#i hope someone sees this and feels inspired

[imaginestuffs]

Potion- Bob Reynolds x F! Reader

word count:2,012

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

Summary: Bob realizes he's in love, as he replays his favorite memories with you.

inspired by Potion by Djo

When you met Bob for the first time, time seemed to slow down. You’re not exactly sure what happened, but it crashed over you like a wave. His energy was unlike anything you had felt in your entire life. It was strong, it was ever present, it was undeniable, but so pure. His power was clouded with pain and fear, yet you could feel the innocence of a broken boy.

You knew then that you would do anything to protect him from anyone, and when needed, himself. 

Something about being with him seemed so simple, so easy. Though he never thought that could be the case. You found him to be a comfort, and you hoped with everything in you that he felt the same for you.

He had told you about his fear of hurting anyone again, and you knew that would be there for quite some time. It might even last a lifetime, but that doesn’t mean you would let him carry the weight by himself.

Every step of the way, you assured him that you’d be there for him.

Bob knew you didn’t know how he felt. He knew you couldn’t read his thoughts. 

He just wanted someone to leave a light on for him at the end of the day. He wanted to have someone to come back to after a mission, someone to call home.

He needed to understand what it was to be loved. He searched everywhere, high and low, for a love that was something he knew he could fall back into. Something he knew was steady and sure, he needed stability to keep him grounded, to keep the clouds at bay. But it seemed that the only thing that loved him was those clouds.

At a point in time, things seemed to shift.

Bob began to look at you differently. He began to see something new. Realization was finally striking after so many memories came flooding in.

---

It was 3:00 in the morning when you heard a soft tapping at your door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stepped out of bed. Wincing at the cold floor against your feet. 

You get to the door and open it just a bit, and there he stood, messy hair, wrinkled pajamas, it was Bob. You could tell by the exhaustion in his eyes that he had not been sleeping well.

“Hey Bob, are you ok, honey?” You always used sweet words when speaking to him. You wanted him to think he was cared for. That he mattered to someone enough to hear those words. 

He looked shaken, and you realized what it was. Bob had a nightmare. 

“I, I didn’t know what else to do, or where to go.” his voice was quivering, and your heart broke. 

“Come on in, you’re always welcome to be in here,” you told him, and opened the door more so he could step past you. 

He had looked a bit embarrassed, and you were going to have none of that.

“I hope you don’t feel bad about this. I want you to know that I care, and if you ever need anything, I’ll be here.” Giving his arm a squeeze before gently guiding him over to sit on the bed with you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” came his soft voice.

“Do what Bob?” The question came out so gently. It was a way he was never used to hearing people speak to him.

A shuddering breath spilled out of him, and he shut his eyes tightly. It almost seemed that he was scared to answer you.

“Take your time, honey, we have all night,” you reassured him.

He nodded his head and continued to take deep breaths. Eyes shut and brow furrowed, he sat there in silence. Placing your hand on his knee seemed to bring him back to reality. Your touch was reassuring and steadfast, and it brought him a very rare semblance of peace. 

You were content to sit with him in the quiet until he was ready to speak. It took a while before he turned to look at you. When he did, you gave him a soft smile, and he almost broke.

Seeing the tears in his eyes, you let your thumb move in soothing circles against his knee. 

“It’s ok, Bob, I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. 

“I don’t- I don’t know how to… ask for help,” he revealed to you. 

Something in you snapped, and you just wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go. But you held yourself back, not wanting to overwhelm him in a moment of vulnerability. 

“Sometimes it’s hard to ask, it feels like you may be seen as weak. Am I right?” not trying to assume what he was feeling in this moment. 

He nodded his head and looked away from you.

“I see it as a sign of courage and strength. Knowing when you need help, and being brave enough to admit some things can’t be done alone. You don’t have to do it all alone, Bob. I promise.”

“I’ve never felt this way, I didn’t think anyone would want to help me. I have so much weight to carry.” He told you.

“Well, there are many people here who have grown to care for you. I care for you, and I won’t let you carry the burden alone. We can be in this together if you’d like,” you offered him.

He grabbed your hand as if saying yes. As if saying thank you.

--

The sun was shining and the air was light. It was a difference compared to the rain you’d been having for a week. 

There was something you had been wanting to do for a long time now. You wanted to go for a walk in the sun. But not by yourself, you wanted Bob to come along, so you set off to find him.

It took a bit of searching to find him sitting in front of an open window. The look on his face was so peaceful, he looked like his tension had disappeared. 

Making your way over to him slowly, you sat across from him. The warmth and soft breeze coming from the window were comforting.

Bob looked at you with a soft smile. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked with curiosity at your quiet entry.

“I was looking for you, and I found you, so I’m here. If you’re alright with that,” Your eyebrow raised, and a smile took over your lips. 

He chuckled softly before nodding. “It’s alright with me,” He nudged your knee with his. 

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to go on a walk with me?” Your question hung in the air for a few seconds. 

He looked like he was contemplating, “I’d like that very much.” his smile grew, and so did yours. 

You stood and reached out your hand for him to take. His hand slid into yours, palms brushing and fingers intertwining. It made your cheeks warm up. 

He saw your eyes soften as you gently tugged him to follow you. 

“It’s finally warm outside. I feel like it’s been years since the sun showed herself,” you said as you stepped into the daylight. 

Bob stared at you as your head tilted toward the sun, and any tension you had had left you. You looked so light,  like the only things that existed were you and the sun.

His eyes couldn’t seem to leave you, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You looked over at him just to see him staring. Chuckling, you began to tug him toward a secluded trail you had found at the park a while ago.

“Walking with you is everything I needed today. The sun, the warmth, and you.” his heart skipped at your words. 

Not being used to people talking to or about him like that, he was shocked. Despite you always being that sweet, he didn’t think he could ever get used to it. 

Bob came to a halt and gently pulled you closer to him. You looked at him with confusion, not sure what he may be doing. That is, until he hugged you, he wrapped his arms around you and for just a moment you were holding the sun in your arms. 

He just glowed, his aura was intense but in a way that made you feel safer than you ever have.

Relaxing into his hold, you let yourself be in that moment. 

Bob truly felt like you were his home; you were his peace of mind.

--

There you sat on your bed with a book in your hand. Waiting around wasn’t something you usually did for most people. But he wasn’t most people, he was your person.

Bob had gone on his first mission with Yelena and John, and to be honest you were scared. You had wanted to go with them, to be there for him but Valentina refused. 

None of you understood why, but you had no choice.

So you stayed back, it was odd not seeing him every day. It was odd not catching his gaze from across the room, or spending nights talking about everything and anything because he was too scared to sleep. 

Your bed felt empty as you sat alone on the left side because he preferred the right side. It just didn’t feel right being on his side of the bed. 

As a result of his not being beside you, you stayed up. Unable to fall asleep despite how tired you were. Having no clue when he would return, you decided waiting for him was the best bet. And if you fell asleep, you chose to leave the light on for him. So he would know you were waiting for him to come home.

Well, as it turned out, you eventually did fall asleep. Your book was forgotten beside you, as your face was buried in your pillow. But the light was left on.

Bob returned from the mission completely exhausted. All he wanted was to take a shower and see you. Get to lie with you, as you gently coaxed him into a peaceful sleep.

He couldn’t explain how different it was to turn and not see you standing beside him. Despite every ounce of support he got from Yelena, she wasn’t you. That meant nothing against her; she was a great help, and he was so grateful, but she couldn’t do all that you did. 

Yelena couldn’t calm his fears with the touch of her hand. She couldn’t give him one look and have all his tension dissipate. She wasn’t his home, she wasn’t his person. That was you.

He took the quickest shower of his life and raced toward your room. He saw the door slightly ajar, and light seeping out from inside. His soul filled with warmth. You left the light on for him.

---

He looked to his side and saw you with your head against his shoulder. His arm was slung around your shoulders, he gently pulled you closer. You sighed sleepily and tucked your head against his chest. It all felt completely surreal, he was the one protecting you, keeping you safe from your fears.

Your eyes opened, and you looked up at him with a sleepy grin.

“I missed you.” Your voice was groggy, and your touch gentle as you grabbed his hand resting on your shoulder to pull yourself tighter into his embrace. 

His smile was soft as he looked down at you. 

“You missed me?” he teased. 

“Uh-huh. I miss you whenever I can’t see you,” you admitted to him. 

“You miss me while you sleep?” he chuckled softly.

“Of course I do. I also know that I love waking up to you next to me. In fact,” You paused for a moment, “I just love you.” You revealed to him. 

At that moment, he finally realized he was in love. 

Wholeheartedly in love with you, and he told you so.

“I love you, too.” 

[itsnesss]

would you ever do a kimi antonelli x famous actor movie star reader! who is at the met gala and he is just like in love with her outfit and is complimenting her so much or something like that? even maybe when they do vogue grwms??

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you attend the met gala looking like a goddess, and kimi can't take his eyes off you

warnings | famous!reader, fluff, mild romantic tension, flirting, public attention / media speculation

word count | 0.9 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

The hotel room smells like fresh roses and expensive makeup. You’re seated in front of the lit-up mirror while your stylist finishes the final touches on your hair.

Your lips, painted a deep wine red, curl into a small smile when the Vogue assistant asks if you're ready to film the GRWM for their YouTube channel.

"Been ready since they said 'Met Gala'," you reply with a wink, adjusting your silk robe as the camera crew sets up.

This isn’t your first red carpet, but it feels like the most special one. This year, you’re not just attending, you’re one of the main attractions. Your movie is topping the charts, your name is everywhere: on posters, on blogs, in whispers behind velvet ropes.

And apparently, in the eyes of a certain Italian racing driver.

"We’re rolling in 3, 2..." the director says, and you let out a soft laugh.

The recording begins, and you talk about your dress, a custom Schiaparelli design, deep black with hand-stitched golden details. The sculpted corset gives off armor vibes, while the tulle skirt floats like smoke around your legs. You talk about the inspiration: constellations, baroque art, the kind of goddess who gets dressed to conquer the sky.

You don’t say it aloud, but you're hoping someone out there notices all the details you poured your heart into.

That “someone” shows up two hours later.

The Met Gala is already underway when your car pulls up to the Met steps. The second the door opens, camera flashes explode around you and the crowd screams like a wave crashing over your ears.

"You’ve got this," you whisper to yourself as you adjust your dress and your perfectly practiced expression.

You walk the carpet, you pose, you smile. Everything is routine… until you see him.

Kimi Antonelli. The breakout Formula 1 star. Dressed in a perfectly tailored tux, elegant and effortlessly youthful. He shouldn't be looking at you. But he is. Like you're the only person on that carpet.

As you approach, someone from the event staff tries to guide you away, but Kimi steps forward.

"Can I...?" he asks, his smile shy as he offers his arm.

Your laugh is more genuine than anything you've done tonight.

"You're going to escort me, racer boy?"

"Only if you’ll let me say you look like..." he pauses, glancing at you from head to toe, a bit dazed, "...like a piece of art. Literally. I think time stopped for a second."

Your cheeks heat up slightly. No one’s ever said it quite like that, so direct, so honest.

"That’s a pretty poetic line for someone who drives at 300 km/h," you reply, looping your arm through his. "Are you always this charming?"

Kimi chuckles, soft and genuine.

"Only when someone takes my breath away. And you... you did that the moment you walked in."

You walk beside Kimi as the flashes continue nonstop. Every step with him on your arm becomes a moment worthy of a magazine cover. The cameras aren’t just capturing your dress, they’re capturing the way he looks at you: unapologetically, fully present, as if the rest of the world simply disappeared.

"Did you know I was coming tonight?" you ask under your breath, still smiling for the Vogue Italia photographer.

"They invited me about a month ago," he replies. "But I didn’t know you’d be here. If I had, I would've dressed better."

"Better than this?" you glance at him briefly, taking in his look. "You're flawless."

He smiles, but glances down for a moment, slightly shy. So different from the actors you usually hang around. Younger, yes but also more transparent. Like he’s not trying to impress you… but somehow still doing it.

That’s when an E! News reporter appears with a mic and an excited grin.

"The two of you together! This is unexpected!" she exclaims. "Can we steal a second of your time for the fans?"

You nod politely, and Kimi though a little surprised stays right beside you. The questions are light. They ask about your dress, your movie, your prep for the night. But when the reporter turns to him:

"And you, Kimi? Are you here with our star tonight, or was this a coincidence?"

He doesn’t even hesitate.

"If it was a coincidence, it’s the best one I’ve ever had."

The reporter laughs, you laugh too. But there’s a quiet flutter deep in your chest.

"So drivers don’t just go fast they think fast too?" you tease.

"Only when they’re in danger," he says. "Or when they’ve got a goddess on their arm."

The interview ends with light laughs, but you're not the only one who noticed the exchange. As you turn toward the entrance, you spot a few people whispering. Some fans filming with their phones. The internet is probably eating this up already.

"You did that on purpose?" you ask Kimi, still holding onto his arm.

"Did what?"

"That line. Letting everyone think we’re together."

He gives a small shrug, but his eyes are dead serious.

"I didn’t plan it. But... if the world wants to believe it, I don’t mind."

The silence that follows feels warm. Unexpected.

And then, the doors to the Met close behind you. Classical music spills across marble floors, and golden light gleams off ancient sculptures. Everything glows, but nothing glows quite like the smile he gives you when he leans in and whispers:

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

Your heart skips.

"The whole gala?"

"The whole life, if you let me."

[hollyhomburg]

@mocha000 Ahhhh I said 5 parts so far! Maybe more if I feel like adding to this universe. I have a few ideas- little ideas but ideas none-the less. I’m glad I’ve written most of it because it will be fairly easy to post a bunch in the next few months (watch these be my famous last words.

Okay but! He’s so slight! It bothers me so much and I’m not even playing. 90% of my fantasy’s these days are just cookin and getting to feed them a lot of food. I hope Tae still has his cheeks when he comes back :(

Ahhh thank you for bringing up the world context, I feel like that’s like- super important to this story like- of course hoseok is terrified of her being sick given the past and history of omega’s. I didn’t say it in this chapter but I think one of the reasons why this jimin has medical anxiety is probably because his mom almost died of the omega sickness or something.

Oh sooooo much more aggressive, I really kinda…like it a bit too much? Like I want him to toss me around lol. There is this interesting dynamic of him being weak but firm with her that I loved writing. I totally love the idea of wolf Hobi just- picking up the others very very gently by the scruff of their necks and bringing them to her with a wagging tail like “look at this pretty alpha I got for you babe <3”

Initially I didn’t describe the biological side of her instincts, but I’m glad I ended up adding it in so that we can see it from her side of the story.

Oh it’s so wild and weird, I wanted to emphasize one of the ways in which this universe is /not/ like the others at all- almost all omega’s are like- celebrities in this universe just cuz they’re so abnormal.  

On a side note I wonder if anyone’s written a fanfic about mr.lee yet?

I love the image of yoongi drying his hands slowly like- making sure he’s clean before he touches the m/c like I’m pretty sure I may have recycled this from bily but its so so so fucking hot to me when people show they’re like- intentions like that? Like he wants to touch but will not do it dirty lol I’m glad you’re enjoying the dynamic, I know it may seem a little self-indulgent and illogical considering how much they all want her- but this is a universe in which alphas are biologically denied omegas and simultaneously crave them- so it makes sense that we see their cravings play out in different ways.

Tbh, sometimes I think when Hobi's particularly sleepy, he speaks in short rumbly growls, either positive or negative sounds to control his pack- especially when he’s close to his rut.

Oh don’t worry you’re gonna see three chapters of her being their professional scenter and her absolutely torturing hoseok with her presence and taunting him until he snaps (: it’s very cute.

I really really hope that the boys don’t struggle when they get back, but part of me is almost sure that they are going too- I mean- hoseok’s lines when he talks about not knowing if he’s good at this anymore are partially inspired by his irl comeback/first welive that he did where he just looked so like- shell shocked almost? Like he was very very shakey and idk if anyone else internalized it like I did but it was pretty blatant to me. He’s obviously gotten used to it since then and re-adjusted.

The m/c’s scent was actually a suggestion from someone on here! I liked it and I ran with it, they all smell like some kind of fruit :) but the title was all my idea! I worry a little that people will get confused, but it is Hoseok who has seven packmates and 7 pups not including himself. They’re his reasons for being you know? Tbh I think that if bily yoongi met this yoongi they would /hate/ each other, but like- in a way that you’d kinda wanna see them fuck if that makes sense like HYB yoongi is very strong minded and firm where as bily yoongi is gentle to a fault and maybe a bit more willing to see multiple sides of the same situation.

As I said at the beginning! How much I write for this universe kinda depends on how much people enjoy it! In that vein thank you so much for commenting on this <3 not everyone does anymore and I know as long as you enjoy it I’ve at least made one person happy.

Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)

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

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

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That honor belongs to his omega.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He keeps telling himself that.

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

Because you're sick.

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok was terrified.

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jungkook does.

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

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

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

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

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

"Jeon Jungkook! No! Bad!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For Fighting? For hitting him?"

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

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

"Because I did it infront of her?"

"Yes. And why was that bad?"

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

hoseok is perilously weak not to reward him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

It's also considered the bare minimum to provide for your omega an extravagant life. That at least- Hoseok does not struggle with. It's easy to spoil you, instinctual almost. To protect and provide and please.

All in all Hoseok is more straightforward that you might expect, he'll give his pack everything so long as they hold nothing back in return.

Being on tour with him means you can try things you wouldn’t ordinarily eat and go places you wouldn’t normally go. To art museums and shopping districts for pretty little diamond studded collars and comfortable designer nesting supplies. Café's for famous desserts shaped like flowers and figs, and even the exclusive omega section at Fao Schwartz.

The packages for that have already been sent back to Seoul where they no doubt fill the entryway of the pack house. Probably carefully unwrapped and organized by yoongi, still in their silk bags on the border of your personal nest at home. A custom-made monstrosity that Hoseok had made for you and Yoongi designed that cost a small fortune.

But Hoseok had no qualms with him spending the pack's money on that. Not even back at the beginning of your courtship and relationship. Nothing but the best for you.

But delicate requests for room service and delivery from a restaurant you’d wanted to try with a promise for more at the next tour stop are now forgotten. Everything is forgotten now that you're sick.

