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blank-potato · 14 hours ago

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Something Special

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly. Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?” “A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts. The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles. “Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step. Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!” Or You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, sex plant, sex pollen, p in v, cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, crazy thoughts from horny!reader, Bob's good intentions backfiring

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts earlier this week, and I felt compelled to write something! My Marvel obsession is so back, and I’m so in love with Bob, and consuming so much Thunderbolts fanfiction, I think I’m genuinely going crazy

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Bob teeters on his heels as he looks around the flower shop. He was here to get a gift for you, but he had no idea what you would like. Then, while browsing the camellias, a woman appears, half scaring the life out of him, asking him what he’s looking for, and he tells her as best he knows how.

“I’m looking for something special for someone special.”

“Special, huh?” She replies with a mischievous smile, “I have just the flower for you.”

He watches as she disappears into the recesses of the shop and wonders if he’s making the right decision.

You were important to him, but maybe flowers were too much; perhaps you would see right through it and see the feelings he was trying (and failing) to hide. The whole team could see it. Alexei kept giving him unsolicited —and mostly unhelpful— advice about it, while John and Ava never missed a chance to tease him whenever they caught him gawking at you. And Yelena and Bucky tried their best to nudge him forward in their own ways; Yelena with blunt encouragement, Bucky with quieter, knowing looks and the occasional grunt that somehow conveyed volumes.

But Bob remained resolute, content with just admiring you from afar.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Ever since you were introduced to the team as their live-in doctor, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. You were a ray of sunshine. Exceptional at your job and had this strange but beautiful quality where you could make anyone feel at ease within seconds of meeting them.

He felt it firsthand when he walked into the med bay in the Tower. You were sitting there, clipboard in hand, and welcomed him in with a warm smile, motioning for him to sit. He obeyed without a word, nerves already prickling beneath his skin.

“I’m just going to take some blood samples, okay?” you said gently.

His eyes darted around the room—white, sterile walls, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Tests didn’t often lead to good things in his experience, and he felt that this one would be no different. His posture stiffened, and his breath was shallow. But as if sensing his unease, you placed a hand on his arm, steady, reassuring.

“If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m right here. And if you want me to stop, you just go right ahead and tell me.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking into your eyes—your beautiful, beautiful eyes that somehow made the rest of the world fade to background noise.

“I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

You looked at him with such gentle care, and for a moment, he felt like he’d known you longer than just a minute. It felt crazy how fast he was falling for you, but it was happening all the same.

“Yeah… I can do that,�� he replied, voice low.

And he had never been the same.

From that moment on, he’d been falling for you—hard. Making lovey-dovey eyes at you over morning coffee in the communal kitchen, pretending not to watch you when you laughed at someone’s joke, finding excuses to linger a little longer in any room you were in.

He toys with his watch, waiting for the florist to come back and flinches as he hears crashes and curses. He has half a mind to go and check on her when she suddenly pops out with a crooked smile and her hair askew, presenting the flower to him.

“Trust me, your girlfriend is going to love this one. Rarest thing in here.”

“She’s…” He stops, watching as the worker flits around the shop, putting the finishing touches on the arrangement. What use was it explaining anyway? How could he put you into words?

It was a strange flower, one he didn’t recognise. Its petals folded into each other. It was unlike any flower he’d ever seen, almost alien. But it was also beautiful, rare and special. Just like you. He buys it in a heartbeat, but the anxiety that follows is sickening. As he goes back to the tower, he thinks about turning around, getting something safer—chocolates, maybe. A coffee voucher. Literally anything else.

‘Maybe it’s not good enough, or what if she hates it?’

He plays with the loose yarn on his sweater as he nervously looks down at the plant.

‘What if she pretends to like it but actually hates it and, in turn, hates me?’

He overthinks all the way down the street, onto the subway, up the Avengers Tower elevator, until he eventually reaches the door to your office.

Then—three knocks. His heart sinks into his stomach the second his knuckles leave the wood.

The door swings open, with you on the other side of it, a smile blooming on your face as soon as you see him.

“Bob!” You say excitedly.

You’re clearly happy to see him and hurriedly usher him inside. The rest of the Avengers had been on a mission for the past two days and counting, so it was just you and Bob. It had been quite nice to spend time with him one-on-one. You even had a movie night the night prior, which ended with Bob falling asleep on your shoulder.

“What do you have there?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, catching sight of something he's hiding behind his back.

He hesitates for a beat, then slowly brings it forward, revealing a single, delicate flower—its petals a rich, otherworldly shade of purple, like something from a dream. It’s almost enchanting. You stare at it in awe, momentarily speechless.

“It’s a gift,” he says, placing it on your desk, voice shy but steady. “To celebrate you being here for a year. I… we really appreciate you.”

Your eyes soften at his words. You can see he’s nervous, waiting for your reaction like it might determine the course of his entire week.

But all you feel is warmth. You thought it was so sweet of him to do this for you; it was so thoughtful, so Bob. You’d felt a connection with him from the moment you met, something quiet but persistent that never quite went away.

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. “I love it. Truly.”

You’re probably smiling too much, but when it comes to Bob, you can’t help yourself. You snap out of your loving stare as something flickers in your peripheral vision.

“Is it supposed to glow?” you ask, your eyes narrowing slightly as the petals shimmer faintly, a soft pulse of light running through them like a heartbeat.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” Bob replies, frowning.

He leans in, squinting at the flower. The glow pulses again. Cautiously, he pokes it with one finger.

The flower twitches.

“It moved,” he says, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear.

“What? No way.” You step closer, trying to get a better look, equal parts sceptical and intrigued.

But then it twitches again, its petals bristling at the touch, and both of you freeze.

“…Did you buy this from a normal flower shop?” you ask slowly, eyeing him.

“I thought I did!” Bob says, his voice pitching just a little higher than usual.

You poke it again.

Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?”

“A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts.

The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles.

“Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step.

Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!”

In hindsight, the florist did seem a bit sketchy. The shop was tucked away in a dark, back alley, its dim interior lit flickering by lamps that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’70s. The air was thick with a faint smoke that he had to try not to choke on, but in his defence, Bob had just assumed it was part of the shop’s "vintage" aesthetic.

The flower twitches again, and one of the tendrils gently brushes your desk lamp, knocking it askew.

“We should probably contain that,” you say.

“Or burn it,” Bob offers weakly.

You don’t have enough time to deliberate before they’re coming straight for you. They coordinate a joint attack and grab hold of your shirt. It has a relentless grip on it and tears it apart without a care. In the back of your mind, you have to take a second to mourn one of your favourite work shirts.

The plant, however, is far from done with you. Before you can react, one of its slippery, vine-like tendrils reaches for your wrist, its texture cold and unnervingly smooth. It’s trying to pin you down, the tendril wrapping around your forearm like a slippery snake.

“Bob!” you yell, panic rising in your voice.

Bob springs into action without hesitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you back just in time. But in the chaos, both of you tumble backwards, your feet tangling in each other’s as you fall to the floor.

You land… on top of him.

For a moment, everything stops. Your breath catches, his heart races beneath you, and there’s a stillness, an accidental closeness that makes everything feel like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Well, that was eventful,” you comment, breathless, glancing back over your shoulder at the plant—still twitching, preparing for its next move. The tendrils are growing faster now, more aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it tries to grab you again.

“Watch out,” he warns, voice sharp, as he pushes you aside with surprising strength. The moment you’re clear, he rolls to his feet, eyes fixed on the plant.

It lashes out, one of its tendrils reaching for your throat, but Bob is faster, shoving you out of harm’s way just in time.

In the seconds it took you to escape from it, the plant had doubled in size, its tentacles now oozing with a thick, viscous substance. It seemed to pulse, almost alive with an aggressive energy, like it was anticipating its next strike.

The plant gives you no time to catch your breath. Before you can react, it swipes again, this time reaching for Bob’s jeans. With surprising strength, one of the tendrils successfully yanks him to the ground, dragging him closer to its growing mass. The little tendrils begin climbing up the inside of his trousers, slithering toward his legs like they have a mind of their own.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, adrenaline flooding your veins as you rush to grab his hands, pulling with all your strength in a futile attempt to free him. Where are the Avengers when you need them?

Unfortunately, you have no super strength or any useful abilities. Bob’s still being dragged closer, inch by inch.

But what you do have, is a pretty damn good throwing arm.

You glance around the room, your mind racing for anything you can use. Your eyes land on the lamp on your desk, your favourite one. Bob had always joked about how you wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Without a second thought, you sprint across the room, grab it in one smooth motion, and hurl it toward the plant’s centre of mass.

The lamp flies through the air, and you’re about ready to start celebrating, but just as it’s about to make contact with the plant, the tendrils shift, dodging the attack like it’s alive and aware of what’s coming.

“Crap,” you mutter. "It dodged."

This had to be one of the worst moments of your life.

Bob tries to crawl away, his muscles screaming in protest as he drags himself across the floor. His mind is a chaotic mess, every thought running a mile a minute. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to give you the gift and see that smile of yours light up your face, not get fondled by a plant monster.

The tendrils continue their relentless pursuit, now reaching the edge of his boxers, squirming and twisting, as if looking for any way to get inside.

“Hold on, just a second!”

“Please hurry, it’s kind of ticklish,” He blurts out as he writhes on the ground, “And wet.”

They find their way inside his boxers, reaching his dick and starting to wrap their way around it, making him tremble.

The tentacles continue to secrete that viscous liquid, slick and glistening as they slip up and around his cock, their movements still clumsy, but starting to adapt to what makes him react. Bob struggles beneath its weight, panic flashing in his eyes as the tendrils flick over his sensitive tip, starting to pulse around him.

You’re frozen for a moment, heart racing, watching him fight against the plant’s hold. The air is thick with desperation, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re going to be too late. But then your mind snaps back into focus. This can’t keep going. You need a plan and fast.

You scan the room, eyes darting from the plant to Bob and back again. The papers on your desk, the fire extinguisher near the door, the window—wait. Without wasting another second, you rush over to it, pulling it down with a swift motion. You have no idea if this’ll work, but Bob’s safety is the only thing that matters, and you’d do anything to ensure it.

“Hold on!” you shout, as you aim the nozzle at the base of the plant.

You pull the trigger.

It’s temporarily thwarted, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you see it retreat from Bob’s jeans.

“Come on!” you shout, reaching for Bob and pulling him to his feet. The moment you’ve got a solid grip on him, you both scramble toward safety, adrenaline fuelling your movements.

You rush toward the front door, but just as you reach it, the plant’s vines stretch out, blocking your escape. The thick, twisted tendrils curl around the doorframe, trapping you in.

You turn on your heels, panic setting in as you dash to the far side of the room. There’s only one other way out, the door that leads to the lab part of your office.

You reach the door, flinging it open just in time, and drag Bob inside with you. As you slam the door shut, you quickly lock it, the sound echoing. The room is dim, but you barely notice the light as you both stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. It’s all you can both hear before you finally break the silence.

“What the fuck?”

He’s panicking. He’s panicking hard.

He attempted to do something nice, something to show just how much you mean to him and the rest of the team but instead he got you attacked by a plant that wanted to fuck you.

“I screwed this up. I’m so sorry. I... I—” He stammers, his voice trembling with regret. He tries to continue, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He’s frustrated, overwhelmed by the situation and the guilt of what just happened.

You immediately notice the signs. The way he's retreating into himself, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding yours. The guilt and panic are all over his face, and for a moment, you realise how much this is affecting him. He must think you’re mad at him, but you’re not. Not in the slightest. You weren’t even sure if you could be mad at him; he was Bob.

You take a step forward, placing yourself in his line of sight, standing in front of him. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need him to apologise again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” your voice acting as his source of stability, even though you’re both still shaking from the chaos.

But before he can respond, there’s a loud bang against the door. A deep, guttural scraping noise as the plant’s tentacles push against it, trying to force their way inside. They both jump at the sounds, and he tries to curl in on himself, his hands gripping into his hair as he shuts everything out, nothing but his own voice echoing in his head.

‘Of course, you’d mess this up.’

“Bob, look at me, please.”

‘She probably hates you now.’

He opens his eyes slowly, and you can see it—the fear. The gold in his eyes flickers, a silent reflection of his inner turmoil. He’s been holding it all together for so long, but now, one mistake has him spiralling, and it’s all spilling out in front of you.

He hates that you can see it. The cracks in his composure, the weight of the guilt sinking into his chest. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of you, to let you see just how much he’s struggling with everything.

“I put you in danger,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the floor, shame and regret lacing his words.

You can’t let him carry this alone. You can’t let him drown in his own guilt when you know the truth: it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted to do something nice for you.

You step forward further into his space, cupping his face gently in your hands. His breath catches and you feel his warm skin under your palms, the tension in the air thick but not overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m alright, aren’t I?”

‘She doesn’t mean it.’

“I try to do one thing, and I just made things worse. I ruined everything—”

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? I loved the fact that you got me a gift, and we’re going to get out of this.”

You pull him close, and you both embrace each other tightly, the chaos outside fading away for a brief moment as you both seek comfort in the silence of the hug.

But suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, you become acutely aware of every touch, every shift of his body against yours. The warmth of his arms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, it all feels intensified. It’s like you’re hyper-aware of the sensation of him against you, and it’s overstimulating in a way you weren’t expecting.

You subconsciously nuzzle into his touch, breathing in his scent. He smells so good, you would even describe it as intoxicating. The feeling of him holding you, so close, feels delicious. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin, mouth-watering.

You lean into him even more, a soft moan slipping out before you catch yourself. The sound barely escapes, but it’s enough to make you freeze. You jerk back from him, heart pounding in your chest.

From the look on his face, he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he’s pretending not to, but you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your body. The flush spreads down your neck, over your skin, and you can’t stop it.

“We’ll…get through this,” Bob says, agreeing with your earlier words.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, still feeling the heat spreading throughout your body.

