and it sounds sad even to your own ears. He pulls back away from your skin, lips glossy and he rubs his hands over his face and then his hair. Your body burns when his hands leave your skin. It looks like it takes him real effort.
He leaves you there, standing half undressed by the doorway, shucking off his own shirt as he goes, setting it on the bed. Back to you.
There are bruises on his spine, up and down his back from a heavy pack or the strap of a gun you're not sure. You stumble forward, still half winded to touche them. Hoseok's body stills when he feels you come close.
You trace over them softly. Hoseok's breathing is so measured you know each breath must take herculean effort.
There have been so many weeks of teasing that have led up to this. Picture after picture, you pouting asking for your favorite alpha home. Pictures that Hoseok dared only open in the privacy of the bathroom that left little to the imagination. A shot of Yoongi's head between your thighs, a shot of you nesting in next to nothing. Virtual bait and blood in the water to Hoseok's hungry alpha more than willing to take a bite. All to give him something else to think about during that home stretch.
You wrap your arms around him and press your bare front to his warm back.
“I'm so tired that I don’t think I can be gentle, and I want to be gentle with you. I can’t not be gentle with you. I don't think I could do it without loosing control.” His fingers are mostly gentle as they pinch your cheeks, making your lips pout out. It's a little goofy.
Your eyes already look shiny, and he almost jerks when he registers the scent of slick on the air.
“Then don’t be gentle.”
“Pup.” There's a warning in his voice and he looks visible startled when he turns around. He pulls back until you let go of him, turn around. but you're not dissuaded easily, arms loose until he grabs your wrists. no matter how hard you pull you can't get them out of his grasp. but that's sort of the point.
You let Hoseok hold you, let him keep you still, a teasing smile on the edge of your lips. He huffs after a second, palms sliding up to your elbows. "You're gonna make me get more grey hairs."
"but you love me anyway?"
Hoseok nods. "but i love you anyway."
“if you can't be- then don't. Don’t be gentle, I don't care.” You’d tilted your head to the side. “Please alpha.”
Hoseok is a weak weak man. Hoseok cannot hold himself back from you. Not today. Hoseok proceeds to do exactly that, hunting and running and all. you smile and bolt, and hoseok bends to his instincts just this once.
You don't make it farther than the doorway.
Sprawled and giggling. Somewhere along the next few minutes, the sound of Seokjin and Yoongi cooking quiets, they listen but they don't interrupt. You try to push, try to fight but it's futile. it's all a game. Giggling all the while and it's like candy and conquest.
Hoseok's mouth runs wild like this- instinctual and driven.
"Is it too big for you little pup? Poor little omega stuck on a big knot, making you feel all full. Don't worry, alpha will fuck you until you're used to it again, until you feel empty without it. Keeping me warm and snug, is it too much? Don't cry, alpha will make it better. Alpha will keep you safe."
By the end of it. You'd been dazed and boneless, little more than a puddle of whimpers and whines. He had carried you tender and knotted to him in the direction of his pack. Instincts driving him to show (Hoseok is little better than a pup bringing his packmates a stick. See? See how good I bred omega, see how good I knotted her. She smells good and I made her this way for you. If he had a tail it would be wagging behind him.)
Dinner and celebration traded for a different sort of meal. Hoseok sits with you in his lap at the kitchen island. Yoongi dries his hands slowly from the sink and curses low when Hoseok holds you under your thighs, back to his chest. Spreading you for him.
"Fuck- I forgot how it looks like when you knot her it's so-"
It will take a good hour for Hoseok's knot to go down. Until then, the pack will play with you as they see fit, completely at their mercy, just the way that Hoseok likes you.
You always get a little bit more suggestible when you're knotted. Hoseok likes to think that you don't let them do everything they want to you when you are knotted but…you sort of do. While you're more than comfortable telling them off and showing off any wandering hands normally (and there are alot of wandering hands) you're almost docile when you're knotted to Hoseok.
Being knotted to the pack alpha is a bit of an invitation. Hoseok has watched the others jerk off over your chest like this, has watched them go between your legs and lap and suck to their heart's content, seen them kiss and suck until your eyes have rolled back. He doesn't mind. It doesn't make his instincts feel threatened. It feels good.
But only if Hoseok lets them. Maybe that's why you let them do it because in these moments, your bodies are locked together- you belong solely to Hoseok.
Hoseok's nose traces over your spine, over the nape of your neck. His alpha likes it very very much. The other alpha's like it too.
Now Yoongi eyes the spot where you stretch around him, the place you go pink and dewy, licking his lip and adjusting himself in his pants. Hoseok knows there's not a thing in the world he wouldn't give up for this.
Hoseok reaches between your legs. You whine when you feel him touch you, eyes fluttering against his throat, but Hoseok tips his fingers into your dewy folds, parts your lips and shows them. "opened right up, cute little cunt. Your whole body is lax, head full of mango colored cotton. the haze of pleasure just a little too much, a little too much to sort out your desire to please from everything else.
distantly you can hear yoongi's deep chuckle. "Your knot is the same size as mine. It looks like this when you do it too."
Yoongi's dark eyes are unreadable. The room smells like smoke, the burners are turned off, but no one is plating any food. Hoseok didn't even bother to undress just pulled down his pants enough to get his knot free. But you're nude clutched against his chest. Clothes torn up in the other room. Bite marks up and down your body.
Jin coos and looks you over. Hoseok feels…satisfied when the beta purrs in approval. The sight of it going straight to his head judging from the way his peach scent ripens on the air.