He’s aware he’s been followed, his manager, a bodyguard, a makeup Noona trail behind him as he stalks in the direction of the dressing room. Where his clothes are, where he can get his things and leave. He can feel the rage polishing his canines already.

It makes his grin wider, teeth sharper in the privacy of darkness. Hoseok is snarling at the shadows, the toothy grin crazed as he finally makes it back to the dressing room. Tearing off his jacket popping the buttons and ripping the hem of it in the process.

It can be fixed before the next performance. Hoseok would rip 100 jackets to get home to you even a second quicker.

Unlike usual, no one offers him congratulations and he doesn’t offer any thanks or encouragement. His hands shake as he bends down to undo his shoes, all but yanking them off of him. His necklaces get tangled around his fingers, 7 of them- one for each packmate, and the second he starts to tear at them. Someone reaches for him- to stop him.

Hoseok turns and nearly lunges at Mr. Lee.

Hoseok imagines it perfectly, teeth sinking in, popping through skin and blood. The image is so visceral that Hoseok almost confuses it with reality. The familiar iron tang on the back of his throat what his instincts demand.

He stops himself just narrowly before he can get to his throat. He loses a growl. A sound so bone chilling that no one dare moves a muscle.

Only pure familiarity keeps him from actually biting the other man. the fact that Hoseok's alpha has sort of identified him as someone safe. But the scent of alpha aggression in the air makes everyone, even the lowliest stagehand, pause where they’re gathered. Hoseok bares his teeth and breathes. Struggling to contain himself.

Mr. Lee doesn't flinch, doesn't even raise his eyebrows at Hobi, looking at him with that same impassive expression. Not intimidated in the slightest by Hoseok snapping his teeth.

His hand smooth over the necklaces. He lets go of Hoseok gently.

Honestly, he should be more careful, they were gifts from the pack. The pack like matching their clothes, their shoes, their jewelry, and matching pack items are fairly common, especially in larger packs.

Hoseok in particular likes to have one thing from each of them on his person at most times, especially when he's traveling. Especially since he hasn't given any of them mating bites yet (none of them could stomach the idea of doing it before service). A little memento to keep them close. The biggest necklaces are from Yoongi and Namjoon and the smallest one is from you. Each of them cost no small sum, they're monetarily valuable as well as sentimental to Hoseok.

Hoseok doesn't thank Mr.Lee as he holds his breath, counts to seven, and goes back to taking them off, this time more gently without yanking at the clasps hard enough to bend the metal. even though he's breathing heavy. even though his hands are shaking. Hoseok struggles but there’s already someone behind him undoing the clasps and finally, it feels like he can breathe.

“Sorry. I’m fine I’m fine just-” Hoseok scrubs his hand across his face. Holding the necklaces in one hand. The diamonds sway. long strands handing towards the floor.

“Can I change in the car?” Hoseok is not asking, even if it’s phrased as a question.

With the way Seejin is looking at him, Hoseok knows the answer, and that he doesn’t want to say it. “Fine just- hurry.” Everyone knows why he's on edge, why he’s off.

Everyone here is well acquainted with the pack's omega.

The first few shows you'd ever attended, you'd been quite the distraction. Falling asleep in Namjoon's lap during his makeup. tugging on Jungkook's shirt while he was getting dressed, playfully feeling Jimin's hair while he was warming up and cutting off his notes. Unwilling to let any of them go on stage without being scented. a reminder as you lingered in the wings of the stage, in their peripheral vision that made even Hoseok stumble.

Occasionally you still attend their concerts to remind them of the power you hold, that as much as you give in to their impulses, they're also beholdent to yours. The leash goes both ways.

You're a little bit of a legend among the makeup noonas, managers, and bodygaurds. Because before enlistment and before any of this, before you’d been theirs, you’d been here working alongside them- a member of the support staff.

~-~

Omegas aren’t officially banned from working, not in any legal or governmental capacity.

Every few years some asshole petitions the current government to put some ban on them working and demand they remain registered to one alpha and one alpha only as is natural. But in all reality, the world could not survive without omegas at least taking some modicum of independence for themselves.

A good number of them appreciate their freedom. Just not you.

Hoseok doesn't like to consider the world where there are no working Omega's, a world where they aren't allowed to help. Now that he's seen the military, and seen what it's like when alphas are taken outside of their normal routine and pack structure and put all together. The idea is even more unsettling.

Without omega's, alphas would break out into all-out war.

Hoseok imagines The rage. The quiet of devastation of murder out of necessity. Alphas already have a hard time restraining their instincts even with an omega. Every few weeks there are stories of some alpha going feral on the news. Can you imagine going 8 weeks without being scented? That sounds terrible. I don't think I'd last 4.

Omega’s are too gentle to do most jobs that aren't specifically designed for them. Omegas are sensitive, in need of protection from just about everything. No fear is too small, not fear of thunder or fear of darkness. Anything that can lurk can be killed, and alphas will kill for omegas. It’s a culturally accepted fact.

No alpha can maintain their instincts for long and keep them under control without an omega scenting them docile at least once a week, it's biological, a necessity as much as drinking water or eating. For beta's its slightly less- they get more snapish than feral. they need it maybe once a month.

Hoseok has still seen seokjin's hands shake, has still suffered through more than one sleepless night with jimin. His body and his brain fighting his instinct to stay awake.

There are modern solutions for age old problems of course. Before you the pack subsided the same way the rest of the population did. There are upscale scenting parlors on just about every street corner in the city, private institutions designed with open air booths or similar to cafes that pay out omega's handsomely for a little acess to their wrists or if they're feeling particularly brave- their throats.

Most priced too expensive for the average person to afford, let alone a couple of broke trainees drunk on foolish dreams. There are alternatives for most of the population. Synthetic omega scent (that always smelled too chemical to Hoseok) available for purchase at every convenience store. Fortified drinks with omega pheromones that sort of work that keep you awake when you need to make deadlines. Yoongi used to overindulge in them.

If you're willing to pay extra, you can even buy something that's actually been scented by an omega. They have boutiques for it.

Although very very few packs can have an omega- most idol companies at least employ one designated omega scenter. They’re becoming more and more popular. A perk, similar to a 401k or unlimited PTO. See you don't need to worry about who will scent you next. See, if you're having a bad day or need help pushing through, we have what many don't.

And still- despite their necessity. Not all societies worship omegas. In certain pockets of the world, omegas are thought of as spoiled and lazy. Some are even kept secret to keep their freedoms, their omegan instincts suppressed until later by medications.

Either consensually or non-consensually in your case. You hadn’t known, not until you were well into your teenage years and nearly a legal adult, that you were an omega. Your instincts remained mostly dormant (and what didn't stay dormant you neglected). sometimes you still struggle to understand what your omega wants.

The others just think you're a little more spirited than a regular omega. But Hoseok knows. Hoseok's alpha has always been able to sniff it out.

Hoseok's blood still boils when he thinks about what your parents did to you. They did it in the name of protecting you but still. He'll still rant if given the opportunity (as long as it doesn't set you on edge). Hoseok's ranting is usually met with understanding from the other alphas and chagrined comfort from the betas in his pack.

The alphas understand that the anger never really goes away. But Seokjin and Jimin are different. They get a little spooked when Hoseok shows how truly angry he is.

Jimin usually exits the room when the others decide to indulge hoseok when he wants to hash it out again. He and Taehyung and Yoongi and Namjoon will find themselves in Yoongi's studio with a twelve-pack or they'll hit golf balls off the roof of the company building when the restlessness of unmet anger really tares at them. Hashing it out yet again until the rage has quieted to a dulcet murmur and Hoseok feels like writing songs about it again.

But not now. Hoseok can't calm himself down right now- Not right now when you’re back in the hotel room running a fever. A fucking fever.

You can’t blame Hoseok. He’s protective of you for a reason. It’s not only the omega plague that has him concerned but…your general health.

It's been harder to resist the temptation to worry since after his military service. Without all of them here to temper his anger and calm him down, Hoseok's alpha has been running a little wild. Bubbling up under the surface. Constantly close and whispering in his ear.

You even thing you see it come out on stage sometimes. Sometimes when he commands the crowd or asks them to roar for him it feels almost like he's using alpha voice with them.

You’d noticed the shift in Hoseok the second he’d come back. The second he took off his uniform for the last time after 18 months. His instincts were closer to the surface than ever before. He was so quiet. So silent. None of his usual electric energy, none of his quiet sureness that you were so used to.

Hoseok hates to admit it and hates it when anyone brings it up, but military service had changed him (and not in a good way).

It’s a good thing he has you- if it wasn’t for you- Hoseok doesn’t know if he’d have been able to find his way back to himself.

~-~

Coming home went something like this:

His eyes were wide through the live, open and unsure, a dazed look, almost shell shocked. Trembling with the new weight of old feelings. The position is familiar but the anxiety at his every move being watched- is unmatched. Like Jamais vu. How did being in front of the camera get so scary?

Hoseok used to be so good at this- at being an idol. They used to do this all the time almost without thought before enlistment. Are his movements too jerky? Can the fans tell that he's about to burst into tears? Can they tell? do they notice?

Is Hoseok not good at this anymore?

Leaving his station had felt like walking away from a nightmare only to find himself still asleep, somewhere between a night terror and a sweet dream. Because you were there in the van. You were there. A small body that nearly collided with his with how fast you pushed yourself to grab him the second he'd opened the door, A hand on your back and Hobi's neck, Yoongi close behind.

The cameras had only gotten one picture. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a blurry profile of a face pressed into his stomach.

Now, he listens to the sound of Yoongi prattling to Jin in the kitchen. sitting on the edge of your bed in the packhouse trying to decompress. there's an invitation to shower off the scent of the barracks before dinner that remains unfulfilled. The air smells like garlic and gochujang. the tang of ssamjang too. Smoke and fire. hoseok still hasn't undressed.

But Hoseok just sits on the bed. Hoseok can't move, lead weights attached to his extremities. Frozen there. Listening to the three of you and scenting the air.

the whole house smells like you, Jin, and Yoongi. just the three of you. none of the other alpha's, not Jimin. Hoseok never thought it would smell strange to him. Never thought that it would smell even a little unfamiliar.

Yoongi is all tangerine goodness. Bright and fragrant just on the edge of ripeness. Jin is soft as a peach, sweet and gentle. But You- oh you-

You smell like warm berry jam and nighttime summer air. Something drippy sweet and dark. Like the hint of sunshine and warmth and like syrup moving slow. Those early summer evenings where you can still smell the sun on the air even though it's already set.

Hoseok breathes it in through his teeth, Gritted. On edge. Alpha close under his skin.

Jin's teasing and Yoongi's low murmur fill the air around your bird chirps and squeaks, even when he falls silent. Absorbing it all, adjusting. It's only been a few hours. Only a few. Hoseok should cut himself some slack for not immediately being chipper and lighthearted.

Yoongi sounds relieved and excited even from here. There’s expensive champagne to celebrate (Hoseok hardly tasted his glass when he downed it, trying to calm his nerves) and a home-cooked meal that Hoseok has been looking forward to for months.

He hears the murmurs too, Yoongi breathing heavy, tense. Words he thinks Hoseok can't hear. "He's so skinny hyung, I saw him take off his jacket and I could see every tendon."

"I know, I know, but he's back now, he's safe, that's all we can change now. At least it's over for him."

"But the others."

"Baby I know." A quiet whine, a chirp. "don't you worry your little head about it darling, you just sit there, would you like to try the first piece? it's almost done. You don't need to save it for alpha, he'd want you to have it." It takes everything in Hoseok not to storm into the other room and feed it to you himself.

Hoseok knows what he looks like, knows that he's skinnier than normal, that he looks underfed and somehow more muscular than before. starved for something that isn't food maybe. the military keeps alphas well fed but not satiated. feeds them enough protein and wolfsbane to make them stronger and yet more susceptible.

But in the meantime worry and anxiety have eaten away at him. His cheeks are hollow and his thin birdlike bones look like they've been wrapped with corded muscle. You'd squeezed them appreciatively earlier, the same as you had with Jin. And Yoongi's eye roll had been hassling. But even the other alpha smelled pleased.

"Yah what am I going to do, if they all come back like this it's going to be me and you against the world pup." You'd giggled, and Hobi had delighted you by letting you hang from his arm.

hoseok couldn't explain why when he looks at you he feels like crying. you're wrapped in your most comforting clothing, an old sweatshirt of his that he hasn't worn in two years and has a new hole at the hem like you've worn it every day in his absence. Giggling softly as you try and hang. Yoongi's hand twitches like he's sort of ready to catch you incase you teeter.

"You're so strong now! Bet you're stronger than Jungkookie even! you can lift me all the time not just when you wanna show off!"

"He could always lift you pup," Jin had crooned looking down at you, a head taller, stooping to drop a kiss on your forehead. His knowing smirk light and teasing. "Hobi just feels like lifting you is more for him than for you so he resists, kind of like how I feel about hugging- like this."

Jin has the longest arms but for what he can't reach Yoongi makes up for. The second he reaches around you and Hobi- Yoongi mirrors him. Both of them are in sync and Hoseok mistimed. off beat. Missing a step. Yoongi and Jin squeeze both of them pushing their chests together and trapping both you and Hobi in a Yoonjin sandwich.

Hoseok can feel how gently they do it. going slow so as to not aggravate his instincts. His alpha cocks his head, unused to the careful affection. They keep squeezing until both of you devolve into giggles and until Hoseok is laughing for real. Unbidden, face crumpling towards the end.

The pack house is part of a gated community. Insulated from the public eye by high walls and a guarded gate. It’s a mixture of modern Western architecture on the outside and traditional Korean wood tones and airy skylights on the interior.

Everyone has a bedroom although they more often than not find themselves scattered in pairs or trios. When the pack doesn't have a schedule to attend to the following day and your health allows for it- they pile into your bedroom heaped all over each other. Unworried about sleeping in uncomfortable positions or needing to wake up everyone to pee.

It's adjacent to your nest room and the kitchen on the ground floor- because you were as equally as prone to bumping into things and tripping as Namjoon. The pack couldn’t bear the idea of you having to go up and down the stairs every night.

You could call them overprotective and you would be right. Your comment about Hoseok carrying you wasn't just teasing. You're lucky your alpha's keep you on such a long (and thankfully metaphorical) leash.

Many many omegas find themselves in more controlling situations than you do. Monitored, and kept safe by personal bodyguards or packmates (often times beta's or lower ranking alphas whose sole job in the pack structure is to protect and guard the pack's omega).

The closest thing you have to that is Jungkook and Taehyung. You don't think it's that over the top. In some parts of the world omega's occasionally disappear. Snatched from street corners or stolen from nests in the dead of night. Usually just after the presentation when they haven't found a pack yet to keep them safe.

You're lucky that the pack only sometimes ask to carry you up and down the stairs. You're lucky they don't have the habit of 'omega wearing' as some more traditional all-alpha packs do. No one's kept omega's like that- as little more than pets- in generations. You don't live in a country that requires omegas to wear a collar when they're out in public.

But still, sometimes it's hard not to be protective. You're used to most of it, every time that you so much as pick up a butter knife someone's shushing you and taking it from you. When you bend down to tie your shoes someone is already on their knees before you. Your jacket is always zipped for you, mittens always on, scarf tucked. Whenever you try and put a shirt over your head someone is aiding you. You've lost track of the times that you've heard them say "let alpha do it."

Jimin doesn't even ask, he just glares and puts his hands on his hips if you struggle too much. Surprisingly stern when you feel like you want to squirm or struggle. He's one of the very few packmates whose not uncomfortable landing a swat over your behind or making you write lines.

Jimin is very very particular about the rules. there are others that apply to the rest of them like 'no staying at the studio over night' and 'pt once a week, no butts' and 'no skipping meals for practice' but there are other ones specifically for you that go a little over the top.

Rules like I will tell my packmates when I'm feeling overstimulated and I will not go places in public alone without someone there to protect me. I will not behave in a way that puts my physical wellbeing in danger even inadvertently. If I go into omegaspace I will go and get someone no matter what they're doing because I cannot be left alone unsupervised.

Other things too like- when i feel needy i will not touch myself like a greedy little pup when I have 7 healthy packmates to fuck me. When I want a knot I will not demand it but ask for it nicely and say please and thank you. I will not take out my plug after breeding until Jiminie or Hoseokie or Namjoonie has told me I can. When I want bruises during a spanking or a settling I will clear it with every alpha first starting with Hoseokie and then Yoongi and Namjoon, then Jinnie, and Jungkookie and Taehyungie, only then will Minnie take you over his lap.

And you'll say please and thank you.

You're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Jimin is a very very particular beta. You miss him so much it aches. You miss all of them so much it hurts you, manifests as a physical ache in your temples or under your ribs. A breathless furious need to burrow away where no one could see you. unsafe without your familiar cadre of packmates.

Most of the ways that they take care of you are completely innocent. A tangle in your hair is hardly there before someone asks you to come sit between their thighs, brush in hand. You rarely ever have to sit on your own, a rotating schedule of who gets to have you in their lap during meal times. You haven't picked out your own clothes in years- someone's always there to do it for you.

At least not before enlistment.

After enlistment, you'd learned to do alot for yourself again. With Yoongi home in the evenings, it wasn't quite as lonely as it could have been but still-

It's the little things, that you'd struggled to accept at first that you ended up missing the most. It's insane to you now how you used to live before. That you were used to being independent and uncared for.

Maybe the truth is you don't hate all of it. It was so much nicer than being hissed at and shunned. You don't hate it when you fall asleep in the car or the couch and Namjoon or Hoseok carries you to your bed. You don't hate it when you're in public and someone is always gripping your arm or hold your wrist and guiding over every uneven doorway or step down. holding the back of your head when they guide you to bite. You don't mind the "hold my hand pup" or "Someone's too small for that, let alpha do it."

It's strange sure, but it's a little true. even when you don't want to admit it.

It's strange when Seokjin blows on your spoon of soup before letting you take a bite. When the alphas growl at you if you linger too close to someone who's not them- But it makes you feel comfortable and cared for in a way that you weren't always used to.

Treasured. That's the word for it. You're their treasure. You don't cringe about it when you remember anymore. (The truth is that the pack has made you a bit spoiled now. You don't resist their babying nearly as much as you used too).