Then, as if his panicked brain finally catches up to the situation, Bob’s eyes flick over your form, and his eyes widen just a little when he realises you’re topless, wearing nothing but your bra. His face flushed with embarrassment, and in an instant, he looks away, his cheeks turning a shade of red at the fact that he had just hugged you in this state. Like the gentleman he is, he immediately averts his gaze, trying to give you some privacy.

“Oh. I uh, you should take my sweater.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I–”

Both of you nervously bumble until Bob starts taking off his sweater. The entire thing plays in slow motion. His hands, a little shaky, reach for the hem. The fabric bunches up in his fingers before he slowly pulls it over his head.

Bit by bit, his chest and torso are revealed. You can’t help but notice the definition of his muscles and appreciate them greatly. Finally, he hands the sweater to you, his expression nervous but kind. “Here��” he says softly, not looking you directly in the eyes.

Damn it.

He’s ripped.

You didn’t know when you woke up this morning that you’d be treated to an impromptu striptease courtesy of Bob Reynolds. You can’t believe all of that was hiding under that knitted sweater. There’s a sudden wave of arousal so strong it almost knocks you clean off your feet. Your eyes wander his sculpted form, and it’s like every part of him was made to drive you crazy. You know you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to look away.

“So… how are we planning on taking back my office?” Your words come out breathy, your eyes are still very much fixed on his body, but he seems oblivious to the fact.

“Maybe we can…” He trails off, distracted by the way you were starting to sway, “Hey, are you alright?”

He had now started to become clued into the way you were staring him down like he was a full-course meal. And you’re just happy he couldn’t read your mind because you were thinking the most unhinged things, like how you wanted to lick the sweat off his abs.

“Holy fuck,” You mutter tiredly, shaking the thought away. You were a doctor, damn it, not a degenerate. Or at least not both at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m just…” You start a sentence that you can’t finish as your body continues to heat up and your desire for him starts to hurt. You just want to be closer to him, and the overwhelming need to touch his abs comes back in full force. You try to focus on something else but just land on his arms and you wondered how’d they feel wrapped around your waist when he’d fuck you.

“Fuck!”

You start pacing around the room, trying to get rid of this madness that seemed to be overtaking you. And by pacing it was more of an awkward stumble as bit by bit your limbs turned to rubber and your brain to mush with horny thoughts of Bob.

You stop moving and drop to the floor, hugging your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you cannot see the hot man, he cannot haunt you. You decide to take deep breaths because that always helps, and try to calm yourself down. You are, however, wearing Bob’s sweater, which smells like him and therefore smells like heaven. You moan, definitely loud enough for him to hear and bury your face in it.

“Talk to me,” Bob says as he crouches down by your side, the comforting pats on your back feeling more like kisses on the neck. You just wanted to climb him like he’s a tree and live there forever.

“Need to take this off.”

You start kicking off your trousers as they start to stick to you, feeling more like sandpaper on your skin. Next, you peel off his sweater and hold it in your hands, resting it against your cheek, breathing it in every so often.

“I can’t be near you right now.”

“Why?” He asks and if you had your head on straight, you’d state the obvious. Did he not see the fact that you were seconds away from grinding on him?

But you did have to think about what caused this, and there’s only one theory that makes sense.

“I think the plant you got is a sex plant.”

Bob blinks at you.

“A what?”

While falling down an internet rabbit hole, you had heard about plants like these with certain properties that lent themselves quite nicely to certain activities. These properties including sex pollen that seemed to only affect you and not him. At a later date, you’d love to run some tests to see why. Maybe it was something in the serum he was given that made him immune to certain things. But all logical thought was being dropkicked out the window right about now, replaced with the need to fuck yourself silly on his dick.

You explain to him the whole sex plant thing as best as you can without going feral. The need to have his hands all over your body was becoming near next to unbearable.

“Why do you know this?”

“God forbid a woman is informed,” You sigh as you fan yourself with the sleeve of his sweater, more of his scent wafting into your face, making you more hungry for him than ever.

“So, how do we fix this?” He asks, desperate to help you out.

“I can just wait it out,” you suggest, knowing full well you couldn’t “wait it out”. Each second that passed was a second not spent bouncing on Bob’s cock which was a second wasted in your opinion. But this was Bob, your Bob, you didn’t want sex pollen induced horniness to reduce your friendship to rubble. You could see it now. Things would never be the same. No more book chat over morning coffee or late night milkshake runs and you’d be damned if you lost them.

“You’re burning up.” He places his hand against your forehead, and you whimper at the contact, shocking you both.

“Tell me, what will fix this?” He repeats.

It’s clear that there’s no avoiding it, so you tell him.

“...sex.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room, only accompanied by the background noise of the plant going on a rampage in your office. It was obvious, sex plant, therefore sex will alleviate the effects of said plant but saying it out loud didn't make it any easier.

“But I won’t ask that of you. I won’t,” You say firmly.

Did you want him? Yes, you wanted him bad. Ever since his floppy-haired, doe-eyed, cute self came in for his first check-up. But you didn’t want it under such dire circumstances, with a sex crazed plant trying to knock the door down. You wanted it to mean something. You wanted to know that he liked you as much as you like him.

You watch as Bob’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as if coming to a decision. There’s something in his gaze, something vulnerable but strong at the same time, like he’s finally deciding to take a step forward.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”

You shake your head, the words he says sinking in, but the effects of the sex pollen make it hard to respond.

“I can’t have sex with you like this. It’s not fair on you,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, almost defeated.

Bob’s face softens, his eyes flickering with understanding and something deeper. He steps closer, his tone gentler but unwavering. “It’s worth it if it helps you. You’re hot and shivering. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?”

The sincerity in his words hits you hard. You feel your throat tighten, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. You’ve always known Bob cared about you, but hearing that he was willing to do this for you was something else.

“Bob…” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it.

He stops himself then, looking away for a moment, his own vulnerability creeping to the surface. "I care about you. I…" He trails off, a deep breath escaping him as if he's preparing himself for what’s to come. “I like you.”

You're struggling to find the words as the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear is finally said.

“You like me?”

Bob looks down, his eyes shifting nervously, afraid that he might be ruining everything.

“I like you too,” You admit. “You have no idea how much.”

Not wanting the moment to pass you by, you cup his face and kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and needy, your hands gliding over his body with such urgency. All that pent-up need and tension came out in this one kiss. You cling onto each other like kissing is the last thing you’ll ever do.

You pull back, looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, your voice a mix of uncertainty and hope.

Instead of responding, he pulls you back in, his hands gentle but insistent, bringing you closer once more. Then, before you can say anything else, he lays you back down on the floor, his body hovering over yours.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers, before leaning back in, his lips brushing against yours once more.

You smile into the kiss and wrap your legs around his waist from beneath him.

You shiver as his hands travel up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It’s clumsy at first, fumbling with the hooks, the fabric catching between his fingers.

“Oh yeah, this one’s a nightmare to take off,” you comment, remembering the countless times you’d try to undo the clasps before giving up and just pulling it over your head instead. You chuckle lightly at the memory, tension easing for just a second.

“I think I almost got it,” he says, determination in his voice. Finally, after a few more attempts, he gets the clasp undone, tossing it aside with a small sigh of relief.

You feel a warmth spread through you, as look up at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says softly, his lips finding their way to your neck. The way he touches you, the way his hands move, everything feels electric, like every little action is charged with more meaning than you ever expected.

His hands wander down towards your panties next, rubbing at your core through them. He can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, your desperation no laughing matter.

He knows that because you immediately trap his hand between your thighs and start lifting your hips to rub against it.

His eyes widen as he watches you roll your hips, so completely wrecked, and you’d barely even gotten started. This was a whole new side of you that he could get used to.

“You need to let go of my hand for me to touch you,” Bob says, and you reluctantly do, only because you know he’s gonna give you something better.

He pulls off your panties and is met with the most beautiful sight.

“You’re so wet,” he comments spreading open your dripping pussy and flicking at your clit.

He slowly inserts his fingers and smiles at how easily they slip in. “You can take two already,” he says and almost in awe as your walls clench around him. You’re mewling and twitching with every swipe of his fingers, your wetness spilling around them. His fingers are so thick and he stretches you out so good, you wonder how your own fingers ever felt like enough.

“So good,” You whine out, and he feels encouraged to ever stop making you feel like this.

He curls them inside of you, brushing against your sensitive spot over and over again, making you squeal. You start to squirm, but he holds you still, his thigh and spare hand keeping you spread open for him.

He starts reassuring you with soothing circles on your thigh, “Right there?”

You blink away the haze and nod, “Yeah, keep going.”

He repeats his actions, his fingers threatening to bring you to an orgasm so fast that you’re almost embarrassed.

“Need you so bad,” You whisper as you thrust back against his fingers, desperate to have more of him. You’d take his whole fist if he’d give it to you.

“I need more than just your fingers.”

He looks up at you. This was a huge step, but one you were both ready to take.

“Condom?”

“I’m on birth control,” You say, and thankfully, you were. It’s not like you had a condom on you; they were in your purse, which was in the room with the raging tentacle monster.

He pulls off his jeans and boxers and he’s left exposed in front of you. He feels vulnerable, but he knows he can trust you.

“Ready?” You ask him and he replies with a breathy, “Yeah,” before laying a sweet kiss on your forehead.

He lines ourself up with your hole, which is actively trying to suck him in and pushes into you slowly. The relief of feeling him inside of you is so good, the sound of his moans as he bottoms out inside of you is just as good.

He starts thrusting into you deeply, as you grip his shoulders. It felt better than anything you’ve ever done with anyone else. It was partly the sex pollen, but more than anything, it was because it was him. You were finally with him after months upon months of pining. Finally able to feel his skin beneath your fingertips, to hear his moans vibrate against your skin, to lean his forehead against yours as he ruts into you. It was slow but passionate, as you finally confirmed how you both feel about each other.

You feel like you were on another planet, but you wanted to experience every part of this man, so you whisper in his ear, “Wanna ride you.”

You’ve never seen him move so fast, in seconds you’re sitting up right, warming his cock as his lips attacking your neck.

You’re about to start moving when he stops you.

“Just a second.”

You sit there, desperate to feel him moving inside you, but if he says to wait, then you’ll wait. He cups one of your boobs in his hands and his tongue flicking around your areola just enough to tease you.

“Bob…” You whine out, and he smiles up at you, and it’s one of his dopey smiles that makes your heart melt. Then as if you couldn’t feel any more sensitive, he starts sucking on your nipple, his eyes closed in pure focus and concentration. You fully scream, your legs quivering and walls fluttering around his cock. His tongue was working overtime, and you felt like you could come undone with just this.

“You’re gonna kill me,” You cry out as you pull closer by his hair.

“You’re so dramatic,” He laughs before going back to his ministrations, determined to make you lose your mind.

“Just like that,” You cry out as you wrap your arms around his neck. You shake and tremble so much that you just have to start riding him. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own.

Bob rests his head in the crook of your neck as you work his cock up and down btweeen your folds. “You feel so good.” His voice is shaky and needy as he’s unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure you’re giving him. His legs were shaking with how good it felt, and it was an ego boost to say one thing.

“Wait a second,” he says before he holds your hips up and starts thrusting up into you from below, giving you everything he’s got.

“Oh Bob…”

The feeling is so overwhelming that you start to cry, tears flowing down your cheeks, each one showing just how good he was giving it to you. But seeing your tears, he stops immediately, wiping them from your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

His eyebrows are furrowed with a concern plastered on his face, worried that he had hurt you.

You shake your head profusely, “Keep going. I’m crying because it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

With some renewed confidence, he continues thrusting into you, and it’s your turn to rest your head against his neck.

He whispers against your ear, “You feel so good.”

“Wanna turn around for me?”

“O-okay,” You stutter out, your mind half in the clouds as he spins you around and you land back on his dick, reverse cowgirl.

“Holy shit,” he says as he starts pounding into you again. You feel him so deep inside of you, you never want him to leave.

You feel him gripping onto your ass so you imagine the view must be good.

“Harder?”

“Yes, fuck please,” You reply immediately. The way he was thrusting up inside of you had you crying out for mercy, and if he wanted to go harder, you’d let him. He picks up the pace, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours is music to your ears.

“So good, you’re such…” He stops for a moment, and you can hear him hesitate, but you suppose his internal thoughts won out as he finishes his sentence, “Such a good girl.”

And you’d be lying if those words, escaping his lips, in his voice, didn’t make you want to explode.

Then he slows down before pulling out of you, you’re about to whine and complain, but he intercepts that.

“Can you hold onto me?” He asks, and you do it immediately, desperate to feel him on you again. You suddenly feel yourself being lifted into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He effortlessly lifts you over and lays you down on an examination table.

He lines himself up with your whole again and thrusts right into it, not holding back one bit. Your body is shaking and trembling with each thrust, and you’re screaming his name with each one.

“So good, so good,” he repeats like a mantra, like he can’t think of anything else but you.

He lifts your hips, tilting your pelvis and hitting your G-spot dead on, and you almost choke on your spit. You’re not even sure what comes out of your mouth; you just know it’s not of this world. You head lolls to the side as you drool for his cock to be fed deeper into you.

“Right there, right there, right…”, You bluster out before being cut off by your own scream.

You weren’t going to last much longer; in fact, you’re surprised you lasted this long. You just needed one final thing to put you over the edge.

“B-bob. Put…put your hand here,” You say guiding his hand above your stomach and bite your lip as he presses down feeling his cock inside of you.

“I’m gonna—” You sob before you’re cumming harder than you ever have, calling out for Bob all the while. Bob holds onto your bucking hips as he watches you squirt on his cock. The orgasm that hits you is blinding, your toes curl, your fists tighten, and tears fall from your eyes.

You are gone.

You’re only brought back to your senses by Bob saying your name and soft kisses on your face. When he sees you’re responsive, he smiles and starts brushing your hair off your face. But then you realise, he’s stopped moving and you absolutely can’t have that. You can still feel him pulsing inside of you and you needed him to cum.