"It's different, it's different when it's yours."
You jerk once Jin comes close, his long fingers skimming places Hoseok can't see, buried against the back of your neck, mouthing at your nape hungry still. "Sensitive" you shutter but your pleas remain mostly ignored. a whine escapes your pressed lips and a furious blush lights down your midline. Jin keeps touching you. Hoseok wraps his arms around your middle to stop your squirming. Keeping you still so that the beta can do what he wants with you.
"Alpha bit me there too." You mumble against Hobi's throat, shifting restlessly from whatever Jin is doing. Shifting more. "Jinnie- I'm sensitive,"
You nearly flinch, but Jin's thumb presses. "Oh here? Right here?" Hoseok's teeth dip into the nape of your neck and you go boneless. Hobi laps at the pink skin when he pulls back. you pant openly, incapable of letting out more than whines.
"Let Jinnie see what alpha did to you pup." Jin drops to his knees to look closer and hobi holds you wider.
When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Hobi before you. His smile goes a little teasing.
"This little spot right? It's a very cute little spot, I understand why Hobi bit it."
Hoseok's nose traces your ear. "Don't act like it didn't make you cum." you sniffle but nod. Hoseok's knot throbs at your simple obedience. the way that you agree. It makes Hoseok want to bite you more if it's even possible. He laps at your throat some more to ignore the temptation.
"Oh? Alpha was mean? Let Jinnie kiss it better."
~-~
You end up ordering takeout. Yoongi burnt the meat too bad to be edible.
Later there is this; you cuddled up on his chest, nearly nude, wearing someone's boxers as shorts as you often do post-breeding. You claim it helps you feel closer to your alphas and although stealing clothes is pretty typical of an omega. Jin still teases, "you're not even wearing ours; those are Jungkook's."
Yoongi had stood up, pawing for his phone. "I'm gonna send him a picture- he's gonna love-" Yoongi's fingers pause on your hem. a shocked laugh bursting from his throat. "Hobi you literally left teeth marks on her ass."
Hobi's arms go firmer around you and he's about to apologize when you beat him to the punch. "I like it. If anyone gets angry tell them not to because I liked it. Makes me feel-" You shimmy and hiss at the ache in your body. "Makes me feel like I'm yours again."
There is a lump in Hoseok's throat, and his instincts go just a little more quiet. He's so fixated on that that he hardly hears your next reply, the teasing tone of your voice.
"And besides Jungkook's boxers are so much softer than yours."
"Yah-"
"You little brat." You shake against Hoseok's chest with the force of his laughter. And jump when yoongi reaches out to pinch the bruises. yoongi hadn't cum more than once earlier, and hoseok knows that although the other alpha is the least deprived out of all of them- he's still needy, still a little wound up by seeing it earlier.
They make eye contact over your head and Hoseok feels a little satisfied when yoongi looks away first.
"Fine, be like that, I'm gonna wash all my sweatshirts then and you won't have any left for your nest."
Your expression had gone suddenly panicked, "but- but-"
Now your bellies are full from takeout because Yoongi had actually ruined dinner- granted he had good reason to be distracted. Hoseok feels properly worn down, properly settled, there's still a tiny bit of anxiety in him, and his alpha still looms awfully close. But he knows that won't really go away for a good long while. Not until the whole pack is back here and safe. The doors locked and the windows shuttered.
Yoongi gets up when you ask for water, and Jin gets up when you realize you've neglected to put on your eye cream. Both strange things. In any other world Namjoon and Jimin would have done both of those things for you.
He might just confine them all to your bedroom for their first week back. His alpha likes the idea of that. You purr softly against his chest, and Hoseok holds around you with that same gentleness that he'd been craving earlier, finally capable of it with you smelling like him and the others too. They had only done the bare minimum of cleaning themselves up with lazy swipes of a damp cloth.
With three packmates wrapped around you, Hoseok under you, cheek resting over his heartbeat to listen, Yoongi against your back, and Seokjin at your front Hoseok finally feels like it's enough. You're safe like this. Nothing could ever hurt you.
Not even himself.
A concerning number of bruises trace up your thighs that Hoseok will apologize and worry over tomorrow. Even though you've told him you don't mind them- that you even like them. Everything can wait until tomorrow, healing included. Hoseok finally gets the courage to ask.
"When I came into this room, it set me off. I can tell you were anxious this morning when you woke up. What was it? Was it me?" He has to crane his neck to catch your expression and how your face goes from stricken to polished in a second.
"It was nothing, we handled it." Seokjin tries to smooth over it. But Hoseok’s warning growl cuts him off.
You trace mindless patterns over his heart, and your purr peters off. "I had this weird dream; it was a nightmare and just weird." You pause, looking up at him. Your expression is so calm that Hoseok doesn't believe it for a second. "In the dream you hated me, or at least really didn't like me." Hoseok's hold on you goes just a little tighter like his alpha is offended by the very idea of it. "There was glass everywhere and Tae was wearing pink."
Yoongi speaks, and Hoseok knows he's taking it seriously just trying to make you feel better by being a little silly."That's not that weird, Tae wears pink all the time."
"Only when he steals Jin's clothes."
"Did you know he got ketchup on the last one? I swear these kids-"
You peak up at Hobi tentatively. And he can tell that you're still a little upset by the dream. "Don't worry- I think by the end of the dream we loved each other and anyways-" You kiss his jaw, pecking at it and a lazy growl builds in his chest, spent cock twitching below you. His appetite is insatiable even after three rounds. Once on the floor, and again on the kitchen table. And again here.