It had felt like something of a game at the beginning. You asked for things to see if you could and they fulfilled it, only to shrink before what they actually wanted to give. But eventually you got so used to them handling everything that even when you'd squirmed and struggled and called too much you'd trusted them enough to let them push- and you'd eventually given in.

Maybe you'd be more used to it if you were born an omega (you were born an omega, you try to remind yourself. It just feels like you weren't sometimes).

Now their bedrooms are spaces that you haunt when you miss them. when they're home there are still moments when they each need their own space to either sleep without temptation or decompress after their busy schedules. It serves no one if they always wake each other up by leaving early for filming, or practice, or meetings.

The only bedroom that’s fit with a bed big enough for all of them is your bedroom, more out of necessity than anything else since your bed is the defacto favorite. You’d tried for a normal bed when you’d first moved in but found it quickly overrun and too crowded by packmates. Giving you the largest bedroom was something Hoseok insisted upon.

His own bedroom is now across the courtyard next to Yoongi’s, hardly used. Last time Hoseok checked, Yoongi had taken to storing some of his recording equipment in there, had propped the old bed up against the wall to make room for a pseudo recording studio. Before enlistment Hoseok rarely spent a night away from you, only if you were sick again and if he had an early schedule and didn’t want to wake you- and even then- he'd just rather steal away to someone else's room rather than sleep on his own.

The packhouse is arranged in a big rectangle with an open-air courtyard at the center. The soil there is crammed close with as many plants as Namjoon can stuff there. Tended to by staff twice a week now that the alpha isn’t home regularly to look after his precious camellia and cloud-pruned spruces. The cherry tree sits stubby, blooms just tempting to burst but not here yet. by spring time a small patch of grass will sit studded with clovers and small flowers, a spot for you to lounge in the middle of the day and curl up like a cat in a puddle of sunshine.

Hoseok and Yoongi are on the other side of the courtyard adjacent to the entrance. close to it just incase anyone tried to enter. The rest of the pack is upstairs. In their various bedrooms scattered between the workout room and entertainment center a larger studio space and a tiny art room where taehyung stores his canvases.

Now, Hoseok sits in your empty bedroom. Trying to decompress. Emphasis on trying.

It's hard when every time he shuts his eyes a new memory assaults him. It's hard to stay present. Hoseok knows his breathing is getting more and more ragged the longer he spends alone. It's so quiet here in the pack house. Hoseok's alpha doesn't like it.

Hoseok closes his eyes and a gun goes off. The feeling of a gun in his hand is heavy and impersonal. Hot and sweaty beneath his fingertips.

He opens them and sees your striped red and pink robe hanging by the door, side by side with Taehyung's green and yellow one. Yours warn and his brand new but both of them purchased on the same day. Taehyung just hasn't been here to use it.

He closes them and a sergeant is yelling in his face. Prodding his shoulder with their finger until his body moves. Hoseok can feel the growl in his throat threatening to burst.

Hoseok opens his eyes and notes that you've dropped one of your heated stuffed animals on the ground, that it's rolled half under the bed, he retrieves it and sets it on the bedside table.

Hoseok blinks again and Hoseok must not be composed enough. He must lift his lip because they're yelling at him to drop and give 50. But it's better than being on night watch for a week. Better than sleepless nights spent staring into the darkness and snow, not better than your bed here, plush and soft, smelling like good summer evenings.

Hoseok undresses in the barrack bathroom shoving the second someone comes too close, body-calling threats before he's even turned to see who it is. Hot water is better than the cold that digs into Hoseok's body like it's something with teeth and claws.

On night watch near the northern border. His fear plays tricks on him, you can only look into the darkness for so long before your mind plays tricks on you. You can only hunt monsters and play at being a killer before you start to feel too real.

Hoseok takes a deep breath and counts to seven.

Tonight is supposed to be full of his favorite things. Marinated crispy beef and seafood that smells rich and buttery on the air, music playing low. Things that Hoseok hasn’t been able to indulge in in months.

Like Yoongi’s cooking and your head in his lap after. Winding down and going slow. Easy slowness warming up to it so that Hoseok can start to get used to living again. He'll go back to work tomorrow with Jinnie because he doesn't have time to waste but with this and everything else. He'll adjust.

Hoseok doesn't have to be asleep tonight by the zero hour and doesn't have to be up tomorrow morning for early drills. He can sleep as long as he wants and He's not going to be able to enjoy it at all. Not while he's so keyed up.

He tries and does his best. Breathing in and out to calm his heart rate, decompressing in the half-darkness of the bedroom. It feels a bit too much like a shrine. There in the corner is Taehyung's record player collecting dust, and there on the shelf is Jimin's cologne.

Jimin doesn't always like to hide his scent, lightly floral, something delicate like roses or lychee, fruity and divine for a beta. You like to press your face into his throat hard enough to make Jiminie giggle. Hard enough to tip him over. He's prone to exaggeration. But when it comes to others outside of the pack Jimin prefers to hide his scent with a light layer of cologne, pushing it just a little more subdued, a little more masculine.

Scents are up to everyone's preference, and a fair amount of betas wear scent blockers and Jimin prefers to keep his scent for only the pack to indulge in and enjoy.

Namjoon's bonsai tree sits in the nook by the window, clipping shears and a pair of reinforced gloves (because the pack can't even let you handle scissors without worrying a little). A piece of Jungkook's artwork hangs above the bed. something that was sort of a courting present for you, it's mostly artful splatters but when you look at it in just the right light- it almost looks like a pair of eyes. Pieces are everywhere but no pack.

All of it, all of those months of discipline and control are gone now. Done and over. Everything is in frightening detail. His civilian clothes sit folded, his jacket off in just his undershirt now.

You scented them. Hoseok can smell it even without bringing it to his nose. Everything feels a little too sensory, a little too close. Like Hoseok is too aware of his body and how different his surroundings are. He closes his eyes because he can't bear how strange his life all looks.

Hoseok knew he had to be the first alpha out, he knew that this would be difficult. That it would be hard for the others to adjust and that it would be beneficial for them all if the pack alpha came home and got settled first. Hoseok can't imagine any of his alpha pups feeling this way, can't imagine Taehyung or Namjoon or Jungkook feeling like this. So tremulous, so fragile, and yet so volatile.

There are no barked orders, there is no rigorous schedule here. Just the scrape of a wooden spoon across a pan and the quiet comfort of home (but hoseok still feels homesick). Jin's creaky laugh, and the burst of champagne. The shuffle of slippered feet across the floor too.

You’re talking to them in the kitchen, can hear Yoongi ask if you need help carrying Hoseok's champagne glass to him- a silly thing to say. but instincts are a little silly sometimes. Hoseok swallows back a lump in his throat at it.

It's not like you’re strangers again, he's had nightly phone calls and daily texts and a night or two of leave a month. It’s only been weeks since he last saw you. But keeping it together for a day before he goes back to the day-in-day-out rigor of the military is different than coming home for good.

This means more, this is different. Hoseok isn't going back. He's never going back.

He holds his breath and counts to seven, then 14, then 21, 35, 49, until he's half gasping.

Hoseok feels the need to catalog everything, the curtains pulled against the window. when did you stop sleeping with the sunlight?Your slippers by the door, new. The plates in the kitchen green instead of white. What happened to your old ones? When did you stop wearing bunny slippers and start wearing matching kitty ones with Yoongi? What more has Hoseok missed by not being here?

The scent of omega anxiety is on the air, scared and nervous. You’d been feeling all those things this morning when you’d woken. Hoseok can smell it on the bed. A nightmare? Have you been having nightmares? Is that what it is?

That’s not all Hoseok can smell, the dewy sweet scent of omega slick lingers too. Slightly stale. The spicey tang of another alpha’s arousal also tingles at Hoseok's nose. Yoongi’s and Jin’s if Hoseok breathes deep, tracing the fresh scent of tangerines and peaches, a pure scent that deepens. Soothing, a balm to his nerves and likely yours.

Whatever solution the others found for your anxiety was the intimate sort. Hoseok can tell.

Just like he can tell that someone had stripped the sheets, had taken your clothes- drenched with the scent of omega arousal, out of the basket in the corner and taken it out, probably to keep Hoseok from scenting it, probably to keep Hoseok from being on edge.

but instead of making him comforted, it just makes him feel like a failure.

Failure, failure of a pack alpha. what kind of alpha is he that he can't even handle a hint of a nightmare? He’s angry, and not at you or at Jin or Yoongi, but at the situation. At things he can't change.

Hoseok can't hear your light footsteps. Can hear them get closer and closer and closer until you're a silhouette in the doorway, lingering, unsure. Catching him like this, sat on the edge of the pack bed, legs parted, head in his hands.

Hoseok opens his eyes; a shadow cuts across the light that streams in, and he flinches before he can stop himself.

“Hobi? Are you alright?” You take a step closer to him and he tenses. You notice, stopping in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Hobi-" you make to take another step closer and he lets out a sound, neither a hiss nor a whimper, neither a warning growl nor an invitation to come closer. Threat and protector blur.

For a second Hoseok's unsure if it's safe for you to be alone in the room with him.

“Stay back for a second pup, I’m sorry I’m just-” He takes off his beret, running his hands over his spiky hair. You probably thought that Hoseok went to shower minutes ago, not that he'd just be sitting here. “This is a little overwhelming.”

"What is? Us? Should we-" Hoseok nips it before your emotions have the chance to spiral.

“No. Not you- never you. Just-" he exhales shakily, trying to tame his racing heart rate. No matter how many times he tells himself there's no reason to be so on edge, Hoseok just can't will himself to relax.

"Is it being home? Being out?” Being free. It goes unspoken but Hoseok hears it and feels it regardless. He never imagined freedom to feel so stifling. To feel so unsure about his next move that he can't even make himself get up off this bed without worrying that he's going to lose control.

“No, it’s my instincts. I feel…” he trails off, resting a hand over his heart and hissing through it. You take a step back; his closed eyes shoot open and he lets out a growl. A real one. You freeze.

The tension is so thick in the air Hoseok could cut it with a dull knife. Do not let the omega escape, sweet omega, pretty omega, omega under your thumb. Protect devour provide devour, please.  His instincts are practically howling out in his ear. Loud, drowning out your words, the concern.

There is a furrow between your eyebrows, Hoseok wants to smooth it out and then bite your cheeks, round and flushed. Why are you blushing?

It takes him a second to answer. He registers you've asked him another question but he can't even hear it over the roar of his heartbeat.

“Sorry. Feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Oh you- oh Hobi. You’re alright. It’s over. We’re gonna be okay.” He hums skeptically when you say it. Blinking rapidly. He hopes its so dark you don't see the glassiness to his eyes. He doesn't respond right away. Can't.

It’s a reminder he’ll need again. He's going to need to hear you say it about a dozen times over the next week. You'll repeat it to him whenever his instincts get like this; whenever they go a little feral. A little haywire. He's not sure if he wants to burst into tears or stalk across the room and pin you to the wall.

It takes a second for Hoseok to work up the courage to be honest. A few seconds where you wait, swaying slightly in the doorway. You're wearing a matching pj set, the top has little iridescent buttons that catch the light like the eyes of a sea creature. The object of his every frustration and all his desires. The confession lurches from his chest, feels like a knife, and feels near violent. 

“I’m worried I don’t know how to be gentle with you anymore. They made me so- I’m worried I’ve forgotten. I don’t- I can’t-”

“What do you want to do right now? Tell me what you need.” your tone leaves no room for his anxiety and Hoseok realizes that his breathing has gone jagged. Hoseok is barely contained, teeth bared, alpha going wild at your scent. This time when you step closer, his alpha lets out a growl purr. A pleased sound, a soothing one. Tempting you closer. His legs are splayed, and a few more steps and you'd be standing in between them.

Hoseok’s hands are fisted in the sheets. He doesn't know if he can hold himself back. “Pup- I don’t, I can’t- i'm going to attack you-”

“Alpha.” Your voice cuts through the bullshit. You step closer and this time he doesn’t flinch away. You set your hand on his knee. Gentle. Barely touching. “What do you need alpha? What are your instincts telling you to do right now?”

He surges forward, stopping himself at the last moment. Your back against the door, swathed in shadow, a column of light flat across his face. Nose to nose with you. He grips your cheeks instead of your throat. You don't flinch and you don't sigh. Your reaction is immediate. Pushing into his touch. Hoseok's whole body is trembling with the effort it takes to stay gentle.

Hoseok hisses through his teeth. “My instincts are telling me you don’t smell like me anymore. That I need to bend you over this bed and make you mine from the inside out. Then take you out there and do the same to Yoongi and Jin until everyone's mine again. I want to devour you until there's no question who you belong to- until the whole world knows you're mine.”

He breaks off with a contemplative hum, and you realize how much his muscles are trembling, the dark tilt of his eyes as he stares at you, the dilation to his pupils. It’s faint, but it’s there. The physical strength it takes to hold himself back- you can't imagine.

he rests his forehead against yours. and his hand tightens to a fist on the wall. He lets your face go to skim his hand down your throat, feeling your pulse. Beating out a 120 tempo against his fingers. Then to your waist. Only a fool would mistake his touch for anything but claiming.

If you ran, Hoseok would catch you. You kind of want to do that, to run and have him hunt you down. You wouldn’t get far probably not even to the doorway. You imagine him taking you right there right where Yoongi and Jin could see.

They'd probably just tease you both and keep cooking.

Hoseok's hands smooth up and down your sides, from your spine to your ass. You let him touch. You're his in every way that matters anyway. You don't react or at least you try not too. You jump a little, when he squeezes, hissing appreciatively. His fingers continue to touch, to devour, slipping lower, palming, between your legs from behind.

He brushes something sensitive and you jerk. He growls. "Stay still omega."

"Trying alpha it's just-"

He undoes the buttons one by one on your top, hands surprisingly steady until it falls away from your shoulders. Hoseok nuzzles. Dark hair tucked beneath your chin as he mouths at your scent gland, hot breath dusting your skin. You're not worried or shy, Hoseok has seen all of you. You stay still until you feel the press of his teeth, jerking.

He squeezes your hip, reassuring you. The tension dissipates just a little.

"I’m so tired,” he laughs, and it sounds sad even to your own ears. He pulls back away from your skin, lips glossy and he rubs his hands over his face and then his hair. Your body burns when his hands leave your skin. It looks like it takes him real effort.

He leaves you there, standing half undressed by the doorway, shucking off his own shirt as he goes, setting it on the bed. Back to you.

There are bruises on his spine, up and down his back from a heavy pack or the strap of a gun you're not sure. You stumble forward, still half winded to touche them. Hoseok's body stills when he feels you come close.

You trace over them softly. Hoseok's breathing is so measured you know each breath must take herculean effort.

There have been so many weeks of teasing that have led up to this. Picture after picture, you pouting asking for your favorite alpha home. Pictures that Hoseok dared only open in the privacy of the bathroom that left little to the imagination. A shot of Yoongi's head between your thighs, a shot of you nesting in next to nothing. Virtual bait and blood in the water to Hoseok's hungry alpha more than willing to take a bite. All to give him something else to think about during that home stretch.

You wrap your arms around him and press your bare front to his warm back.

“I'm so tired that I don’t think I can be gentle, and I want to be gentle with you. I can’t not be gentle with you. I don't think I could do it without loosing control.” His fingers are mostly gentle as they pinch your cheeks, making your lips pout out. It's a little goofy.

Your eyes already look shiny, and he almost jerks when he registers the scent of slick on the air.

“Then don’t be gentle.”

“Pup.” There's a warning in his voice and he looks visible startled when he turns around. He pulls back until you let go of him, turn around. but you're not dissuaded easily, arms loose until he grabs your wrists. no matter how hard you pull you can't get them out of his grasp. but that's sort of the point.

You let Hoseok hold you, let him keep you still, a teasing smile on the edge of your lips. He huffs after a second, palms sliding up to your elbows. "You're gonna make me get more grey hairs."

"but you love me anyway?"

Hoseok nods. "but i love you anyway."

“if you can't be- then don't. Don’t be gentle, I don't care.” You’d tilted your head to the side. “Please alpha.”

Hoseok is a weak weak man. Hoseok cannot hold himself back from you. Not today. Hoseok proceeds to do exactly that, hunting and running and all. you smile and bolt, and hoseok bends to his instincts just this once.

You don't make it farther than the doorway.

Sprawled and giggling. Somewhere along the next few minutes, the sound of Seokjin and Yoongi cooking quiets, they listen but they don't interrupt. You try to push, try to fight but it's futile. it's all a game. Giggling all the while and it's like candy and conquest.

Hoseok's mouth runs wild like this- instinctual and driven.

"Is it too big for you little pup? Poor little omega stuck on a big knot, making you feel all full. Don't worry, alpha will fuck you until you're used to it again, until you feel empty without it. Keeping me warm and snug, is it too much? Don't cry, alpha will make it better. Alpha will keep you safe."

By the end of it. You'd been dazed and boneless, little more than a puddle of whimpers and whines. He had carried you tender and knotted to him in the direction of his pack. Instincts driving him to show (Hoseok is little better than a pup bringing his packmates a stick. See? See how good I bred omega, see how good I knotted her. She smells good and I made her this way for you. If he had a tail it would be wagging behind him.)

Dinner and celebration traded for a different sort of meal. Hoseok sits with you in his lap at the kitchen island. Yoongi dries his hands slowly from the sink and curses low when Hoseok holds you under your thighs, back to his chest. Spreading you for him.

"Fuck- I forgot how it looks like when you knot her it's so-"

It will take a good hour for Hoseok's knot to go down. Until then, the pack will play with you as they see fit, completely at their mercy, just the way that Hoseok likes you.

You always get a little bit more suggestible when you're knotted. Hoseok likes to think that you don't let them do everything they want to you when you are knotted but…you sort of do. While you're more than comfortable telling them off and showing off any wandering hands normally (and there are alot of wandering hands) you're almost docile when you're knotted to Hoseok.

Being knotted to the pack alpha is a bit of an invitation. Hoseok has watched the others jerk off over your chest like this, has watched them go between your legs and lap and suck to their heart's content, seen them kiss and suck until your eyes have rolled back. He doesn't mind. It doesn't make his instincts feel threatened. It feels good.

But only if Hoseok lets them. Maybe that's why you let them do it because in these moments, your bodies are locked together- you belong solely to Hoseok.

Hoseok's nose traces over your spine, over the nape of your neck. His alpha likes it very very much. The other alpha's like it too.