“Keep going,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You sit up closer to you, your fingers gripping his back.

“Keep going until you’re done with me.”

You needed this, you needed him. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that your pussy remembered him, you wanted him to fill you up so much that just the smell of him would bring you to your knees and that wasn’t just the sex pollen talking.

“I think I can do this day,” Bob says and that he does. He fucks you against the wall, the window, on the floor, if he had control of his Sentry powers he probably would’ve fucked you in the air too. By the time you’re done, the sex pollen has been well and truly pounded out of your system.

But your troubles aren’t over.

The plant knocks down the door with an ominous thud. Menacingly slithering over to the two of you, now triple in size, each tentacle blogger that the last, and you’re ready to accept your fate. This is how you would go out. Fucked to death by a plant.

The plant starts prodding at you both a tiny bit before pulling back away from you, much to your surprise. Obviously sensing its job was done, it reverts back to its original form in a matter of seconds and sits innocently in its pot.

You guess your troubles are over.

“So…can I be your boyfriend?” He asks and you laugh, “What do you think?”

Bob’s face lights up with a grin, and he kisses your cheek, “I think there’s a mess waiting for us in your office.”

“Well, couples that clean together stay together.”

Snuggling into his embrace, you let out a sigh of contentment. Nothing could ruin this day, not when you’d finally made Bob your man.

But, in the distance, you hear the shuffling of footsteps as the team has arrived back from their mission. You hear a faint, “What the fuck?” seemingly from Walker seeing the havoc the plant made but you’re too content in Bob’s arms to care. You’re exactly where you want to be.

Masterlist

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fuddaround · 2 days ago

Text

HOME² › paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary : after ending on what you two would consider “good terms”, you end up surprising her in dallas.

warnings : mentions of slight panic attack, angst angst angst, mood swings, strap (r!receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, slapping (ish)

word count : 7.6k

original

kay’s notes : yes! i did skip the after game presser but 😛😛 anyways thank you guys sm for being patient i had finals this week 🤧

you land in dallas mad as hell. at yourself, at the weather, at the stupid ass decision to book this flight in the first place.

you said you wouldn’t come.

you promised yourself that you would let her go. let her leave uconn, let her grow up, let her start over without you.

but you’ve always been way too weak when it comes to her.

the air hits different the second you step out the airport. hotter. heavier. like even the wind knows you’re both here now.

you check into the hotel. hoodie up, sunglasses on. you act like she might see you in the goddamn lobby even though she’s already said in an interview she’s moving in somewhere.

you try to kill time. go for a walk. hit a smoothie spot. wander downtown.

and still—she’s everywhere.

her rookie poster’s on a billboard right off elm street. mouth parted. eyes locked in. all attitude and promise.

you look away too fast. like the city’s doing this just to remind you of everything.

you step into a store to cool off. and of course she’s on tv inside. a highlight reel running on loop. the strap of her jersey slipping off her shoulder in slow motion. smile all teeth as she laughs with her new teammates. your stomach drops as it switches to her post practice interview.

“you play minnesota tomorrow, that one’s gonna mean a lot.”

she smirks at the camera, “yeah i’m really grateful for the experience, i wanna show out for them and my new organization.”

you leave. can’t breathe. can’t think properly. your chest is on fire.

you swore you’d stay invisible, sit in the nosebleeds, just see her with your own eyes one last time. nothing more. no texts. no calls. no more damage.

but dallas already feels like her hands, like her breath on your neck, like her voice in your head saying “you’ll never outrun me, baby.”

and deep down? you already knew. you didn’t fly here just to watch. you came here to break your own heart again.

you make it back to the hotel by seven.

door locked, curtains shut, and tv playing some random movie just for background noise.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

like the city went still just to let your thoughts eat you alive.

you sit on the bed. scroll through your phone.

see the game promo again.

“bueckers vs the hometown,” her face lit up in the picture. still cocky. still so goddamn beautiful.

your hands start shaking.

you throw the phone on the bed behind you.

pace the room.

turn the ac colder.

peel your hoodie off.

still sweating.

you feel like you’re gonna throw up, like your chest is caving in, like you should’ve never come here in the first place.

but you also knew you couldn’t stay away.

you sit down again, hugging your knees.

bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

you cannot go to that game.

you cannot see her.

hear the crowd scream her name.

watch her in her element like she didn’t fuck you up just a few weeks ago when she left.

you cover your face, try to breathe.

in.

out.

in—

nothing.

your heart won’t chill. your brain’s too loud.

it’s all her, her, her.

what if she sees you?

what if she doesn’t?

what if she’s already moved on?

what if you can’t?

you cry, just a little though.

quiet. alone.

not because you’re still in love with her.

but because that love never got to end right.

it just dragged.

split open and left you both bleeding and calling it normal.

you crawl under the covers around midnight. heart still pounding. eyes burning. you tell yourself you won’t go. you’ll just stay in bed. maybe fly home early. maybe even try to explore the city again.

you wake up slower than you expected.

no panic, no cold sweat—just sunlight slipping past the curtains and the hum of the city outside. your body’s tired, but your mind is strangely still.

you don’t feel good, exactly.

but you feel better. like maybe the worst already passed, and now all that’s left is this moment.

you get up, shower too long, and spend forever picking an outfit, even though you told yourself this was supposed to be lowkey.

but you put the cargo pants on anyway.

the black ones she used to sneak her hands into when she thought no one was looking. you pull your hair back into a slick ponytail, clean and tight.

the mirror doesn’t lie—you look good.

good enough to be noticed.

you leave the hotel and hit a store three blocks down, just to browse, but you walk out with a bueckers jersey in your bag. but not the uconn one.

not the one you used to wear religiously.

this one’s fresh. navy and green. number five bold across the back.

you swore you wouldn’t go that far.

but your heart was never good at boundaries.

you slide your airpods in and hit shuffle on the playlist you swore you wouldn’t touch again. the one with all your shared songs. all the slow ones, the loud ones, the late-night-in-the-car windows-down ones.

and just like that, she’s in your ears again.

singing along off-key.

hand on your thigh at a red light.

you walk through the city like a ghost. one foot in the past, the other chasing whatever this is. and you don’t stop until you’re at the arena.

ticket pulled up on ticketmaster, heart in your throat, and her name already on your skin.

you find your seat thirty minutes before tipoff. lower bowl. row eight. center court.

close enough to see the sweat on her forehead, but far enough that she won’t notice you right away.

the arena’s smaller than the big ones—but louder somehow. intimate. packed. already hers.

you sink into the seat and try to act like your heart’s not rattling in your chest. like you’re not gripping the edge of the chair every time she dribbles past your side.

like you don’t still know the way her legs look in motion better than your own name.

paige looks locked in. bun tight. jaw clenched. dallas practice gear fitting like it was made for her.

she’s warming up with the rest of the team—all business, all rhythm. that is until she runs past the sideline closest to you.

she hesitates. just for a second. like she felt something.

but she doesn’t look.

not yet.

the lights go down, introductions start. crowd roars and the music blasts and her name gets called last.

number five, paige bueckers.

and you’re on your feet before anyone else. just like old times. hands clapping, the feeling of knowing your voice would be gone from cheering, chest open like it was never broken.

you don’t even think about it. your body just moves. like natural instinct.

and that’s when she sees you.

at first, she freezes. not completely. just—a pause. mid-step. blink too long. eyes stuck on one face in the crowd.

no way.

she looks away quick.

blinks again.

shakes her head.

keeps moving.

gets into the huddle, but her heart’s in her throat now.

is she seeing things? did the lights play with her head? there’s no way you’re here. no way you flew out. no way you’re sitting in the stands, in her jersey, cheering for her like nothing ever changed.

but then she hears you again. first one screaming when she hits that first three. the same way you used to in storrs. like the shot belonged to you, too.

and now she can’t ignore it. she glances back once. sees the ponytail. the cargos. the goddamn smirk.

her chest stutters, her vision flickers.

for a second, she’s not in dallas. she’s not a rookie. she’s back home in connecticut with you.

you. it’s really you.

and the whole game changes. her hands tighten around the ball. her steps get sharper—sharper than they’ve ever been.

because you’re here and she can’t fuck this up now.

she plays like she’s got something to prove, and she’s convinced she does. because you’re still watching.

and if you’re watching—there’s still time.

she’s locked in when the anthem ends. or at least she’s supposed to be. first game. rookie debut. full house. new home court.

but her skin’s buzzing, and it’s not the nerves. it’s not the cameras or the crowd or the lights too bright on her face. it’s you.

she saw you, she knows she saw you.

you were on your feet, clapping like you used to, yelling her name like it was yours.

tight ponytail. cargos she loved to pull down slow. her jersey on your back like nothing ever changed.

and now she’s out here pretending to breathe normal. pretending to listen in the huddle. pretending her heart’s not punching against her ribs so hard it hurts.

coach is talking about defense at halftime—about switching on screens, about setting the tone early—but all paige can think about is the way your eyes lit up when she hit her first three. that split second when she let herself glance over and saw your face break into the kind of smile she hasn’t seen in weeks.

she told herself she was done. she swore after the last time that this was it. she was moving on. new city. new chapter. clean slate.

but you being here? you just being here ruins all of that.

because now her stomach’s twisted. now her shot feels too heavy in her hands.

now every time she drives to the rim, she swears she sees you out the corner of her eye, front row, lips parted, hands clenched in your lap.

and it’s not just seeing you—it’s what seeing you does to her.

because you didn’t just show up.

you dressed for her.

you put her name on your back again.

you made sure she’d know exactly what you came for.

and now she’s pissed.

not at you—never really at you, but at herself.

for not being able to let go, for knowing exactly what it means that you’re here, and still acting like it doesn’t matter.

she tries to shake it off. gets a steal, runs the break, finishes with a clean layup. crowd roars. she slaps hands with her teammates. it should feel good.

but when she glances over and sees you nodding, biting your lip, pride all over your damn face—she forgets how to breathe again.

she can’t unsee you. can’t unfuck the memory of your moans. can’t stop thinking about the last time she had you pressed up against your kitchen counter, saying her name like it was gospel, like it still meant everything.

and it fucks with her.

all game long.

her passes are now a second late. her eyes keep drifting to your row. even when she tells herself not to. even when she reminds herself she’s done.

and then there’s the jealousy. because she’s not stupid. she knows you’ve probably got someone new now. knows that little break between when she left and now was enough time for someone else to slide in.

someone else got to touch what’s her’s.

but if that’s true—why the fuck are you here?

why would you fly to dallas? why wear her jersey? why cheer for her like that?

every look you throw her during the game sets her on fire. it makes her play harder, faster, sharper.

she starts talking more shit on the court. starts clapping in defenders’ faces. starts calling for the iso plays just to show out in front of you.

because if you’re gonna sit there and watch—then she’s gonna make damn sure you you stay watching her.

she hits a step-back mid-third quarter and doesn’t even celebrate. just turns, locks eyes with you, and raises her eyebrows making sure you were still watching.

your reaction is instant. you stand again, biting that same damn lip, hands in your hair now like she’s stressing you out. she watches your mouth form the word fuck.

she almost laughs, almost loses her cool completely.

and that’s when it hits her—she’s not mad that you’re here. she’s not confused. she’s relieved.

because now she doesn’t have to pretend. doesn’t have to fake that she’s moved on. doesn’t have to lie to herself every night and say she’s fine without you.

you’re here.

you came.

and that means you’re not over her either.

and that’s all she needed. all she ever wanted. just to know she wasn’t the only one stuck.

the game ends with a dallas win and she’s still staring at you.

from the bench. from the court. from the corner of her eyes. trying to figure out if you’ll stay.

and deep down she already knows. you didn’t fly here just to leave.

not a chance.

you’re not leaving yet. not before you see her up close. not before you break each other open again.

the second the game ended, her crashed.

not physically—her body’s still moving, still running on adrenaline, dap after dap, towel slung over her shoulder, head nods to the fans, cameras flashing left and right. but inside? she’s spiraling. full speed.

because you’re still sitting in that seat. because she caught you watching her walk off. because she knows you’re not leaving until you see her again.

and that should make her feel good. should be a win. but all she feels is the slow, familiar burn of what the fuck happens now.

the locker room’s loud. music bumping. celebration in the air—first game, first win. everyone’s hyped.

but she’s quiet.

sits on the bench with her jersey half pulled up, legs stretched out, towel over her head like she’s cooling off. but she’s not tired. she’s thinking.

and thinking always leads back to you.

“yo, p,” dijonai yells from across the locker room, half-laughing, but watching her too close, “you good? you look like you saw a ghost mid-game.”

paige doesn’t answer right away. just rubs her hands over her face and lets out a breath that’s too shaky to be chill.

arike’s next, leans back in the chair, smirking a little, “nah, look she’s in her feelings. she’s going through something.”

“shut up,” paige mutters, not even defensive. just exhausted. because they’re right. they’re so right.

“damn,” dijonai says, eyebrows raising, “it’s really like that?”

paige shakes her head, like maybe if she moves fast enough, the thoughts will fall out. but they don’t. you’re stuck in there, just like always.

“she was here,” paige mumbles finally. quiet. soft. like the words hurt just to say.

they both freeze, look at each other, then back at her.

“who?”

“you know who.”

“oh.”

paige leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it’s gonna give her an answer.

“i didn’t know she was coming,” she says, “like, she didn’t say shit. she just showed up. i looked up and there she was. in my fuckin jersey.”

arike lets out a low whistle.

dijonai nods slow, like it makes sense now.

“that’s crazy,” dijonai says. “how you feel about it?”

paige laughs, bitter and breathless. how does she feel? she doesn’t even know the answer.