"It didn't make any sense; Yoongi was a beta in it and Jinnie was an omega like me." you trace circles over his heart. "It was a bit ridiculous."
Jin ducks low pressing a kiss to your forehead, “yeah, as much as I love you being an omega I don’t know how you handle all of us pawing at you like this. I’d get like so overstimulated. And you’ve told me how sleepy you get.”
“Yeah, it is a little annoying, needing more sleep than you guys do to like. Function.”
"And like I could ever be anything but an alpha." Yoongi looks a little fragile, a little threatened by the dream. Hoseok wonders what else was in it if the other alpha is so on edge. Because there must have been more. “I can’t imagine not having instincts at all.” Jin pinches him and Yoongi jumps.
You don't have to look to know Jin's rolling his eyes. “Yeah like not growling and not nosing after anything that smells even a little bit sweet is such a curse.”
“You didn’t seem to mind it when I was nosing at you yester-“ Yoongi is interrupted by a pillow to the face, feathers fluttering down as you giggle against Hobi's chest.
Hoseok ignores the bickering, still watching you. "What was I in your dream? Was I an alpha?"
"Yes, but you weren't mine." You scoot closer to him, wiggling like just the weight of your body isn't enough to get close enough. Hoseok has a feeling that in a few minutes, you're going to start tugging at the hem of his boxers and ask to cock warm him to sleep. Some nights your omega just doesn't like any distance between you and your pack alpha and now that you have him back you don't want to let him go even a little bit. You could use a plug- but your omega wouldn't like it now that you have the real thing.
(omega plugs are fairly standard, alot of packs make omega's wear them to sleep or when they go out. A physical reminder to the omega soft minded and a way to ensure they're docile. There are even fancy ones that log body temperature, dampness and location. Sending notifications to the alpha's phone and information like rem sleep and lengh of orgasam. The pack has never needed one of those with you.)
Now though hoseok wishes he had some sort of insight into what you're thinking as you rest your cheek on his chest and look up at him. frowning and thinking hard. hoseok's thumb rubs over the nobs of your spine, up and down.
“You kind of hated me and you were so sad. I couldn’t do anything about it. That's what made me anxious- the idea of you being sad and not being able to fix it.”
You turn to nuzzle into his shoulder. The movement is so routine, so normal it almost looks like breathing. Hoseok's heart hurts from it. Your scent smells a little disconcerted, a little worried. Like just the memory of the dream is enough to set you on edge. “Like I said it was a nightmare."
Hoseok just holds you tighter, dragging his cheek along the top of your head. His scenting is a little overkill given the circumstances. any alpha in a 3 mile radius would be able to tell it's him that's claimed you.
"Yeah," he says, voice rough and quiet. "Sounds like a nightmare to me too."
~-~ Stay tuned for the next part ~-~
Notes:
sometimes i feel like i frame certain scenes like i'm not like- writing a story so much as vissually looking at a tv and describing what i'm seeing. this is one of those fics that very much felt like that.
i feel like this story is more of a true story vs a plot. i've made no secret of the fact that what i really like about fanfiction is making a world that you can sink your teeth into- and i feel like this one- this universe with pack alpha hoseok is like- ugh so drippy. like i truly hope you leave reading it and feel frustrated that you're not there- even though not all of the things described in it are good. for that reason i think there's less plot in this. like i just want it to be something that envelops you- not necessarily something that progresses although there definitely is plot to it.
i toyed alot with the idea of having there be shifting wolves in the one. i put that little tidbit in with taehyung just incase i fell like touching on it here. but honestly i may not have enough time.
i think one of the scent fortified drinks that yoongi drank too much of in their trainee days was probably "omegabull" or "omegaster" idk i didn't put it in because it felt too goofy. my favorite redbull is cranberry flavor :) maybe i'd smell like cranberries if i was an omega?
okay so- the pack's scents in this- i know it's not mentioned all that much in the first chapter- but!!! their scents for hoseok and the m/c are what their scents would have been had they not been abused in bily- this universe is sort of a foil of the other one. but yeah- hoseok would have smelled like mangos :( i know not everyone will read bily who reads this so! i tried to make the allusions to it less on the nose than in the first draft.
tbh that little bit with the plates being new, this is a. a bily refrence because remember how yoongi breaks them when she leaves? yeah this version of yoongi also broke dishes when the pack left. BUT ALSO- i do think i wanna touch a bit more on yoongi and her's time alone togeather. i like the idea that in every universe, they have their moment where it's just the two of them.
the scene at the end is just hoseok: ready to pounce on the m/c scared of himself and the idea that he could hurt her meanwhile the m/c: thats hot.
the moment where he says "the object of his frustration and all his desires' is a nod to bridgerton because i was re-watching it and loving it.
if we're being honest i think that beta's might be intersex in this universe, do i really really wanna write jimin and her rubbing their pussies together? yeahhhhhhhh, am i actually gonna write it??? probably not.
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rafesbabygirlx · 2 months ago
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ONLINE LOVE | 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗
𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄
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✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃
✧ Summary- Rafe Cameron used to avoid love, only having flings and never getting close to anyone. Now 27 and raising his 3-year-old daughter Harper alone, he wants something more, a real connection. Tired of being judged on the island, he tries Hinge and sets his location to the mainland. After days of no matches, he finds your profile and is instantly drawn to you.
✧ Prompt- for hingematch!rafe could you do one where hes been busy with his daughter and doesnt realise hes left her on delivered and she thinks hes ghosted her?