Now Yoongi eyes the spot where you stretch around him, the place you go pink and dewy, licking his lip and adjusting himself in his pants. Hoseok knows there's not a thing in the world he wouldn't give up for this.

Hoseok reaches between your legs. You whine when you feel him touch you, eyes fluttering against his throat, but Hoseok tips his fingers into your dewy folds, parts your lips and shows them. "opened right up, cute little cunt. Your whole body is lax, head full of mango colored cotton. the haze of pleasure just a little too much, a little too much to sort out your desire to please from everything else.

distantly you can hear yoongi's deep chuckle. "Your knot is the same size as mine. It looks like this when you do it too."

Yoongi's dark eyes are unreadable. The room smells like smoke, the burners are turned off, but no one is plating any food. Hoseok didn't even bother to undress just pulled down his pants enough to get his knot free. But you're nude clutched against his chest. Clothes torn up in the other room. Bite marks up and down your body.

Jin coos and looks you over. Hoseok feels…satisfied when the beta purrs in approval. The sight of it going straight to his head judging from the way his peach scent ripens on the air.

"It's different, it's different when it's yours."

You jerk once Jin comes close, his long fingers skimming places Hoseok can't see, buried against the back of your neck, mouthing at your nape hungry still. "Sensitive" you shutter but your pleas remain mostly ignored. a whine escapes your pressed lips and a furious blush lights down your midline. Jin keeps touching you. Hoseok wraps his arms around your middle to stop your squirming. Keeping you still so that the beta can do what he wants with you.

"Alpha bit me there too." You mumble against Hobi's throat, shifting restlessly from whatever Jin is doing. Shifting more. "Jinnie- I'm sensitive,"

You nearly flinch, but Jin's thumb presses. "Oh here? Right here?" Hoseok's teeth dip into the nape of your neck and you go boneless. Hobi laps at the pink skin when he pulls back. you pant openly, incapable of letting out more than whines.

"Let Jinnie see what alpha did to you pup." Jin drops to his knees to look closer and hobi holds you wider.

When he looks up, he makes eye contact with Hobi before you. His smile goes a little teasing.

"This little spot right? It's a very cute little spot, I understand why Hobi bit it."

Hoseok's nose traces your ear. "Don't act like it didn't make you cum." you sniffle but nod. Hoseok's knot throbs at your simple obedience. the way that you agree. It makes Hoseok want to bite you more if it's even possible. He laps at your throat some more to ignore the temptation.

"Oh? Alpha was mean? Let Jinnie kiss it better."

~-~

You end up ordering takeout. Yoongi burnt the meat too bad to be edible.

Later there is this; you cuddled up on his chest, nearly nude, wearing someone's boxers as shorts as you often do post-breeding. You claim it helps you feel closer to your alphas and although stealing clothes is pretty typical of an omega. Jin still teases, "you're not even wearing ours; those are Jungkook's."

Yoongi had stood up, pawing for his phone. "I'm gonna send him a picture- he's gonna love-" Yoongi's fingers pause on your hem. a shocked laugh bursting from his throat. "Hobi you literally left teeth marks on her ass."

Hobi's arms go firmer around you and he's about to apologize when you beat him to the punch. "I like it. If anyone gets angry tell them not to because I liked it. Makes me feel-" You shimmy and hiss at the ache in your body. "Makes me feel like I'm yours again."

There is a lump in Hoseok's throat, and his instincts go just a little more quiet. He's so fixated on that that he hardly hears your next reply, the teasing tone of your voice.

"And besides Jungkook's boxers are so much softer than yours."

"Yah-"

"You little brat." You shake against Hoseok's chest with the force of his laughter. And jump when yoongi reaches out to pinch the bruises. yoongi hadn't cum more than once earlier, and hoseok knows that although the other alpha is the least deprived out of all of them- he's still needy, still a little wound up by seeing it earlier.

They make eye contact over your head and Hoseok feels a little satisfied when yoongi looks away first.

"Fine, be like that, I'm gonna wash all my sweatshirts then and you won't have any left for your nest."

Your expression had gone suddenly panicked, "but- but-"

Now your bellies are full from takeout because Yoongi had actually ruined dinner- granted he had good reason to be distracted. Hoseok feels properly worn down, properly settled, there's still a tiny bit of anxiety in him, and his alpha still looms awfully close. But he knows that won't really go away for a good long while. Not until the whole pack is back here and safe. The doors locked and the windows shuttered.

Yoongi gets up when you ask for water, and Jin gets up when you realize you've neglected to put on your eye cream. Both strange things. In any other world Namjoon and Jimin would have done both of those things for you.

He might just confine them all to your bedroom for their first week back. His alpha likes the idea of that. You purr softly against his chest, and Hoseok holds around you with that same gentleness that he'd been craving earlier, finally capable of it with you smelling like him and the others too. They had only done the bare minimum of cleaning themselves up with lazy swipes of a damp cloth.

With three packmates wrapped around you, Hoseok under you, cheek resting over his heartbeat to listen, Yoongi against your back, and Seokjin at your front Hoseok finally feels like it's enough. You're safe like this. Nothing could ever hurt you.

Not even himself.

A concerning number of bruises trace up your thighs that Hoseok will apologize and worry over tomorrow. Even though you've told him you don't mind them- that you even like them. Everything can wait until tomorrow, healing included. Hoseok finally gets the courage to ask.

"When I came into this room, it set me off. I can tell you were anxious this morning when you woke up. What was it? Was it me?" He has to crane his neck to catch your expression and how your face goes from stricken to polished in a second.

"It was nothing, we handled it." Seokjin tries to smooth over it. But Hoseok’s warning growl cuts him off.

You trace mindless patterns over his heart, and your purr peters off. "I had this weird dream; it was a nightmare and just weird." You pause, looking up at him. Your expression is so calm that Hoseok doesn't believe it for a second. "In the dream you hated me, or at least really didn't like me." Hoseok's hold on you goes just a little tighter like his alpha is offended by the very idea of it. "There was glass everywhere and Tae was wearing pink."

Yoongi speaks, and Hoseok knows he's taking it seriously just trying to make you feel better by being a little silly."That's not that weird, Tae wears pink all the time."

"Only when he steals Jin's clothes."

"Did you know he got ketchup on the last one? I swear these kids-"

You peak up at Hobi tentatively. And he can tell that you're still a little upset by the dream. "Don't worry- I think by the end of the dream we loved each other and anyways-" You kiss his jaw, pecking at it and a lazy growl builds in his chest, spent cock twitching below you. His appetite is insatiable even after three rounds. Once on the floor, and again on the kitchen table. And again here.

"It didn't make any sense; Yoongi was a beta in it and Jinnie was an omega like me." you trace circles over his heart. "It was a bit ridiculous."

Jin ducks low pressing a kiss to your forehead, “yeah, as much as I love you being an omega I don’t know how you handle all of us pawing at you like this. I’d get like so overstimulated. And you’ve told me how sleepy you get.”

“Yeah, it is a little annoying, needing more sleep than you guys do to like. Function.”

"And like I could ever be anything but an alpha." Yoongi looks a little fragile, a little threatened by the dream. Hoseok wonders what else was in it if the other alpha is so on edge. Because there must have been more. “I can’t imagine not having instincts at all.” Jin pinches him and Yoongi jumps.

You don't have to look to know Jin's rolling his eyes. “Yeah like not growling and not nosing after anything that smells even a little bit sweet is such a curse.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it when I was nosing at you yester-“ Yoongi is interrupted by a pillow to the face, feathers fluttering down as you giggle against Hobi's chest.

Hoseok ignores the bickering, still watching you. "What was I in your dream? Was I an alpha?"

"Yes, but you weren't mine." You scoot closer to him, wiggling like just the weight of your body isn't enough to get close enough. Hoseok has a feeling that in a few minutes, you're going to start tugging at the hem of his boxers and ask to cock warm him to sleep. Some nights your omega just doesn't like any distance between you and your pack alpha and now that you have him back you don't want to let him go even a little bit. You could use a plug- but your omega wouldn't like it now that you have the real thing.

(omega plugs are fairly standard, alot of packs make omega's wear them to sleep or when they go out. A physical reminder to the omega soft minded and a way to ensure they're docile. There are even fancy ones that log body temperature, dampness and location. Sending notifications to the alpha's phone and information like rem sleep and lengh of orgasam. The pack has never needed one of those with you.)

Now though hoseok wishes he had some sort of insight into what you're thinking as you rest your cheek on his chest and look up at him. frowning and thinking hard. hoseok's thumb rubs over the nobs of your spine, up and down.

“You kind of hated me and you were so sad. I couldn’t do anything about it. That's what made me anxious- the idea of you being sad and not being able to fix it.”

You turn to nuzzle into his shoulder. The movement is so routine, so normal it almost looks like breathing. Hoseok's heart hurts from it. Your scent smells a little disconcerted, a little worried. Like just the memory of the dream is enough to set you on edge. “Like I said it was a nightmare."

Hoseok just holds you tighter, dragging his cheek along the top of your head. His scenting is a little overkill given the circumstances. any alpha in a 3 mile radius would be able to tell it's him that's claimed you.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough and quiet. "Sounds like a nightmare to me too."

~-~ Stay tuned for the next part ~-~

Notes:

sometimes i feel like i frame certain scenes like i'm not like- writing a story so much as vissually looking at a tv and describing what i'm seeing. this is one of those fics that very much felt like that.

i feel like this story is more of a true story vs a plot. i've made no secret of the fact that what i really like about fanfiction is making a world that you can sink your teeth into- and i feel like this one- this universe with pack alpha hoseok is like- ugh so drippy. like i truly hope you leave reading it and feel frustrated that you're not there- even though not all of the things described in it are good. for that reason i think there's less plot in this. like i just want it to be something that envelops you- not necessarily something that progresses although there definitely is plot to it.

i toyed alot with the idea of having there be shifting wolves in the one. i put that little tidbit in with taehyung just incase i fell like touching on it here. but honestly i may not have enough time.

i think one of the scent fortified drinks that yoongi drank too much of in their trainee days was probably "omegabull" or "omegaster" idk i didn't put it in because it felt too goofy. my favorite redbull is cranberry flavor :) maybe i'd smell like cranberries if i was an omega?

okay so- the pack's scents in this- i know it's not mentioned all that much in the first chapter- but!!! their scents for hoseok and the m/c are what their scents would have been had they not been abused in bily- this universe is sort of a foil of the other one. but yeah- hoseok would have smelled like mangos :( i know not everyone will read bily who reads this so! i tried to make the allusions to it less on the nose than in the first draft.

tbh that little bit with the plates being new, this is a. a bily refrence because remember how yoongi breaks them when she leaves? yeah this version of yoongi also broke dishes when the pack left. BUT ALSO- i do think i wanna touch a bit more on yoongi and her's time alone togeather. i like the idea that in every universe, they have their moment where it's just the two of them.

the scene at the end is just hoseok: ready to pounce on the m/c scared of himself and the idea that he could hurt her meanwhile the m/c: thats hot.

the moment where he says "the object of his frustration and all his desires' is a nod to bridgerton because i was re-watching it and loving it.

if we're being honest i think that beta's might be intersex in this universe, do i really really wanna write jimin and her rubbing their pussies together? yeahhhhhhhh, am i actually gonna write it??? probably not.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Monaco nights

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Charles one-shot, let me know what you think, inspired by No.1 Party Anthem - Arctic Monkeys :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The bass thrummed in your chest as you stepped into the dimly lit lounge, all smoky lights and soft shadows, the air thick with perfume and secrets. Monaco knew how to throw a party, especially during Grand Prix week, and tonight the energy was electric—buzzing with the kind of decadence that could only exist in places like this.

You weren’t trying to stand out. Not really. But your leather jacket hugged your frame just right, and the glint of your sunglasses indoors gave you that effortless edge, like you belonged somewhere between a runway and a backstage pass.

You laughed, a little too loud maybe, as you leaned against the bar, sipping something strong and golden. A familiar beat started up, and the dance floor pulsed under flashing lights. You weren't watching for anyone, but you felt eyes on you.

He saw you before you noticed him.

Charles Leclerc had arrived an hour ago, ducking into the party with a few friends, politely waving off attention, the collar of his black shirt slightly rumpled, curls messily perfect. Monaco was his home, but tonight, it felt like it belonged to someone else—you.

From across the room, you were all contradictions—confident and aloof, wild yet grounded, laughing like you knew something everyone else didn’t. It drew him in. He nudged Pierre beside him.

“Who’s that?”

Pierre followed his gaze. “No idea. But they’re the number one party anthem tonight.”

Charles smiled. He couldn’t disagree.

You turned, just slightly, locking eyes with him for a brief second. A smirk curled your lips, and your gaze lingered—long enough to let him know you saw him, but short enough to keep him guessing.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Not quite. But it was something. A pulse in his throat. A fire under his skin.

When he approached, it wasn’t with a line. Just a drink. And that boyish grin that made too many people fall too quickly.

“I figured someone like you wouldn’t drink just anything,” he said, sliding the glass your way.

You took it, raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think you know what someone like me drinks?”

He shrugged, feeling cocky. “Just a feeling.”

You both laughed.

Hours blurred after that. Drunken monologues. Conversations that made no sense but felt like poetry. You danced like the room was yours. He watched like he’d never seen anything more hypnotic. And when the night began to unravel and the lights softened into goodbye, he walked you to the exit.

You stood just outside the club, the sea breeze catching your hair, your jacket slung over your shoulder. You looked untouchable under the streetlights—like something out of a dream he didn’t know he’d been having.

Charles took a quiet breath and stepped closer, hands in his pockets, trying to look cooler than he felt.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, his voice low, slightly unsure. He rubbed the back of his neck—a tell he’d never managed to shake.

Your eyes lifted to meet his, and something in your gaze softened, just enough to make his chest ache. You tilted your head, lips curling into the smallest of smiles, like you’d been waiting for him to catch up all night.

“Maybe.”

He watched you walk away a moment later, the echo of your steps swallowed by the Monaco night.

And just like that, Charles Leclerc—darling of Monaco, speed king, heartbreaker—was the one left breathless.

[giuliannna]

I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU

— trying to prove his worth to you, boxer!hamzah only causes more damage. inspired by this ask

continuation of cheer me on and make me a better man

you’re half-asleep on the couch when he walks in.

it’s almost two in the morning. all the lights are off except for the dim glow of the lamp beside you, and you’ve been sitting there for hours, just staring at the door like your frustration might make it swing open.

and now, finally, it does.

hamzah stumbles in with his hoodie half-zipped and his knuckles red and raw, but not bleeding like usual.

there’s no new wounds decorating his face, just the same leftover scars from a week or two ago, before you guys made the agreement that hamzah would take a break from boxing to focus on healing your relationship. the first progressive thing that’s happened in months.

he freezes when he spots you, immediately clocking the irritation etched into your features. you don’t say anything right away.

“i didn’t think you’d still be up,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck like his excuse will undo everything.

you stand slowly, blanket falling off your lap. “where were you?” you press him for an answer that you already know.

he hesitates.

“hamzah.” you warn.

“i-” he sighs, looking away. “i just.. i had to.”

your chest tightens. “we agreed.”

“i know.”

“you promised.”

he winces at your tone. “it wasn’t some big thing, i swear. just a local match. barely anyone there.”

you laugh, cold and breathless. “yeah? was it worth it?”

“i won.” his voice is soft but steady, like he’s hoping that matters more than breaking your trust. “y’see? i can still win.”

you shake your head, eyes burning. “i never asked you to prove that to me.”

he steps forward. “but i need to. i don’t know who i’m supposed to be for you anymore.”

“you’re supposed to be you, hamzah. my boyfriend,” you snap. “not someone i have to bandage up every week.”

you’re only angry because he violated the agreement that was supposed to make your relationship better.

wouldn’t he, of all people, pounce at any opportunity to fix your issues?

“i’m sorry. i can make it up to you.”

his tone is laced with desperation. he sounds like a child desperate for approval - like your love is a trophy he has to earn with bruises, blood, and begging.

your voice is quieter now. “i don’t need you to do this for me. losing or winning - it doesn’t matter.”

hamzah swallows hard, his shoulders tensing up. there’s a flush creeping up his neck that’s not from the fight. it’s shame. you can see it in his eyes - the kind that comes from disappointing someone you love.

he doesn’t speak, not right away. he just steps closer, slow and careful, until he’s standing right in front of you. his hands tremble slightly when they reach for your waist.

“i can make it up to you,” he repeats softly.

you look up at him, brows drawn.

“i’ll be good. just let me show you, please.”

he sinks to his knees in front of you.

his fingers find the hem of your sleep shorts and he kisses your thigh like an apology.

“let me make you feel something,” he whispers, already tugging your shorts down. “something good.”

his mouth is warm against your skin. desperate. you feel it in every kiss he presses to your thigh, in the way his breath stutters, how his grip tightens around your hips like he’s afraid you’ll push him away.

but you don’t.

he looks like he needs this - needs you - and you haven’t decided yet if that’s a good thing or a bad one.

hamzah nudges his nose against your inner thigh, the bridge of it brushing your skin as he looks up at you. his eyes are glassy, wild with need and something much heavier - remorse, maybe.

“jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he says again, softer this time, almost slurred. “let me. please.”

you thread your fingers through the bleached roots of his hair and tug just a little. “okay,” you whisper. “yeah. you can.”

he doesn’t waste another second. he can’t afford to, not when you’re already slipping through his fingers.

you don’t remember stepping out of your shorts, or when you sat back down on the couch again - but he’s between your legs now, and his mouth is on you like he’s starving.

his mind is set on the idea that if he can make you fall apart, it’ll fix everything. if you moan his name, maybe it means you haven’t stopped loving him.

and fuck - he’s always been good with his mouth, but not like this. it’s uncoordinated and messy and too much all at once, tongue curling in deep, groaning like the taste of you is the only thing keeping him down to earth.

you grip his hair. “hamzah - slow down.” you breathe out, slightly whiny.

he doesn’t. if anything, he works harder - like your voice is another thing he has to earn. his arms hook under your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the couch, tilting your hips so he can bury his face deeper. he moans into your cunt, trying to apologize with every bit of his mouth.