“i don’t know,” she lies first but then her mouth starts moving. like her chest can’t hold it anymore, “i wanted her here. i wanted her to care enough to come. and she did. but now all i can think about is how bad it’s gonna hurt when she leaves again.”

no one says anything. just silence thick between the three.

she looks up, eyes glossy but hard, voice lower now. heavier, “i still want her,” she admits, “like, still want her. and that’s the fucking problem.”

dijonai leans in, not joking anymore, “so why’d y’all stop?”

paige shrugs, jaw tight, “we were toxic as hell. we fought all the time. jealous. possessive. too much history, too much pain. but it was always real. and when it was good—fuck, it was so good.”

she runs her hand through her hair. laughs again, but it sounds like she might cry.

“she made me feel like home. like the only version of myself i actually liked. but we kept breaking each other and pretending it was love.”

arike’s quiet for a minute. then she says, “but she’s here. after all that, she still came.”

paige nods, eyes stinging.

“i know,” she whispers, “and that’s what’s killing me.”

she looks back down. lets herself feel it now. lets the pain bloom in her chest without fighting it off.

“’cause if she walks out again, i don’t know if i can keep pretending it didn’t matter. like i didn’t just see the love of my life sitting courtside, looking at me like she never stopped being mine.”

the room moves around her. teammates laughing, music still thumping.

but paige is somewhere else. in your arms. on your couch. in your bed pressing her lips to your collarbone and whispering promises she knew she couldn��t keep.

she closes her eyes.

she wants to go out there and see you. wants to touch you. wants to tell you everything she just said in here.

but she’s scared. scared that wanting you again is a mistake. scared it’ll feel perfect, just like before—right up until it breaks again.

and still… she knows she’ll go. knows she’ll look for you the second she changes.

because this is you. and when it comes to you, paige bueckers has never known how to stay away.

paige doesn’t leave the locker room right away.

she paces behind the row of lockers, pulling her hoodie on slow, hands shaking like she just finished playing a double-overtime game. she keeps checking her phone even though there’s nothing new. no texts. no missed calls. no you.

dijonai squeezes her shoulder as she passes. arike throws her a look telling her to go.

so she breathes. and then breathes again. and finally forces herself to leave.

the walk to the hallway is the longest one she’s ever taken. every step feels like a gamble. because she knows there’s a fifty-fifty shot she’s about to get her heart cracked open in public.

what if you already left? what if you saw enough and bounced? what if she blew it, and this was your way of giving her closure without saying a damn word?

she rounds the corner, chewing her lip, hoodie pulled low over her eyes—and freezes.

you’re still there. right outside the double doors. leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

her chest pulls tight.

you’re in her jersey and you stayed. you really stayed. but she plays it cool, she has to. walks up slow. hands in her pockets. eyes soft but guarded.

“hey.”

you look up, and for a second she sees it. sees that flicker of something real in your eyes. but then your face smooths out and you say, “congrats.”

your voice doesn’t shake, but hers nearly does. “thanks,” she murmurs, kicking her foot lightly against the floor, “wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

you shrug. like this is nothing. like it didn’t take everything in you to show up. but that’s not important now.

“you played good,” you say, eyes skating past her, then right back again.

she nods. tries not to let the silence stretch too long between you. tries to find the version of her voice that won’t sound so desperate.

“can we… talk?” it comes out too fast, too quiet. then she clears her throat and says again, steadier, “you wanna come by the house?”

she was playing her cards smart, you both knew that. she wanted to talk and to have you back in her home again and with her.

you blink. and for a second she thinks you might say no. might shut it down before she even gets a chance.

but you just nod. once. sharp. like you don’t trust your own voice either.

and just like that, you’re walking side by side again. just like that, it’s her and you in motion. i again.

but this time feels different, heavier. like both of you are holding something inside your mouths and neither of you wanna be the first to spit it out.

you don’t touch. not even close. but the energy between your bodies is unbearable. her hand brushes yours once and she swears she hears you exhale.

she doesn’t look at you. she keeps her eyes forward, jaw tight, throat dry.

the whole walk through the tunnel is quiet.

but not empty.

she wants to say something. she wants to reach out. wants to pull you into her and ask you why you stayed, why you came, why you’re doing this again.

but instead, she says nothing. because she’s scared of what you’ll say back.

because she knows once it starts, it won’t stop.

you make it to the lot. paige hits the unlock button and the lights flash. you both flinch at the same time.

she opens the passenger door for you but doesn’t look at you. just stands there, waiting.

you climb in slow as she walks around the front and gets in next to you.

and for a second, in the low light of the car, she lets herself feel it.

you.

this.

the weight of your presence beside her.

the smell of your skin and the heat of your body and the fact that you’re here again, in her space, in her life.

she starts the car, doesn’t drive yet, just grips the steering wheel and stares ahead.

“you look good,” she says, voice raw, like it’s been buried under too much silence.

you don’t say anything back, but you don’t look away either.

and in the stillness of the car, as the engine hums beneath her feet, she fights the urge to reach for your thigh, to pull your hand into hers, to kiss you stupid right here in the lot.

but she doesn’t. not yet.

you both stay quiet. both pretending it’s no big deal. both drowning in all the things you won’t say.

and when she finally pulls out onto the road, all she can think about i s how long she’s waited to be this close to you again.

and how dangerous it is that you said yes, that you came, that you’re sitting beside her and pretending you’re not just as ruined.

the city passes in flashes. neon signs. red lights. the occasional burst of headlights from the opposite lane. you’re watching it all through the window like you’re in a dream, like none of it feels real.

paige is calm now or at least pretending to be.

one hand on the wheel, other draped lazily over her thigh. eyes on the road, lips twitching like she might say something, then thinks better of it.

finally, she speaks, “so, uh how long you in town?”

your heart flinches at the question, even though it’s casual. you keep your eyes forward, “just for the game,” you lie not even well because for a second there’s that smirk that knows you only bought a one way ticket. your voice sounds thin, like it’s trying to hide how heavy your chest feels.

she hums, nods slow, “cool. i mean cool that you made time. that you came out.”

you glance at her. she’s not looking back. her jaw’s tight. her knuckles a little whiter on the wheel than before.

“dallas suits you,” you say, softer.

she lets out a short laugh. not sarcastic—just surprised.

“you think so?”

you nod, turning back to the window, “yeah. you look settled.”

it’s not a compliment, not really. you just don’t know how else to say “you seem different.”

she catches it anyway, always did read between your words too well.

“settled doesn’t mean happy,” she says. and that’s the first honest thing either of you has said since the hallway. but then she flips the vibe again, like she regrets letting you in for even one second.

“you still working that job that was killin’ your sleep schedule?” she asks, voice light again.

you nod, “yeah. still can’t sleep past 5 a.m.”

she huffs a laugh, shakes her head, “some things don’t change.”

and for a minute, it almost feels like old times. like you’re just driving home from her practice. like there’s no breakup. no history. no heartbreak in the middle of the console.

she reaches out and adjusts the air vents and you have to pretend not to notice how that same hand used to rest on your thigh every time she drove.

“you still listen to our playlist?” she asks suddenly, and it’s almost a challenge. you swallow, “yeah.”

she nods, barely, like that answer mattered more than she wants to admit, “me too.”

silence again. but it’s not uncomfortable. not as much as it should be.

you’re both better at this than you should be. better at pretending it’s nothing. better at pretending you’re not dying to ask the questions neither of you can afford to hear the answers to.

you see her exhale slowly, grip loosening just a little on the wheel. the further she gets from the court, from the team, from the memory of you in the stands—the more armor she puts back on.

by the time she pulls into the driveway, she’s damn near stone. cool. smooth. unbothered. mask on. voice leveled. like she didn’t spend the last hour remembering what your skin smells like.

she parks, lets the engine idle, doesn’t move to get out right away. you unbuckle. she does too. but neither of you opens the door.

you both just sit there, quiet again, staring forward. the house looming in front of you, waiting for what’s coming next.

her voice breaks the stillness first.

“you ready to come in?”

you nod, heartbeat heavy. but you don’t say yes. you just reach for the door handle. and her fingers twitch like she almost stopped you. like she almost touched you. but she doesn’t. she can’t. because the moment she touches you—you’ll both stop pretending.

the door shuts behind you with a low click. it’s quiet inside. not cold, but still bare. the kind of quiet that says someone’s here, but not settled. not rooted.

you toe off your sneakers near the door, not even thinking about it. you’ve done this before. your body remembers even if your heart’s still catching up.

paige drops her keys on the counter and shrugs off her hoodie, throwing it over the back of the couch. her place smells like her. detergent and sweat and something earthy. you try not to let it hit too deep.

“it’s still a mess,” she mutters, waving a hand at the half-built shelf in the corner, boxes by the wall, basketballs everywhere, one of her shoes on the kitchen counter for some reason.

you raise an eyebrow, “looks about right.”

she smirks, just a little. leans on the opposite side of the island as you pull yourself onto a barstool, thighs sticking to the leather. her arms fold across her chest, like she’s trying to make the distance feel like control.

“wasn’t expecting company,” she adds.

you nod slowly, rest your elbows on the counter, “wasn’t expecting to be here.”

paige tilts her head. lets the silence stretch. then says, too casually, “so why are you?”

you blink. it’s not a soft question. it’s not cruel either. just too careful. too light. like she’s trying to sneak it past your defenses. you stare at her. try to read her face, but her expression is all calm.

your heart’s doing too much. your brain is screaming but your mouth moves anyway. “i don’t know,” you lie, even though you do.

paige huffs a laugh and leans forward on her elbows, “bullshit.”

your brows lift, “what?”

“you do know,” she says, voice low but firm. “you’re not the type to just pull up to a game in a city you don’t live in for fun. especially mine.”

you look away. jaw clenching. you don’t want to start this here.

“it was your debut,” you say.

“so?”

“so i came.”

“why?” she presses again.

and it hits different this time. like she needs to know now. like her hands are tightening on the wheel again. you look back at her. eyes sharp.

“why do you care?”

her expression doesn’t change. but something flickers. something quiet. something raw. “just asking,” she shrugs, and that shrug sends heat through your ribs. because it’s not just a shrug. it’s armor. it’s her way of hiding again.

you scoff.

“you always do that.”

her brows pull together, “do what?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter “act like you don’t care. act like nothing ever touches you.”

she straightens up, arms still crossed, “what do you want me to do, huh? cry? beg?” you shake your head, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, “i want you to stop pretending like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

paige’s jaw flexes, “you think it doesn’t?” she shoots back, voice still low but tighter now. “you think it was easy for me to see you in that crowd, knowing you weren’t mine anymore?”

your chest squeezes. but she doesn’t stop.

“you think it was easy not to touch you in the tunnel? not to pull you into me right there and forget all the shit we never fixed?”

your throat’s dry, your fingers tremble.

“then why didn’t you?” you ask.

and your voice is small now.

real. scared.

paige looks at you for a long second, eyes sharp but glassy. then drops her gaze.

“because i didn’t wanna make it worse.”

you swallow hard. the space between you feels like fire now.

“i wanted you to care,” you whisper.

“i do care,” she says, louder. “fuck, you think i don’t? you think i haven’t been thinking about you every damn night since i left?”

your lips part, but she keeps going.

“i see you in every goddamn city. every time i lace up. i hear a song and i think about you. i can’t even take a nap without dreaming about your dumb ass and the way you always steal the blankets.”

your eyes sting.

“then why’d you leave like that?” you ask, voice cracking.

paige laughs bitterly, “you know why.”

you shake your head.

“no. i don’t. all i know is you left and then started pretending like we weren’t even real.”

she pushes off the counter, running a hand through her hair, pacing once before turning back.

“because if i didn’t pretend, i wouldn’t survive it.”

you stare at her.

your breath catches.

and for a second, neither of you speak.

then paige’s voice drops, quiet again. tired.

“i’m sorry,” she says. “i didn’t know how to love you from a distance. so i acted like i didn’t.”

you wipe your face. don’t even remember starting to cry.

she walks around the island. slow. careful.

stands in front of you, hands hovering like she wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.

“i don’t know how to be around you without falling,” she says. “and i’m so fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t kill me to see you.”

you look up at her. and for the first time in months, she looks like yours again. and it’s terrifying.

you don’t move at first. just sit there with your face tilted up toward her, cheeks wet, throat burning. and she looks down at you like she’s seeing a ghost. like you’re everything she ran from and everything she missed all at once.

then her thumb brushes your jaw. soft. trembling. and she leans in like it hurts to get close, but not getting close would kill her. she kisses your tears. one at a time. and then all over; forehead, cheek, chin, nose. not rushed. not desperate.

like she’s making up for every time she didn’t show up, for every time she closed herself off when you needed her open. you exhale, shaky, aching. your fingers curl around the hem of her shirt, tugging her closer like muscle memory.

“it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracks right through both of you, “just let me in, p.”

her breath hitches and then she’s crumbling. her forehead drops to yours and she’s crying now. not loud. not messy. just quiet tears that feel like thunder in your chest.

you wrap your arms around her middle, pull her into you, and she sinks.

into your lap, into your body, into the only place she’s ever truly felt like she could fall apart.

“i fucked everything up,” she whispers, her voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard. not even the night she left.

you run a hand up her back. slow. grounding.

“no, baby,” you say, brushing your lips against her hair. “we both did.”

she shakes her head, fingers gripping your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling through the floor.

“i got scared,” she admits. “when the draft came, when everything got real—that i was leaving connecticut—i didn’t know how to hold onto you and chase this shit at the same time.”

you blink through your own tears, “so you let me go.”

“i thought it would make it easier,” she says, and it sounds like a confession she’s been holding in for months, “i told myself distance would help. that cutting you off clean would hurt less than dragging it out.”

you close your eyes, bite your lip. “but it didn’t.”

she shakes her head.

“no. it made everything worse. i kept waking up expecting you to be there. i kept wanting to tell you about shit—practice, media, everything—and then remembering i couldn’t.”

you tilt her chin up, make her look at you.