✧ Prompted here
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It had been a month. A month of back and forth texting, FaceTime calls, and learning more about each other. Rafe surprisingly opened up about a lot to you, other than the fact that he had his daughter. He still didn’t know how to bring this up. Now worried it would ruin everything.
You had off today so you and Rafe had spent all night on the phone. You had fallen asleep first so when you woke up you wanted to make it a point to text him.
9:29am: Hi, how pathetic am I fallen asleep on you like that?
9:30am: My first year residency is kicking my ass, I’m shocked that I even stayed up as late as I did.
9:31am: I’m free all day today, finally have a day off, so don’t be shy in texting me! 🥰
9:44am: I’m sure you’re at work and busy. Like I said I’m free all day. I just can’t wait to hear your voice again.
You hadn’t mean to sound desperate. This past month you and Rafe had been on top getting back to each other the second with of you had texted. You had both shared your schedules, you knew when he’d be in meetings and he knew when you’d be working at your internship. The second either was over, one of you was immediately sending a text. Unless there was an emergency meeting he got pulled in to, this was a bit of a strange break in the pattern.
You busied yourself as best as you could. You made yourself a nice breakfast, something you barely get to do anymore. Then, you caught up on some of your tv shows and when they were done you began a new book. You took a full pamper shower, cleaned up your nails, did your hair routine, your skincare, and applied some makeup.
It had been 4 hours and when you finally picked back up your phone it was still radio silence from Rafe. You let out a sigh of defeat. Mind racing that something that seemed so precious could already be over. He hadn’t even read the texts. You don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but no matter how well this seemed to be going, he was only just an online dating match who ended up living 5 hours away from you.
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On the other side of North Carolina, Rafe was a mess. Harper had claimed she had a stomach ache and refused to go to school, meanwhile he caught the toddler in the pantry sneaking cookies and gummies 3 times this morning. He told her the only thing she was allowed to do was lay in bed and get rest if she was that sick. This lead to full blown tantrums and Rafe wanting to pull out the short hair of his buzzcut.
Between Harper fighting him all morning and having to rearrange his business schedule, this glued Rafe to his office desk. His personal phone was forgotten on his nightstand and he didn’t get a chance to think about it. He left the office door open, which gave him a perfect view of Harper’s and the hundreds of times he caught her sneaking out of it.
“Harper get back here!”
“No daddy, I want more snacks.”
“You said your tummy hurt, were you lying to me?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to daddy, Harper.”
“Yes.”
Harper bowed her head in defeat. A cute way of defeat only a 3 year old could get away with. This caused Rafe to kneel in front of his daughter, lifting her chin delicately with his fingers.
“Why’d you lie Harper?”
“I don’t like school, I wanted to be with you. You mwake me safe.”
“Why would you need me to keep you safe baby?”
“Cause kids are mean and I don’t like ‘em.”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry. How about this, we spend the rest of the day doing anything you want? Snacks, movies, tea party. How’s that sound?”
Harper’s face lit up and she threw herself into her dad’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck and hugging him tightly.
“Yes daddy! Come!”
Rafe laughed as he allowed the toddler to drag him into the kitchen. She pulled out the tea set from the lower cabinet that was designated for all her stuff. Rafe put on some water to boil, then she went to pantry to pull out snacks she wanted for tea time.
They brought up everything to her room. Harper knew exactly how to set everything up. A setting for her, a setting for Rafe, and two other settings for her stuffed elephant and American Girl doll Sarah had gotten her.
They spent the entire day doing what Harper wanted. Rafe let his assistant know he would be unreachable as he just wanted to focus on his daughter. This was the first she brought up having problems at preschool. How the hell were 3 year olds already having issues. He got her to open up about it and it was 2 boys that would take her crayons and break them when she’d color or steal her gummies at lunch time.
Rafe took offense to that personally because he was always proud of himself for making her lunches every morning. But he quickly shook off the feeling of being pissed off at a 3 year old. Heloved being a dad and making Harper happy. He didn’t want to be sad or afraid to go to school. So to just do this little thing for her to see her smile, he was more than ok to do it.
When the time came around for Harper’s bedtime, he brushed through her now dried hair from the bath and tucked her into bed.
“You’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow Princess. I know it’s scary, but you’re a tough girl, I’ll come in with you tomorrow and talk with your teachers. We’ll figure this out together. Ok?”
Harper gave a soft sigh and looked like she wanted to plead with her dad to not go in another day. “Ok. Ima tough girl.”
“That’s right. I love you little one.”
“I love you daddy.”
Rafe had given her one final kiss before making his way to his bedroom and plopping down onto his sheets. He had forgotten about his phone all day and had decided to pick it up. There were notifications from Sarah, Topper, Kelce and all the way at the bottom there were four missed messages from you.
He ran his hand over his face. He never missed a text from you. He always had Do Not Disturb on and you’ve been the only one this past month that could still get through to him. He was stuck on what to say. His entire day was spent making sure his daughter had been happy. His daughter, you had no idea about. What could he even say?
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It was now 8:30 at night. You had just cleaned up the kitchen from cooking dinner earlier. Mind finally at ease from the doubt and wary feeling about being ignored. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten attached, no matter how good it felt. He probably found someone closer to him and forgot all about you. Online dating has never turned out great for you. This was just another disappointing failure.
You sat on the couch, trying to push aside your thoughts as you engulfed yourself in your favorite movie. Your phone is next to you laying face down. It was almost 9 and even with a relaxing day of doing what you loved you were already feeling tired again. You rested your head in the palm of your hand as you our eyes began to close, a ping from your phone shot them right back open.