“you don’t have to-” you start to speak, but you moan involuntarily, hips jolting when his tongue hits the perfect spot. “fuck - hamzah!”

he hums, and the vibration rattles through you. he loves hearing you say his name like that. loves it more than the sound of a crowd cheering for him in the ring.

you don’t mean to look down, but when you do - his eyes are shut tight, like this is holy, like worship. his fingers are shaking where they grip your thighs, arms straining, muscles twitching.

he’s unravelling. and it’s not just from the apologetic action; it’s from the fear that this might be the last time you’ll let him do this.

your stomach tightens as you cum - you’re shuddering, overwhelmed, fingers tangled in his hair as he drinks it all in like it’s proof that he can still reach you.

but even when you’re completely spent, when your thighs are trembling and you’re pushing at his shoulder - he doesn’t stop.

you whine at the overstimulation, your body thrumming with excessive pleasure. “h-hamzah!” you choke out. “too much!”

he pulls himself away with a small sigh, like he’s admitting defeat.

he rests his forehead on your inner thigh, panting against your skin, still holding onto you for dear life.

“i don’t know what else to do,” he breathes out. “i’m trying. i’m trying.”

you slide your hand down to his jaw, thumb brushing over almost-healed area where he had split his cheek open a few fights ago.

“hamzah,” you whisper. “this isn’t going to fix everything.”

he looks up at you, broken and blinking, his face flushed and his lips shining with your arousal. “then what is? tell me.”

you stare down at him, both of your hearts simultaneously cracking open at the seams.

”you need to stop doing this to yourself. you’re making it worse.”

he bows his head. his breath stutters. and then he’s crying.

right there, on his knees, with his face pressed to your thigh. muffled sobs, quiet and pitiful, the kind that sound like they’ve been building for a while. he’s not loud about it. he just clings to you and lets it happen.

you just sit there, your fingers lazily stroking through his sweat-dampened hair at the base of his neck.

eventually he calms down, but you know he’s still waiting for something - waiting for you to say something that will make this all okay. still waiting to be told he’s enough.

but you’re tired of lying. you don’t want to patch it up with soft words that don’t mean anything anymore. you don’t want to tell him this fixed it, that everything’s fine, when it isn’t.

“this isn’t right,” you murmur, thumb brushing along the shell of his ear. “this isn’t how love works.”

“i don’t know how else to love you,” he whispers.

you close your eyes. “it shouldn’t be about me. you don’t even know how to love yourself, hamzah.”

he doesn’t respond.

he finally doesn’t try to spin his pain into something noble.

you shift slightly, and he lifts his head just enough to look up at you. his eyes are red-rimmed and tired.

“do you even know why you went back?” you ask.

he swallows hard, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to lie.

“makes me feel purposeful for you.” he mutters, brutally honest.

you nod once, slowly. “you think that’s the only way to have purpose?”

“i know it is.”

you lean your head back against the couch and sigh. you hate the fact that his mind is wired this way.

when you speak again, your voice is quieter. gentler.

“i think you need to figure out who you are without me.”

he flinches - like the idea physically hurts - but he doesn’t argue. he just drops his gaze again, head resting back against your thigh.

“i don’ wanna lose you,” he says, barely audible.

“i know,” you whisper.

the silence that follows tells you that you’re both already long gone.

a/n: this was sitting in my drafts for so damn long i had to force myself to post it. i fear there’s no coming back from this

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @hamzahsn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303 @animalcrossingshameless @bigmamaelli @pictureperfectblue @slushingmynoob @cupidsbrainrot

[so-i-did-this-thing]

you may have already answered a question like this, but do you do anything with steampunk ? or even renaissance faires ? what is your opinion on steampunk, I feel like it would be right up your alley ! you'd make a dapper af steampunk costume, I have no doubt ♡ (also hi, love your vibes, hope you're hydrating)

Hmmmm. HMMMM.

I have some very complicated thoughts about Steampunk. Overall, the aesthetic is fun, but I get burnt out on seeing the same persona and visual tropes. One also really has to tread carefully with how they navigate the colonialism and capitalism of the source material, things that are baked into a lot of the design shorthand that's become popular over the years. (I think about this issue a lot as a polar exploration fan.)

I actually did think up a steampunk persona once upon a time, and it'd probably surprise folks -- not posh at all, nor really overlapping with my tweedy style. I'd be a black market information broker - think mobile card catalog and ticker tape machine - just a feral little man dealing in secrets of any kind. Sort of my pushback against all the gentleman explorers and airship captains.

Wrt rennfaires -- my partner is usually cast for 1 or more. Faires are more entertainment than education, but I have plans to do some historically inspired shitpost costumes at some point or another, ranging from a marginalia-sona to landsknecht in the extreme hotpants:

Because *someone* has gotta counterbalance all the cis dudes in their sandlars, trousers, and pirate hats.

I also want to do an accurate plague doctor, this kind of mask:

As you may be guessing now: when I stray out of my niche fandoms into something more mainstream, I tend to either to do my own thing, or do the popular thing, but go off-road.

I am partly like this because I don't like being compared to other cosplayers/costumers. So, you'll rarely find me in any "popular" fandom/subculture.

I hope that wasn't too disappointing an answer! My commitment to The Bit drives most of my approach to costume work, and I am very picky about what kind of Bit I do.

[itsxarien]

THE BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

✰ pairing: clark kent x (y/n) (l/n)

sypnosis: clark kent as your best friend! and maybe something more…

warning(s): slowburn | mentions of abuse | toxic relationship (not with clark!) | comfort | healing | mild angst | slight suggestive content | slight smut

xari's diary: author’s note: so i just started reading better than the movies as well as watching smallville for the first time & was inspired to write this !! gosh tom welling is so dreamy i might faint. reader is liz coded cus i love liz smm !! i might turn this into a full story once my writer’s block is over lol, might make a part 2 as well or turn it into a series. that’s all, hope u enjoy babess <3

"i just can't come between them, they've got their own thing!"

⌜ ⌝ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; in between by gracie abrams

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who you were inseparable with from childhood. You were always there for each other, whether it was climbing trees, sneaking into each other’s rooms, or just sitting on the front porch talking about your day. No matter what, you could count on Clark to always be by your side, the best friend you could never imagine life without.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watched every romcom with you, pretending to hate rewatching Pride and Prejudice but secretly loving the smile on your face as you explained the hand touch for the thousandth time 

“It’s not just a touch, Clark. You don’t get it!” You'd argue, and Clark would roll his eyes, but he’d always listen intently, enjoying your passion for the smallest of details. Those were the moments he cherished the most

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who loves you for the way you carry yourself, the way you were just so... you. He had always admired you. Not t just for how you looked, but for the way you walked through life with such grace. You didn’t need to try hard to be noticed, because you naturally stood out. The ribbons in your hair, the soft colors in your wardrobe, the little things that made you, you. They were a part of you that Clark had loved for as long as he could remember. Every time he saw you, those ribbons were like a small piece of his heart, tethered to the memory of the girl who had always been there for him, no matter what.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who melted the first time you ever called him sweetie, thinking it was just a one-time thing. He tried to brush it off like it didn’t mean anything… but felt his heart clench every single time the nickname slipped out of your mouth like it belonged to him. Now he wholly believes that his middle name is Clark ‘Sweetie’ Kent.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who has fallen deeply in love with you… It wasn't just friendship anymore. Every laugh, every touch, every look felt different. Clark’s feelings for you had evolved in ways he couldn’t ignore, but he was too scared to admit it. Every time you looked at him with those soft eyes, his heart raced. But he stayed quiet, always the loyal best friend, never wanting to mess things up.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who noticed how you started drifting away when you started dating your ‘boyfriend’ It was subtle at first. You’d still laugh with him, still talk, but there was this unspoken distance that seemed to widen the more you became involved with him. Clark couldn’t help but feel left behind, watching you change into someone else to please your boyfriend.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who sees you change yourself just for a boy... How you changed everything about yourself, everything you loved about yourself, just for a boy. He watched as your wardrobe transformed from those pretty pastel dresses and ribbons in your hair to a more “mature” style, more fitting for your boyfriend’s tastes. It hurt him to see you lose parts of yourself, parts that used to make you, you.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who hated seeing you become someone you weren’t. Dulling your colors, dimming your light, turning down the volume of your heart just to please someone unworthy.ghed less and hung out less because your boyfriend didn’t like your “girly” side.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who despises your boyfriend but never says anything so he could keep your friendship. Every time you’d talk about him, how great he was, how you were so in love, Clark had to force a smile. He hated the way your boyfriend treated you, the way he made you second-guess your own self-worth. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He wanted to be there for you, even if it meant swallowing his pride and watching you go down a path he knew wasn’t right.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who is forced to see you distance yourself from him just for your asshat boyfriend. It was painful to watch, seeing you pull away, less and less time spent with him. You didn’t need him anymore. You had him, the boyfriend who didn’t deserve you. And Clark? He was left in the shadows, the friend who always would’ve been there for you, but it felt like you didn’t need him anymore.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who bit his tongue when he overheard that same boyfriend brag to his friends, “Yeah, she’s totally my type. Chill, lowkey, not into all that love stuff.”

And Clark—Clark had to physically stop himself.

Because (Y/N) (L/N), unromantic?The girl who daydreamed entire love stories in class? Read and wrote fanfiction every time she watched a film with a conventionally attractive man? Who made scrapbooks for her dream wedding before turning 15? Who had polaroids of her friends and her dog taped to her wall like a shrine to every person she’s ever loved? Gosh, He must’ve gotten the wrong (Y/N)!

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who knew something was wrong the second he heard yelling outside your house.

He hadn’t even meant to stop by. He was just driving by — muscle memory from all the times he used to pick you up, walk you to your porch, wait until your light turned off just to be sure you were safe. He shouldn’t have been there. He told himself he was over it. That you had chosen someone else.

But then he heard your voice. Cracked. Shaky. Not you.

And then the thud.

Clark’s feet were already moving.

He saw it happen: your boyfriend’s hand against your face. Too fast. Too real.

You stumbled back, gripping your cheek, eyes wide. And the worst part? You didn’t even look surprised.

Clark didn’t think. He didn’t have to think.

His fist connected with your boyfriend’s jaw so hard the boy went flying into the lawn. Clark stood over him, eyes dark, fists clenched. “You ever touch her again—”

"Clark!" you cried, running up to him, grabbing his arm. "Clark, stop!"

Your boyfriend coughed, blood at the corner of his mouth. “The hell, (Y/N)? You letting your boyfriend handle your problems now?”

You froze.

He scoffed. “Guess you’ve been screwing him behind my back the whole time.”

And that’s when your voice broke.

"I never cheated on you," you whispered, eyes shining. 

Clark took a step forward, ready to hit him again, but you pulled him back — voice trembling. “Clark. Go.”

“What?” His voice cracked.

You looked at him, tears threatening to spill. “Please. Just go. I—I can’t do this if you’re here.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you and at the bruise already forming on your cheek, at the way you held yourself like you were trying not to fall apart. And he hated that he couldn’t fix it.

But he listened. Because he always did.

He nodded. Quietly. Left you standing on the porch as the rain began to fall.

And even though he left, he didn’t stop watching from the truck until you went inside, locked the door, and turned off the lights.

Because he couldn’t leave you completely.

He never could.

BEST FRIEND CLARK!  who lost you slowly. To phone calls you didn’t answer. To texts left on read. To polite smiles instead of bright ones.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who almost gave up hope… until one night, long after midnight, he woke to the sound of knocking and the soft patter of rain.

And there you were.

Soaked to the bone. Hair wet, leather jacket clinging to your frame. Looking small and broken on the Kent porch.

You whispered, “Hi,” then blinked up at him “Hey.” He smiled softly and god - did you miss that smile. He mentioned for you to enter, bringing a towel to cover your wet frame. It didn’t take long until.., “I’m sorry.”

You cried – sobbed – as you apologized for pushing him away. Told him how stupid you felt. How you let someone change everything about you. How it started when you were fourteen, and you thought it was love, but it was manipulation. Loneliness. Fear.

“He made me think I was too much. Like being me was something to fix. And I just… I didn’t want to lose anyone else. So I let him dim me. I let him turn me into someone I don’t even like.”

And you looked up at him, expecting him to be angry. Or disappointed. But he just-

He just pulled you into his chest, letting your soaked hoodie stain his shirt, and whispered: “I’m just glad you came home.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! whose heart broke the night he heard your story. how you were only fourteen back when you met the guy and he was seventeen, turning eighteen that year, how that boy made you believe love meant shrinking yourself to fit inside someone else’s pocket, how he taught you silence was safer than honesty and that being chosen meant enduring instead of being adored, how you had to earn kindness like love was something to suffer through, how he never even gave you the dignity of a label and always said he was “waiting for the right time,” and Clark just sat there, fists clenched and throat burning, thinking how the girl who used to dream of love and fairytales had been tricked into thinking it had to hurt and all he could do was wrap you in his arms and whisper that none of it was your fault, that you were never supposed to bleed just to be loved.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who never let go of you that night. Who sat with you on the couch, wrapped in blankets and safe, and let you cry until you were emptied out and finally fell asleep on his shoulder.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who finally let himself hope again when he saw you the next morning - barefaced and blinking in the sunlight - whispering, “I missed you so much.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who went still when you reached for his hand and held it. Not like a friend would. But like someone remembering where they belonged.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who helped you fall in love with yourself again, little by little. who told you he missed the smell of your perfume, the click of your heels on the driveway, the way your laugh used to echo across the barn when you told him about your latest crush.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wasn’t ready when you started calling him sweetie again, the way you used to, so soft and warm that it made his entire body go still.

“Sweetie, can you hand me the screwdriver?”

He fumbled it and nearly dropped the whole toolbox.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop thinking about the way your shirt rode up when you reached to change the lightbulb in the kitchen, the sliver of your waist exposed. He thought about it way too often.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who laid in bed that night, hand in his hair and somewhere else..  sighing your name like a sin, whispering, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

BEST FRIEND CLARK!  who daydreamed about how your skin would feel under his hands, how you’d sound whispering his name in the dark. How you’d look underneath him, flushed and smiling.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who stared too long when you changed into one of your floral dresses again, the ribbon tied delicately in your hair.

“You look like… you again.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who can barely breathe when you start wearing your sundresses again. Who nearly passes out the day you show up with a yellow ribbon in your hair again—like it never left.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. Who held back when you patched up the gash on his brow, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

“You scared me, sweetie,” you whispered, dabbing at the dried blood.

His whole body tensed. That word again.

His name in your voice made him feel like Clark — not the alien, not the outsider, not the Smallville freak. Just Clark. Clark who still can’t believe he gets to wake up next to you. 

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who finally gets to tell you the truth, realizing he can’t hide his feelings anymore It was one of those walks in the farm and you were wearing a yellow cardigan under your white dress. And as he looks at you, he just can’t help but love you.. And in that moment, Clark couldn’t hold back anymore. He confessed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, (Y/N).”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watches you look at him in shock, then smile softly, finally realizing what’s been there all along For the first time, you saw it. The yearning in his eyes, the desperation for you to finally see him, not as your best friend, but as the one who’d been silently loving you for so long. And when you smiled, his heart soared.

“I’ve loved you for years,” he told you, voice hoarse. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you laughed, blinking back tears. 

“Because you were happy… or I thought you were.” 

“Clark,” you whispered, stepping closer,

 “I am at my happiest when I’m with you.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who feels you kiss him for the first time, his world crashing into itself with the force of it. The second your lips met his, all the years of longing, of silence, were gone. It was like he was breathing for the first time, drowning in you, in the taste of your lips, in the way your hands cupped his face like you’d always been meant to.

BEST FRIEND CLARK WHO BECAME BOYFRIEND CLARK THAT NIGHT.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who was your first real boyfriend, he said it a hundred times. Called you his. Made sure you knew it, made sure to reassure you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t get it through his head that he got to kiss you now. That he could touch you, hold you, worship you, and never have to pull away.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who still fumbles and blushes whenever you flirt with him.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who whispers your name into your neck like a prayer every time you fall asleep in his arms.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who’s still your best friend. Who still watches Pride & Prejudice with you, who still kisses your hand like it’s sacred. Who still smells the soft floral perfume lingering in his room and smiles, because you’re back. You’re really back.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! now stands beside you as Chloe and Lana tease you both for being such a cliche. “A living romcom” they’d tease. the quarterback and the cheerleader, the slowburn everyone saw coming, the angst-ridden pining,  undeniable love story that bloomed from long nights on the farm to whispered confessions and inside jokes only you two would understand to intimate conversations that only the two of you could hear. The both of you were like a matching heart necklace, the one where it’s another half of the heart and it will only connect once the other piece is there, as if the universe had always planned it this way.

“I saw it coming from a mile away!”

“You owe me 10 bucks, Chloe.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who takes you out on dates all the time, whether it's pretending to “study” at the Talon while sneaking glances at you over his textbook, driving you out to the barn just to stargaze in quiet comfort, or showing up outside your house with flowers and that crooked smile just to say, “I missed you, (N/n).”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who takes you in his arms again and again, unable to stop making up for all the lost time. Whether it was in his room, in the barn, or just in the middle of a quiet evening, Clark didn’t care. All he knew was he had you now, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who pressed you into the wall, lips hungry and hands curling around your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who moaned your name like he was starved for you, whispering, “You don’t know what you do to me”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who paused just long enough for you both to laugh in between kisses because god, you were still best friends, and you always would be

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop kissing you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who makes love to you tenderly, slowly, letting you feel how much he cherishes you. The first time you made love wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was soft, full of tenderness and reverence. Clark treated you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who laughs with you, still best friends, even as lovers. As the two of you lay together, breathless and tangled, you couldn’t help but laugh. You were still you, still the same goofy best friends who watched movies and got into trouble. Only now, everything felt different in the best way possible. “Can’t believe we waited this long,” Clark said, and you grinned. “Yeah, well, I guess we were a little slow.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK who knows he didn’t save you but helped you save yourself.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who made you believe in love again, as the two of you lay in his bed, you never belonged anywhere else but here,with him. He was daylight, the boy who had always been your home; he was warmth, he was daylight,and then he leaned in.. 

“I love you."

[leupagus]

So I've noticed a trend in the Pitt fandom

And it is not a trend unique to the Pitt by any means, let me be clear! But it is a tiring trend, and one I'd like to see a bit less of, because as someone who's been in fandom spaces for over thirty years, I can attest that such trends can make your fandom experience really, really unpleasant.