“you could’ve,” you say. “i would’ve picked up.”

her eyes are red, lashes clumped.

“i thought you hated me.”

you suck in a breath, “i did,” you admit, soft. “for a minute. but mostly, i just missed you.”

her hands find yours and squeeze. tight.

“i hated seeing you with someone else,” she says suddenly. it’s a whisper, but it punches through the room.

you nod, “i hated hearing about the girl in your insta story two days ago.”

paige blinks. her mouth twitches.

“she’s just a friend. her brother plays for the mavericks. she was helping me move a dresser.”

you stare at her. try to believe it. try to let it be that simple. and for once, she lets you in without resistance.

“i didn’t fuck her,” she adds, eyes locked on yours. “i haven’t touched anyone since you.”

your chest caves in.

“i wish i could say the same,” you whisper.

paige swallows hard.

“was it serious?” she asks.

you shake your head, “no. it was nothing.”

she nods like she understands. she hates it, but understands.

“it felt like dying,” she says. “seeing you with her. but i couldn’t say anything. not after the way i left.”

your fingers brush her cheek. her skin’s warm. eyes still wet.

“why’d you stop talking to me?” you ask. you’ve wanted to ask that for so long.

she exhales.

“because every time i talked to you, i wanted to come back. and i knew if i did i’d never leave again.”

your stomach twists.

“so you shut me out.”

“only because i thought it was the only way,” she says. “to be great. to focus. to do this the right way.”

you nod slowly. you get it. but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “i just wanted you to fight for me. that’s all,” you whisper.

“i wanted to,” she says. “every damn day. i just didn’t know how to fight without ruining everything else.”

you lean your forehead to hers again.

“so what now?”

paige is quiet for a beat. then she brushes your hair back behind your ear.

“now we stop lying.”

you sniffle.

“about what?”

“about how we feel. about what we want. about the fact that we’re still in love with each other.”

you bite your lip. your whole body feels like it’s been cracked open.

“we still got all that shit we never figured out,” you remind her.

she nods.

“so let’s figure it out,” she says. “not tonight. not all at once. but don’t leave dallas yet. please.” you look at her. really look.

and she looks terrified. but hopeful. like maybe—for once—she’s ready to let you in and keep you there.

you squeeze her hand. press your forehead back to hers.

“okay.”

she breathes out. and then she kisses you. slow. salty. full of everything she never said. and this time, she doesn’t pull away.

you barely get the chance to breathe. she kisses you deeper, rougher. like her mouth’s the only way she knows how to fully open up. her hands grab your waist and she groans into your mouth like the taste of you has her losing her mind.

“let me be the last person you’ve fucked,” she mumbles against your lips, low. gritty. like it’s a promise and a threat all in one. your body tenses.

“p—”

but she’s already got her fingers curled around your thighs, lifting you clean off the barstool like you weigh nothing.

you gasp. wrap your arms around her neck on instinct, legs around her waist like second nature.

“where are we going you’re house isn’t unpacked,”

“bedroom, ma, don’t worry,” she mutters.

you look at her. her eyes are dark. blown wide. not just from want. from need. you don’t say anything. you just let her carry you through the still-mostly-empty house. boxes lining the hallway. half a couch in the living room. but none of it matters.

not with her holding you like this. like she already has you right where she wants you. once again.

when she kicks open the door to her bedroom, it’s chaos. half-unpacked bags. two pillows. barely any sheets. but all she sees is you.

you. in her jersey. number 5 and bueckers stretched across your back like it belongs there.

“keep it on,” she whispers, setting you down on the bed. you’re breathless. flushed. aching already.

her fingers trace up the side of the mesh, eyes glued to how it fits your chest, her voice is lower now, rougher, “you wore this for me?”

you nod, cheeks hot, “i bought it this morning.”

her jaw flexes. thats all it takes, that seals it, “lay down on your back.”

you blink, heart pounding, “paige.”

“jersey on. panties off. now, please.”

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body floods with heat. you lay back on the bed slowly, eyes never leaving hers. her hand strokes your cheek, then grips your jaw.

“you still mine?” she asks quietly. not a question. a test. you nod, “say it.”

your voice shakes, “i’m still yours,”

paige breathes out like she’s been waiting her whole life to hear that again.

“good,” she says, “then i’m gonna make sure no one else ever even tries to take you from me again.”

“face down.” her voice is sharp. not yelling. not soft. just serious. low. firm in a way that makes you obey without thinking.

you crawl up the bed, still in her jersey. bare from the waist down. thighs already slick and trembling. you don’t even get all the way before she’s behind you again.

her hands grip your hips and drag you back toward her, rough.

you gasp, elbows sinking into the mattress, back arching. you feel her eyes all over you.

“damn,” she mutters. “you look so fucking good in my name.”

you shiver. her hand smooths up the jersey, bunching it at your waist, fingers brushing the letters across your spine.

BUECKERS.

“this how you wanted it?” she asks, voice dark, “wanted to surprise me? pull up in my jersey just to end up face down like this?”

you whine, face buried in the sheets.

“answer me.”

“yes—fuck—yes.”

she groans. you hear the low click of her lube bottle. the shuffle of her strapping up. you’re panting just from the sound. but she doesn’t fuck you right away. she gets on her knees behind you. pulls you open with both hands and leans in. and then her mouth is on you. your back bows.

“paige—”

she sucks your clit slow at first. like she’s tasting. savoring. then her tongue slides down, curling in circles, making you shake. and when her fingers slide in—two, deep, smooth—you sob into the mattress. she groans behind you like your moans are fuel.

“so wet for me already,” she says, voice thick. “who made you like this?”

you try to answer but your mouth is useless. just open, gasping, drooling on the sheets. she curls her fingers up and pumps harder.

“i said—who made you like this?”

“you—fuck—you paige—”

she hums like that’s what she wanted. her fingers stay deep, knuckles slapping your pussy, her mouth never leaving your clit. she’s feasting. messy. loud. relentless. your thighs shake. your voice breaks.

“paige i need to—” she pulls back before you can even finish the sentence, breathing heavy.

“you think you get to cum when you want, ma?”

you whimper, shake your head fast.

“no—no, i don’t—”

“damn right,” she mutters, standing.

you hear her spit in her hand. feel her palm smooth over your ass, the slap that follows. you jolt. cry out. and then—she’s in.

deep. slow. filling you all the way. strap thick, stretching you open until your jaw drops in a silent scream. her hands grab your hips again.

“that’s it,” she growls. “take it. take me.”

you try to breathe but your lungs don’t work. you clutch the sheets and push back into her, already addicted to the feeling. she pulls out almost completely, then slams back in. your whole body jolts forward. and she loves it.

“look at you,” she pants, thrusting harder. “taking dick in my jersey. fucking pathetic.”

you moan. “paige—please��”

she’s pounding you now. fast. hard. each stroke louder than the last. the bed creaks. your skin slaps. your moans echo off the walls. and the whole time—she’s staring at her name on your back. she grips your shoulder, pulls you up by the jersey.

“who’s pussy is this, baby?”

“yours—fuck—yours paige—”

she slaps your ass again. deeper stroke.

“that’s right. you can fuck a thousand girls, and it’ll still be mine.”

you cry out, feel your orgasm crawling up your spine. and she knows, “you gonna cum for me, baby?”

“yes please—”

she leans forward, her chest to your back, teeth grazing your neck, “do it. cum for me in my name.”

and you do. screaming. shaking. falling apart. and she doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it, hips slamming, hands greedy. she’s starving for the sound of your pleasure. you collapse. limp. wrecked.

you’re buried in the blankets. face in the pillow, back towards her, barely able to think. “you with me, baby?” she murmurs, voice low and warm.

you hum. barely. a lazy, muffled noise that says you’re here. barely. her lips kiss the top of your spine. then lower. then back up. slow. soft. a different kind of love this time.

“you okay?” she asks again.

you nod this time. a little more alive. “yeah,” you whisper. she kisses your shoulder and breathes in, “good.”

she stays there for another minute. not saying anything. just rubbing your side, helping your body calm down.

when she finally sits up, it’s gentle. she peels the jersey off you with care—no teasing now, no smirking. just her hands, slow and warm.

and then she’s slipping one of her dallas wings sweatshirts over your head. it swallows you whole,

soft and oversized.

you give her a tired smile, “thanks.”

she helps you get back under the covers, then slides in next to you. wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close like she’s scared you’ll vanish if she’s not careful.

for a while, you both just lay there.

sweaty. sore. hearts still too full. but the silence isn’t heavy. it’s warm. safe.

“you tired?” she asks after a while.

“kinda.”

“body okay?”

you nod.

she presses a kiss to your cheek, then your temple, then your forehead. her gentle routine.

you turn to look at her, eyes a little glassy still.

“i don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

her expression softens, the shield she always wears finally falling, “me either.”

you swallow hard, “we can’t do that to each other again. we either try, or we don’t.”

she nods. and for once, she’s not defensive. not snarky or flirty or trying to dodge.

“you’re right,” she says. “we either show up or we let it go. no more half-assing.”

you blink at her. this version of her—the grown one, the honest one—it makes your chest ache.

“so what do we do?” you whisper.

she shrugs, brushing your hair off your face.

“we try. starting tomorrow. not perfect. but real.”

you nod. you can live with that. you want to live with that.

“okay.” her thumb strokes your jaw.

“okay,” she echoes, like it’s a vow. then she pulls you into her chest, wraps her arms around you tighter.

the city outside is quiet. the room’s barely put together and it’s your first time here, but somehow, this still feels like home.

you fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek. wrapped in her sweatshirt. and for the first time in a long time—you believe her when she says she’s gonna try.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #dallas wings #kay’s fics ⊹ ࣪ ˖#kay writes ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fic #wlw #wlw smut #lesbian #paige bueckers x reader

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melwnst · 2 days ago

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────── ⋆⋅☆ MARRIED LIFE WITH DEAN HEADCANONS

⭑.ᐟ so I lied…. Just got inspired so quickly wrote this! I’ll really be back tomorrow or Sunday but here’s a cute one<3 please interact and send requests if u have any!! (Here’s dad!dean headcanons, and dating Dean headcanons!)

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

⭑.ᐟ He’s so touch starved like he’s never been touched before…. It’s like something’s different the moment your status changes because now he’s a husband and he wants to spoil you even more but he needs your touch EVERY TIME like he’s actually almost annoying in a cute way.

⭑.ᐟdean’s the type of guy who puts everyone above himself, he’ll never prioritize himself over the people he loves. So sometimes he’ll skip entire nights of sleeping so he can watch you, make sure you’re safe next to him, and just be on the verge of tears cuz he can’t believe how lucky he is. Impostor syndrome at its finest he feels like he doesn’t deserve you/this no matter how many times you tell him that he does.

⭑.ᐟ The moment you’ve settled down and promise each other to never go back to that hell of a life, deans never been happier. You’ll catch him cooking breakfast fully singing, dancing or whistling. He’s genuinely happy. His smile doesn’t feel forced, he wants to be here, with you, and you know he misses it sometimes but he’ll never go back because now he has you.

⭑.ᐟlong mornings tangled up in bed together, just the sound of your breathing, not talking, because you’re with each other and you don’t need to talk. You need to take the moment in, and that happens so often at some point that’s just what every morning looks like. Then he’ll cook breakfast, which he’s surprisingly great at, you’ll get ready together and get on with work etc.. whenever you’re together again at night, falling asleep will be the same. Silence, enjoying the moment together without even sleeping until eventually you doze off.

⭑.ᐟhe never falls asleep first. He always finds a way of knowing if you’re asleep or not, and when he gets confirmation he’ll either stay up all night looking out for you even if he doesn’t have to, or he’ll be at peace knowing you’re safe next to him, he’ll fall asleep. Even though he still gets nightmares most nights, they’re not as bad as they used to be because you’re here so he feels better, more grounded, safer.

⭑.ᐟmovie night every Friday, you never miss one. It’s just you and him, either the movie is in the background and you’re having a hot make out session, or you’re wrapped up together on the couch enjoying a shitty movie with snacks all around. Sometimes he’ll take you to dinner before or cook your favorite food. Or sometimes you’ll just go to the movies period. Maybe Dean will fall asleep, and you tease him about it all the time so he’d rather stay home with you.

⭑.ᐟ he sings in the shower… if you’re both in the shower together he’ll go full concert mode and it’s so hilarious that’s almost your favorite time of the day.

⭑.ᐟhe’s such a shit talker…. When he comes home from work he’ll gossip for hours if he has too many things to say, you’ll sit back and laugh in silence because he’s sooooooo annoyingly funny!

⭑.ᐟDean gets hotter with age, so do you. So the passion grows even hotter, day by day. He’s always been hot but his charisma and charm is just so unmatched. AHHHHHHHHHH

⭑.ᐟhe’s always loved making you feel good in bed. But ever since getting married, he’s more careful, softer but also rougher when he needs to be, or when you ask for it. He’ll just do whatever you ask of him. HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hes lowkey a sub sometimes. He’ll whine, he’ll beg. YOU LOVE IT.

⭑.ᐟhe’s so worried all the time he’ll snap his fingers and you’ll be gone. He’s always worried too much about everything and anything, but with you he just doesn’t know why you’re still with him. You make him feel like the best husband ever but there’s still this bit of doubt in the back of his mind that worries you’ll leave. He knows that’s not you- but he’s scared if you don’t leave, you’ll be taken away from him because eventually everyone does in his life. Everyone leaves, or dies.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb @l0v33-rey (comment to be added!)

#imagine #fanfic #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #dean x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader

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norrisidous · 8 hours ago

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i know love

summary: cute moments between lando and yn during their relationship, based on "i know love" by tate mcrae warnings: none

[The Paddock – Saturday Morning]

The paddock was alive, like always — a whirlwind of activity that buzzed in your bones. Engines hummed in the background, the scent of fuel hung in the air, and media scurried from one garage to the next. But amid the chaos, you found peace. Because his hand was in yours.