Embarrassingly, you reached for it quicker than you’d like to admit. You look at the notification and see it’s Rafe. You hold back a smile, not ready for what it says.
8:55pm: Hi. I’m really sorry about today. From the second I woke up chaos was erupting at the office. I had to get up and ready and rush out the door. I completely forget my personal phone at home and just got back. I missed you today. 🩵
You let out a breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding and smile warmly at the message. You were scared of rejection and know he feels this way you reply instantly not caring how it makes you look anymore.
8:57PM: No need to apologize Mr. CEO. Some things are unpredictable, it’s easy to get caught up, I’m still here for you.
Rafe took a sigh of relief at your response. He didn’t want to ruin this. But the gnawing guilt of lying to you about Harper made him terrified of what was yet to come. You said you loved kids. But would you love him when you found out he had a daughter?
For now the only thing to do was to continue to talk to you. Learn more about you. Hopefully you would understand why he was doing what he was doing. It was to protect Harper. You’d understand, right?
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Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @tul1preads @wuluhwuhmaster @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @bellaballerina111 @pogueprincesa @daddyrafeslittleslut @nemesyaaa @papercranesandinkstains @frankoceanluvr11 @drewsephrry @zyafics @rafeysvenicebitch @rowdydevs @maybankslover @rafesgreasycurtainbangs
I think I have everyone tagged <3
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81pastrys · 3 months ago
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Alone Time
Summary— Mila wants a sibling but leaves no room for said sibling to be made
Warnings— smut ; soft sex ; pregnancy
A/N—I have 13 more in the works 🙂‍↕️
Oscar One Shots
Request— Heyy, I remember you saying you wanted more Oscar requests so here’s my idea/request. Do you think you could do Oscar and his wife trying to have some alone time 😏 but their daughter (or kid in general) keeps cockblocking them? And they have to resort to sending their kid to a grandparents or friends house for the night so they can actually be alone?
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Oscar and his wife were trying for a second baby, but anytime they would start, little Mila would come in and interrupt them.
The first time was justifiable, there was a thunderstorm and she ran in scared. She was only 2, so the loud thunder probably scared her awake. They put her in the middle of them and she fell asleep, not waking up again until morning.
The second time was reasonable, maybe. She was showing signs of a slight sickness and Oscar could not pry her away, even though he promised his wife that they would go at it once she was in bed. Mila ended up in said bed with them and they just sighed.
The third time was absolutely unnecessary. To keep the toddler happy, they agreed she could sleep with them. No reasoning, just a tantrum at the idea they wouldn’t let her sleep with them in their bed.
Not that they had to have sex every night, but with Mila begging for a sibling and them never being able to get alone for 5 minutes to try, it got frustrating.
So, they planned a getaway and brought her to stay with her aunts and Mimi in Australia, while they went on a date and relaxed in a hotel room. Peace and fucking quiet finally.
“Hopefully one night will be enough?” She joked with him, pouring a glass of wine. “I love Mila so much, but she just never lets up.” She sighed.
“I love her too, but she is in that clingy stage huh?” Oscar agreed. Why were they even talking? They should both be naked by now. “We got a hotel and all we’re doing is complaining about our toddler.” Oscar laughed.
She scoffed and sipped her wine. “Well, if she wants a sibling, we better get to it.” She teased. She set the glass down and they got undressed hastily. Now they were desperate to finally have the alone time they yearned for.
There wasn’t much foreplay involved, considering they wanted to get straight to the point. Oscar sunk into her wet walls and they simultaneously moaned at the feeling. “I missed this.” Oscar whispered on her lips.
“Me too, now put a baby in me.” She whispered back. He smiled with her and began thrusting slowly. They enjoyed the dynamic of slow sex rather than rough sex.
The feeling of every vein, every inch, every thrust- it was perfect. They timed the trip within a fertile window so it would most likely work the way they wanted it to. “I can’t wait to see your pregnant belly again, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned. His hips stuttered at the thought of her pregnant again.
She moaned and he sped up his thrusts, both of them enjoying the steady pleasure. “Right there Osc.” She moaned when he angled perfectly at her g-spot, making her mind dizzy. He continued thrusting steadily into her and she finished first.
Her back arched and her legs shook with the intensity as he continued. He slowed to a pace he knew he could finish with and thrusted as deep as he could to spill all of his cum into her.
He stayed interlocked with her as they calmed down, making sure the one time would do the trick. She played with his hair as he laid on her chest. They cleaned up the mess made and went to sleep, cuddling each other without a toddler in between them.
They picked up Mila the next day and she was super excited to see them again even if it was just 24 hours. Oscar had a good laugh when his wife ended up pregnant again. “You think it’s a boy?” Oscar asked. She wasn’t even close to knowing.
“I don’t know, maybe ask your sisters.” She replied jokingly. They told Mila she was going to be a big sister and she was in shock.
“Mama has baby?” She asked. They nodded and Mila touched her belly. “Small baby.” She mumbled and kissed the skin gently.
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Big sister Mila, I’m melting
@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia
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portalhan · 7 months ago
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⠀ꔫ˚ ༝ ◌ ⌒⌒ three strikes !
↳ jeongin swears on his life that he's seen something odd between you and felix... exactly three times, in fact, but he needs more concrete proof...
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PAIRING: felix lee x gn!reader
FORMAT: one shot
GENRE: college au, friends to lovers, fluff, jeongin third wheeling...