It is the trend of the Condemnatory Vaguepost:

Like this one.

The Condemnatory Vaguepost is a post which points out perceived shortcomings in some amorphous "you" or "they" within the fandom while the OP mocks/belittles/otherwise insults (note the "y'all truly amuse me" and "trying to be Woke" and "control yourself a bit please" comments) from a place of presumed moral superiority. A moral superiority which, it has to be pointed out, is never proven or even alluded to. We are supposed to take OP's moral superiority as read because they have identified a "bad thing" that people are doing.

And guys, I've got a recommendation: instead of engaging with people or work that inspires posts like this? Just block them.

Block the people who have takes that annoy you. Block the people who make snide comments about the headcanons you treasure. Block the people who make headcanons you find annoying or problematic or just plain gross. Block me, if this post pisses you off! Block anyone who makes you clench your teeth as you scroll past their posts. You do not need them in your life; you should not want them in your fandom.

"But Gus, decrepit fandom elder," I hear you cry, "what if these people who annoy me have subsequent Content that I cannot then access? "

I have good news for you on that front! They won't. They may well offer valuable contributions to the fandom as a whole, but here's the thing: if you're willing to write a whole post about how these kingdon shippers/robby apologists/etc are stupid/bigoted/etc, then you personally will be annoyed by them even if they make a really great fancam or art or fic or meta, and that will drain all the enjoyment out of whatever it is they contribute. And if you think, "No, I could get over that," then perhaps rethink the value in making these kinds of condemnatory vagueposts at all.

"But Gus, nefarious fandom crone," I hear you cry, "how then can I hope to change the hearts of minds of those I think are doing Bad Things and thinking Bad Thoughts about the characters on The Pitt?"

I have bad news for you on that front! You can't. You will never — and I mean never — win anyone over, or inspire them to change their minds with this kind of behavior. A mel/frank shipper who reads the quoted post is not going to feel shame and remorse for that fic they kudosed last night that made Abby out to be some sort of suffering saint who was relieved to be rid of Frank, only for Mel to fix him with her magic vagina. That mel/frank shipper is instead going to be mad, and hurt, and not for one second think that OP meant to do anything but anger and hurt them. (Which, as far as I can see, is a perfectly justifiable reading.)

And let us be honest with ourselves: the purpose of these posts isn't to change minds. It's to get a little zing of pleasure from telling other people they've done something bad. It's the tattletale impulse we all have, to either appeal to a higher authority and get someone in "trouble" or to simply gloat over our own purity of mind/spirit/body. I've been watching a lot of "Cadfael" lately, and let me tell you, Brother Jerome is within us all.

I don't know that this trend is getting worse — it's been rife in every fandom I've been in, and as I said above, I've been guilty of it myself. (In fact you could argue that I'm still guilty of it, by making this post. Certainly I've lived long enough to look back with shame and regret for a LOT of my behavior, spanning multiple fandoms. My moral superiority here is located somewhere in the Mariana Trench.) But it is startlingly strident considering that this is a new fandom, without any previous franchise (unless you count ER) and which has brought together a huge variety of old fans, new fans, young fans and returning fans. We haven't had the years or decades needed to establish the sort of unspoken rules of what is Just Not Done within the fandom yet. So it's honestly bewildering to see so many different ideas and opinions and preferences being expressed, side-by-side with posts about how those ideas and opinions and preferences are obviously in violation of some standard.

And all of it, all of it, is happening because we watched a TV show about hot doctors and we wanted to talk to someone else about it. That's all a fandom really is — a group of people coming together to discuss a shared interest. And a pretty nerdy one at that.

Tl;dr — we're all at the devil's sacrament, maybe we don't have to point fingers quite so gleefully.

[keithyp00]

•┈••✦ Timeless ✦••┈•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: romance, slow burn, wistful with a hopeful ending, flashbacks and emotional reflections, kissing

Song Inspiration: Timeless by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 745

Author Note: Hello again! Thank all of you for the continued support on my stories, and I'm hopefully going to maintain a schedule of one story a night if everything goes to plan. But this is one I'm very proud of and it's based off my favorite Taylor vault track. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

The rain hadn't let up all day. It was one of those soft, steady drizzles that made the world seem just a little but quieter. You were spending the weekend at your friend and her family's house, helping them sort through old boxes in the attic, when you found it: a dusty photo album tucked beneath a stack of yellowed newspapers.

You opened it out of curiosity, not expecting much.

And then you saw his face.

Dark hair, blue eyes, that smile like he knew something you didn't.

He was standing next to someone who looked startlingly like you- different dress and decade though not a relative, but the resemblance was uncanny.

You stared- heart thudding- as you read the small handwritten caption beneath the photo: "James and Eleanor- Coney Island, 1942."

James.

Your breath caught.

______________________________________________________________

You didn't mention the photo to anyone. Not at first.

But that night, you dreamed of it. Of boardwalk lights and laughter. Of a man with eyes like winter skies and a touch that made your heart ache.

You'd never met James Buchanan Barnes, not in that life. But now- now you see him almost daily. Sitting across from you in meetings, walking the compound hallways, nodding politely with a smile that always felt a little too knowing.

Bucky.

It was stupid. You kept telling yourself that. But you couldn't shake the feeling that you knew him. Not from the history books. But from something older. Something deeper.

One afternoon, you found yourself blurting it out before you could even process the words leaving your lips.

"I saw a photo of someone who looked exactly like you. From the '40s, standing next to a pretty young woman.."

He didn't laugh. Didn't call you crazy.

Instead, Bucky stared for a long moment before quietly asking, "what was her name?"

"Eleanor," you whispered.

His lips parted. "Ellie," he said, like a distant memory just coming forward.

And you knew. Somehow, you knew.

______________________________________________________________

Things changed after that.

He started sitting closer. Talking longer. Asking questions that lingered between personal and careful.

You watched old movies together. Danced in the hallway when no one else was around to watch. He took you to a vintage bookstore in Brooklyn and didn't say a word when you held up a photo of a 1940s ballroom dress and smiled softly to yourself.

"I used to dream about nights like that," you murmured.

"I used to live them," he said.

You turned, heart pounding. "Do you think... we would've found each other?"

His gaze burned into you. "I think we did."

______________________________________________________________

Time, as always, didn't stop. Missions pulled you apart. Moments tested the quiet magic that held the two of you together.

There were weeks you didn't see each other. Days when the world seemed too heavy to carry.

But somehow, you always found your way back.

And one night- long after the compound had gone still- you found him on the rooftop. Rain threatening in the air. Moonlight catching the silver glint of his arm

He turned as you approached, something vulnerable in his eyes.

"I've lived a long time," he started.

You took another step closer. "I know."

"I've lost a lot."

"I know that too."

"I think I've loved you before."

You stopped breathing. And then: "I think I've loved you in every lifetime, Bucky."

______________________________________________________________

You didn't need a grand confession.

He just stepped forward, took your face in his hands like you were made of glass and he had been waiting his entire life to just touch you.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft. Slow. So filled with emotion it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

When you pulled apart, neither of you said anything. You didn't need to.

Because whether it was in 1942 or the present, with war between you or peace, vintage dresses or mission gear- the love between you two was real.

It had waited.

And now, it was here.

______________________________________________________________

You kept the photo in your room.

Sometimes, he'd glance at it and smile softly, reliving the fond memory in the sea of trauma he had lived throughout his life.

"She had your eyes," he said once, tracing the edge of the image with his fingertips. "Same way they lit up when she laughed."

You leaned into him. "And you- James or Bucky- you seemed to always have this way of looking at her like she was your entire world."

He pulled you closer. "You still are."

[vibatu]

"Just a sip" , a comic idea that I have filed away under the "I no longer know when or if I'll ever finish it" category (Doesn't feel right to say "discarded" lmao) (who knows, maybe one day I pick it back up!).

I really love the thumbnails I managed to sketch out (especially that last panel at the third page!!!!!!! I want and need to make more of that), its been I think almost a year since I've made them though, and it just doesn't feel right just let them keep collecting dust after so long especially when I don't even know if the inspiration to complete it strikes again, so, here it is! Read more for further rambling into the details~

This is another "what if" comic where wanted to explore mainly:

1. Ocudeus and The Seaspring. And what could happen within someone's mind once they drink (Lukas is our text subject! Yay!)

2. "Interesting" paneling, or at least visually engaging compositions in pages (I love making comics!) There's so many things I want to practice and try out to make bring the movies in my head come to life in this format.

On to the "plot".

We start out with Lukas drinking from The Spring. Hypothetical-Timeline wise this would be happening at the "ending" of the TS story in which not a single cure is found for MCs curse. Last resort type of situation. This happens on pages 1, 2, and page "3". In this post the 3 image would actually be page 4, I just never sketches the 3rd (I just drew what was clearest in my head first). Imagine 3rd page having a shot of Ais staring at the process from a safe distance with a cig while Lukas is writhing on the floor losing his marbles after drinking (lol).

Now the fun part. Ocudeus. I imagined the process of joining the groupmind not happening instantly. I thought about Ocudeus himself manifesting in their new host's mind and sometimes striking conversation (which happens in isolation with just the two of them) (brain is not part of the primordial soup. Yet)

We don't know what Ocudeus looks like either! So I went crazy. At first I was just gonna make them take Ais' shape. But that felt, not quite right for an eldritch being. So instead, Ocudeus takes the form of whoever is drinking :) thus manifesting themselves as Lukas inside Lukas' mind.

There's a huge jump in events from Image 3 and 4 of the post. After Img 3 there's a lot of talking going on. Asking if the curse can really be cured. Ocudeus being a sassy smug menace cryptic about it and reminding Lukas that there is no going back anyways and that is no longer something Lukas should be concerned about. He will no longer be himself, so why worry.

After this its just a "Descent into true madness", see Img 4 for reference, where the "world" just really starts to warp around and eventually ends with Lukas getting "consumed" by the darkness of the giant octopus, his lasts thoughts as "Lukas" being those of relief of finally getting rid of the curse, and grief over leaving his life behind. Fun stuff.

Comic was supposed to end with Lukas jolting awake (His head was resting on Ais lap now).

After sitting up abruptly and wiping his tears away, with hands that now look properly human. Lukas turns to Ais and asks, with a gaze now as red as the seaspring near them.

"Why am I crying?"

-

THATS A LONG ONE If you read this far, well, thanks! ;w; I hope you enjoyed the read, even if there is no full comic to pair. The Seaspring is so interesting to me.

Some other random things: I got inspired by the Honkai Star Rail promo video where Acheron and Black Swan dance together. The visuals and visualization of Black Swan's "being" being consumed by the endless void was SO good and when I realized this concept could work for the seaspring in a similar way I needed to get the idea out of my system.

Have an extra! Alternative version of my fav panel. Only difference is the eyes, this is the first version. Which I drew before Redspring revealed what Ais' eyes looked like when his cephalopod friend is driving the car.

Vibi out~ (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

[pankesitopank]

Ateez reaction to their girl bestie being sad because she’ll “never get to wear jewelry from her boyfriend” since she’s never been in a relationship before? I’m all for secret crush ifykyk 👀

Cw:fluff fluff fluff!!!!!, secret crush (them to you), emotional comfort, best friends to lovers kinda, soft angst, slow burn feelings, love confessions (sort of)

note: OMG IT TOOK ME SO LONG WITH THIS. SORRY. THIS WEEK KILLED ME.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, again, but between not feeling inspired, I had to take the worst exam of MY LIFE!!! I hope it's what you had in mind, for me it ended up really cute.

I'm on my way to finish the other requests I have left!!!!!!!

HONGJOONG

You didn’t mean to say it aloud.

It slipped past your lips like a secret too heavy to hold in your chest, quiet and fragile in the soft lighting of Hongjoong’s studio, where you always ended up when the weight of the world felt just a little too sharp. He’d turned in his chair when he heard you sigh—deep and hollow, like something had cracked inside you—and asked, in that careful voice of his, “You okay?”

You shrugged, chewing on your nail. “Just tired.”

But he didn’t look away.

And that’s when it came out, barely more than a whisper. “ fuck I’ll probably never get to wear anything from a boyfriend.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. And you immediately regretted it, eyes wide as you rushed to explain.

“I mean—I didn’t mean it like that. It’s stupid. I just—like, I see all these girls getting bracelets or necklaces or cute rings and they always look so happy and loved and I’ve never—” You stopped yourself, suddenly hating your own vulnerability. “Forget it.”

But Hongjoong didn’t forget things like that.

He turned back to his desk slowly, like he was giving you space, but you noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the chain around his neck—something he did when he was thinking too fast to speak. You assumed the moment had passed. That he’d let it go.

He didn’t.

A week later, he texted you late at night. Come by the studio if you’re still up.

You found him sitting on the couch, a velvet pouch between his fingers.

“What’s this?” you asked, confused but curious.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable for a heartbeat before softening. “Open it.”

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet—dainty, feminine, with tiny charms that matched your aesthetic so well it stunned you. A small crescent moon. A charm shaped like a tiny pen. A heart. It was exactly the kind of thing you would’ve chosen for yourself if you’d ever dared to imagine someone giving you one.

You looked up at him, jaw slack. “Hongjoong, what is this?”

He leaned back, arms crossed—not smug, but careful. Guarded. “It’s not boyfriend jewelry. Not unless you want it to be,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “But I don’t like hearing you say things like that. Because you deserve that kind of love. And if no one else is brave enough to give it to you…” He swallowed. “I am.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Because suddenly, that night in the studio didn’t feel like a casual comment anymore. It felt like the turning point.

And when he clasped the bracelet around your wrist himself—his hands shaking just a little—you knew this wasn’t just a gift.

It was a confession.

SEONGHWA

Seonghwa noticed the shift before you ever spoke it.

You were quieter than usual, lingering in doorways like your thoughts were too loud to settle. It wasn’t dramatic or attention-seeking—if anything, it was subtle. But Seonghwa was the kind of person who paid attention to silences more than words.

So when you looked down at a display case in a store and mumbled, “I guess I’ll never get something like that from someone,” he didn’t laugh it off.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and asked gently, “Why not?”

You shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “I’ve never even been in a relationship. No one’s ever looked at me like that.”

He didn’t reply at first.

Just walked next to you a little more quietly than before, thoughtful in that way that meant something was building in his mind.

Two days later, you found a small white box on your doorstep, tied with a silver ribbon. No note. No explanation. But the moment you opened it, your heart stopped.

Inside was a pair of earrings—small, intricate, and glimmering with soft white stones that caught the light like dew. Beautiful. Understated. Exactly your style.

You didn’t have to wonder for long.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Seonghwa.

“They reminded me of you. I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

You blinked down at your phone, warmth blooming in your chest.

“It doesn’t,” you typed back. “They’re beautiful.”

Another pause, then his reply came.

“I think you deserve to feel beautiful. Even if no one’s said it enough.”

Your hands trembled a little as you picked up the earrings again.

Because Seonghwa didn’t say things unless he meant them with his whole heart.

And maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a kind gesture.

Maybe it was a beginning.

YUNHO

You’d meant it as a joke. Sort of.

You and Yunho were walking through a mall, passing a cute boutique with charm necklaces, and you’d pointed at a heart-shaped locket in the window with a dramatic sigh. “Imagine getting something like that from a boyfriend. Must be nice.”

Yunho laughed, bumping your shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

You snorted. “I’ll die single and jewel-less. The curse of being everyone’s favorite ‘just a friend.’”

He rolled his eyes, but you missed the way his smile faltered.

That night, he stayed up scrolling online stores, second-guessing every color and style. It was insane—he knew it. But the idea of you feeling unloved made something twist painfully in his chest.

A week later, you were hanging out in his room when he suddenly shoved a little bag into your hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, frowning.

“Just open it.”

Inside was a charm necklace—simple but meaningful. A tiny star and a single letter charm. Yours.

You stared. “Yunho…”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I just—I don’t like hearing you talk like that. Like no one wants to give you things. Because I do. I’ve wanted to for a while.”

Your heart nearly burst.

Because Yunho never said things without laughter in his voice—but this time, he was completely serious.

And you didn’t even notice when your fingers slid into his, holding tight.

YEOSANG

Yeosang didn’t say anything when you told him.

You were lying on the couch beside him, scrolling through pictures of couple jewelry on social media and murmured, half-laughing, “damn i don't think I’ll ever get to post stuff like that… I'm kinda jel”

He didn’t tease.

Didn’t joke.

He just turned to you with that unreadable look—the one that made your heart race for reasons you tried hard to ignore—and nodded slowly.

“You’ll get it one day,” he said softly. “Someone’s going to see you and just… know.”

You scoffed. “nah I think I’m invisible when it comes to love, relationships and all that, you know?”

Yeosang frowned, then looked down at his phone, typing something quickly. He left the room for what it felt like 20 or even 30 minutes.

And returned with a tiny velvet box in hand.

He placed it in your lap without ceremony, settling beside you like it was nothing.

You opened it carefully, and nearly choked.

Inside was a gold-plated bracelet, etched with tiny stars and the first letter of your name. Dainty. Beautiful. Thoughtful.

You stared at him. “Yeosang—what—why?”

He didn’t meet your eyes at first. Just said, “Because you’re not invisible. And I hate the idea of you thinking no one sees how special you are.”

Your voice cracked. “Is this… friend jewelry?”

His gaze finally met yours, something burning beneath the surface. “Only if you want it to be.”

And you knew, right then, that he’d been watching you all along. Quietly. Deeply. Hoping for the chance to give you more than you ever thought to ask for.

SAN

You said it while you were fiddling with your necklace, eyes glazed over with that far-off, sad little smile San hated more than anything.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never get to wear something from a boyfriend… or from anyone at this point”

It wasn’t bitter. Just… resigned. Quiet. The way people say things they’ve made peace with, even though it still hurts.

San froze for a second. You didn’t notice.

Because if you had, you would’ve seen how his hand clenched around the soda can he was holding. How his smile slipped just a little. How your words—so casually dropped—landed in his chest like a stone in still water.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, carefully neutral.

You shrugged, curling your knees up to your chest. “I’ve just never dated. No one’s ever looked at me like that… like someone to love for more than… what? a month? two weeks? I don’t know”

He scoffed before he could stop himself. “That’s bullshit.”

You blinked at him.