Lando walked with his cap pulled low, his race suit half-zipped and hanging around his waist. His other hand gripped a protein shake, which you were pretty sure he hated but tolerated because “the trainer would kill me otherwise.”

“Did you bring snacks?” he asked, turning toward you with that ridiculous boyish grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally sponsored by half the paddock. You want my snacks?”

“Yours taste better.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching into your tote and pulling out a granola bar. He accepted it with a victorious sound and a quick kiss to your cheek, uncaring of the mechanics and press that passed by. You still weren’t used to how bold he could be sometimes. How effortless it all felt for him.

“Thanks, love.”

That word still made your chest flutter. No matter how many times he said it. Maybe because it felt like he didn’t throw it around the way people assumed he did. When Lando said love, it always meant something.

[Late Night Stream]

He was shouting at the screen again.

“NO—WHAT? That’s total BS!” he groaned into his headset, falling back dramatically in his gaming chair. You were sprawled across the couch behind him, one of his hoodies drowning your frame as you scrolled through your phone, giggling softly at his chaos.

The Twitch chat noticed.

“is that Y/N in the back???” “their leg 😭 soft launch era over” “she really is real, huh?”

You tilted your head toward the camera with a smirk. “He’s still losing, by the way.”

“Oi!” Lando wheeled around to face you, scandalized. “You’re sabotaging me live in front of thousands of people. I’ll never financially recover from this.”

“Skill issue.”

He laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “Lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky you love me.”

He stilled for half a second, just a beat. Enough for you to realize what you’d said.

“I do,” he said quietly, his eyes soft and sincere now. “You know I do.”

You nodded, cheeks warming. “I know.”

And you did. You really, really did.

[Phone Calls at 2AM]

Your phone rang.

The contact photo — him in sunglasses with a ridiculous filter you’d added — lit up your screen. You answered without a second thought, already sitting upright in bed.

“Hey,” his voice was groggy, gravelly — and entirely too intimate for a call across the world. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

There was a pause. One of those comfortable silences you only shared with people who knew you too well.

“I’ve been thinking…” Lando finally murmured. “This…us. It’s kind of insane, isn’t it?”

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah. But it’s a good kind of insane.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ll get tired of all this. Of me being gone. The attention. The pressure. I don’t blame you if you do.”

“Lando,” you whispered, clutching the phone tighter. “I didn’t fall for the driver. I fell for the guy who eats cereal with a fork and quotes Shrek at 2AM.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Right. Can’t compete with that version of me.”

“I know love. It’s… messy, and inconvenient sometimes. But it’s you. And that makes it worth it.”

He was quiet again, but you could hear the soft exhale of breath on the line.

“I love you,” he said, a little cracked, like the words still scared him. “Just thought you should know.”

“I already did.”

[Arguments and Apologies]

It wasn’t always perfect.

There were days when texts went unanswered. When one too many sarcastic comments turned into a cold silence. When he forgot to call. When you snapped too quickly.

You stood in your kitchen, arms crossed as Lando leaned against the counter, the tension heavy in the room.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said, voice low.

“Then why do you keep doing things that hurt me?”

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Because I’m scared.”

That stopped you cold.

“Of what?”

“Of screwing this up. Of you realizing you deserve someone easier. Someone who doesn’t bring a circus everywhere he goes.”

You crossed the room slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face into his hoodie.

“I don’t want easy. I want you. Even when you’re stubborn and sleep-deprived and slightly dramatic.”

He let out a breathless laugh and hugged you tighter.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Then I’ll try harder. Because you’re it for me.”

[Fangirl Mode Activated]

You were trying to be chill.

But it was hard when your boyfriend’s face was plastered on a three-story billboard in central London, and he walked past it like it was nothing.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you asked, arms folded.

Lando shrugged. “It’s not that big.”

You gawked at him. “It’s bigger than my apartment.”

“You wanna take a picture?”

“…Yes.”

You posed in front of it while he took twenty awful, blurry, tilted photos, laughing so hard he almost dropped your phone.

“Okay, but imagine if I had a giant billboard,” you teased.

“I’d buy every single one,” he said. “And hang them in every room I walk into.”

[Knowing Love]

Lando was lying on the floor of your apartment, head on your stomach, scrolling through something on his phone while you played with his hair.

“This is it, right?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced down. “What is?”

“This. Us. Love.”

You studied him, the boy who used to flinch at the word, who now spoke it like a promise. Who showed it in forehead kisses, lingering looks, and middle-of-the-night calls.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.”

Because now you know love.

Not the kind that’s always perfect.

But the kind that stays.

That grows.

That chooses you — every day, even in the chaos.

And in Lando Norris’ arms,

you finally understand the song.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #formula 1 #f1

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hollyhomburg · 2 days ago

Text

Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)

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

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

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Word Count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That honor belongs to his omega.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He keeps telling himself that.

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

Because you're sick.

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok was terrified.

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jungkook does.

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

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

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

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

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

"Jeon Jungkook! No! Bad!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For Fighting? For hitting him?"

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

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

"Because I did it infront of her?"

"Yes. And why was that bad?"

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

hoseok is perilously weak not to reward him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok turns and nearly lunges at Mr. Lee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

Coming home went something like this:

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

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

Is Hoseok not good at this anymore?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But the others."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you'll say please and thank you.

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

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

At least not before enlistment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok takes a deep breath and counts to seven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Feel like I’m going crazy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Trying alpha it's just-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t be gentle.”

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

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

"but you love me anyway?"

Hoseok nods. "but i love you anyway."

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

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

You don't make it farther than the doorway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~-~

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yah-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not even himself.

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

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

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

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

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

"Only when he steals Jin's clothes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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h3catee · 22 hours ago

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Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys.

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*, talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort!

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.”

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line.

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said.

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname.

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-”

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age?

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?”

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.”

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?”

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself.

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?”

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.”

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond.

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight.

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself.

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s-

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her.

Fuck you Bucky Barnes.

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“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!”

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator.

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator.

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val.

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said.

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone.

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on.

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit.

“Meet Sentry.”

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair.

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out.

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious.

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders.

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.”

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt.

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you.

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again.

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.”

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue.

“She left you, just like you told her to.”

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin.

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm.

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him.

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud.

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him.

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion.

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp.

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you.

You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up.

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit.

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.”

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue.

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-”

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows.

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street.

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-”

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?”

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.”

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.”

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues.

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.”

“But Wanda-”

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.”

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at.

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming.

Typical avenger in New York occurrence.

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building.

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.”

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy.

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.”

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you.

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away?

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges.

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void.

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room.

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain.

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.”

Younger you nodded.

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,”

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over.

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire.

“Y/n?” A male voice.

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying.

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized.

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you.

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts.

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.”

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands.

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him.

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.”

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod.

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic.

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.”

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after.

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome.

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did.

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him.

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uniquexusposts · 21 hours ago

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But I am Lando Norris | L. Norris

Summary: Lando Norris went to a random concert and ended up seeing his childhood neighbour on stage. What would he do to see her again after all those years? Words: 2.619 A/n: I got the inspiration after seeing Tom Odell and Billie Eilish at their concert :)

The venue was filled with many people. A lot of people. Something Lando hadn’t really expected, for some reason, but it was very real. 20.000 people in this stadium. All for Your artist name (Y/a/n). Everything in the stadium was louder than expected.

It wasn’t chaotic, not yet, but there was a humming with that kind of pre-show tension that made everyone talk louder than usual, laugh sharper, sing along with the background music, scroll their phones more nervously, as if trying to pass the time before something important dropped. And to many, something important would happen. The opening act had just finished.

Lando tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and scanned the crowd beneath and next to him, from where he stood near the VIP lounge entrance. His friends had disappeared a few minutes ago, getting drinks or merch or whatever else people would do before a show like this. He had said he would wait here. He didn’t mind it.

He wasn’t even really sure why he had said yes to coming. His friend had offered the spare ticket with zero pressure, and he had said ‘why not’ like it meant nothing. He hadn’t expected anything, they said it was just a show of an artist, just music, good music, and maybe some songs he would vaguely recognise.

And then he had seen the name on the poster when arriving.

Y/a/n. Just that. Stylised. Sharp. Backlit in white.

He remembered seeing it and pausing, only for a second. Enough to think, Huh. That’s wild. Because even if she went by something different now, even if her look had changed, he knew who she was.

They had grown up on the same street. Played in the same games with the same kids outside. Played football, hide and seek, ring and run. Things kids would do when playing outside. They had never been close, just part of the blut of childhood. And then one day, after going to high school, the entire group stopped meeting up.

Lando exhaled slowly and glanced over the crowd. Y/a/n had a massive fanbase, she had so many hits, the tickets to her tour were sold out quickly. People would camp a week before her show to get the best seats. People were standing outside without a ticket, hoping someone would give up a ticket to still give them a chance to see Y/a/n.

He ran a hand through his hair, then followed the others inside. They took a seat on their designated seats.

Max nudged him. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I’m not,” Lando said, almost absently. “She just… grew up in my neighbourhood.”

Max blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. We used to play outside with the same group of kids.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “That’s it.”

And then the lights went out.

A breathless silence fell like a wave, followed by a sudden scream from the crowd. Somewhere beneath it all, a low, pulsing synth began to rise, slow, haunting, magnetic. Lando sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected much. But the moment the music hit, the first note, the sudden bloom of lights, something shifted.

The screen behind the stage flickered to life, abstract visuals in grayscale, like static breaking into water, and the bass deepened, vibrating in Lando’s chest. Then, through the smoke and fractured light, she appeared.

Y/a/n.

Y/n L/n from house number 47.

It wasn’t just the way she stood there, still, centred, not saying a word, but the way the entire arena reacted on her presence. She wore something simple, red, almost careless, yet very stylish, but held herself like gravity had shifted in her favour. The crowd roared. She didn’t flinch.

Lando forgot to blink.

It was her. Of course it was her, her voice was on every radio, her face was on every screen. But this was different. This was now. And the shy girl, who used to kick gravel down their street had turned into a phenomenon.

And when she began to sing, the crowd was screaming the lyrics along. They knew every single word. She moved energetically along the stage, waved every now and then to the crowd. It was like a bomb with energy exploded in the stadium.

Lando didn’t hear the lyrics.

He only watched her. The way she moved with purpose but without effort. The way the crowd swayed like she was pulling every string.

His friends were cheering. Someone bumped into his arm. But Lando didn’t move. He wasn’t starstruck, it wasn’t that. He just suddenly couldn’t believe that someone like her had been standing five feet away from him all those summers ago, barefoot and shy and loud and ordinary.

And now?

Now she looked like a storm that had learned how to sing.

The crowd screamed, clapped, their cheers nearly drowning out the music when Y/a/n walked around the stage to wave at her crowd for the last time. Lando stood, clapping along, but it was automatic. He didn’t feel the rush of excitement everyone else was experiencing. He was still lost in the haze of that last moment.

His mind was still back at the moment she had stepped on stage, her presence a magnet. His heart wasn’t pounding, it wasn’t nerves, but something deeper, quieter. A magnetic pull he couldn’t explain.

Max slapped him on the back. “She was incredible, huh?”

Lando nodded, eyes still on the stage as the lights began to fade, her presence fading away as she got off the stage. “Yeah. Incredible.” His words felt empty compared to what he was actually feeling, but he couldn’t find the right ones. Incredible didn’t even begin to cover it.

The crowd slowly began to spill out of the stands, but Lando wasn’t moving. His friends were already heading toward the exit, chatting about the encore and how they could grab drinks after. But Lando’s feet stayed planted.

How could she be that powerful?

He scanned the stage one last time, searching for any sign of her, his heart still racing despite the calm exterior. There was a stir in the air, a buzz of people rushing behind the scenes, a mix of crew, security, and the last few fans who were hoping for a glimpse.

He didn’t think, he just acted.

Lando got up and he walked towards one of the doors that said ‘backstage, staff only’. He could hear the excitement of all the fans, many were screaming, crying and almost hyperventilating. Some recognised him, but they were still processing the moments they had with their favourite artist. His pulse was fast, not from adrenaline but something else entirely, something raw and uncertain. He couldn’t explain it, but the need to see her, just for a second, had overtaken him.

By the time he reached the backstage entrance, a security guard stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked, arms crossed, his gaze unimpressed.

Lando swallowed, trying to push away the uncertainty that suddenly hit him. “I… I just need to talk to her. Y/n. Is she still here?”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “You a friend?”

Lando hesitated for a beat too long, the weight of his own words feeling heavier now. “Yeah. I grew up with her. We-”

The guard didn’t even let him finish. “And I grew up with the King. You can turn around and go home.”

Lando bit back a frustrated sigh. He glanced at the exit, hoping for a glimpse. But he knew that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to leave this night like that. Not after what he had just seen. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be available?” he asked, his voice steady but urgent now. “I don’t want to take up much time. Just a quick conversation.”

The guard looked him over again, as if debating whether or not he should let him through. He squinted his eyes. “You know, mate, we can do it the friendly way or the difficult way. There’s a reason why I am here. And you should know all about it. We can’t give everybody access to their favourite person. You would not like it too.”

“No, I fully understand,” Lando sighed. He couldn’t leave, not yet. He had to see her again. “But how can I see her? This is personal. And as you said, I know all about it. So why would I disturb her for no reason?”

The guard didn’t budge, still eyeing him with skepticism. The silence between them stretched for a moment, the background noise of the crowd's excitement humming in the distance. Lando could feel his patience wearing thin, but he knew he had to stay calm. He couldn't risk losing his chance.

Finally, the guard spoke again, his voice softer, though still guarded. “Alright, mate. Here’s the deal. She’s not going to have time for some random fan to chat her up after the show, even if you used to play football with her as a kid-“

“But I am Lando Norris,” Lando said, throwing out a card he hated.