WARNINGS: brief mentions of food and being sick (just the flu bug nothing huge)
WORD COUNT: 2.8k
FAE'S NOTES: this is just a little bit half-assed... idk if i have much faith in this and i believe i can do better than this but i'm gonna post it anyway for you guys! please let me know if you have any feedback, my writing muscles have basically atrophied and i need to find my rhythm again TT
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jeongin doesn't usually second-guess his closest friends like this, but something has changed. he knows you and felix well enough to know at least that.
you have always been hard to read. you're an independent, reliable sort of person, not outwardly emotional nor needlessly arrogant either—you tend to show your love for your friends through small, quiet gestures. felix, on the other hand, is someone who wears his heart on his sleeve—almost to a fault. always baking extra brownies to gift people, always going the extra mile, always looking on the bright side, even in the darkest of situations. he is as fragile as he is affectionate.
yes, affectionate. that's the word he's been looking for to describe the changes in your friendship with felix. you've been more affectionate. jeongin has always chalked it up to felix's own proclivities rubbing off on you given the sheer amount of time you spend together, but now... he's not so sure it's that simple. there have been three strikes jeongin has kept score of so far.
STRIKE #1
jeongin remembers it was a tuesday, because that's the only day of the week where all three of you shared classes. you would always sit in a row near the back of the class. he has made it a point to memorise both yours and felix's timetables this semester—as do the both of you with him—so he knows you don't usually have prior arrangements before coming to campus. you've always had a tradition of meeting in the lobby before walking to class together as a result.
so, when his phone pings with a message from you saying 'sorry innie, we're gonna be a bit late! pls go to class first, just save us seats', he is immediately struck with confusion. what did you mean, "we"? felix, uncharacteristically, hasn't said a word and it's already 5 minutes shy from when class starts. he always arrives at least 10 minutes before. how strange, jeongin thinks to himself as he trudges up the stairs to class, incredibly unfamiliar with the circumstance of having to do so on his own for the first time. he just brushes the nagging suspicion off, telling himself it was probably because of some public transport situation that's delayed you both—not something entirely uncommon.
it's about 15 minutes into the class before he sees you. the second he spots felix and you stumbling through the doors, profusely apologising to the professor for your tardiness, though, is when the same sensation of suspicion comes back. as you and felix shuffle to make their way to the seats jeongin saved for you, he can't help but notice your attire. you're wearing an oversized black shirt with some graphic of an anime printed on. jeongin's eyes squint as he stares at it, assuming it must have been a new purchase of yours. but he swears he's seen it before.
when you and felix take your seats and the professors picks up where she left off, felix turns to jeongin and apologises for being late. "we're really sorry jeongin, we owe you one," he quips, before he fishes his laptop out of his bag. the younger boy just shrugs it off as no big deal. plus, he had something else on his mind to worry about than harp on the two of you being late to class.
the dots quickly connect a few moments later in jeongin's head. felix has a shirt just like the one you're wearing. he swears he's seen him wearing it before, just last week when the three of you had gone out for dinner. it's been a shirt of his for years now, so worn down by so many uses that it has bleach stains on the sleeves, despite how much care felix puts into his clothing.
jeongin leans back in his chair and slowly, subtly pushes it back. he steals a glance at your side profile, thankfully without either you or felix noticing. there they were: bleach stains on the sleeves. upon further inspection, the shirt you were wearing looks way too worn out to be a new shirt—he concludes it must be felix's. but why would you wear felix's dank shirt to begin with? it would be weird to ask if that's his shirt you were wearing, so he decides to keep his silence for now.
STRIKE #2
this time, it was jeongin's turn to be late. the three of you had planned a picnic to celebrate the end of the gruelling semester—an idea felix suggested. he wanted it to be a potluck, so the each of you planned to bring something of your own making along.
jeongin wanted to go all out with his: he wanted to bake cupcakes, something felix had recently taught him how to. he wanted to show you his latest endeavours, baked fresh, but he didn't expect it to go sideways so last minute. he ended up showing up almost half an hour late, hair sticking to his forehead from all the sweat and cupcake frosting smeared all over the tupperware he placed them in out of haste.
when he finally spots the two of you amid the grass field at the park, he notices something... odd. he stops in his tracks to catch his breath and squints his eyes to get a better look. if he didn't know any better, he'd have thought you two were... holding hands? the sun was glaring directly in his face, obscuring his vision, so jeongin couldn't be 100% sure. but what he does know is that your figures were so close to each other they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. this isn't exactly beyond felix, who is notorious for his habits of physical affection. but it is most certainly out of character for you, as someone who prefers to keep most people at an arm's length.
jeongin shrugs it off. he guesses felix nor he would be considered "most people". perhaps it was a trick of the light. he also doesn't have good enough reason to find it entirely strange—perhaps felix had gotten through to you in that regard. he had bigger things to worry about: your dinner getting cold.
STRIKE #3
the legitimacy of the third time is still up for debate, jeongin surmises. this time it wasn't your behaviour around each other, instead more so about how felix in particular reacted.
this happened over summer break. he remembers the sun being more unrelenting than ever—40 degrees celsius to be exact, he saw on the news—so you three had just decided to hang out in your bedroom, where the air conditioning is the coolest and crispiest (according to you). jeongin vividly recalls you lying on your stomach atop your bed, while the two boys were sprawled on the floor. that is, the carpet that laid over the spot where they would usually sprawl on the floor.
it was one of those 'parallel play' days, as you liked to call them. not necessarily doing things together, but doing separate things in the presence of each other, you said one time. felix was busy on his switch playing some pokemon game, you were scrolling on your phone and jeongin was just seconds away from drifting off to sleep on felix's lap.
it's been silent for, what, almost two hours now? but you end up breaking it first. "woah," you suddenly exclaimed, brows furrowing as you read something on your screen. "do you guys remember seungmin? from calculus?"
jeongin does not move an inch aside from nodding his head, and felix just lets out a little "yeah?" though his eyes were never once peeled from the console screen.