“Seriously,” he added, this time softer. “If you think people aren’t looking at you like that, you're not looking hard enough.”

And he meant it.

Because San had looked at you like that for more than a year.

But every time he got close to telling you, something held him back. Fear, maybe. Or timing. Or that stupid, selfish part of him that wanted to stay your best friend forever if it meant never losing you.

So he said nothing.

But he did start working on something.

He’d seen the way your eyes lit up when you passed the booth at the street market that sold handmade accessories—specifically, the braided string bracelets with beads. You’d lingered there too long. Touched one. Smiled softly. Then walked away like you didn’t deserve it.

San went back alone the next day.

And a week later, he handed you a tiny paper bag with a shiny red string bracelet inside. Simple. Beautiful. Beads spelling your name in a soft rosie gold letters.

You stared at it like it was magic.

“Sannie…?”

He grinned. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I made sure it’s strong enough to last… is waterproof too.” He added with a soft smile

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

His gaze met yours. “Because I want you to wear something from someone who actually sees you.”

And there it was.

Not quite a confession.

But definitely not just a gift.

MINGI

You didn’t even realize you’d said it until Mingi went completely silent.

You were lying on his bed, scrolling on your phone while he played soft music from the speaker. Something slow, jazzy, romantic—almost painfully romantic—and that’s probably why your voice came out so wistful.

“How I would like to wear those cute little couple jewelry or something cringey like that. I’ll probably never, I think… that kinda sucks.”

He turned to look at you, his smile quite gone but not completely so you don't notice.

“Why would you say that?”

You shrugged, brushing it off. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Mingi took things like this personally.

Because when Mingi cared, he cared. And you were his person. His ride or die. The one who’d seen him through anxiety spirals and late-night breakdowns. The one who brought him snacks to the studio and sat on the floor just to keep him company.

You deserved the world.

So if he couldn’t be your boyfriend—not yet, not while he was still hiding all this love in the corners of his smile—then damn it, he’d be the next best thing.

The next time you visited his place, there was a small black box on your spot on the bed.

You eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?”

He flopped down beside you, playing it cool. “Just something I saw and thought of you.”

Inside was a necklace—silver, with a pendant shaped like a tiny lightning bolt. Simple. Sleek. Fierce. Just like you.

“Mingi—”

He waved a hand. “Don’t overthink it. I just figured if no boyfriend’s stepped up, I’ll do it for him.”

You raised a brow. “So… you’re my fake boyfriend now?”

He shrugged. “Only until someone real shows up.”

Your chest ached. “And if no one does?”

He turned, eyes suddenly serious. “Then I’ll keep doing it. Forever, if I have to.”

And you didn’t know it yet, but Mingi had bought a matching necklace too.

He just hadn’t had the guts to wear it in front of you yet.

WOOYOUNG

You said it as a joke.

Of course you did—because sadness made you awkward, and teasing made it easier to hide the ache in your chest.

You’d been watching a K-drama together, some swoony scene where the guy slipped a ring onto the girl’s finger under fairy lights and fireworks, and you’d muttered, “Lmao couldn’t be me. I’ll die fucking alone with naked hands”

Wooyoung had laughed at first. Then stopped. Then looked at you like you’d grown a second head.

“Why would you say something so cursed?”

You grinned. “Only facts come out of my mouth.”

He shook his head violently. “No. Nope. Rejected. Banned. You? Never getting a boyfriend or a cute lil ring or some shit like that?? Please.”

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “Guess I’m just not that type.”

He got weirdly quiet after that.

The next time he came over, he was jittery. Twitchy. Acting like he was hiding something. And after an hour of pacing and pretending like he didn’t have a small box in his pocket, he finally shoved it into your hands.

You opened it, expecting a prank.

What you got was a silver ring—minimalist, delicate, with a tiny red gem that sparkled like fire.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wooyoung…?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay so like, I’ve had this for a while. I saw it and thought it looked like you. Fire-y. Cute. You know.”

You blinked. “You’ve had it?”

“Yeah. I was gonna wait for your birthday or something but then you said that dumb thing about no one giving you jewelry and I panicked.”

You laughed—but you were blushing now, heart racing.

“And… are you giving this as a friend?”

His eyes flicked up to yours. “Do you want it to be?”

And in that moment, all the teasing in the world couldn’t hide the truth in his eyes.

JONGHO

Jongho heard your voice from the kitchen.

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—you were on the phone with a mutual friend, just talking casually, but the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“No girl, you know I’ve never dated… I don’t know, I feel like I’m just not the kind of girl guys give attention like that… like, you remember, I dated a few guys but none of them lasted long enough to be introduced to my parents, imagine... much less lasted for a sad one month anniversary or some gift like a box of chocolates, a teddy bear or a necklace, ring, some earrings, y’know? Like, I've tried, you know that, it never works for me, maybe I'm just not anyone type I dont know girl.”

You laughed after, like it was nothing.

But Jongho couldn’t let it go.

Not because he disagreed—but because he completely disagreed. In his eyes you are more than cute. More than worthy. You are strong, loyal, radiant. The kind of person who made his chest tighten just by walking into a room.

That night, he sat at his desk for hours, scouring websites until he found the exact thing.

Two days later, he handed you a small, square box without saying much.

You frowned. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “Open it.”

Inside was a pair of earrings—small hoops with a delicate, carved vine detail. Elegant but bold. Feminine but powerful.

“Jongho…” You blinked at them. “They’re gorgeous.”

“I know,” he said simply. “So are you.”

You looked up fast.

He held your gaze, voice steady. “Don’t think about yourself like that again. You deserve everything. And if no one else gives it to you…” His expression softened. “I will.”

And that was the first time you realized Jongho had been looking at you not just as a best friend—

—but as the person he was quietly, completely falling for.

[mothergo0se]

@forte-x is the sweet little who inspired this story… I hope you manage to keep your pants clean for the rest of the day — though we both know that’s a very big ask for someone like you.

---------

I hear it first — soft, airy, and unmistakable.

Pffft.

Then another, barely a few seconds later. A little stuttered push of air. I glance up from the kitchen, eyes moving toward the table where he’s been quietly coloring for the last twenty minutes. He shifts in his seat and lets out a little sigh, wiggling his hips.

Trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

I smile, arms folding across my chest as I lean against the doorway and just… watch.

My sweet boy is trying so hard today. He asked for undies this morning — with a pull-up underneath, of course — and promised he didn’t need any help remembering to go potty.

But his little body? It’s telling a different story.

He fidgets. Crosses his legs. One hand still colors, but the other sneaks down to give his tummy a subtle press.

Then I hear his tiny voice — almost too quiet to catch.

"It’s just a toot… just a toot… not yet."

Oh, baby.

He thinks I can’t hear. He thinks he’s fooling me.

A few more minutes pass. He shifts again, a little more urgently now, cheeks puffing as he holds his breath. I can see it. The squirming. The quiet panic.

And then… the crayon drops.

It rolls under the table, and he doesn’t even think. He gets down to squat and grab it — and that’s when it happens.

His whole body tenses. His back arches. His eyes go wide.

"Oh no… I was holding it… no no no—"

I see the way his hand darts behind him instinctively. A small gasp escapes him, and then—he bolts.

Tiny feet skitter down the hall toward the bathroom.

I follow slowly. Calmly. No need to rush. I already know.

From halfway down the hall, I hear him muttering to himself again, voice shaking.

"Okay okay, just finish… quick… maybe she didn’t hear it… just go now, I can fix it…"

When I reach the bathroom, the door is cracked open — and I peek inside.

And there he is.

Not on the potty.

Not even trying to sit.

He’s squatting in the far corner of the bathroom, Spiderman undies already halfway down his thighs, face red, bottom pushed out. His hands are braced against the wall, knees bent, and he's clearly still going. I hear a soft grunt and the quiet sound of mess meeting the seat of his pull-up.

I step inside and close the door behind me with a soft click.

He freezes.

His whole body tenses like a caught kitten. He doesn’t turn around. He just stares at the floor, shoulders quivering.

“Sweetheart,” I say gently, walking over. “What exactly are you doing over here, hmm?”

He lets out a shaky breath. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I didn’t make it…”

I crouch beside him, laying a hand softly on his back.

“No,” I say quietly. “You didn’t. But you knew you weren’t going to, didn’t you, baby?”

He nods once. Still doesn’t look at me.

“I tried to hold it… I really did…”

“I know,” I whisper, giving his back a slow rub. “But when you start to feel that bubbly tummy and those little toots, that’s your body telling you it’s time. You could’ve told Mommy. You still can, every time.”

He finally turns just enough to peek at me, eyes glistening.

“I didn’t want you to know…”

“Oh, honey,” I murmur, gently helping him walk over to the changing table so I can start cleaning him up, “Mommy always knows.”

He sniffles and closes his eyes as I peel away the heavily used pull-up and wipe him down slowly.

“But you don’t have to hide from me. Not ever. Accidents don’t make you a bad boy.”

As I get him into a fresh diaper and soft shorts, I catch his little voice again — barely a whisper against my neck as he wraps his arms around me.

“I didn’t wanna be a baby…”

I pull him in tighter, kiss the top of his head, and smile.

[artdonalldson]

White Mustang

Patrick Zweig x Reader

SUMMARY: "Summer’s meant for lovin’ and leavin’..." You knew what he was from the start. All charm, all warning signs. But you still chased lightning across the court, thinking maybe this time you wouldn't burn.

CONTENT: No use of pronouns, no physical descriptions, mostly angst with a bit of fluff and a bittersweet ending, suggestive content, complicated feelings, fleeting intimacy, some internalized heartbreak, a lot of metaphor-heavy narration and longing. Think of this as somewhere between 2010 and 2011, Patrick's still the rich kid, his career starting to decay.

Inspired by White Mustang by Lana Del Rey

A/N: Promised to post this like two weeks ago but I kept rewriting until I felt satisfied and hurt my own feelings while at it. Idk but I felt White Mustang would be good with Patrick and I got inspired to do this! Hope you enjoy it! Would love it if you had some feedback cause I'm thinking of making a part two for this one! :)

WORD COUNT: ~2.9k

At first it was something fun, sneaking into the members-only club, maybe it was curiosity or maybe you wanted to see how it felt to belong somewhere you don’t, but you slipped through like a secret. all you knew was that you needed a place to breathe.

You thought you were the kind of girl who wouldn't get noticed here. Not by the members, not by the staff, and certainly not by the players, but then he arrives.

Patrick Zweig. Fresh off some tournament in Europe; you've heard about him before, you've heard that he comes from a rich family, that he's gone pro for a while now but that he's not doing good lately... Among other things.

The first time you see him is under the brutal sun, playing at some charity tournament organized by the club, and yes, you know you're not supposed to be sitting at the bleachers and watching him play, and yet you can't stop yourself.

He's tall, handsome, unreal. All in white, as if the court was built around him. As if he’s always been here.

He moves like he’s on fire, every serve cuts through the air like it’s personal. There’s a kind of violence in how he moves on the court, the way he hits every ball.

He looks like something designed to be admired from a distance.

And you do. You watch every move he does.

Right now, your world has narrowed to a white blur and a boy you shouldn’t be watching this closely.

He doesn’t notice you. Of course he doesn’t.

But deep inside, you wish he did.

---

And when he does, it happens three days later, right behind the bleachers, where the afternoon heat sticks to skin and makes conversation feel heavier than it should.

You see him walking by, holding a racket and a towel, hair damp, shirt clinging to his back after some training match, you're not sure he even looked at you but then you hear him talk.

“You always watch from the top row,” he says, making you stop and turn around.

You blink. “I—what?”

He gestures lazily upward. “You sit high up. Good angle.”

His curls are damp with sweat and you can now see his face covered by tiny freckles, his beautiful eyes, he's even more handsome up close.

“You’ve seen me?”

He shrugs. “Hard not to.”

He’s standing there, just watching you as if he's trying to read your mind.

“Here,” he says, and slips something into your hand, a faint smirk on his lips.

A scrap of paper. A number.

“You don’t have to call,” he adds, already turning away. “Just figured—if you wanted.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you to wonder if this could be the beginning of something.

---

You type the number and save it into your contacts, but you don’t call.

You stare at it for two days, debating if you should delete it and lose the piece of paper again into your bag.

You've heard things about him, that he won the juniors US Open a couple years ago but also you've heard the whispers, everyone says he's the kind to leave when someone gets too close.

And you're not sure if you want to believe that, all you feel is that this could be the kind of story that will end with someone burning.

You just don't know who would catch fire first.

---

A couple weeks later you sneak at the tournament’s afterparty.

Not the official with sponsors, champagne flutes and forced smiles, but the second one, the one that doesn’t start until past midnight, half a mile from the courts in a rented house that smells like sweat and cheap alcohol.

You wander through the house when you see him walking out of the kitchen, drinking some vodka from the plastic cup in his hand, he's now wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans and looking kinda… expensive.

"You never called," he says as soon as he spots you, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I kept checking. You didn’t even text.”

You freeze mid-step, thinking of a good excuse—anything.

“I figured you’d forget about it by the next day,” you reply, trying not to look too long at the way he looks even more handsome out of his sports clothes.

“I remember everything,” Patrick says, cutting through the crowd to find you.

“Especially when I give someone something and they don’t use it.”

You cross your arms. “I never promised to call”

He tilts his head, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t say that. Just surprised you’re here.”

“I could say the same about you.”

He shrugs. “Well there's free alcohol”

There’s something brittle behind the way he says it. A tiredness that doesn’t match the noise around them.

“You want to get out of here?” he asks.

---

A little later you're outside, to the back deck, where the world is cooler and quieter. There’s a hot tub no one’s using and string lights that don’t quite reach the edges of the yard.

Patrick sits beside you on the wooden railing, his drink forgotten somewhere inside.

You don’t talk much at first but then he asks:

“You know who I am?”

The question isn’t arrogant. It’s almost… tired.

“I’ve heard things,” you admit.

“Yeah. People always hear things.”

He sounds far away, like he’s remembering some version of himself he doesn’t like at all.

“You think they’re true?” he asks.

You take a look at him, but you don't see the Patrick from the court. Not the one from the gossip and the whispers.

This one looks quieter. Less sharp around the edges. Like maybe he wants to stop being the uprising tennis star just for a minute.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “That’s why I didn’t call.”

He nods, slow, thoughtful. “Fair.”

And then he leans in. Not fast. Not bold. Like he’s giving you time to walk away.

He’s just close enough for you to feel his breath when he says:

“When I first saw you I thought that maybe we could have something different.”

You don't kiss, not yet, but none of you walk away either.

And somehow, that feels more dangerous.

---

You don’t become a thing. Not in a way that anyone could name, but you start showing up to his practices more often, not every day but enough to feel like a pattern. He doesn’t ask you to come. You don’t ask if he wants you there.

You just sit high in the bleachers like you always have, water bottle sweating beside you, sunglasses hiding how much you're watching.

He starts looking up between sets. Sometimes he smirks. Sometimes he just stares, like he’s making sure you haven't left.

And then after the matches, the soft kisses and heavy makeout sessions happen behind the bleachers, but it stops there, you don't ask for more, neither does he, maybe it's for the better, that way no one's gonna burn when the lightning strikes.

---

One afternoon, after a long practice and a longer silence, he finds you at the vending machine near the locker rooms. It’s barely working — chewing at your dollar like it’s too tired to finish the job.

Patrick steps behind her. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just watching you struggle with the stupid machine.

“Let me,” he says eventually, nudging you aside with his shoulder.

You huff. “I’ve almost got it.”

“You’ve almost had it for three minutes.” He taps the glass with his knuckle as you attempt to shove the dollar in once again.

The machine grinds, shudders, and finally spits out a bottle of iced tea.

You blink at it. “Okay, that’s terrifying.”

He shrugs. “This shit works better under pressure.”

There’s a pause before you mumble.

“You're different when you’re not on court.”

He glances at her. “Good different or bad different?”

“Neither. Just… more human.”

Something in his expression softens. “Didn’t realize I came with a soft side.”

“I kinda like it.” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer, but the way he looks at you right after says more than he needs to.

You sit on the bench just outside the court. Just shoulder to shoulder, the way people do when they’re pretending not to fall into something that already started.

“You’re not scared of me,” he says suddenly, he's not asking.

You turn to him. “Should I be?”

Patrick’s smile is crooked. “Maybe. I tend to ruin things.”

“You haven’t ruined this,” you say.

“Not yet,” he replies, and the way he says it is so honest it hurts.

He looks away, something like guilt flickering in his expression. “I’m like lightning. You don’t chase lightning — you just get burned when it hits.”

You lean in, soft but sure. “I like the thrill of chasing lighting”

---

It happens after a loss.

Not a catastrophic one, but enough to bruise the ego, enough to remind him that his career is slowly slipping away.

He doesn’t ask you to come with him after. Just glances across the parking lot and says, “I’m leaving”

Not a question.

Not a request.

But you follow anyway.

The apartment is all clean lines and quiet light. The kind of place that feels temporary, no matter how long you stay. He walks in first, drops his bag near the armchair and takes off his sneakers like they're too heavy.

You stand near the door a beat too long.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says, still facing the window.

“I know. But I care about you”

Patrick turns toward you. There’s something raw in his expression — not pain exactly, just something unguarded, like the mask slipped and he didn’t catch it in time.

He exhales, short and soft. “You always say the right thing.”

“I’m not trying to,” she replies. “I just speak what's in my heart”

That makes him look at her differently. Like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

And then he crosses the room.

He doesn’t kiss you right away. He just touches your face — slow, bandaged knuckles grazing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says quietly. “But it’s the only thing that feels like it isn’t slipping away right now.”

Your breath catches. “Then hold on to it.”

And this time, he does

—

When he finally touched you, it wasn’t sudden. His fingers brushed yours, then hesitated. You shifted closer, a silent permission. Then his hand moved — slow, steady — up your arm, over your shoulder, finally cupping the side of your neck. His thumb traced just beneath your jaw like he was memorizing the shape of you. You leaned in before you could stop yourself.

The kiss was soft at first — unbearably so. No rush. No hunger. Just warmth, like he was testing the water before diving in. It was very unlike him, and he knew that.

His lips pressed into yours with care, his hands were bolder, slipping down to your waist, tugging you closer until your body fit against his, wanting to feel you completely.