“And I am Leo Samson, nice to meet you. I can’t make exceptions. Stop the debate, it’s not going to happen-“

“But I’m not a random fan,” Lando cut in, sharply but not unkind. “I’m not trying to take a picture or get an autograph. I’m not even here for her music, well, I am now, I guess. But I didn’t come here because she’s famous.”

The guard’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I came here because I recognised the name on the poster,” Lando continued. “Because I remember her before all of this. Before the crowds and the lights and the sold-out stadiums. I just... I saw her tonight and I remembered who she was. And she probably doesn’t even remember me, but I would hate myself if I didn’t try to say hi. That’s it.” He let the silence settle again. “I’m not trying to cross any lines,” he added quietly. “But if I walked away right now, I think I would regret it. For a long time.”

The guard studied him. Really studied him. Then finally, he huffed a breath through his nose and reached for his microphone that was connected to his transceiver. “I’ve got Lando Norris coming through for Y/n L/n. It’s alright.” He stepped aside and opened the door. “Don’t do weird things, mate. I will find you.”

A relieved smile came on Lando’s face. “I will, thanks.”

“Someone will bring you to her.”

Lando gave the guard a quick, grateful nod, then stepped through the doorway, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him like a shift in atmosphere. The hallway he entered was quieter than the rest of the venue, cooler, dimmer, like the pulse of the show had finally exhaled back here.

Someone, one of the backstage crew, was already waiting. She didn’t ask questions, just gave him a glance, then motioned with her head for him to follow. They walked down a corridor lined with industrial pipes and faded posters from past shows. He could still hear the crowd outside, but it was muted now, distant. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he saw her. He wasn’t even sure she would want to see him. But the idea of not trying had been worse.

He turned the corner, and there she was.

Y/n was walking down the hall toward him, alone, her hair damp from the show, her outfit stuck to her skin due to the sweat. Her head was down, scrolling her phone. She looked so normal like this. So real. The stadium version of her was still echoing in his mind, but this, this was the part he had been desperate to see.

She looked up.

Stopped.

He froze too.

“…Lando?”

Her voice was cautious, halfway between recognition and disbelief.

He exhaled a laugh, barely a breath. “Hey.”

Y/n blinked like she was trying to make sense of him standing there. “What are you… how did you..?”

“I saw your name on the poster,” he said. “Didn’t believe it at first. Then I saw you tonight and I-” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure of everything he had rehearsed in his head. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Really looked.

He stepped closer, slowly, not wanting to spook her, not wanting to mess it up. “You probably don’t remember me.”

Her brows rose. “Of course I remember you. You’re the reason I almost broke my arm falling out of the neighbour’s tree. And the reason I never touched Capri-Sun again.”

He laughed, a little dazed. “You threw it at my head. Deserved, for the record.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and for a second, the years between them shrank. “I didn’t know you were into concerts,” she said.

“I’m not, really.” He shrugged. “But apparently I’m into you.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, a quiet spark lighting behind them.

Lando cleared his throat, suddenly nervous again. “I just… I didn’t want this to be one of those things where I remembered someone forever and never told them they meant something to me. Even if you didn’t remember me.”

Y/n looked at him, soft now. “Well… I do.”

They stood in the hallway, just looking at each other, while the world outside buzzed and pulsed with the afterglow of her performance.

Lando let out a breath, eyes still on her like she might disappear if he blinked. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, a little breathless. “You were… insane tonight. In the best way. Like… I don’t think I’ve ever been in a crowd that loud before. And I’ve stood on podiums, but this? You had everyone wrapped around your finger.”

Y/n flushed slightly, the way an older neighbour made a comment about them playing on the road. “I mean, F1 podiums are something different, huh?” She smiled. “And I mean, it’s kind of surreal, still. Even after all this time.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Lando said. “You’re meant for this. I don’t know how I didn’t see it back then. You were always singing, always messing around with lyrics or humming something under your breath. I guess I just thought everyone had something like that.”

She smiled again, the kind of smile that carried a hundred memories. “Most people grow out of it.”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was quiet now, sincere. “You built a world out of it.”

Y/n looked down at her hands for a second. “It wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

“I can imagine,” Lando said. “But tonight… God, Y/n, you were like this force. You had everyone screaming one minute, dead silent the next. It was electric.”

Y/n’s smile turned shy, like she didn’t know what to do with the praise. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Lando shook his head. “I’m not saying this as the Lando Norris, if you mean it like that. I’m saying it as some kid who used to race you down the street for ice cream and lost every time. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

The silence between them filled with warmth, a fragile but growing sense of something shifting.

“You always were terrible at running,” she murmured.

“And apparently, really good at recognising stars before they go supernova.”

That made her laugh. Really laugh. And Lando swore it sounded just like it used to.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

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buck-star · 2 days ago

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Whenever, wherever

Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes who’s carrying your meds for you, so you can never forget them anywhere.

“Babydoll?” Bucky’s voice comes from next to you as you stand between a few people to get your coffee. Your fingers are interlaced with his as you start to tap your fingers against his hand. He noticed, immediately — he always does. “Hey, do you need a break?”

Of course, he could offer your meds immediately to you, but he doesn’t do it. If you need them, you will tell him. And you both have talked a lot about it before — no meds unless it has to be.

When Bucky first tugged them into his pocket to take them with to the restaurant you went for dinner, you looked at him with narrowed eyes. You didn’t need them, so why would he carry them around?

“If you need them, they will be there. Wherever. Whenever,” he said before he kissed your forehead. And somehow it gives you a sense of peace to know he’s taking such sweet and good care of you — you will never be alone with your thoughts, he will never leave you hanging.

“Precious?” He asks again, bringing two of his thick fingers underneath your chin to turn your face to look at him. Bucky smiles softly, his blue orbs bright like the sun while a few loose strands fall into his face. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head, leaning into his hand as he moves it from your chin to stroke softly over your cheek. He leans closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Can you answer me with words, please? I need you to say it, otherwise we are going to get out of here for a moment,” he mumbles against your soft skin before pecking your forehead again.

“I’m fine, Buck,” you assure him and lean your head against his chest. You listen to his steady heartbeat, sighing softly. Bucky smiles softly, his chin resting on top of your head as he runs his fingers up and down your back. “Too excited for the hot chocolate to go outside. Only to stand at the end this—“

You motion to the people standing in front and before you to get something from the coffee shop. Bucky chuckles softly but he can also feel your fingers tightening around him — a habit that you clench and unclench your fingers when you’re nervous.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers and you instinctively do as he says. Bucky chuckles before he looks around, taking in the different sounds to try and focus on one. “Listen closely. Can you hear the birds singing outside?”

You try to listen carefully, trying to filter the noises of the birds. Slowly, the voices of the other people and the business of the small shop fades into the background as you can focus more clearly on the birds outside.

It’s like they have their own little concert with one another and you smile softly.

“I can. They perform for their bird concert,” you say with a smile while you keep listening to them. Bucky laughs softly, agreeing as he keeps a close eye on you. “Thank you.”

“Whenever.”

“Wherever,” you finish his sentence. Two words. But they have a meaning deeper than any other.

Whenever. Wherever. It’s not just to let you know that he will always carry your meds with you, but also for you to know that he will always be by your side.

“I love you, Buck. Not just for carrying my meds. But also for that. It really helps me to stay more calm, knowing I can always reach them,” you say, resting your chin against his firm chest to look up at him. “And for calming me down. And I love you, because you’re who you are — perfect.”

Bucky laughs, pecking your lips. “I love you too, babydoll. And I gladly do it if it means to get to see that pretty smile on your face, because that’s what keeps me going – you and your cute, pretty smile.”

Request made by an anon on my old account. Divider made by me. I do not allow anyone to copy my work!

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kysstar · 2 days ago

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R U MINE? | JUNG WOOYOUNG

pairing : : jung wooyoung x fem!reader

synopsis : : wooyoung’s always been obsessed with you — but he hides it behind cocky jokes and teasing. when he finds out someone else has been trying to take his place, his playful act crumbles into something a lot more possessive.

genre : : best friends to lovers

warnings : : alcohol, kissing

word count : : 0.6k

[ series masterlist ]

—He’s always been like this. Touchy. Loud. In your space like it’s his own. Wooyoung doesn’t ask to touch you — his arm just ends up slung across your shoulders, his legs tangled with yours on the couch, his fingers threading through your hair when you’re talking to someone else, and he decides he’s bored. He gets away with it because he always has. You let him, mostly because it’s easier than pretending you don’t like the way his attention makes your skin hum.

He’s got a thing for claiming space — your space, specifically. Always in your seat, drinking from your cup, pulling you into his lap when the room’s too full and pretending it’s casual. Everyone assumes you’re together. You’re not. Not technically. But he doesn’t correct them. Neither do you.

And when someone else gets too close — too friendly — he’s right there.

“You good?” he’ll ask, all false innocence, eyes locked on yours while his hand slides around your waist. Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all — just appears beside you, mouth at your ear, fingers resting on your hip. You’ve never told him to stop. You don’t think you could if you tried.

You’re leaning against the counter, drink in hand, talking to some guy whose name you didn’t bother to catch. He’s tall, kind of charming in that background-noise way, saying something dumb that makes you laugh — not because it’s funny, but because the alcohol’s warm in your chest and it feels good to be entertained.

Then Wooyoung appears.

You don’t see him come in — you feel him, like a storm behind your shoulder. His hand slides around your waist with zero hesitation, pulling you back just enough that your hip bumps into his. The other guy stiffens, clocks the shift immediately. You barely have time to react before Wooyoung leans in.

“Come here,” he mutters, voice low and tight.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. His hand finds your wrist, and suddenly you’re being dragged through the crowd, out of the kitchen and down the hallway like it’s his party, like you came with him. You pull back once you’re out of earshot, shoving him back with your free hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snap.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like he’s two seconds away from either kissing you or breaking something.

“You looked real cozy back there,” he says, words sharp, bitter.

Your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So?” He laughs once, humorless. “You don’t get to look at him like that.”

You cross your arms, heart thudding. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do!” he shouts, stepping closer, breath hot. “Because I fucking care, and I’ve been pretending I don’t, trying to be cool, trying to play it like it’s just fun and games and parties and whatever — but it’s not. Not to me.”

He’s pacing again, frantic. “Every time I see you with someone else, I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t want to just hook up with you. I don’t want to share you. I want you to be mine. I want—”

You don’t wait. You lunge forward, fist in his shirt, and crush your mouth to his mid-sentence.

He groans into it, like he’s been holding it in for weeks, hands flying to your waist like muscle memory. You back him into the wall, both of you breathing hard between kisses, teeth clashing, your fingers twisted in his hair like this is the only way you’ll both shut up.

When you finally break the kiss, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, he’s smiling. That smirk — lazy, infuriating, too confident for someone who just poured his guts out.

“So…” he says, cocking a brow. “Are you mine?”

#𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #ateez #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #jung wooyoung oneshot #wooyoung oneshot #wooyoung ateez #jung wooyoung ateez #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fanfic #jung wooyoung fanfic

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yunazxxx · 2 days ago

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acrimony — sophia laforteza

in which you received just the right amount attention at the wrong time and with the wrong person. — (wc) 3.6k

fighting, cursing, cheating, toxic!sophia, physical violence at times, crying, r slaps soph twice, angsty smut, established relationship (on and off girlfriends), sub!sophia, etc? — now playing sorrows by bryson tiller

—

you threw the vase at the wall near the window, missing the bitch who you were actually aiming to hit. — so close but also so mother fucking far. your partner rushed to escort her out of the house, but you were faster.

you were right behind her when she closed the door, “why did i ever get involved with your ass” — you said between choked up sobs and a burning ball of fire, your blood was boiling and your eyes was twitching.

“you crawled your way into my world, so don’t fucki-“ a harsh slapped landed across her face, “i could claw my way into much better than your world. you don’t even fucking deserve me.” you said.

you turned around, grabbing your stuff. “we’re through.” and you left the house. she called out for you, begging you to come back but you weren’t. — all her calls went to voicemail, you were never answering her again.

but something about that made you feel guilty, like you did something horrible. then the day came when you got a call from someone, her friend, one of her friends, whom you couldn’t just ignore the call for.

you picked up the phone, “hello?”, you could hear the echo of your voice in the background. “hey, y/n?” — you shook your head, getting a feeling of the bullshit you were getting yourself into.

“what do you want, manon?” you sighed, manon giggled on the other end. “just come outside”, and like a dumbass you did.

you walked out to your front door, seeing the swiss woman sitting there with sophia in the passenger seat, holding a sign that said “take me back, baby, i didn’t mean it.”

she had been apologizing for weeks now, trying to get back together for so long that now you just gave in. — here you were again, yanking sophia by her collar while screaming in her face. “do you know what this does to me?”

you were tired of always arguing with her, every day was the same thing, “i’m going to a friend’s” you said, seeing sophia glued to her phone again. “which friend’s?” she asked, and you sighed, “it’s not like you care, but daniela’s” — “i hate her, no.”

you made a face, looking at sophia funny. “i don’t care though, i need to get away from you.” you admitted, and sophia scoffed, “you always run away when we argue instead of just saying anything back.”

you just rolled your eyes, grabbing your keys and walking outside. the filipina followed behind you, “stop, god you’re not fucking going.”

you looked at her through your car window, “yes, i am” and you drove off, leaving sophia at the house. she stood there contemplating if she should follow behind you, or stay home.

she decided to follow you, speeding to daniela’s place. the drive over there was a lot for you, you were so emotionally exhausted and off balanced that you sobbed your eyes out while making your way there.

daniela had seen your car pull up and immediately noticed your distress. as soon as she saw you crying, she quickly walked over and opened the car door, concern etched on her face.