"i think he just asked me out," you tell them, bewildered.
this, of course, elicits reactions of surprise from jeongin and felix. the former lifts himself and sits up to ask details, while the other just turns the switch off—did he even save his progress on the game?—and sits there in silence as he silently watches you and jeongin discuss your classmate's... proposition. jeongin makes a playful jab at how you could have given him the wrong idea by flirting with him, which you immediately shut down. "i've never done anything suggestive to him, i swear!" you exclaimed in full defense.
seungmin has only ever made conversation with you once or twice in class, jeongin recalls. you also never really put in the effort to get to know your other classmates if jeongin and felix were in the same classes. jeongin makes a passing comment about how seungmin could pass as your type (if you squint hard enough), but it falls on deaf ears when you and felix meet each other's gazes.
"you're gonna tell him no, right?" felix suddenly chimes in after moments of prolonged silence, raspy voice cracking just a little. jeongin snaps his head to turn and look at his friend, head tilted and brow lifted. you give felix a look jeongin cannot quite describe, and chuckle with a soft smile as you nod. "of course i'm gonna say no," you assure him. he lets out a very heavy sigh of relief, but none of this goes unnoticed by jeongin.
this is very weird, jeongin remembers thinking. you have always been receptive to potential love interests, even if they weren't necessarily people you'd normally be into. so why are you so sure now that you'd reject seungmin without even giving him a chance?
on that note, what's it to felix who asks you out? why does he have a say? plus, he could've sworn he detected some semblance of... jealousy in his question. but he supposes that could be normal considering all three of you are so used to spending time with each other. jeongin does admit to himself that he'd feel lonely if you were to be whisked away by some stranger out of nowhere. it wouldn't be the same.
jeongin has theories, maybe even concepts of a theory, but no concrete enough proof for confrontation—so far. it looks like he has to wait till he does before he can address the massive elephant in the room.
FINAL STRIKE
it finally happens when he decides to stop by your apartment with take-out. you had told your friends about falling sick the night before—alas, you have caught the flu bug. they were just textbook symptoms like a low-grade fever, sore throat and a runny nose, nothing to worry about in particular, you told them. but jeongin just so happens to pass by your neighbourhood on his usual route home from work, so he decides to drop in with some chicken soup for you as a small surprise. you had already been texting the group chat the entire day about how exhausted you were to make yourself a half-decent dinner, so jeongin thought this would be a nice way to take care of his friend.
he knocks on your door multiple times to no response. maybe you're sleeping? he looks around the potted plants sitting outside your door and lifts the snake plant up, grabbing the rusted spare key tucked away from prying eyes just underneath. he quickly and quietly unlocks the front door and lets himself in. i'll just go in, check on y/n and put this soup on the table, he tells himself as he enters. maybe text you to let you know he got you dinner.
that is, until a warm aroma of what he believes to be fresh bolognese wafts to where he is at the front door. he hears the distant clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and—strangest of all—he hears... conversation? he can definitely hear you talking and even giggling, but he can't quite make out who the other person was. he's about 99% sure there was someone else in here, but could it be just a phone call? he sneaks down the hallway to the kitchen, the noises getting clearer as he inches closer. when he sticks his head out from a blind corner to peek into the kitchen, he sees it: felix plating a fresh bowl of spaghetti while you're sitting on the dining table engaged in idle chatter. a lump catches in his throat—what is felix doing here? and most importantly, why didn't he know of this? he felt momentarily betrayed.
jeongin just stands there in silence, unsure of how to confront you, while you and felix continue chatting. it's only when felix sets down two plates of pasta and goes in to plant a peck on your cheek does jeongin yelp in shock, which frightens all three of you.
felix squints his eyes, which widen in utter disbelief when he recognises the familiar facade lurking by the corridor. "jeong...in?" he asks, voice trembling a little from disbelief. when he says jeongin's name, you shoot him a similar look, but this one is more panicked and afraid. jeongin awkwardly steps out within view, but he puts a hand up to cover his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. he raises the other arm to point an accusatory finger at the both of you. you swear you just heard felix gulp next to you.
"i..." jeongin sputters. "i knew it! i knew something was going on between you two idiots!"
the verbalisation of his revelation is what completely opens the floodgates, causing the entire place to erupt in complete and utter chaos. jeongin paces back and forth with the chicken soup still dangling from his fingers as he rants about how he's caught you doing "weird stuff" a couple of times but couldn't have known, about how he's been feeling a little left out recently, how you have been looking at felix funny sometimes. meanwhile, felix just begins to talk over him with near-equal (if not more) amounts of sheer panic and distress, reaching out to him to get him to calm down while explaining that this wasn't how they had intended for him to find out.
you, crippled by the shock from jeongin's unexpected appearance, just sit there, unable to do much of anything what with your flu, just silently watching felix and jeongin form a panic attack circle jerk in your own house.
"enough!" jeongin raises his voice, which immediately shuts felix up. jeong has never raised his voice. you shoot felix a nervous look.