His mouth deepened the kiss, open and seeking, and you gave into it with something close to a sigh. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls, wanting him closer, needing more and more of him.

You undressed each other slowly, clothes tugged away with care rather than urgency. He kissed the skin he uncovered — your shoulder, your ribs, the curve of your hip — like he was trying to leave something behind. Not marks. Not possession. Just presence

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t try to impress. He just learns you — inch by inch , sigh by sigh.

At one point he murmurs, face in the crook of your neck.

“I never slow down like this.”

“And why is that?.”

He smiles — something small and sad.

“You make me forget I’m not built for this.”

---

Later, you lie tangled in sheets and shadow.

You're curled on her side, your head resting on his chest and for once, he’s awake, but quiet, his hand caressing the curve of your hip under the blanket.

“You scare me,” he finally breaks the silence.

You blink.

“What? Why?”

“Because you see me too clearly. Because this could be something if I let it.”

“And if you did?”

“I’d ruin it.”

You stay quiet for a moment, and then you say:

“Maybe not.”

His hand leaves your hip and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I ruin good things before they have the chance to be real.”

“I don’t think I imagined what happened tonight.”

“You didn’t.”

Another pause.

“Then don't let me go.” you whisper.

—

There was a moment — brief and fragile — where you felt him soften, where it felt like the world peeled back and he let you see all of him. The loneliness. The weight. The want. And you thought: this could be it. This could change something.

But soon you'd find out good things don't last forever.

He’s already sitting on the edge of the bed when you wake up. Shirt half on, expression unreadable.

You sit up slowly. “Patrick?”

He glances back at you, looking slightly guilty. “I’ve got a flight in three hours.”

“That’s not what I wanted to ask”

He doesn’t answer.

You want to ask what last night meant. If it changed anything. But the words die on the tip of your tongue because you already know it meant something to you. That’s the problem.

You get out of bed, wrapping the sheet around yourself. “Are you really going to disappear like everyone said you would?”

Patrick stands. Stills. Then, softly:

“I told you not to trust me.”

You don’t cry, not in front of him, but you can already feel the tears stinging your eyes.

“You told me a lot of things, Pat.”

He hesitates. Like he might come closer.

Like he might undo it all and say he wants to stay.

But he doesn't.

---

It’s not the first time someone’s left.

But it’s the first time it felt like something was taken away from you.

Weeks pass and you go back to your regular rhythm — whatever that means now. Mornings feel too quiet. Coffee doesn’t taste right. Music doesn’t sit well in her ears. Everything is a little too loud or not loud enough.

He doesn’t text.

Doesn’t call.

Doesn’t check in.

And you don't reach out either — not because you don't want to, but because you're not going to be the girl who begs him to come back.

You remind yourself that he warned you, his words still ringing in your head.

You scare me.

I never slow down like this.

I ruin good things

Sometimes you stare at the text thread that still has his number. No messages. Not even a dot-dot-dot. Just the space where something could have been.

“Hope you're doing okay.”

You delete it.

> “Was it real for you?”

Delete that too.

Because if it was real, it wouldn’t be this.

Maybe it's time to move on.

---

A couple months later, a different court, somewhere in Atlanta. You're not there to see him. Hell, you didn’t even know he was playing this tournament.

You're passing by, near the food vendors right outside the tennis stadium when you spot a familiar figure. He’s in a grey t-shirt, hair damp, headphones slung around his neck.

For a second, he doesn’t notices you.

But then he looks up.

And stops.

Your eyes meet for a moment and no one moves.

“Hey,” he says. Like it hasn’t been months. Like he didn’t disappear without a word.

Then he smiles. Small, tired… Real.

You cross your arms and you can't help the words that leave your mouth.

“You still giving out your number and vanishing after you get too close?”

He winces. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Wind in the trees. People walking past, none of them aware of the way time just stopped for them.

He steps a little closer. Not too close.

“I wanted to call you. A lot.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“That I was just another layover between tournaments? That what happened was forgettable?”

Patrick swallows. His voice drops. “It wasn’t.”

And somehow, that hurts more than if he’d said nothing.

You nod. “Okay.”

He glances down at the ground. Then back up. “I want to get better. At staying. At being… decent.

You soften. Just a little. “I hope you do.”

He exhales like he was holding that breath the whole time. “Are you—?”

“I’m good,” you say. “Really.”

“Still chasing lightning?” he asks, gently teasing.

You tilt your head. “No. I think I’m done chasing.”

Patrick nods, slowly. Thoughtful. Regret in his eyes, but not drowning in it.

They stand there for a moment longer. Neither says a thing.

And maybe that’s what growing up is — not making someone stay, but letting them leave knowing they mattered.

You take a step back.

“Take care, Patrick.”

“You too.”

And then you turn, walking away, your heart a little heavier, but your spine straighter.

Behind you, you hear him say it — too quiet for anyone else to catch:

“I still think about you”

You don't look back, but this time, you smile for real

---

THE END

[mx-pastelwriting]

Licking Wounds

SOLAS X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Licking the wounds of your Dread Wolf. WARNINGS: After Veilguard (Great Ending), Established Relationship, Fluff, Mention of Blood & Wounds, Patching up Solas, Solas' hands explore the reader's body a bit, Subjective text (at the end)

Hearing Solas hiss, pulling away in pain from you cleaning the many cuts on his face, gently grabbing his chin to face you once again. Standing as Solas sits, holding him still, wiping away the blood and tears as he whimpers in pain, fingers lightly digging into your hips in support as you patch up the cut.

"One down, many more to go," you say, before moving onto the next cut above his eye, causing you to look down into Solas' puppy eyes.

"Please, Vhenan, let me handle this," he says, voice raw from letting out all the years of pain in your arms minutes ago, slowly reaching up to take over the wet cloth.

Lifting it out of his reach, "I think you've done enough today, Solas." his hand hesitantly returns to resting on your hip, allowing the cleaning to continue.

"Relax, Solas, the fight is over. Let someone else lick your wounds for once," you whisper, softly pressing the cloth into his cut, soaking up the fresh blood, then gently wiping away the dried blood with the sight of Solas' carved smirk at that last statement in the corner of your vision.

Finished cleaning, then patching up his face along with the cut to his neck, making sure to wipe the dragon's blood from his mouth before placing a kiss upon them, then moving onto the rest of Solas' body.

Stripped of his armor, chest bare with wounds lining down his body, some shapen as cuts, others as deep teeth marks, already in the process of healing. Dripping the cloth back into the bowl of bloody water before running it over his chest, feeling Solas' eyes watch you, exploring every inch of your skin, memorizing it all over again just like he did all those years ago.

Solas' hands slowly climb up your body, tempting the concentration you now desperately hold onto, pressing the cloth firmly into one of the wounds, losing focus in his hands as they travel.

Hissing in pain, quickly jolting his hands back down to the neutral skin of your hips, locking with Solas' violet eye, noticing his mouth slightly open, breathless. Flickering your eyes back down, seeing as the wound is irritated, oozing with more blood, rushing to clean what you could, putting pressure on the wound before swiftly patching it up.

Knowing the calm air wouldn't last much longer at this pace, quickening your patchwork, careful never to lose focus again even as Solas shifted in his seated position, feeling the brush of his thigh against yours before feeling him again grabbing your wrists, stopping their work, looking to his yearning eyes as they flicker across your face.

"That's enough for now, Vhenan," he whispers firmly, voice deep rumbling through you, feeling just how many years the both of you had to catch up on.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

TAGLIST: @blue124th @bunjivu

[usagi-chwan]

Jealousy is a bad habit (BSDxReader)

🌸 Characters in this chapter: Dazai (Agency), Ranpo, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Atsushi, Yosano, Oda, Tecchou and Lucy.

🌸 Spoiler-wise, knowing who the characters are is enough to be able to read their respective parts.

Hey, hey! Hope you are doing well 😊 Today, I wanted to focus on a feeling we are all more or less familiar with: jealousy. So, what do BSD characters do when their boyfriend/girlfriend (somehow) finds himself/herself having to talk with someone who seems interested in him/her?

Basically, how do our favorite characters express (or not) their jealousy! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and wish you an excellent reading moment ~

(The parts are more or less the same size, except that Atsushi's is much longer... I was more inspired for him, that is all I have to say in my defense 🥲)

Dazai

- A rather jealous young man when it comes to love, let's face it. And you do not want to make him your enemy, far from it; he is capable of using some of the vilest stratagems in order to make that amateur flirter (a client of the Agency no less) regret having dared to be interested in you.

- And so, since this unfortunate mishap, Dazai now accompanies you on every assignment and attends client interviews with you, among other things... Which, of course, he never did before.

- He is the ultimate clingy person, even going so far as to hang on to you, preferably in front of the troublemaker, so that the latter realizes that they would better go on their way and find another agency to solve their problem.

- Then again, they are lucky Dazai is not still part of the Mafia, or else : snap.

~

Ranpo

- He, too, has a little trouble containing his jealousy, so he has learned to react accordingly, with new techniques emerging as time goes by, as peacefully as possible with a Ranpo by your side.

- He id a child par excellence, especially if you take into account his latest technique for letting the world know that he is not happy (and especially you). He does not hesitate for a second to roll around on the floor, grumbling and saying things like “be interested in me!”... But it does not work this time: outdated technique, in other words.

- He then starts sulking in his corner when he realizes that he is going to have to come up with new methods, and that you are not responding by letting him have his way.

- All because of one stupid customer.

~

Akutagawa

- He is one of those who have a few problems with violence, but I think it is more than common knowledge now.

- Someone tries to attack him? The person in question is called to order immediately, and in style if you please. Which is to say, if he or she was going to get anywhere, the assailant is going to have a tough time of it.

- Is someone bothering his boyfriend/girlfriend? Faced with this situation, more irritating than any other for our dear Akutagawa, nothing could be simpler: simply get rid of the annoying elements.

- Definitely.

~

Chuuya

- He tends to be a little jealous at times, but he would rather die than admit it.

- When he sees you with this stranger, his first instinct is to be annoyed, and quite irritated, too. It is obvious that he wants to go and do some kicking.

- He is torn between two contradictory feelings: on the one hand, the urge to go see this person and to stop them from hitting on you; and, on the other, his reason telling him not to.

- Chuuya then tries to think calmly, and comes to a conclusion: this person may not know that you are already in a relationship, after all...

- Chuuya does not doubt you for a moment; he knows that, for you, this conversation is completely banal, even if the other person seems interested. And, above all, Chuuya knows perfectly well that you would never do the “I'll see if the grass is greener somewhere else” thing (between you and me, who would with Chuchu as a boyfriend, anyway?).

- The story has a rather happy ending, if you put aside a certain point of view. Because the unknown person, strangely enough, did not really appreciate Chuuya's murderous look, despite the fact that the latter was supposed to have made peace with his feelings (according to him, at least).

~

Atsushi

- He is not jealous, not at all; he is just plagued by doubts, from all sides.

- The problem is not you, far from it... And maybe not even from the stranger, for that matter. No. The problem lies with Atsushi himself.

- He knows full well that you are not the type to hurt him by responding positively to a stranger's advances; he believes in you, that is for sure!

- He is simply making an inventory of everything this person has that is better than him; and he cannot help but conclude, inside his cute little head (which sometimes thinks a little too much...), that this stranger is a thousand times better than him.

- He then starts to get depressed, unsurprisingly, like a little cat with its ears down. He will cheer up, however, when your attention is drawn to his presence, and you give him one of those smiles he loves so much, probably the most beautiful he has ever seen in his whole life.

- He responds with a small, hesitant wave of his hand, but is delighted when you take leave of the stranger and walk towards him, all smiles.

- Of course, it does not take you long to notice (despite the fact that he is smiling too, as you walk hand in hand) that your favorite little tiger is not as jovial as usual... But, without you understanding at the time, he refuses to tell you why.

- In silence, you observe Atsushi's shifty eyes and flushed cheeks, as well as the stammering he makes when answering you, which has not escaped your notice either. Very quickly, you line up the elements at your disposal in your mind...

- And you cannot hold back a chuckle as you understand the reason for his strange actions. But why would he need to be envious of a stranger? Your favorite little feline already possesses everything you like in a boy... Otherwise you would not be with him in the first place! The list would be far too long.

- But he still have to understand that... And above all, accept it. And not end up comparing himself to some poor stranger who approached you as a loser from the start.

~

Yosano

- Without a doubt, this is the worst mistake this unconscious person could have made. Clearly.

- Daring to take an interest in her boyfriend/girlfriend? Unforgivable, and liable (for sure) to a good beating once your back is turned (or maybe not, depending on our dear doctor's patience at the time); Akutagawa has competition, and Yosano certainly has nothing to envy him!

- We cannot emphasize this enough, but survival lesson number one: never piss off the doctor, especially if she is armed with a chainsaw.

~

Oda

- The story in question took place during an evening at a small bar not far from your home, when he went off to use the bathroom, leaving you momentarily alone.

- When he returns, there is someone sitting next to you, at the bar where you and Oda had sat a few moments earlier. And this someone is rather close to you while you, on your side, are trying to get as far away from them as your seat will allow without falling.

- Oda is not known for getting angry easily, and that is exactly what is happening, even in this situation. He simply frowns and approaches gently, briefly placing his hand on your shoulder to let you know he is back, then sitting back down in his seat, opposite the stranger, with you in the middle.

- Oda's gaze is now neutral, but his presence and size are enough to intimidate the stranger: without further ado, they take off, almost running.

- Obviously, even if it is not written on his forehead, the fact that Oda is part of the Mafia must still be felt in the way he is... Especially if he is a little irritated, deep down. He is not really jealous, and he was not really planning to make the person go away; he only feared for your safety, which explains why he sat back down without saying anything.

- Afterwards, if the other person had tried anything... There might have been consequences, who knows.

~

Tecchou

- Known for doing whatever he wants, however he wants. Often with all the laziness in the world.

- He simply walks up to you, hoists you onto his shoulder like he would a sack of potatoes, and leaves just as quietly, without saying a word. But not without giving the rascal a dark look in the process, just to end on a pleasant note.

- No violence... At least not the kind you can see. Because, inside, he has already murdered this oblivious fellow a thousand times over.

~

Lucy

- Although she strives to appear self-confident in all circumstances, it is actually quite the opposite most of the time. She has lost count of the times when hesitation has got the better of her will, much to her dismay.

- But this time, annoyance far outweighed hesitation. And not just a little.

- To put it mildly, she is fuming, outraged that anyone would dare take such an interest in you.

- So she comes over and hugs you, with all her love for you, pulling you away from the intruder at the same time, and tells them straight to their face how she is feeling at the time (without them having asked you for anything out of the ordinary, except maybe the direction of the Post Office...). But all they had to do was not to approach you so closely, it could be confusing... And observe you that way, too....

- Basically, if a look could kill you, the person who came to talk to you (and more, if they were so inclined) would have been dead long ago.

[kenzdolls]

KYOKA JIRO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS .

𖤐 tags: kyoka jiro x reader, kyoka x reader, kyoka jiro x gn! reader 𖤐 pairing: kyoka jiro x hero student! gn! reader

𖤐 notes: none, I js love kyoka sm

MEETING KYOKA JIRO:

▸ she probably noticed you before you noticed her. her enhanced hearing picks up on the little things - your nervous humming before a test, the way your footsteps change when you're excited, the unique rhythm of your heartbeat when you're laughing with your friends. it's all data to her, initially, but data that starts to pique her interest.

▸ first official interaction? probably during a group project. she's the efficient one, the one keeping everyone on track, and you're the one with the surprisingly brilliant ideas that she didn't expect. she respects a sharp mind.

▸ she's initially wary if your quirk is loud or disruptive. but if you can control it and respect others' personal space (sonic booms in the dorms? instant deal-breaker), she'll slowly soften. karaoke night at the dorms is a make-or-break moment. if you butcher a classic, she'll cringe internally. but if you pick a good song and actually have some rhythm? major points. bonus points if you suggest a punk rock song.

▸ jiro would give a slight, almost unnoticeable nod of acknowledgement if you gave her good music recommendations. if you also suggest some obscure underground bands, consider her impressed. she might even lend you a pair of her headphones.

KYOKA CRUSHING ON YOU:

▸the first sign that she's crushing? she gets flustered when you ask her about music. suddenly, she can't remember the name of her favorite band or what genre she likes best. her carefully cultivated cool demeanor cracks.

▸ she starts leaving her headphones around "accidentally" so you have to return them. it's a flimsy excuse, but she hopes you don't notice.

▸ she'll start composing little melodies inspired by you. they're usually short, instrumental snippets that capture your essence. she'd never admit it, but she plays them over and over in her room. ▸ studying together becomes a regular thing. she pretends it's just for academic purposes, but she strategically positions herself so she can subtly observe you. she notices the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating, the way your eyes light up when you finally understand a concept.

▸ she subtly starts mirroring your mannerisms. if you tend to tap your foot when you're thinking, she'll find herself doing the same.

▸ she gets noticeably protective of you during training exercises. if you're paired up against someone with a particularly powerful quirk, she'll subtly guide you and offer tactical advice with the excuse "i just wouldn't want you to get hurt".

DATING KYOKA JIRO:

▸ dates are low-key and heavily music-centered. think small, intimate concerts at local venues, record store browsing, or just sitting in her room listening to music together.

▸ physical affection is initially subtle. casual brushes of hands, leaning against each other while listening to music, maybe a shy hug after a great concert.

▸ she loves it when you play with her earphone jacks. it's a vulnerable spot for her, but she trusts you. it's also strangely intimate.

▸ she makes you mixtapes (or playlists, if she's feeling modern). each song is carefully chosen to reflect your relationship and her feelings for you.

▸ she teaches you how to read music and play a simple instrument. sharing her passion with you is incredibly important to her.

▸ she's surprisingly sentimental about your anniversary. she'll probably make you some handmade music-related gift.

▸ she loves to use her quirk to enhance your experiences. imagine feeling the vibrations of a concert through her earphone jacks or hearing the subtle sounds of nature amplified.

▸ she's a fiercely loyal and supportive girlfriend. she'll always have your back, and she'll always be there to listen (literally and figuratively).

▸ she likes to tease you, but it's always gentle and playful. she loves to see you flustered.

▸ she might write a song about you. she'll probably never play it for an audience, but she might play it for you, late at night, when you're alone together.

taglist: [open]

mutuals: @https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

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