"hey… what happened? what’s wrong?" she asked softly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. — “we had another fight” you choked out. you began to explain everything that happened on your way there.

daniela listened intently, her expression growing sympathetic at your words. she wrapped her arms around you, holding you close in a comforting hug "oh babe…." she gently stroked your hair, trying to soothe you — "it’s okay… you're here with me now."

“i know dani, it’s just…” you put your head against her chest, feeling the warmth of daniela’s embrace and the tension from your body began to slowly disappear.

daniela held you in her arms, gently rocking you back and forth. her hands rubbed soothing circles on your back as she continued to speak softly.

"shhh…. it's alright, take your time.” — she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering there as she tried to provide you with all the comfort and support you needed.

“i think i’m okay now, thank you dani” you softly said, breaking apart the hug slightly. once you two broke apart, sophia pulled into daniela’s drive way. the anger was plastered all over her face.

daniela told you to stay on the porch, offering to talk to sophia for you, which she went to do. the latina tapped the window, signaling sophia to roll it down.

she sighed as she did, “what do you want?” she asked, with an attitude. “step out of the car, we need to talk.”

sophia reluctantly stepped out the car, slamming her door, startling daniela, “stop slamming the damn door.” — “hurry and get to what you’re trying to say”

“you need two need to talk out whatever situation you guys have going on. she loves you soph” daniela said, and sophia rolled her eyes, “she loves me yet every second of every day she’s bitching about something new!”

you watched as sophia blatantly lied in front of daniela, going down there to correct her. “i don’t bitch everyday, sophia laforteza, i literally only say something every now and then and it’s always the same shit!” you shouted.

“good fucking riddance, you complain about every little thing i do. and you wonder why i never spend time with you, huh?” sophia said, it felt like it stabbed you in the heart.

“you bitch” you said, slapping sophia across the face. “i only complain because you act like i can’t get three minutes of your fucking attention, that’s why i always run here, because daniela gives me what you don’t! you’re so fucking unloyal too.”

sophia’s face twisted into a mixture of shock and anger as you slapped her across the cheek. — “did you just... you just fucking slapped me?" she raised a hand to her face, rubbing the spot where you had struck her.

“and you're fucking accusing me of being unloyal? aren’t you the one who runs off to daniela every time we have an argument?”

“fuck this, i’m not doing this here” you said, walking towards your car, “oh yeah just be a little bitch and run away like you always do! you’re good for nothing.” sophia said and you just started your car — “we’re done laforteza.”

“yeah right, you’ll be running back in less than a week.” and you drove off, never turning back around. — soon that week turned into a month, then into four months.

sophia was sitting in the house, drowning in her loneliness. she missed you, each time she made a call to you, it’d be ignored, blocked out or sent straight to voicemail.

then the night came, when she got a knock at her door. it was cold outside when you finally rang the doorbell.

honestly, it took her a few seconds to gather herself and answer the door. her heart was pounding as she opened it, her mind began racing with emotions.

as soon as sophia saw you standing there, a million thoughts ran through her mind – surprise, confusion, and a glimmer of hope.

“against my better judgment, i’m just here for my clothes nothing else, you can keep my other shit.” you say, not bothering to attempt to rekindle anything between the two of you.

her heart felt heavy as you spoke those words. the tone of your voice was cold and distant, and it stung more than sophia ever expected.

she then stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. "yeah, your clothes are in my room. you can go up there and get them." — she spoke numbly, trying to keep her emotions in check.

“yea, thanks.” you walked past her, your cold demeanor changing the energy in the house. you walked upstairs, getting all of your stuff then walking back down stairs 30 minutes later.

as she waited downstairs, the sound of your footsteps coming down the stairs was the only break in the silence. she stood there, watching you, unsure of what to say or how to feel. — "you got everything, then?"

her voice was soft, kind of.. hesitant. a part of her didn't want you to leave, but another part knew it was for the best.

“i’m probably missing some stuff but i don’t want to spend another second in your space to, you know, not seem “clingy and possessive”” — you do air quotes again, the bitterness ringing through your words.

she flinched at your words, the sarcasm in your voice digging into her like a knife. she knew she deserved it, but it still hurt.

sophia took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. — "you don't have to say it like that." she said weakly, still trying to keep her emotions in check.

“but i was like that, well, if we ask you, of course.”

sophia bit back a retort, knowing deep down that you weren't entirely wrong. she had dismissed your feelings and needs, making you feel like you were too much. but now, looking at you standing there, with that frosty expression on your face, made her realize how much she took you for granted.

"i know... i know i made you feel that way. i just... i didn't know how to handle it.” she admitted. “you also argued with me each time i brought it up, but it’s whatever. this though?” you pointed between the two of you, “is done and dead.”

her heart sank further as you spoke. the finality in your words hit sophia like a truck, and she felt a sense of desperation welling up within her.

but she had no one to blame but herself. she had been dismissive and harsh, and now she had lost something precious in the process.

she took a step forward, closing the distance between you both slightly. — "do you really mean that? is there no way to work through this?"

you stepped back a few steps — “you showed your true colors that day, soph. you thought you had serious power over me but you didn’t.”

sophia watched as you stepped away, the space between you two growing wider. the mention of her power over you stung, the truth of it hitting her like a ton of bricks.

“maybe i did. maybe i got too used to having you cling to me, to needing me. i took it for granted, and i messed up." — her voice trembled, the weight of her mistakes heavy on her shoulders.

“well, now you can do that to someone else. i don’t want you back, sophia. not right now at least.” — you admitted, with zero intention of ever getting back with her. she played you after all, you didn’t want to deal with that again.

she clenched her fists, feeling a mix of frustration and pain. she knew she had messed up, and the fact that you didn't want her back hurt more than anything.

but she knew she had no choice but to accept it. — she then nodded weakly, unable to find the words to express the turmoil within herself.

"i.. i understand. i’m sorry for everything. i really am." — you put your bags down, walking closer to sophia, and pulling her into one last kiss. this was a sweet, long and warm kiss.

her eyes widened in surprise as you kissed her, the warmth and sweetness taking her off guard. she immediately melted into the kiss, feeling the mix of emotions swirl through her body.

she returned the kiss, her arms gently wrapping around you, desperately clinging onto this moment of tenderness. your hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to your body.

she deepened the kiss, her heart racing as the emotions flooded through me. despite everything that had happened, being in your arms again felt like home. she held onto you tightly, not wanting to let go.

you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against hers, and your hands staying around her waist. she let out a shaky sigh, a wave of emotions taking over her, pain, guilt and the amount of love for you she’s felt this whole time.

you kissed her forehead, then the space between you two went back to how it was. the gesture was endearing, but sophia knew was about to happen. — “goodbye, now..” she sighed out, not wanting you to leave, but biting her tongue from begging you to stay.

“i’m not leaving yet” you said, turning around and going back upstairs, “i forgot these” you said returning back down with the drawings you had for sophia.

“what are you going to do with those?” sophia asked, swallowing the lump in her throat, “oh i’m just going to burn them, so your new girlfriend doesn’t end up in my shoes” — guess you still resented her.

“what?” she asked, she was taken aback. she didn’t think you thought she had a new girl already, but here you two were. “(y/n), i don’t have a girlfriend..” she admitted — “that’s funny” you said, folding the papers, putting them in your bag.

“i’m serious, i don’t have anyone. the one person i wanted, i lost because i was stupid as fuck.” she said, no longer trying to hide the fact she wanted you back. she needed you more than her pride would ever allow her to admit.

you shook your head, “soph, we aren’t doing this again..” you said, and she walked up to you, “no, please. i love you, (y/n), i want you, just you” she said, her eyes darting between both of yours in desperation.

she pulled you into another kiss, this time she was holding your face, she wanted you to know how much she loved you, without the situation and issues, and here you two were, standing in the living room sharing yet another kiss.

this time the kiss didn’t break off so easily, you began to push sophia against the wall between you too, and you deepened the kiss. you kissed along her neck, making sophia moan.

“its been a long time”, you chuckled against her milky skin, making her twitch slightly. “i fucking hate how you make me feel” you admitted, and moved sophia with you to the couch, putting her under you and continued making out with her.

you straddled sophia’s waist as you did so, leaning back down and took sophia’s soft lips into another kiss, biting at her bottom lip while grinding against her.

you locked her wrists together with one hand — a small moan caught in sophia’s throat from the kiss. her body felt on fire already from your touch, her core heating up as you grinded against her.

she struggled against her restraints, her wrists still firmly held in your grip. “please... i need to touch you..." — she whispered between kisses, her body desperate for more friction, more you.

you laughed into the kiss, “you can wait” you said, beginning to kiss her neck again, leaving a mark there while your hips sped up.

sophia let out a soft moan as you kissed her neck, her body trembling from the mix of pleasure and frustration. the sensation of your hips grinding against her sent waves of desire through her body, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"you’re so... so teasing.." — the filipina gasped out, her body involuntarily arching up towards you, wanting to get closer.

“and yet you haven’t stopped me,” you teased, letting go of her wrists. — the moment her wrists were free, her arms immediately went wrapped around your neck, pulling you down so your body was again flush against hers. she could feel your chest against hers, her body still craving that sweet friction.

"i... i could never stop you." — she whispered softly, her mind going fuzzy as she gave into your touch. “now, that's obvious baby.” you said, your hips grinding deeper against the fabric of the pants.

sophia let out a sharp gasp, her body arching into your movement as the fabric between you both felt like a damn tease. her hands gripped onto your shoulders, her mind consumed with need of you and you alone.

"you drive me crazy..." — she murmured, her voice breathy and filled with desire. “i’m glad” you whispered as you pull her into another kiss, your hand going between you two and sliding into her pants.

sophia gasped into the kiss, her body immediately responding to your touch, her wetness growing more and more. she broke the kiss apart, leaning her head back and letting out a low moan.

“how do you make me want you so much.." she whispered, the friction and pleasure you provided taking her breath away.

“i just have that affect” you laughed out, only speeding up your hand to match your hips, then inserting your fingers inside of sophia.

sophia clutched at your neck, her back arching as you continued to drive her insane. her mind was clouded with pleasure, her body trembling with need. she let out a soft moan, her mouth next to your ear.

"i just... need more..." — she said in a voice dripping with desire, and need, even lust was very evident. “so needy, aren’t you?”

sophia then nodded frantically, a shiver going up her spine from your words. she looked up at you, her eyes locking with yours, her body trembling under you.

“yes... please... i need it. give me more..." — she whispered, her voice needy and raw.

you pushed them as deep as they could go inside of her, retracting your hips and allowing all of your arm power to go into pushing her to her orgasm.

sophia could hardly contain her moans, biting onto your shoulder to muffle her desperate sounds. her body trembling as she climbed closer and closer to her climax, her body desperately craving her release.

"oh god... don't... stop.." she moaned out, barely able to form a coherent sentence. “louder for me, come on, you can do better than that.” you said, voice low and sultry, against her neck, nipping and kissing at it.

sophia bit down on her lip to stop another moan from escaping, her mind desperately clinging onto the edge of her climax but refusing to let her go.

“no...no... i..-" she protested weakly, unable to find the words to form a sentence. — “oh well, guess this won’t happen” you pulled your fingers out and just rested them on the band of her pants.

sophia whimpered as you pulled your fingers out, her body immediately missing the pleasure it was just receiving. she shifted uneasily, your fingers teasingly lingering on the waistband of her pants.

"please... don’t stop..." she whispered again, her voice desperate and needy. she needed your touch, she had been craving it for so long.

you pretended to think for a while, “i think i’ll make you wait..” you teased her. — sophia let out a frustrated huff as you held off from pleasuring her further. she was getting incredibly desperate, every cell in her body craving your touch, your attention.

she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of need and defiance.. “you’re... such a tease.." — hearing those words made you tug at her pants, pulling them off of her in one go.

you plunged your fingers back inside of her, sophia let out a gasp, her body instantly responding to your touch once again, her hips bucking up in need, her body trembling with desire. she let out a low moan, her voice thick and ragged with need.

"fuck, you’re driving me crazy... i need to.. i need to-" she gasped, struggling to form a complete statement as the pleasure consumed her body.

“need to what, hm?” you said as you sped up, going faster than you were just a few minutes ago.

sophia’s breathing became ragged as you increased the pace, the sensations building up once more. she could hardly concentrate on anything but the way you were making her feel. she tried to form a sentence, but her words were lost in a mix of gasps and moans.

“need... to... finish..." she managed to gasp out, her body trembling with tension. — you brought your face down to her thighs, your tongue resting against her clit before kissing and sucking on it softly, eating her out.

sophia nearly cried out from pleasure, her body overwhelmed with sensation. she could hardly control herself anymore, her body shaking uncontrollably as she teetered on the edge of release. her hands gripped tightly at the couch beneath her, desperately trying to hold on.

"please, i’m so close.. just a little more.." she whimpered, her voice broken with need. — you sped up, causing her to be pushed over the edge and cum right there.

you slowed down your fingers, giggling at her while she panted, trying to regain her composure but her heart was beating so fast. — you gently pulled your fingers out, licking her cum off of them. then you began to fix her clothes back on her.

sophia let out a soft whimper as you remove your fingers and fix her clothes, her body still buzzing from the overwhelming pleasure.

she slowly sat up, her body slightly shaking as she tried to compose herself. she looked up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction in her eyes, her cheeks flushed.

“you really drive me crazy, you know?” she whispered, her voice low, hoarse and sounding tired. “i know i do” you giggled, “but you should rest now” you said, and sophia nodded.

you took her upstairs, laid her down in her bed, you got in the bed behind her and cuddled her. you pulled her head closer to your chest, and whispered a soft “i love you” while she slowly dozed off, kissing her on the forehead.

—

prev katz works

#r talks #kpop #girl group smut #kpop smut #katseye #katseye imagines #spotify #sophia katseye #sophia #sophia laforteza #katseye sophia #katseye x reader #sophia x reader #fem!reader #wlw

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