"i thought we were best friends," jeongin utters, the slightest hint of melancholy lacing his voice. he looks offended. you've never seen him look this offended, not even when he was accused of academic misconduct that one time. "i'm happy for you, ecstatic even! i swear i am, but really? why would you keep this for me for so long?"
you decide you should talk to him—felix is very clearly out of his depth when it comes to handling intense situations like this and he's only making jeongin feel worse with all the jabbering. you stand up from your seat on the table and walk over to him, taking your hands in his.
"i'm sorry, jeongin. we... we weren't entirely sure of how we were gonna do this," you tell him, almost in a whisper.
felix scratches the back of his neck, avoiding any and all eye contact with either of you. "we wanted to keep it quiet," he admits. "at first, at least."
you nod in agreement, and turn back to look at jeongin. "you were going to be the first person we would break the news to. not even our own parents, i swear," you divulge, while you spot felix in the corner of your eye making a silent crossed hearts gesture to double down on his sincerity. jeongin's once-tense features start to ease up a bit, but not entirely. "you are our best friend. we never want you to feel like this. we're sorry," you assure him, before pulling him into a bear hug. you feel felix join from behind you to make it a group hug.
"i don't care what you guys have going on, but don't keep any more secrets from me. got it?" your friend huffs after you all pull back, feigning some sort of authority. felix chuckles at how ridiculous he sounds—being the youngest of the three, the tone just sounds alien when it comes from him. "we would never," felix tells him, reaching out to give jeongin a firm pat on the back. "i think y/n might like you more than me anyway, they're always going, 'we should call jeongin! we should send him a photo! we should���"
your palm slaps against the lower half of your boyfriend's face in protest. "we might be dating but you're on thin ice," you glare at him, before he raises both hands to surrender.
jeongin jovially chimes in to break the tension: "can i just say, i've always felt like you'd get along. aren't you glad i introduced you to each other? you wouldn't be a thing if it weren't for me, ya know." felix and you just huff in response—he can have this.
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dduane · 5 months ago
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PETER MORWOOD oh my godddddd i was trying to remember who the fuck it was with the good foccacia recipe and i was like. "he is friends with diane duane on tumblr and is also an author. i scrolled for ages looking and then god sick of it, opened the ask, and it popped right in. anyway thought it'd make you laugh to know that i remember peter morwood primarily through his foccacia recipe and being your tumblr buddy than for his life's works
(chortle) I suspect he won't think that's a hanging offense. (And tbh, most of his stuff isn't in print in North America at the moment. But we're working on that.)
Meanwhile, since Himself is presently asleep upstairs after a late night, here's the link to the recipe we've been using (it's on the Washington Post's recipe site). They in turn adapted theirs from one of the focaccia recipes here at the Bread In 5 website, which comes from the people who wrote Artisan Pizza and Flatbread in Five Minutes a Day.
(In case it's paywalled, I'll cut-and-paste it under the cut...)
Ingredients
4 cups (500 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (390 milliliters) lukewarm water
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 tablespoon (11 grams) granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons (4 to 5 grams) dried instant yeast (not rapid rise)
1 1/8 teaspoons (16 grams) fine salt
2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh rosemary (from 2 to 4 sprigs), divided
Coarse or flaky salt, for sprinkling
In a large (5- to 6-quart) bowl, use a wooden spoon to stir together the flour, water, 2 tablespoons of the oil, the sugar, yeast and fine salt until a rough dough forms. Transfer to a container with a lid, partially cover and let rest for about 2 hours on the counter. You can use the dough right away, or cover and refrigerate until needed; see Make ahead. (If you plan on refrigerating and have a lidded container large enough for mixing, you can assemble the dough in there and refrigerate it after the 2-hour rise on the counter. The dough is much easier to handle after being thoroughly chilled.)
Place a baking stone on the middle oven rack and preheat to 425 degrees. Pour 2 tablespoons of oil into a 9-inch cake pan and evenly coat the bottom of the pan.
Dust the surface of the refrigerated dough lightly with flour, then pull half of it off (about 1-pound/454-gram portion; the dusting makes this task easier, as the dough is sticky). Dust the half you are using with more flour and quickly shape it into a ball by stretching the surface of the dough around to the bottom on all four sides, rotating the ball a quarter-turn as you go.
Use your hands to flatten it into a 1/2-inch-thick round 6 to 7 inches in diameter. Place the dough top side down in the cake pan, moving it around a bit to coat with the oil. It will not fill to the edges of the pan. Turn the dough over, cover the pan with plastic wrap or a plate, and let the dough rest for 10 to 15 minutes.
Use your hands to gently push the dough to the edges of the cake pan. Sprinkle with half of the the rosemary and coarse or flaky salt, as needed.
Re-cover with plastic wrap or plate, and let the dough to rest and rise for 20 minutes.
Repeat with the second ball of dough, or store it to bake later.
Transfer the cake pan to the heated baking stone in the oven and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the focaccia crust is medium brown and feels dry and firm on the surface. The baking time will vary depending on the focaccia’s thickness. (If baking both loaves at once, switch them from left to right and rotate from front to back halfway through to ensure even baking.)
Use a rounded knife to loosen the loaf from the edges of the pan, then transfer the focaccia to a cutting board. Cut into wedges and serve warm, or allow to cool completely.
Disclosure: ...Noting here that not one of these I've made has ever reached the "allow to cool completely" stage. Something always seems to... happen to them first. (Like Peter. Or me. Or both of us at once.) :)
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